Yeah fixed.
Solar Auxilia Officer Quest. A 30k Early Great Crusade quest.
RandomTechPriest
He Who Steals Toasters
The Revenants are even better at acquiring veterans. As long as the Revenants are winning, they never lose veterancy. Any dead veterans are consumed by lower ranks creating new veterans. It is a unending snowball of razorblades and war crimes.
Yeah the 30k-40k galaxy is a hell hole even without Chaos mucking about making things worse.
Revenant Legion was even worse since their Geneseed could turn even heavily mutated wretches into Legionairres so they had even lower standards on average. Though these should still be Terran Born Marines which means they have actual training.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
Quite honestly, coming out of two engagements with Astartes-level Opponents with a dozen men still alive is fantastic.
I'm pretty sure we got promoted to command of a bigger formation based off of that more than anything else.
I wonder... It's either we are looking at the Heavy Walkers increasing in power/Damage if we lose a Section or everytime a Section (usually dead barring the Stormaxes) loses an HP/is Wounded...
...if the former, having the Storm Axes take a hit once means that the Section isn't necessarily lost and wouldn't ncrease the capabilities of the Heavy Walker.
...granted, I think mechanics wise, the one that takes a damage first barring certain Traits are the expendables... Well, now I'm really curious how the update will come out with the ball (party?) And the eventual combat positioning/assignments.
...wondering how long can MC's luck last before RNG decides to have fun.
...if the former, having the Storm Axes take a hit once means that the Section isn't necessarily lost and wouldn't ncrease the capabilities of the Heavy Walker.
...granted, I think mechanics wise, the one that takes a damage first barring certain Traits are the expendables... Well, now I'm really curious how the update will come out with the ball (party?) And the eventual combat positioning/assignments.
...wondering how long can MC's luck last before RNG decides to have fun.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
I wonder... It's either we are looking at the Heavy Walkers increasing in power/Damage if we lose a Section or everytime a Section (usually dead barring the Stormaxes) loses an HP/is Wounded...
...if the former, having the Storm Axes take a hit once means that the Section isn't necessarily lost and wouldn't ncrease the capabilities of the Heavy Walker.
...granted, I think mechanics wise, the one that takes a damage first barring certain Traits are the expendables... Well, now I'm really curious how the update will come out with the ball (party?) And the eventual combat positioning/assignments.
...wondering how long can MC's luck last before RNG decides to have fun.
I mean, Strategy is king.
It's going to have to be how we keep up, since it's very unlikely we're going to get issued better gear regularly or get our troops gene-modded or anything like that.
Strategy is going to be how we keep from being wiped out as threats get bigger.
Well... *looks at previous combat rolls*
Since we are technically the Defenders, as long as the Amoeba Troops don't have Fire Support, we should be fine.
No need to worry about it until we see how things pan out I guess.
- Location
- Netherlands
I use the following headcanon to explain the numbers.
FIrstly:
People get the impression that Space Marines take a looooooong time to make. But that is an artificially extended process in 40k. Actual Marines can be made pretty damn fast in just two years or so.
Secondly:
When the lore says a Legion numbered 100,000 marines, that is the equilibrium of recruitment and casualties they reached. They took a constant stream of heavy losses.
Luna alone is mentioned as having made "hundreds of thousands" of Space Marines, which was before the Legions all switched to their own new recruitment worlds.
Colours of the Verdyn Chemical Engineers.
- Location
- Netherlands
Actually...
The Verdyn Chemical Engineers traditionally wear a very light purple armour. The origin of this tradition, according to legend, originated from a battle with a Mechanicum army that had cut its way through Europa on a plundering expedition. A freshly raised regiment of troops guarding Verdyn had resorted to using paint which activated when exposed to the nerve agents used against the biological components of the enemy. The paints mixed, resulting in a very muted purple.
In the great parade after the war concluded, troops whose armour had turned purple wore it as a badge of pride, and it was declared the official colour of Franc's frontier, combat engineers, and chemical warfare regiments.
The Purgation of Neptune, Part 4
- Location
- Netherlands
The evening before their deployment to Proteus, the Cohort gathered in their finest dress uniforms. The soft clinking of silverware and hushed conversations created a peaceful ambiance as they settled into their seats.
You have been anticipating this moment. It's your first chance to wine and dine with the upper class that you aspire to join. Your long blonde hair has been carefully washed by one of the Cohort's professional barbers and repaired from being flattened under your helmet.
Appearances are important, especially for those aspiring to high society. A skilled aesthetech of the Alpyne Tech-Clans had subtly prepared you for high society. Nothing major, just preparations to give you a timeless appearance. An emphasized slightly androgynous build, safeguarded against the onset of aging and stress by a few injections, a tightening of the cheeks, and your jawline being made just a slightly bit more fierce.
You know that its a common jest among the men and women that you're the prettiest officer in the Sub-Section, and it does get a chuckle out of you. Personally, you'd be happy to assert a bit more of a masculine appearance, but have learned to appreciate it's beauty, and the way it helps pave the way for high society.
The faint scent of lilacs lingers around you, applied alongside corrective makeup. The same smell that came from the little herbal garden around the small country estate of your family.
Fiercely ambitious, your parents did not indulge in frivolous luxury, instead putting their wealth into investments of metal and flesh alike. The smell is a reminder of home and brings comfort in this unfamiliar and uncertain environment.
Your family's wealth is notable, but utterly lacking in power and prestige. No ancient pedigree, no maker's mark of a Tech-Clan, Labour Guild, or Corpclave.
That is why you are here.
If not for the damn Martians, your family would be providing arms to the Expeditionary Fleets. But your family can not compete with Martian lasguns, and so you instead arm the troops that remain. Good reliable weaponry for militia, second line formations, enforcers, private security, and lesser Arbites precincts.
You allow yourself to indulge in the luxury and extravagance of the officer's dining hall. The Argent Heart's grand dining hall is a sea of navy blue and white, accentuated with gold accents and buttons to match any visible cybernetics. The menu for the evening is opulent, fitting for the status of the Cohort's officers. Veal, truffles, fillet mignon, caviar, foie gras escargot - each dish is more exquisite than the last.
To accommodate the officers' preferences, polished wooden tables have been brought aboard the Jovian troop transport, causing great expense and complaints from the Voidborn. Servants move elegantly between tables, laying out fine china and silverware. You suppress a smile at the memory of the overly critical Tech-Shaman from Mars grumbling about an all-human catering and kitchen staff.
"A moment if you would, Sub-Lieutenant."
You stop dead in your tracks as you hear the voice of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre from behind you. It overpowers the pride you feel at being addressed by your new rank for the first time.
Legate Marshal Mardon is a surprisingly small man, although he does well to hide it. The Frank is sealed inside a suit of life support armour that has been richly decorated. An oxygen mask covers his face, and a nasogastric tube goes down his nose, both connected to a backpack which contains his life support and the fusion reactor which powers it.
You've read the stories about the old Marshal, both the official memoirs and the accounts of his soldiers, a company commander in the Second Frontier army that defeated the first Imperial invasion of Franc over a century ago, where he personally led a bayonet charge to kill a wounded Custodes.
Although this was before the Custodes wore their new Auramite armour, and had still worn armour without powered enhancements, which the Legate Marshal has aggressively reminded people of. Emphasising that the Custodes was more burnt meat and molten armour than posthuman warrior when the charge happened and that the Custodes was still able to kill most of his men.
You gawk for a moment and then nod eagerly. A moment with the Legate Marshal? It would advance your ambitions greatly.
The heavy gauntlet of his life support-armour is put on your shoulder and he quickly ushers you away from the mess hall and towards his private dining suite. Your mind races as you consider what you want to ask first.
"I have read your dossier after your successful mission, as I was impressed by your actions and wanted to learn more about you and something caught my eye. You're a child of the Sallas family right? The autogun makers? If so do tell me. Why does your family specialise in those? Las is where the real money is made after all."
It was blatantly evident to you. Your family background had caught his attention and now he was assessing your worth.
The sales pitch for Sallas Arms Autoguns had been drilled into your brain, almost like a hypno-conditioning. "A garrison doesn't need a lasgun. A reliable Sallas autogun will do the job. It won't jam, it has just the right weight, and can withstand even harsh environmental conditions."
A smug smirk appears on his thin lips. "I'm well acquainted with their marketing strategy, Sub-Lieutenant. They plastered it all over the self defense vid-networks." He adjusts the tube in his nose before continuing. "But I must ask, why does your family not produce any Las-weapons?"
You frown in annoyance. "Franc is a nation of Autogun factories. Only the Ef-En Tech-Clan produces las-weapons but they primarily supply the state for Imperial Tithe payments. And I hardly consider them proper Franks." You add another issue to the mix. "And with the War Council's mandate for power-pack infantry weapons for the Imperial army and Solar Auxilia, it has severely restricted our arms industry. Sallas is forced to rely on equipping the police forces of other states and provincial militias to turn a profit."
There is no mention of the fact that although the sales of autoguns are as good as they've ever been. Sallas Arms are being typecast as low status manufacturer, which is reducing possible contracts.
A nod of approval. He continues. "Do you know why it is almost impossible for Franc to break into the business of selling firearms to the Imperial Army?"
A deep frown creases your brow. Your words drip with bitterness and resentment as you discuss the state of the solar intra-system commerce. "Not to mention, Mars has an iron grip on lasguns for the Imperial Army, and Saturn is undisputed as the source of Lasrifles for the Solar Auxilia." You shake your head. "I know some Franc merchants have made a profit selling artificer-made high-grade energy weapons and exotic techno-arcana." A field that has always been out of reach for your family, despite their wealth and influence.
He interlocks his fingers, creating a steeple. "The techno-clan crafting techniques may always have a market, but they are too slow for competition. Franc lacks the necessary crafting expertise and knowledge of obscure technology to be a major competitor with the Martians and Saturnynes. Our domestic production of lasrifles relies heavily on old machinery and foundries that we cannot replicate." He studies your reaction, giving you a chance to respond.
"There will always be a demand in our domestic market," you mumble, chewing on your lower lip. "But it limits our industry's growth potential."
"You are well-informed. I presume this is because your family business holds significant importance to you?"
"Absolutely, sir."
He acknowledges your statement with a nod. "I've thoroughly researched your family's business. Your family controls each step in the production chain of autoguns and the machines used to make them. You have no outdated foundries or ancestral obligations to hold you back. From mining the ore to creating the Autoguns, your family handles every aspect of the process and have the knowledge and expertise needed to replicate it. That is quite rare."
You give a reluctant nod in agreement. "Unfortunately, it also means we lack the prestige and the credit. Our Autoguns may be top-notch, but no first line army unit wants to purchase them. We don't have any prestigious Maker's Mark from Mars or from an ancient pre-Old Night foundry adorning our works."
The old Marshal's eyes twinkled as he poured himself a glass of red wine. He leaned back and talked to himself out loud, "What if Franc became a player in the offworld arms market … beyond the Solar System? what If it became the first to arrive at new worlds to provide manufacturing infrastructure without all the red tape the Martians bring with them."
Your smile widened as you understood the implications. You quickly hid your excitement and nodded, pretending to just be humouring the musings of an old man.
"But as you know, the license for offworld arms trading is hard to acquire, and there's currently little demand for anything other than top of the line equipment," the Marshal continued.
You couldn't agree more. Your family had been trying to obtain that coveted license for years, but without proof of an active contract, it was nearly impossible.
The Marshal went on, "All the las-weapon sellers are content with supplying only the Imperium. The Martians are bastards and will only produce for you, if you give them land and let them do what they wish. And nobody is selling wholesale weapons-manufacturing infrastructure. But once the wars begin, there will be many worlds requiring equipment. Uniforms, Helmets, arms, and munitions. And who will sell to these planetary militias and colonial efforts? None will, I'd say. It is a tragedy waiting to happen."
You took another sip of wine, the red liquid flavoured with the sweet sweet taste of insider knowledge. "Quite tragic, sir."
The Marshal smiles. "Although, speaking of equipment. My retinue will require new pistols at some point. Quite a sizeable amount in fact. Although I unfortunetly have not found a proper source yet."
"Please continue musing, sir."
The Marshal nodded. "You had Veletaris assigned to your sub-tercio. Their leader is the scion of the Chjandelmak family." He leans forward and gives a grin that makes it very clear what he wants next. "Take very good care of them."
You blink at the implication, wondering for a moment why the Marshal wanted this person dead. The Chjandelmak were low nobility, were they not? One of the previous crop of nobles that were overthrown by the last revolution. But to kill someone as they served in the Imperial Military almost felt off. And it would need to be done discreetly.
You do not show a hint of emotion as you signal a waiter and have him bring you the veal cutlet in truffle sauce and a glass of wine. Rank has its advantages.
Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, leader of your Cohort, has made it known that he requires someone in the Regiment killed, in a way that does not incriminate him.
If the Veletaris Section is destroyed on Proteus in a way that does not arouse suspicion, then your family will be richly rewarded. This means not sending him on his own against a by far superior foe.
The turn after the battles on Proteus are over, you will be given the opportunity to make use of the knowledge you acquired.
You feel the heavy dropship shake as it carries your Tercio to the surface of Proteus. Sergeant Philip "Pip" leans over and mutters to you, "That Proteus fella is a real ugly bastard, ain't it?" Some of the other non-commissioned officers and lower-ranked officers around you chuckle at his remark, but quickly fall silent when Lieutenant Albert Nellyat, commander of Tercio Primaris, takes the stage.
You can't help but eye his uniform and rank insignia, silently pondering what you will look like in the same position someday.
"Attention, soldiers," Albert barks, his expression stern. The Lieutenant has donned his Void-Armour and is followed closely by a burly lifeward whose head constantly moves from side to side as he scans the room, possibly a Nervejack implant for speed. "You will be in the second line of our attack on Proteus. Our mission is to eliminate the Xenoform mass! Proteus is a Class-A Xenos infestation, capable of spreading to other worlds if it absorbs enough energy or if it isn't destroyed properly." He presses a few buttons on his left gauntlet, bringing up a hololith in the helmet of each soldier in the dropship.
He adjusts the Hololith's display to show the size of the moon and the massive, foreign flesh that has engulfed part of it. "Proteus feeds off on electromagnetic energy and cannot be killed with energy weapons alone and breaking it apart with kinetics risks contaminating the Solar System. Therefore, we will resort to a traditional method - chemical sprayers and flamethrowers."
"We will land, and immediately engage the mass. The Cymoeba are an unknown threat, but are liable to become agitated once we begin the assault. When we do, it will be our task to engage their ground forces as the Mechanicum and the Revenant Legion begin clearing away our enemy. Destroyer Sections are authorised to deploy Phosphex. Rad bombardment has already commenced, and we will be fighting in a rad-zone. Keep an eye on your counteragents and exposure. Rad-treatments are a bitch."
The Lieutenant slams a fist on his chest and shouts. "Vive L'Empereur!" A shout echoed by the soldiers.
The landing on Proteus was uncontested, and the Seventh Cohort was able to file out and begin the march on the Cymoeba immediately upon landing. Fifty-thousand soldiers deploy onto the surface within an hour, their landing ships to be used as bases while deployed within the vacuum, while more troops are preparing to land on command once the battle has begun.
The newly reconstituted Sub-Tercio Delta is arrayed out half a kilometre from the edge of Proteus's mass. You look out at the front lines with your enhanced magnification settings on your helmet. There is a chain of vacuum-rated heavy servitors ,and Solar Auxilia, and Revenant Legion formations, all of them equipped with chemical sprayers and flamethrowers, preparing to burn through the mass.
Your Sub-Tercio is in the back, ready to move into the fighting once it begins. The non-existent air is tense as the Imperium digs in, sets up its weapons, and prepares for the fighting.
Void-Sergeant Jeanne is rousing her squad by talking about the rewards for this fight. Void-Sergeant Amélie meanwhile is patrolling her section, examining their positions and scolding the slightest failure she can take note of, of which there are few. "Pip" is preparing his servitors, stasis-chest with Phosphex shells, and ensuring that his Rapier is ready to fire.
You glance at the new sections and their leaders. You know their names, but not who they are. And personally, you'd rather not learn their personalities on the eve of such a major battle. Perhaps afterwards, if they prove lucky enough to be worth emotionally investing into.
The Veletaris Sergeant, Anniet Chjandelmak, fidgets slightly as he adjusts the grip on his Storm-Axe. His Veletaris are practising team drills, fighting in pairs against superior foes.
You just sit there and lean over the stone you're using for cover. Down the hill, the attack is about to start. You whistle a command and your troops immediately move into position, ready to fire down in support of the front ranks.
Across Proteus, tens of thousands of Solar Auxilia in the front ranks, from eight Cohorts, all begin to march forward. The newer Terran Cohorts moving in tight formations, whereas the single Saturnyne Cohort that is assisting you, will be moving in small squads under heavy rapier support. Across a front stretching fifty kilometres, the attack begins.
As the first flamers begin to burn away the surface layer of Proteus, the mass begins to shiver.
Where the mass has burnt and cracked, a thick transparent liquid that defies the near-vacuum flows forward, marble-sized creatures swimming through it. The liquid moves with uncanny purpose, slithering up the legs of those Solar Auxilia and servitors close enough to be engulfed. You can see the flamers being dropped as the men are brought down by creatures adhering to the suits and burning through as they dissolve, allowing the liquid inside.
"Fuck me!" Jeanne yells. "What is that stuff!?"
You mute the vox to shut off the sounds of good soldiers melting into a sludge that flows through the fluid in red patches, even as their suits are dutifully disassembled by swarms of the creatures working in cooperation.
"Inflammation." Amélie growls. "Fluid. Those things must be the antibodies."
"Then we should be able to see the white blood cells as well." You mumble, flicking your Volkite Serpenta off the safety. Your Sub-Tercio is tense, glaring at the sight of the frontline pulling back and hitting the mass of Proteus with their flamers, trying to burn away the fluid, even as gouts of caustic chemicals are sent splashing across the meat of Proteus.
Scaled sections of the hills slough off, detaching and sliding open to reveal arrayed legions of Cymoeba infantry. They advance through the fluid, unbothered by the antibodies advancing to the edge of the fluid and moving no further. The macro-cells flow up their forms, bringing with them biomass and machinery that begins to augment their ranks.
Emerging from hydraulic elevators of equal parts meat and steel that open like the winking of a great eye, are the enemy war-walkers. The creatures, each the size of a tank, open fire with cybernetic bio-lasers. Great fleshy maws on the tanks open up, sucking down the liquified Solar Auxilia and drinking deep, glowy nodules on their bodies glowing brighter as they do.
"Open fire!" You command. The Lasrifles of your Sub-Tercio join the rest of the Sub-Cohort as they pour lasbolts into the enemy assault, even as Sub-Cohort Tertius near the front engages the aliens in close quarters firefights. There is an advantage to being the second line
Within a minute, the horizon is alight with streaks of lasfire, pillars of white, and the distant flashes of actinic light as rad-munitions are deployed on the great beast. Your armour begins injecting you with pre-emptive counter-agents to ward off the radiation. A chill runs down your spine as you see the amount of Phosphex being deployed across the surface of Proteus is producing enough smoke to turn the sky white. Spheres of purple emerge intermittently as Vortex munitions detonate.
The first Astartes drop-pods and landing crafts begin to descend onto the battlefield, spilling out Revenant Legion Destroyer squads who immediately begin unloading rad-missiles and firing chem-throwers into the enemy. The Solar Auxilia retreat stalls for a moment, and the tide begins to turn.
Then the order goes out across the vox-net. "Advance."
You crouch back down behind the grey corpse of the Revenant space marine, scooting over so the Apothecary cutting into it can perform his work. After he finishes, he slams down the corpse of the Solar Auxiliary that had covered the Revenant before and re-secures it into the barricade with a spray of armour cement. Your Sub-Tercio has taken negligible losses so far, as the front lines are still taking the brunt of the beating.
You feel the body behind you shudder as Cymoeba small arms fire digs into it. Your Volkite chimes and you unplug it from the Marine's backpack. Glancing up out of cover, you examine the battlefield unfolding at the edge of Proteus's mass. In the sky, you see an Imperial Frigate burn its engines as hard as it can, trying to break free of a tentacle that seeks to draw it onto a massive maw.
On the left flank, you see Ogryn-sized walkers that are lashing out with tentacles fitted with buzzing blades and drills. They snatch up the dead and dying, throwing them into a mouth like a mixture of a snake and a grinder. Veletaris with storm-axes are fighting back, working in teams of two, hacking at the tendrils and legs of the foe, while a Support Section with Volkites are providing covering fire.
On the right flank, the Revenant Legion has taken a crater and is holding it from a heavy Cymoeba assault. They are in the process of firing Phosphex upon the enemy, although the Cymoeba are retaliating with their own chemical launchers from some kind of tank-sized Scorpid construct.
In the centre, you can see that the line is starting to buckle. Lieutenant Albert and Sub-Tercios Alpha and Beta are holding off a much larger force of Cymoeba, half of them have bodies suited for melee combat.
The Lieutenant is going to be killed any moment now, and when it happens, the line is liable to buckle. By the time you get there, he is certain to be dead.
But the Cymoeba will be bloodied, and a successful assault might throw them off the hill and allow for a drop pod assault on your position to aid in throwing the enemy back.
Or you could dig in, and prepare to hold the breach from the enemy assault, forming a place allied forces can retreat to, hold the line, and call down support.
You glance to each flank, then make your decision.
Your current command:
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-Fourth Lasrifle Section.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section.
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
Engagement areas:
[]Left Flank:
A Section of Veletaris with storm axes and one with volkites are engaging enemy combat walkers and being pushed back.
At least two units of enemy walkers, and two Cymoeba units.
You are defending.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
[]Center:
Lieutenant Albert and sub-sections Alpha and Beta are being overrun by the Cymoeba. You will not be able to save them in time.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
-Write in if you will:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
Dig in and let them come to you, while requesting reinforcements.
[]Right Flank: Thee large forces of Cymoeba and a supporting construct are attempting to breach a crater held by a squad of the Revenant Legion.
You are defending.
This Engagement is Hostile. You will need to roll for attrition.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
Plan voting
Because this is a hard decision, and I am going to bed, voting will start in 11 hours so I can be there as it begins.
Discussing plans and posting plan ideas is allowed. Its just voting that has to wait.
You have been anticipating this moment. It's your first chance to wine and dine with the upper class that you aspire to join. Your long blonde hair has been carefully washed by one of the Cohort's professional barbers and repaired from being flattened under your helmet.
Appearances are important, especially for those aspiring to high society. A skilled aesthetech of the Alpyne Tech-Clans had subtly prepared you for high society. Nothing major, just preparations to give you a timeless appearance. An emphasized slightly androgynous build, safeguarded against the onset of aging and stress by a few injections, a tightening of the cheeks, and your jawline being made just a slightly bit more fierce.
You know that its a common jest among the men and women that you're the prettiest officer in the Sub-Section, and it does get a chuckle out of you. Personally, you'd be happy to assert a bit more of a masculine appearance, but have learned to appreciate it's beauty, and the way it helps pave the way for high society.
The faint scent of lilacs lingers around you, applied alongside corrective makeup. The same smell that came from the little herbal garden around the small country estate of your family.
Fiercely ambitious, your parents did not indulge in frivolous luxury, instead putting their wealth into investments of metal and flesh alike. The smell is a reminder of home and brings comfort in this unfamiliar and uncertain environment.
Your family's wealth is notable, but utterly lacking in power and prestige. No ancient pedigree, no maker's mark of a Tech-Clan, Labour Guild, or Corpclave.
That is why you are here.
If not for the damn Martians, your family would be providing arms to the Expeditionary Fleets. But your family can not compete with Martian lasguns, and so you instead arm the troops that remain. Good reliable weaponry for militia, second line formations, enforcers, private security, and lesser Arbites precincts.
You allow yourself to indulge in the luxury and extravagance of the officer's dining hall. The Argent Heart's grand dining hall is a sea of navy blue and white, accentuated with gold accents and buttons to match any visible cybernetics. The menu for the evening is opulent, fitting for the status of the Cohort's officers. Veal, truffles, fillet mignon, caviar, foie gras escargot - each dish is more exquisite than the last.
To accommodate the officers' preferences, polished wooden tables have been brought aboard the Jovian troop transport, causing great expense and complaints from the Voidborn. Servants move elegantly between tables, laying out fine china and silverware. You suppress a smile at the memory of the overly critical Tech-Shaman from Mars grumbling about an all-human catering and kitchen staff.
"A moment if you would, Sub-Lieutenant."
You stop dead in your tracks as you hear the voice of Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre from behind you. It overpowers the pride you feel at being addressed by your new rank for the first time.
Legate Marshal Mardon is a surprisingly small man, although he does well to hide it. The Frank is sealed inside a suit of life support armour that has been richly decorated. An oxygen mask covers his face, and a nasogastric tube goes down his nose, both connected to a backpack which contains his life support and the fusion reactor which powers it.
You've read the stories about the old Marshal, both the official memoirs and the accounts of his soldiers, a company commander in the Second Frontier army that defeated the first Imperial invasion of Franc over a century ago, where he personally led a bayonet charge to kill a wounded Custodes.
Although this was before the Custodes wore their new Auramite armour, and had still worn armour without powered enhancements, which the Legate Marshal has aggressively reminded people of. Emphasising that the Custodes was more burnt meat and molten armour than posthuman warrior when the charge happened and that the Custodes was still able to kill most of his men.
You gawk for a moment and then nod eagerly. A moment with the Legate Marshal? It would advance your ambitions greatly.
The heavy gauntlet of his life support-armour is put on your shoulder and he quickly ushers you away from the mess hall and towards his private dining suite. Your mind races as you consider what you want to ask first.
"I have read your dossier after your successful mission, as I was impressed by your actions and wanted to learn more about you and something caught my eye. You're a child of the Sallas family right? The autogun makers? If so do tell me. Why does your family specialise in those? Las is where the real money is made after all."
It was blatantly evident to you. Your family background had caught his attention and now he was assessing your worth.
The sales pitch for Sallas Arms Autoguns had been drilled into your brain, almost like a hypno-conditioning. "A garrison doesn't need a lasgun. A reliable Sallas autogun will do the job. It won't jam, it has just the right weight, and can withstand even harsh environmental conditions."
A smug smirk appears on his thin lips. "I'm well acquainted with their marketing strategy, Sub-Lieutenant. They plastered it all over the self defense vid-networks." He adjusts the tube in his nose before continuing. "But I must ask, why does your family not produce any Las-weapons?"
You frown in annoyance. "Franc is a nation of Autogun factories. Only the Ef-En Tech-Clan produces las-weapons but they primarily supply the state for Imperial Tithe payments. And I hardly consider them proper Franks." You add another issue to the mix. "And with the War Council's mandate for power-pack infantry weapons for the Imperial army and Solar Auxilia, it has severely restricted our arms industry. Sallas is forced to rely on equipping the police forces of other states and provincial militias to turn a profit."
There is no mention of the fact that although the sales of autoguns are as good as they've ever been. Sallas Arms are being typecast as low status manufacturer, which is reducing possible contracts.
A nod of approval. He continues. "Do you know why it is almost impossible for Franc to break into the business of selling firearms to the Imperial Army?"
A deep frown creases your brow. Your words drip with bitterness and resentment as you discuss the state of the solar intra-system commerce. "Not to mention, Mars has an iron grip on lasguns for the Imperial Army, and Saturn is undisputed as the source of Lasrifles for the Solar Auxilia." You shake your head. "I know some Franc merchants have made a profit selling artificer-made high-grade energy weapons and exotic techno-arcana." A field that has always been out of reach for your family, despite their wealth and influence.
He interlocks his fingers, creating a steeple. "The techno-clan crafting techniques may always have a market, but they are too slow for competition. Franc lacks the necessary crafting expertise and knowledge of obscure technology to be a major competitor with the Martians and Saturnynes. Our domestic production of lasrifles relies heavily on old machinery and foundries that we cannot replicate." He studies your reaction, giving you a chance to respond.
"There will always be a demand in our domestic market," you mumble, chewing on your lower lip. "But it limits our industry's growth potential."
"You are well-informed. I presume this is because your family business holds significant importance to you?"
"Absolutely, sir."
He acknowledges your statement with a nod. "I've thoroughly researched your family's business. Your family controls each step in the production chain of autoguns and the machines used to make them. You have no outdated foundries or ancestral obligations to hold you back. From mining the ore to creating the Autoguns, your family handles every aspect of the process and have the knowledge and expertise needed to replicate it. That is quite rare."
You give a reluctant nod in agreement. "Unfortunately, it also means we lack the prestige and the credit. Our Autoguns may be top-notch, but no first line army unit wants to purchase them. We don't have any prestigious Maker's Mark from Mars or from an ancient pre-Old Night foundry adorning our works."
The old Marshal's eyes twinkled as he poured himself a glass of red wine. He leaned back and talked to himself out loud, "What if Franc became a player in the offworld arms market … beyond the Solar System? what If it became the first to arrive at new worlds to provide manufacturing infrastructure without all the red tape the Martians bring with them."
Your smile widened as you understood the implications. You quickly hid your excitement and nodded, pretending to just be humouring the musings of an old man.
"But as you know, the license for offworld arms trading is hard to acquire, and there's currently little demand for anything other than top of the line equipment," the Marshal continued.
You couldn't agree more. Your family had been trying to obtain that coveted license for years, but without proof of an active contract, it was nearly impossible.
The Marshal went on, "All the las-weapon sellers are content with supplying only the Imperium. The Martians are bastards and will only produce for you, if you give them land and let them do what they wish. And nobody is selling wholesale weapons-manufacturing infrastructure. But once the wars begin, there will be many worlds requiring equipment. Uniforms, Helmets, arms, and munitions. And who will sell to these planetary militias and colonial efforts? None will, I'd say. It is a tragedy waiting to happen."
You took another sip of wine, the red liquid flavoured with the sweet sweet taste of insider knowledge. "Quite tragic, sir."
The Marshal smiles. "Although, speaking of equipment. My retinue will require new pistols at some point. Quite a sizeable amount in fact. Although I unfortunetly have not found a proper source yet."
"Please continue musing, sir."
The Marshal nodded. "You had Veletaris assigned to your sub-tercio. Their leader is the scion of the Chjandelmak family." He leans forward and gives a grin that makes it very clear what he wants next. "Take very good care of them."
You blink at the implication, wondering for a moment why the Marshal wanted this person dead. The Chjandelmak were low nobility, were they not? One of the previous crop of nobles that were overthrown by the last revolution. But to kill someone as they served in the Imperial Military almost felt off. And it would need to be done discreetly.
You do not show a hint of emotion as you signal a waiter and have him bring you the veal cutlet in truffle sauce and a glass of wine. Rank has its advantages.
Legate Marshal Mardon Lentierre, leader of your Cohort, has made it known that he requires someone in the Regiment killed, in a way that does not incriminate him.
If the Veletaris Section is destroyed on Proteus in a way that does not arouse suspicion, then your family will be richly rewarded. This means not sending him on his own against a by far superior foe.
The turn after the battles on Proteus are over, you will be given the opportunity to make use of the knowledge you acquired.
You feel the heavy dropship shake as it carries your Tercio to the surface of Proteus. Sergeant Philip "Pip" leans over and mutters to you, "That Proteus fella is a real ugly bastard, ain't it?" Some of the other non-commissioned officers and lower-ranked officers around you chuckle at his remark, but quickly fall silent when Lieutenant Albert Nellyat, commander of Tercio Primaris, takes the stage.
You can't help but eye his uniform and rank insignia, silently pondering what you will look like in the same position someday.
"Attention, soldiers," Albert barks, his expression stern. The Lieutenant has donned his Void-Armour and is followed closely by a burly lifeward whose head constantly moves from side to side as he scans the room, possibly a Nervejack implant for speed. "You will be in the second line of our attack on Proteus. Our mission is to eliminate the Xenoform mass! Proteus is a Class-A Xenos infestation, capable of spreading to other worlds if it absorbs enough energy or if it isn't destroyed properly." He presses a few buttons on his left gauntlet, bringing up a hololith in the helmet of each soldier in the dropship.
He adjusts the Hololith's display to show the size of the moon and the massive, foreign flesh that has engulfed part of it. "Proteus feeds off on electromagnetic energy and cannot be killed with energy weapons alone and breaking it apart with kinetics risks contaminating the Solar System. Therefore, we will resort to a traditional method - chemical sprayers and flamethrowers."
"We will land, and immediately engage the mass. The Cymoeba are an unknown threat, but are liable to become agitated once we begin the assault. When we do, it will be our task to engage their ground forces as the Mechanicum and the Revenant Legion begin clearing away our enemy. Destroyer Sections are authorised to deploy Phosphex. Rad bombardment has already commenced, and we will be fighting in a rad-zone. Keep an eye on your counteragents and exposure. Rad-treatments are a bitch."
The Lieutenant slams a fist on his chest and shouts. "Vive L'Empereur!" A shout echoed by the soldiers.
The landing on Proteus was uncontested, and the Seventh Cohort was able to file out and begin the march on the Cymoeba immediately upon landing. Fifty-thousand soldiers deploy onto the surface within an hour, their landing ships to be used as bases while deployed within the vacuum, while more troops are preparing to land on command once the battle has begun.
The newly reconstituted Sub-Tercio Delta is arrayed out half a kilometre from the edge of Proteus's mass. You look out at the front lines with your enhanced magnification settings on your helmet. There is a chain of vacuum-rated heavy servitors ,and Solar Auxilia, and Revenant Legion formations, all of them equipped with chemical sprayers and flamethrowers, preparing to burn through the mass.
Your Sub-Tercio is in the back, ready to move into the fighting once it begins. The non-existent air is tense as the Imperium digs in, sets up its weapons, and prepares for the fighting.
Void-Sergeant Jeanne is rousing her squad by talking about the rewards for this fight. Void-Sergeant Amélie meanwhile is patrolling her section, examining their positions and scolding the slightest failure she can take note of, of which there are few. "Pip" is preparing his servitors, stasis-chest with Phosphex shells, and ensuring that his Rapier is ready to fire.
You glance at the new sections and their leaders. You know their names, but not who they are. And personally, you'd rather not learn their personalities on the eve of such a major battle. Perhaps afterwards, if they prove lucky enough to be worth emotionally investing into.
The Veletaris Sergeant, Anniet Chjandelmak, fidgets slightly as he adjusts the grip on his Storm-Axe. His Veletaris are practising team drills, fighting in pairs against superior foes.
You just sit there and lean over the stone you're using for cover. Down the hill, the attack is about to start. You whistle a command and your troops immediately move into position, ready to fire down in support of the front ranks.
Across Proteus, tens of thousands of Solar Auxilia in the front ranks, from eight Cohorts, all begin to march forward. The newer Terran Cohorts moving in tight formations, whereas the single Saturnyne Cohort that is assisting you, will be moving in small squads under heavy rapier support. Across a front stretching fifty kilometres, the attack begins.
As the first flamers begin to burn away the surface layer of Proteus, the mass begins to shiver.
Where the mass has burnt and cracked, a thick transparent liquid that defies the near-vacuum flows forward, marble-sized creatures swimming through it. The liquid moves with uncanny purpose, slithering up the legs of those Solar Auxilia and servitors close enough to be engulfed. You can see the flamers being dropped as the men are brought down by creatures adhering to the suits and burning through as they dissolve, allowing the liquid inside.
"Fuck me!" Jeanne yells. "What is that stuff!?"
You mute the vox to shut off the sounds of good soldiers melting into a sludge that flows through the fluid in red patches, even as their suits are dutifully disassembled by swarms of the creatures working in cooperation.
"Inflammation." Amélie growls. "Fluid. Those things must be the antibodies."
"Then we should be able to see the white blood cells as well." You mumble, flicking your Volkite Serpenta off the safety. Your Sub-Tercio is tense, glaring at the sight of the frontline pulling back and hitting the mass of Proteus with their flamers, trying to burn away the fluid, even as gouts of caustic chemicals are sent splashing across the meat of Proteus.
Scaled sections of the hills slough off, detaching and sliding open to reveal arrayed legions of Cymoeba infantry. They advance through the fluid, unbothered by the antibodies advancing to the edge of the fluid and moving no further. The macro-cells flow up their forms, bringing with them biomass and machinery that begins to augment their ranks.
Emerging from hydraulic elevators of equal parts meat and steel that open like the winking of a great eye, are the enemy war-walkers. The creatures, each the size of a tank, open fire with cybernetic bio-lasers. Great fleshy maws on the tanks open up, sucking down the liquified Solar Auxilia and drinking deep, glowy nodules on their bodies glowing brighter as they do.
"Open fire!" You command. The Lasrifles of your Sub-Tercio join the rest of the Sub-Cohort as they pour lasbolts into the enemy assault, even as Sub-Cohort Tertius near the front engages the aliens in close quarters firefights. There is an advantage to being the second line
Within a minute, the horizon is alight with streaks of lasfire, pillars of white, and the distant flashes of actinic light as rad-munitions are deployed on the great beast. Your armour begins injecting you with pre-emptive counter-agents to ward off the radiation. A chill runs down your spine as you see the amount of Phosphex being deployed across the surface of Proteus is producing enough smoke to turn the sky white. Spheres of purple emerge intermittently as Vortex munitions detonate.
The first Astartes drop-pods and landing crafts begin to descend onto the battlefield, spilling out Revenant Legion Destroyer squads who immediately begin unloading rad-missiles and firing chem-throwers into the enemy. The Solar Auxilia retreat stalls for a moment, and the tide begins to turn.
Then the order goes out across the vox-net. "Advance."
You crouch back down behind the grey corpse of the Revenant space marine, scooting over so the Apothecary cutting into it can perform his work. After he finishes, he slams down the corpse of the Solar Auxiliary that had covered the Revenant before and re-secures it into the barricade with a spray of armour cement. Your Sub-Tercio has taken negligible losses so far, as the front lines are still taking the brunt of the beating.
You feel the body behind you shudder as Cymoeba small arms fire digs into it. Your Volkite chimes and you unplug it from the Marine's backpack. Glancing up out of cover, you examine the battlefield unfolding at the edge of Proteus's mass. In the sky, you see an Imperial Frigate burn its engines as hard as it can, trying to break free of a tentacle that seeks to draw it onto a massive maw.
On the left flank, you see Ogryn-sized walkers that are lashing out with tentacles fitted with buzzing blades and drills. They snatch up the dead and dying, throwing them into a mouth like a mixture of a snake and a grinder. Veletaris with storm-axes are fighting back, working in teams of two, hacking at the tendrils and legs of the foe, while a Support Section with Volkites are providing covering fire.
On the right flank, the Revenant Legion has taken a crater and is holding it from a heavy Cymoeba assault. They are in the process of firing Phosphex upon the enemy, although the Cymoeba are retaliating with their own chemical launchers from some kind of tank-sized Scorpid construct.
In the centre, you can see that the line is starting to buckle. Lieutenant Albert and Sub-Tercios Alpha and Beta are holding off a much larger force of Cymoeba, half of them have bodies suited for melee combat.
The Lieutenant is going to be killed any moment now, and when it happens, the line is liable to buckle. By the time you get there, he is certain to be dead.
But the Cymoeba will be bloodied, and a successful assault might throw them off the hill and allow for a drop pod assault on your position to aid in throwing the enemy back.
Or you could dig in, and prepare to hold the breach from the enemy assault, forming a place allied forces can retreat to, hold the line, and call down support.
You glance to each flank, then make your decision.
Your current command:
-First Lasrifle Section. You are in command of this Section.
-Second Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Amélie Beaufort
-Third Lasrifle Section. Led by Void Sergeant Jeanne
-Fourth Lasrifle Section.
-First Rapier Destroyer Support Section. Led by Sergeant Philip "Pip" Bernadotte.
-First Auxilia Flamer Section.
-First Veletaris Storm-Axe Section. Led by Anniet Chjandelmak.
Engagement areas:
[]Left Flank:
A Section of Veletaris with storm axes and one with volkites are engaging enemy combat walkers and being pushed back.
At least two units of enemy walkers, and two Cymoeba units.
You are defending.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
[]Center:
Lieutenant Albert and sub-sections Alpha and Beta are being overrun by the Cymoeba. You will not be able to save them in time.
-Write in which Sections you will deploy.
-Write in if you will:
Attack to take the Cymoeba by surprise, requesting reinforcements as you do so.
Dig in and let them come to you, while requesting reinforcements.
[]Right Flank: Thee large forces of Cymoeba and a supporting construct are attempting to breach a crater held by a squad of the Revenant Legion.
You are defending.
This Engagement is Hostile. You will need to roll for attrition.
-Write in if and what you will deploy.
Plan voting
Because this is a hard decision, and I am going to bed, voting will start in 11 hours so I can be there as it begins.
Discussing plans and posting plan ideas is allowed. Its just voting that has to wait.
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- Location
- France
"FN tech clan". The future is grim and dark indeed.
...oh, wow, politics! Also ridding the only power weapon Section we currently have... Well...
RandomTechPriest
He Who Steals Toasters
Ahhhhh, politics, got to love it. On the bright side, we might accidentally kill the Storm-Axe Section anyways with how we deploy our troops. If they were to die killing some war walkers that's just a cherry on top for me.
- Location
- Netherlands
Char creation had these examples:
"Examples include the Terrawatt, Rii-thyon, and Yendainam clans,"
Try to say those phonetically.
RandomTechPriest
He Who Steals Toasters
The Age of Strife is probably the best thing to ever happen to those fuckers. Selling hyper advanced arms to Warlords is just standard business to them.
So what flavor of death are we gonna attempt to off this guy with? I don't think the left flank because they're "only" being pushed back. The center can't hold so having them go up against the ogryn sized bio monsters is a possibility. And there's always just throwing them into a massive firefight to help the marines.
Ragingbear21
Victoria Concordia Crescit
- Location
- Lebanon
I Blame each and every person who voted for Proteus for that tentacle hell we are now in, WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE TENTACLES.
Anw the deal with the legate marshal is big, really big, the amount of money our family and us would make out of this is ridiculous and would greatly satisfy our families position and ambitions, big chance we will become the families favorite and I am certain Big E and especially malcador wouldn't be opposed to this and stop us because we would be going completely against the monopoly of Mars and the mechanicum and decrease the amount of influence they would get in the New Imperium, on the other side of that we will now have to fear sabotage from butthurt toast worshippers (no offence randomtechpriest).
And Also this could be a way to become the legate marshal's protege or at least in his inner circle especially if we have achieve close to the same success we did last turn in this battle while also killing the guy he wants dead. And looks like our superior officer is gonna die, I smell another promotion coming (if we survive and succeed).
as for the tactical perspective, what should we do, I have no idea the situation is pretty bad not gonna lie and even if we weren't trying to kill our veltaris stormaxes, the likelihood that they survive is small in the first place
Anw the deal with the legate marshal is big, really big, the amount of money our family and us would make out of this is ridiculous and would greatly satisfy our families position and ambitions, big chance we will become the families favorite and I am certain Big E and especially malcador wouldn't be opposed to this and stop us because we would be going completely against the monopoly of Mars and the mechanicum and decrease the amount of influence they would get in the New Imperium, on the other side of that we will now have to fear sabotage from butthurt toast worshippers (no offence randomtechpriest).
And Also this could be a way to become the legate marshal's protege or at least in his inner circle especially if we have achieve close to the same success we did last turn in this battle while also killing the guy he wants dead. And looks like our superior officer is gonna die, I smell another promotion coming (if we survive and succeed).
as for the tactical perspective, what should we do, I have no idea the situation is pretty bad not gonna lie and even if we weren't trying to kill our veltaris stormaxes, the likelihood that they survive is small in the first place
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- Location
- Netherlands
Lasguns and Destroyer maybe on the Left Flank to support the Storm Axe and Volkite there.
Having the Storm Axe, Flamer and what we have left on the right (with us) to support the Revenants might be doable and sending the Destroyer Section here feels iffy due to no Armour Saves on Combat.
Reasoning is any Support Sections (of import), will have the Guardian of Storm Axe kick in. Also because I'm pondering the possibility of them taking a hit for the Revenants instead. Being there means we're making others see we don't mind working with the Revenants.
...I do want to secure the Storm Axe and Volkite on the other flank, hopefully we can recruit them after all this. We can probably pincer the Center if we manage to win the Left and Right Flanks?
Having the Storm Axe, Flamer and what we have left on the right (with us) to support the Revenants might be doable and sending the Destroyer Section here feels iffy due to no Armour Saves on Combat.
Reasoning is any Support Sections (of import), will have the Guardian of Storm Axe kick in. Also because I'm pondering the possibility of them taking a hit for the Revenants instead. Being there means we're making others see we don't mind working with the Revenants.
...I do want to secure the Storm Axe and Volkite on the other flank, hopefully we can recruit them after all this. We can probably pincer the Center if we manage to win the Left and Right Flanks?
- Location
- 47° 09′ S, 126° 43′ O
Do you have an idea of who it is ?,my guess is the FN Herstal
If we feel like being an ass we might try to launch Phosphex into the center while those troops are still getting slaughtered. It's a really dickish move though.