Despite the mortar barrage and the possible presence of a sniper, Smoop luxuriated in being able to take the weight off her feet for a minute. It wasn't much, but the break had given her a chance to shake off her lingering fatigue. She didn't feel good - that'd be ridiculous - but at least she didn't feel quite so actively bad.
And having taken that breather, she applied herself to the Auspex once again. Not that she was going to get much credit for saving the rear ends of the entire squad twice in a matter of minutes. But if the squad was alive, she was alive. And that meant a great deal to Nyla Smoop.
OOC: Smoop has replenished her Stimm and pulled the grenades off Antonius, btw.
Albert remains braced against the side of the cover for a few seconds longer than he needed to, just in case the shelling starts again and to gather his thoughts. Once he can fully hear again he took stock of what was going on, shuffling slightly when he heard about the sniper and tried to figure out what he should do, but every plan he thought of was a bad one. Too big to try sneaking, his bag makes trying to rush out a dangerous idea, and his gun takes time to set up to use so he can't just spray and pray to the god-emperor.
In the end, he decided to simply wait and see if the auspex user might notice something, though he is not idle as he does so. Handing our reloads and grenades to those who needed the equipment. (Basically just keep an eye for anything that might try to charge in and topping everyone up on their ammo and gernades)
With secured safe haven, Celine set down her pack and arms, sitting cross-legged against the wall, her hands rising up to form the sign of the Aquila. Perhaps, for a brief moment, if she closed her eyes and ceased to hear the war raging around her, she might pretend to be seated at a shrine on one of the lower mid-levels. Perhaps the lingering pains and grime, the shocks and sheer fatigue of war could briefly vanish from her senses, if she tricked her mind into thinking them non-existent. Her lips moved soundlessly, mouthing the prayer by instinct even as it resounded nowhere beyond her own thoughts.
The squad ducks for what meager cover can be found. An old pipe, the curve of the road, a ditch. Another second, another round slams into the ground, this time a bare dozen meters away. What to do? Get prone and hope to outlast it? Find proper cover? Pray?
"Over here!" A voice shouts amid the tumult. Vaguely recognizable, and with few other options, the squad storms in that direction. A heavy mass hauler, tipped onto it's side. Behind it the remains of a rockcrete building whose purpose lies long forgotten, but right now serves as a shelter, it's heavy roof and three remaining walls protecting a half dozen Penal Legionaries of squad 123-F, and now Squad 123-B.
"Keep your head down!" The voice who'd shouted them over shouts, just ahead of another shell slamming into the ground outside. Sergeant O'Garan, who crouches in cover behind the cab of the mass hauler, daring a look outside after the detonation of the latest shell.
"There's a void-damned Sniper out there too." One of her squad says, as 123-B files in. Corporal Hansan. It's hard not to notice the Youth is standing over one of their squad, the crimson of the wound man's life boiling out from a hastily bandaged wound in the man's neck.
The rest of O'Garan's squad shelters inside the building, but there's enough room for both squads, and the heavy rockcrete walls look sturdy enough to offer some shelter for a rest, so long as one kept away from the windows.
Another shell hammers against the ground outside.
"Really coming down outside." Obed comments.
"What, are you comparing that to rain?" Nora comments from her own position watching one of the entrances.
"How would you know, Voidborn?" Obed snarks.
"We're stuck in bit of a depressure event here." O'Garan mutters towards the newly arrived 123-B soldiers, as the shelling let's up.
"A shit situation." Obed helpfully provides.
"Ye." O'Garan confirms. "There's a PDF Sniper out there that took out Enos." She gestures to the wounded, unconscious man. "Took a few pot shots to pin us down, then the shells started falling."
"Who knows if he's still here." Nora says. "Probably ran off already."
"And I suppose you wanna stick your head out to get it shot off?" Obed asks.
"Nah." Nora shakes her head.
"Doesn't matter, we stay put for now." O'Garan says. "Good to see you, 123-B. Good to see you...most of you made it this far. You still got that medkit?"
Still carried on Celine's back. Shame there's nobody skilled in it's use here, but it's probably better than no skill and no equipment other than a Physik Kit. O'Garan gestures at the wounded man, and the implication is clear.
"Heretic bastards." Hansan mutters, from over the wounded man. "So void-damned many of them. You run into any of the Berserkers yet?"
Berserkers? From the looks of confusion, the soldier takes that as a no.
"Crazy heretics dressed up in robes, like an Adept or priest? Just came right at us, screaming about the Emperor's resurrection and waving swords." Hansan says.
"Gunned them down." Obed says. "But they nearly got us. A few meters less space, and...."
And it'd be fanatics against half trained penal conscripts in a swordfight. Not a recipe for joyous times.
Outside, the last of the mortar shells detonate, but there's no telling if there's still a sniper out there.
"Not just priests out there. Plenty of Militia too, and a few of those SDF types." Nora comments, testily. "Looks like you had a run in or two yourself."
"What've you seen so far, if not those mad priests?" O'Garan asks. "Best to stay aware if we're going to hold this position."
A sensible enough question, though perhaps a better one would be how they're pushing forward.
(OOC: Everyone removes 1 fatigue for getting a chance to rest in a sheltered position.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 0/7 fatigue, Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
Jeradresh tumbled against the wall, sucking in deep breaths of air. Mortars and snipers. How did that one deserter turned convict soldier put it? Another glorious day in the Imperial Guard? Blood of Kings, the Emperor was surely testing him. ...Perhaps for swearing by the Blood of the half-Daemon kings.
He waited a moment to catch his breath, eying the rest of the squad. None of them seemed to be in a hurry to speak up. Maybe not without reason, given the last time someone has spoken up they'd inadvertently communicated with someone who was, apparently, a heretic priest. Jeradresh supposed he was lucky the squad hadn't stoned him to death or some other nonsense. Maybe the rest of the squad had sworn oaths of silence. Like he'd know.
@Sir_Travelsalot
Glancing around the squad, Jeradresh spoke up. "We should still have that medkit somewhere. It was not on...Antonius was it?" He asked, uncertainly. "Celine, I think you have it? Can you take a look at their wounded man? When you're done praying, at least?"
He shook his head, motioning at O'Garan and the rest. "Some local fighters mostly, ambushing us. Killed one of our men. They wore some kind of shrouds? Might have been some kind of cult, I am not sure. And there was a mad priest, but he seemed to think the Imperial Guard was here to aid the rebels. We ah, delivered him the Emperor's most righteous judgement. Nothing like your...Berserkers. God-Emperor bless you for the shelter, regardless." He said, awkwardly fumbling to copy Celine's Aquila hand gesture. He could never remember the exact way it was supposed to be done. Throne help him if he ever had to do the cog-wheel gesture he'd read about.
He paused a moment, hesitating. "...What's an SDF? Or a PDF, for that matter?" He asked, half-bracing to have broken some strange cultural faux-pass. At least they probably wouldn't shoot and stab him like the bloody priest.
He shook his head, motioning at O'Garan and the rest. "Some local fighters mostly, ambushing us. Killed one of our men. They wore some kind of shrouds? Might have been some kind of cult, I am not sure. And there was a mad priest, but he seemed to think the Imperial Guard was here to aid the rebels. We ah, delivered him the Emperor's most righteous judgement. Nothing like your...Berserkers. God-Emperor bless you for the shelter, regardless." He said, awkwardly fumbling to copy Celine's Aquila hand gesture. He could never remember the exact way it was supposed to be done. Throne help him if he ever had to do the cog-wheel gesture he'd read about.
He paused a moment, hesitating. "...What's an SDF? Or a PDF, for that matter?" He asked, half-bracing to have broken some strange cultural faux-pass. At least they probably wouldn't shoot and stab him like the bloody priest.
And having taken that breather, she applied herself to the Auspex once again. Not that she was going to get much credit for saving the rear ends of the entire squad twice in a matter of minutes. But if the squad was alive, she was alive. And that meant a great deal to Nyla Smoop.
You glance at the small attached screen, and where the indicator is pointing, then quickly duck your head out of cover, ready to shout out enemy contacts.
What you see is perhaps even worse.
Commissar Shrake, accompanied as always by two Enforcers in bulky Carapace Plate, stands less than fifty meters away, apparently having a brief conversation with what looks like another squad, temporarily sheltering behind a series of rusted fuel tanks. A moment, and then the Commissar is moving on.
Then the squad the Commissar had spoken to pushes out of cover, bounding forward and firing their lasguns at some distant contact. The air Cracks with the characteristic whip-like noise of a high velocity rifle, and one of the Legionaries stumbles, collapses in the rubble, and is dragged forward into cover by a comrade. The chattering of autorifles joins it a moment later, rejoined by the sound of Legionnaire lasrifles. More mortars answer, distant.
Commissar Shrake just continues walking across the battlefield, heedless of the danger of enemy snipers. You think he's heading towards another nearby squad, judging by the red streaks of lasfire pulsing from behind an overturned cargo truck, but there's no reason to assume he hasn't spotted you either.
You point him out to the rest of the squad, because bad news is best shared when it could get everyone killed otherwise.
"Just great." O'Garan mutters. "Wounded man, pinned down by a Sniper, and now the Hangman's around."
"Maybe he'll miss us." Obed says, though his tone isn't optimistic.
The rest of her squad share a look, then look to Sergeant Cheri, as if looking to see her response to this and how Squad 123-B will react. Their own decision seems uncertain, but whatever it will be, perhaps not the most enthusiastic about leaving this position.
The meaning of the Commissar's presence is well and apparent enough to the whole squad. Rest time's over, time to push forward.
But the question remains: In what manner, and what role with O'Garan's squad play in it?
(OOC: What do? You have some time, so you can scout around, take potshots, try to locate where enemy positions are, scan for mines nearby, etc, before you have to head out of hard cover)
Seeing the commissar out in the open Albert has to stamp down on his instinct to run over and get the man into cover. If only because the commissar would likely shoot him before he even got close. After a minute he was calm again the large man decides to do the next best thing, using the commissar as bait to keep an eye out for any signs of snipers.
With a grunt Albert quickly laid out his heavy stubber to cover the direction that the commissar is walking towards. The hive worlder's finger gently rested next to the trigger as he kept a sharp eye out for enemies.
Smoop had a role in the squad, and her recently discovered ruthlessness aside, she was going to keep doing what she was supposed to do.
The Auspex didn't seem to do so well with mines, but it was certainly fine with lifesigns, so she went with the flow of its machine spirit and set it to scan for human targets. It had found the biggest threat to her personal wellbeing, after all, so it might help with less clear and present ones.
(@Shephard)
"I shall try, sir." Celine climbs up to a crouch from her seated position, seizing the medkit from her pack before walking over to the wounded Legionnaire in O'Garan's charge. A bitter curse on the heretics a thousand times over for killing Sylvia, and ten thousand more if their medicae's absence, already keenly felt, resulted in another soul departing to the God-Emperor's side before their time. Emperor, guide these fumbling hands as they restore your ailing servant.
Orders were no coming and he wasnt sure they would ever come, so he did the best thig he could, he started preparing his granades.
There was supposed to be a Sniper nearby so hopefully he would be able to at least disturb it a little, the if there was the order to charge he would be ready to use his shotgun.
Cheri swore under her breath and put out the LHO she had been smoking on and off since their rest, crushing it underfoot as she picked up her pistol "Snipers... at a time when we don't have any ranged support" She sighs then glances over at Shrake, chewing on her lip for a moment before giving another heavy sigh "Fine, let's go up to try and help the wounded, creeping advance, keep your head low and try not to get it blown off by a sniper rifle, if we survive, maybe we will get a few years off for heroism." She chuckles a bit at her own joke, steeling herself as she picks up the Vox transmitter, ready to lead them in. "O'Garan... your squad is more than free to join, if you want to push up, but some covering fire on that sniper and nearby enemies, even if it doesn't hit the bastards, will be much appreciated"
(As Cheri leads the cautious advance, she will call in for medivac for the wounded ally.)
"Planetary defense force?" Jeradresh asked, curiously. "That sounds like the...I suppose the Throne words would be the Provincial Retinues? Provincial levies? I believe we ran into one of them, leading a squad of the dreg-soldiers."
"I thought the Imperial Guard recruited from Feral Worlds?" He asked. The propaganda of his homeworld had always said the Imperial armies were made from the most savage and barbaric of their peoples, dragged from worlds deliberately kept primitive to better breed obedience and brutality. The 73rd Hezean hadn't exactly seemed to fit that bill, but the ones who had taken him into custody had seemed as backwards as any Imperial shown on the chameleon screens, so he presumed there was some measure of truth. Perhaps it was not so?
"They did not seem too fearsome, even if they did fell one of us. They scattered after their...Ambush...Took casualties. Can I use ambush as a noun such as that?"
Jeradresh glanced around at the other members of his squad, many of them curiously quiet. "Not that I am aware. Perhaps the mortars frighted them beyond speech."
You glance at the small attached screen, and where the indicator is pointing, then quickly duck your head out of cover, ready to shout out enemy contacts.
What you see is perhaps even worse.
Commissar Shrake, accompanied as always by two Enforcers in bulky Carapace Plate, stands less than fifty meters away, apparently having a brief conversation with what looks like another squad, temporarily sheltering behind a series of rusted fuel tanks. A moment, and then the Commissar is moving on.
Then the squad the Commissar had spoken to pushes out of cover, bounding forward and firing their lasguns at some distant contact. The air Cracks with the characteristic whip-like noise of a high velocity rifle, and one of the Legionaries stumbles, collapses in the rubble, and is dragged forward into cover by a comrade. The chattering of autorifles joins it a moment later, rejoined by the sound of Legionnaire lasrifles. More mortars answer, distant.
Commissar Shrake just continues walking across the battlefield, heedless of the danger of enemy snipers. You think he's heading towards another nearby squad, judging by the red streaks of lasfire pulsing from behind an overturned cargo truck, but there's no reason to assume he hasn't spotted you either.
You point him out to the rest of the squad, because bad news is best shared when it could get everyone killed otherwise.
"Just great." O'Garan mutters. "Wounded man, pinned down by a Sniper, and now the Hangman's around."
"Maybe he'll miss us." Obed says, though his tone isn't optimistic.
The rest of her squad share a look, then look to Sergeant Cheri, as if looking to see her response to this and how Squad 123-B will react. Their own decision seems uncertain, but whatever it will be, perhaps not the most enthusiastic about leaving this position.
The meaning of the Commissar's presence is well and apparent enough to the whole squad. Rest time's over, time to push forward.
But the question remains: In what manner, and what role with O'Garan's squad play in it?
(OOC: What do? You have some time, so you can scout around, take potshots, try to locate where enemy positions are, scan for mines nearby, etc, before you have to head out of hard cover)
He presumed it had something to do with hanging up clothes, and how Commissars had very nice coats that probably required extra care.
"How goes the saying...Another glorious day in the Imperial Guard, yes?"
It was too bad the enemy wouldn't shoot at the Commissar. Even these traitors wouldn't be so dishonorable as to fire upon a clearly marked officer. So instead, they would be getting all the bullets, of course. Jeradresh needed to get himself a fancy hat as soon as he could. He just had to figure out how to get the Imperials to recognize his self-evident leadership abilities as a member of the nobility.
Cheri swore under her breath and put out the LHO she had been smoking on and off since their rest, crushing it underfoot as she picked up her pistol "Snipers... at a time when we don't have any ranged support" She sighs then glances over at Shrake, chewing on her lip for a moment before giving another heavy sigh "Fine, let's go up to try and help the wounded, creeping advance, keep your head low and try not to get it blown off by a sniper rifle, if we survive, maybe we will get a few years off for heroism." She chuckles a bit at her own joke, steeling herself as she picks up the Vox transmitter, ready to lead them in. "O'Garan... your squad is more than free to join, if you want to push up, but some covering fire on that sniper and nearby enemies, even if it doesn't hit the bastards, will be much appreciated"
(As Cheri leads the cautious advance, she will call in for medivac for the wounded ally.)
"Ah, it's only a sniper, my sergeant!" Jeradresh laughed, giving a disarming smile. "Someone who thinks they're clever for realizing you can put a scope on a gun. We've worse to fear than such antiquated tactics. I'm more worried about stepping on one of those land mines, eh? Remember, no disarming them by exploding on them, comrades!"
"At the recruitment posts in the hive, they'd shout of how each world gives of themselves to forge the hammer of the God-Emperor. Men and women of a million worlds, each marching forth to give battle across the stars against the enemies of humanity. Suppose they'd take Feral Worlders much like they take gangers; a lifetime spent fighting to survive each day makes for a soldier who'll not flinch amid any bedlam. A pity we're all this world has to call on, hm?" Celine replied to her ever-strange corporal as she finished attending to the wounded man as best she could.
"Planetary defense force?" Jeradresh asked, curiously. "That sounds like the...I suppose the Throne words would be the Provincial Retinues? Provincial levies? I believe we ran into one of them, leading a squad of the dreg-soldiers."
"I thought the Imperial Guard recruited from Feral Worlds?" He asked. The propaganda of his homeworld had always said the Imperial armies were made from the most savage and barbaric of their peoples, dragged from worlds deliberately kept primitive to better breed obedience and brutality. The 73rd Hezean hadn't exactly seemed to fit that bill, but the ones who had taken him into custody had seemed as backwards as any Imperial shown on the chameleon screens, so he presumed there was some measure of truth. Perhaps it was not so?
"....Oh hey, somewhere where the only Guardsmen aren't Cadians." Hansan says, with a surprised laugh.
Cadians? You vaguely recall the term. Some form of Elite Guard, said to all be 8 Feet Tall, with blazing purple eyes and the knowledge of their weapons ingrained from birth. No doubt some lesser form of the 'Astartes' Gene-Warriors you've heard about.
(OOC: Jerad Fails a Lore (Tactica) test with 1 DoF)
"Na, Guard comes in all shape and sizes." O'Garan says. "Recruited from the best of the local PDF."
The Sergeant continues. "On this world, I suppose the Guard would come from the best of the RMCSDF. The best of the ones who haven't turned traitor. On Ritzold, the Guard are recruited from Charter Security's best units, the Special Void Tactics Battalions. Make for good Void-Warfare specialists, since they operate primarily in the Orbital Habitats."
"Just like I'm sure the Guard uses Rorschah units for Urban Warfare." Hansan adds. "Sabans make good Tankers, so they raise Armored Units, Bolwere make good shock troopers, so they raise heavy infantry. And Feral Worlders make good assault troops, because they're already so vicious and tough."
You are familiar with none of these worlds, but it seems to make sense.
(@Shephard)
"I shall try, sir." Celine climbs up to a crouch from her seated position, seizing the medkit from her pack before walking over to the wounded Legionnaire in O'Garan's charge. A bitter curse on the heretics a thousand times over for killing Sylvia, and ten thousand more if their medicae's absence, already keenly felt, resulted in another soul departing to the God-Emperor's side before their time. Emperor, guide these fumbling hands as they restore your ailing servant.
You make sure his bandages are clean, and you inject him with a fresh vial of morphia extract. The man's breathing is shallow though, and you cannot seem to awaken him by any means less than a stimm, and you know doing that likely won't make him useful: He's lost so much blood from the neck wound that his skin is pale even by the ghostly standards of the Voidborn. This man needs a Medicae, not a field dressing.
(OOC: Medicae Failure, 0 DoF. He's not in any danger of in the immediate sense, but you can't really do anything for him here, and he needs a medivac within a half hour or so or he is going to probably die from prior blood loss in your estimation)
Smoop had a role in the squad, and her recently discovered ruthlessness aside, she was going to keep doing what she was supposed to do.
The Auspex didn't seem to do so well with mines, but it was certainly fine with lifesigns, so she went with the flow of its machine spirit and set it to scan for human targets. It had found the biggest threat to her personal wellbeing, after all, so it might help with less clear and present ones.
You ping the Auger, pointing it out a window and staying low to minimize your chance of losing your head.
The response comes back quickly, the machine spirit detecting multiple lifeforms approximately 40 meters ahead. You peak your head out, and, lo and behold, a small building across the ruins, perfectly placed to cover the approach forward. You'd estimate no less than two life signs, no more than six.
A Sniper, and some friends. Well, that was good to know ahead of time.
What is even more important to know ahead of time is Albert thumping you on the shoulder, and pointing to a building to the north. You turn the auger that way, and ping it again.
Single signature, 60 meters ahead, 3 meter elevation relative to your position. That had to be the Sniper then, good, and the rest would be waiting in ambush, you assume.
Ahead, Shrake continues to move forward, heedless of the sniper, his two Enforcers trailing behind. The Sniper, if he is indeed on that roof, holds his fire. The Commissar continues on towards you with intent speed.
(OOC: Awareness Failure, 0 DoF on both of you. Enemy likely failed Stealth with more DoF)
Cheri swore under her breath and put out the LHO she had been smoking on and off since their rest, crushing it underfoot as she picked up her pistol "Snipers... at a time when we don't have any ranged support" She sighs then glances over at Shrake, chewing on her lip for a moment before giving another heavy sigh "Fine, let's go up to try and help the wounded, creeping advance, keep your head low and try not to get it blown off by a sniper rifle, if we survive, maybe we will get a few years off for heroism." She chuckles a bit at her own joke, steeling herself as she picks up the Vox transmitter, ready to lead them in. "O'Garan... your squad is more than free to join, if you want to push up, but some covering fire on that sniper and nearby enemies, even if it doesn't hit the bastards, will be much appreciated"
"Medivac? There's reports of snipers in that location!" Platoon Lieutenant Ansalm's voice comes over the Vox. "Medics are valuable, you aren't. Push forward and deal with those Snipers and Mines, and maybe the Medics can move up behind you."
(OOC: Charm test failed, 4 DoF. You will get another chance once you clear out the enemy positions ahead)
"123-Headquarters Out." The line goes dead.
Well, shit.
Your other attempt to beseech aid is at least a bit more successful.
"Cover fire?" O'Garan says. She considers, uncertainty wavering in her expression. You can see the fear there, the desire to simply duck into cover and let someone else deal with it.
But all but the worst people cannot look someone in the eye and tell them they won't help them when they're taking most of the risk. Few human beings can look a peer in the face and be the most base of cowards in the face of heroism. All she would have to do was stick a lasgun out a window and hose down the positions that Smoop and Albert were indicating.
You have her.
"Ye, we can do that." She says. She glances at her squad, who slowly nod agreement. "Give the signal, and we'll hose down those buildings for you." O'Garan says, as if hardening her commitment.
"We got your back. You get the all the glory, good deal, yeah?" Obed says, checking his lascarbine. Glory was certainly good, but it came with all the risk.
"Just move fast. A lot of ground to cover out there." Hansan adds. "Not sure how long our ammo will hold out, is all."
You steel yourself, shouldering your pack and drawing your weapons. A last glance at the door your squad will be breaching out of, and at the window, where Shrake continues his inexorable march towards this position.
Only a few seconds left before you have to move. No time for regrets, barely enough time for a plan of action.
You have the locations of presumable enemies (marked on the new map, check roll20). Any other brief plans or preparations besides 'Advance at the sniper's location while O'Garan's squad covers us'?
Next update Tuesday.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 0/7 fatigue, Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
Cheri rubs her eyes and sighs as the Medicae is denied, stretching herself as she gets ready to go run into a gun line, and hopefully not die. "Alright, you all see those cars out there? we're gonna make staggered crossings, jumping from car to car so we don't get shot down before we get 10 feet in, ill call O'Garan to cover us each time we make a crossing, and to stop each time we finish, we wanna conserve her ammo." She glances over in the direction that the sniper shots came from and jutted her thumb out "At some point, probably by the truck, we split a bit, someone needs to go up and silence that sniper, the bastard is gonna cause us trouble since we have to expose our flank to him to engage the large group." She gives a smile "Is that all understood?" she paused a bit before continuing "When everyone is ready, I'll make the call to start, May the Emperor have mercy on our souls"
(So Heres The Plan in some OOC detail:
Have Marked Pieces of Cover in R20 with Pink numbers for clarity. We should move from our building to Cover 1, and then Cover 2 to go and engage the 3-6 contacts in the building. 2 maybe 3 of us should head up through cover 3 and then 4 and take out the lone contact, which is presumably the sniper. We probably cant fit 7 of us behind the cars, so we might wanna move into smaller groups for the crossings.
Generally speaking, I will call for O'Garan to start covering whenever we make a crossing between cover, and if we are sheltering in cover, tell her to stop to conserve ammo the best she can to give us the most covering fire we can manage to get.
we got refreshed on grenades in our previous rest stop, so we should probably open our side of the skirmish with them into the building once we get close, we probably want to avoid having to actually charge in there.)
Albert simply gives a thumbs up as he nods at Cheri's plan. He seems to glance at the sniper's place and the group of contacts before saying, "I'll stick with the main group, my pack makes getting over there a dubious possibility." With a light grunt, he folds the bipod to his stubber back up and starts cradling it in his hands again as he gets into position to begin the dash to the car across the way. A barely there smile on his face as he takes a bit of time to adjust the straps of his pack and various pieces of kit on his body.
(Essentially acting as part of Cheri's plan, though if there's ever a good spot to stop and set up my stubber at or after the second piece of cover then I'll take it and start laying fire into the enemies. If not I'll follow along and use my knife if we're forced into melee.)
Mikael gave a nod to signal that hye understood the leader's plan, a part of him was relieved that someone took the initiative to create a plan rather than everyone doing whatever they couldas was usual, this meant he would be able to act better in concert with everyone else,
Now to propose his role in this plan
"I can go first, I am the least injured of us all and I am already ready to enter melee if necessary"
Left unsaid was that he hoped all fire was directed at him.
(OOC: Follow the plan, try to act as the spearhead if possible)
"Go, we got you covered!" O'Garan shouts, and Squad 123-B storms out to meet the enemy.
A hail of crimson light slashes at the buildings ahead, clawing away at decaying rockcrete and screaming for the blood of the Emperor's enemies. A shrouded form, clutching an autogun, ducks back into cover just ahead a beam that would've taken his head off. Other forms lie low, still obscured, but most importantly, not shooting.
The squad reaches the first truck without incident, the enemy being too cowed by the mighty Lasgun to bear to stick their heads out to get shot off. Textbook, though none of Cheri's squad have ever read such a thing on small unit tactics except perhaps Filly.
Albert, the last member of the squad, is about to duck out to take cover behind a pair of pieces of twisted iron debris (there being no more room behind the truck), when Smoop cries out a warning, her Auspex hissing with heat contacts.
Beneath two of the vehicles ahead, muzzle flashes suddenly spring to brilliant life. A Laslock discharges, it's beam slashing across the truck, missing as the Penal Legionnaires scramble to get cover against the renewed threat. Bullets join it, autorifle caliber and ricocheting off the plasteel body of the vehicle and in one case, off Mikael's shoulder plate.
Then, finally, a hammering noise, rhythmic and slow paced compared to a heavy stubber, but high caliber all the same. Fat, heavy slugs embed in the burnt out truck, stitching across and trying to seek out any exposed Penal Legionaries. The squad, no strangers to this, get low, letting the scythe of bullets cut along their cover instead of across them.
Smoop's Auger hisses, and she's able to get a better read on the enemy ahead. Five in the building ahead, two groups of two behind trucks, the sniper, and a group of three in another building dominating the approach forward. Judging by the magnetic readings from the central building, that would be where that heavy stubber is.
(OOC: Most of the Squad is Pinned)
Celine herself know that's not quite the right word. Crank Cannon, the weapon is called, a heavy crank operated mechanical cannon often used by the Hive Militias and by gangs. Cheap, could be assembled in any Hive Workshop. Used low velocity, but heavy rounds. Not especially reliable, but that was hardly much comfort with one laying down hails of fire. What was a minor comfort was the thought that proper Flak should stand up against it fairly reliably.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi) success, 5 DoS).
Of course, that was an intellectual fact. Not one of someone crouched in cover as slivers of plasteel and sparks are hurled down upon them by the hails of fat, heavy rounds striking their cover, nor forced to listen to the maddening drumbeat of it's fire, tempted to drop one's weapons to cover their ears. Courage was not logical, nor was the dynamics of suppression fire.
And neither is the terror that the Commissariat holds in the hearts of soldiers.
Commissar Shrake steps into the open, his two Enforcers trailing behind him. His gaze turns towards where Squad 123-B wait in cover for orders, for the gunner to run out of ammo, for the Emperor to send salvation from the skies, for the noise and the cavalcade to stop.
"The enemy is in front of you, and I am behind you!" Commissar Shrake roars. "Push forward!" He makes the implication explicit, pointing his Bolt pistol in the direction of the enemy.
Resolve does not follow. Not even a lack of fear of the Crank Cannon. But the message is clear. A Crank Cannon and however many laslocks and autorifles might be able to kill a Penal Legionnaire through their flak, given a lucky hit. A bolt pistol, or worse, their explosive Collar, would absolutely be able to do so.
Between the Daemon and the Sea of Souls.
Only one way to go.
(OOC: Shrake successfully terrifies to remove Pinned on everyone except Jerad. Map is updated with new enemy positions and your current positions.
Next update Friday.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell, Pinned (1)
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 0/7 fatigue, Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
Faith and Flak guard me well, lest in shame my soul should dwell, the old chant resounds through Celine's mind as she fishes out another stimm injector. She remembered hearing stories of how sometimes the dosages hadn't been mixed properly for the ones in use by the RMCSDF, so using more than one in an hour, if you were underweight, could lead to an adrenal spike that would burst your heart. She felt briefly conflicted about hoping that Penal Legionnaires would get better quality than that, before spearing a vein coursing unseen underneath the brocade mantle of Saint Urich.
The hammer beat of her heart suddenly rose to a deafening pitch, drowning out the crank cannon, Commissar Shrake, and all the infernal noise. She clambered onto her feet with a swiftness that seemed nearly disorienting when compared to her prior fatigue, drew a frag grenade in her newly empty hand, and sprinted towards the building nearest to them, where the pinned Doomed Youths awaited deliverance.
"EMPEROR!" came the cry from her lips, rushing out with the spent air in her lungs as she closed to throwing distance. She could only pray that it had sounded convincingly fearsome, rather than the all too fearful tone she was certain it had been.
Looking at the the other legionaries that were within sight of him Albert yells over the sound of the crank gun, "Maybe if we all throw out grenades we get them to duck into cover long enough to move in? At the least I need some time to actually set up my stubber and start firing!"
Even as he speaks Alberts ever present smile has once again became a thin line as two sides of fear war within him. In front of him a force of heretics with what seems to be a stubber of their own and at the back one of the emperor's own commissars with a boltgun. In the end he chose the option with the least likelihood of death and shame. Better to die to a heretic in service to the emperor than by the hands of a commissar for cowardice.
With prayers to the empire on his lips he prepares to either toss a gernade or take advantage of any distraction his fellow legionaries might provide.
(Essentially either going to throw a grenade if the others agree or a distraction is provided(which someone is already charging so that distraction enough) he'll set up his stubber and start laying down covering fire into whoever he can see in the building)
Fear and temptation rose on Mikael's heart at the prospect of dying by the Commisair bolter, on one hand it would be an assured death but on the other it would be a mark of failire on the eyes of the Emperor which was not something he would be ever willing to do.
Hearing his other squadmates proposals he decided to follow Celine example and run towards the enemy and throw a granade then engage on melee, it should buy Albert time enough to set his stubber and who knew? Maybe a stray shot would get him while he was running.
Pagan. Heretic. Traitor. Scum. Call him what they will, but Jeradresh knew what he was. He was Jeradresh Za'khar Kazron, and in him ran the Heartsblood of Kings (however meager), and he was redeemed by the great God-Emperor of Mankind who sat upon the Throne of Gold. He might wear the same rag-castings as the rest of the dregs, and pollute his body with the same filthy combat drugs, and suffer alongside them, but he knew he was elevated above the common dregs. He had his dignity, and his pride and his duty to arise to the occasion, no matter how brutal or mad with the proper decorum and propriety.
At that moment, Jeradresh Ka'khar Kazron really, really wished he didn't. He wished he could curl up into little tiny ball and cower in the deepest hole he could find. He wished he could hug the dirt and worship it like it was his god, or turn and flee for the hills. Teeth of the Kings! He could barely hear the thundering retort of the enemy heavy stubber over the hammering of own his heart against the inside of his ribs, and he wanted nothing more than to cringe away as the enemy fire showered them with stinging sparks and slivers of steel. Those were sane and wise things to do. But Jeradresh knew that if he wanted to live, he needed to ignore that, just as he had when the Imperials were shooting everyone around him back on his homeworld. He supposed, like his mother had always said, sanity was for peasants. Or, as the Imperials more poetically put it, the Emperor Protects.
So with the all the dignity demanded of him, Jeradresh nobly resisted the urge to cower in the dirt or void his bladder. "The Emperor protects," He spat, keeping his chin up and head high. He was scared, Blood of Kings he was, but he couldn't let that stop him. Not with the Commissar about. The man was even more terrifying than the enemy in front, but more importantly the man was a proper officer, striding the hells of war with all the courage demanded by his position. The Commissar was what Jeradresh should be, the symbol of what nobility should strive toward, and Jeradresh could not bear to shame himself in the eyes of a would be peer. And how could he trust in the God-Emperor's protection any less, when he knew the Emperor loved him so?
"Affix bayonets!" He barked out, fumbling to slide the sword-bayonet into its lug. A momentary reprieve to catch his breath, to try and get his heartbeat under control without being shot in the face. "Emperor and no quarter!" he barked. He'd read it in a book, and in the moment, it sounded good.
Jeradresh barely avoided flinching as another round screamed past his head. Cursing his mortal weakness, his hand grasped down for the combat drugs at his side. He'd already used the frenzon, but he still had the Sacred LibationAnd Unguent which Gives Heart to the Terrified. And in that moment, that sounded appropriate. And at the very least, there was nothing wrong with a little little chemical lubricant.
OOC: Affix bayonet and psyche up for the charge. If there's enough time without being shot by Shrake, inject Slaught. Us the opportunity to try and break pinning. Then flank left, get around the side of the enemy, and shoot and/or bayonet charge them as appropriate.
The Penal Legion, hesitant and fearful, pushes forward.
Simultaneously, Celine and Jerad inject combat drugs into their bloodstreams, Jerad by his collar's injector and Celine by means of hypodermic retrieved from the heavy medical backpack she wears. Liquid fire jets through both of their veins. For Celine, it's by now understood feeling of the pain boiling away, replaced by boundless energy and strength. She doesn't wait, storming out alongside Filly and Mikael, all of them clumsily feeling at their pouches and webbing for fragmentation grenade.
They are met with a hail of bullets from the Crank cannon that flashes past Filly and Mikael as they duck for cover. Behind, Sergeant O'Garan is shouting "Re-target the Stubber! Maintain fire on the Sniper!" Crackling rivers of lasbolts begin hammering at where the muzzle flashes of the Crank Cannon, and Imperial firepower wins out, the gun falling silent as the Gunner ducks into hard cover against the storm of crimson death.
Cheri's Microbead crackles. "You need to get that Stubber set up! We can't sustain this volume of fire for long!" O'Garan shouts. Fortunately, Albert is bracing his Heavy stubber against the tangle of iron he crouches behind, pulling back the charging handle and swinging the massive weapon over to suppress the Crank Cannon position.
Back at the truck, while Snoop cracks pot shots at the Doomed Youth prone beneath nearby vehicles, Jerad feels the slaught go to work. His pain and exhaustion doesn't fade away, but his perceptions seem to slow down. Soldiers seem to be moving in slow motion, as if in a poorly formatted holo-theater production.
His bayonet firmly attached, the former Pagan rushes out of cover, running to flank the main enemy position and put some fire or a bayonet charge down on them from a good position. Fear still hammers at his heart, but a glance back at the Commissar, frozen as if a statue even as bullets deflect off the armor of his golem-esque bodyguards, and a laslock beam flashes back a half meter from his face. His mouth is forming words, slowly.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Forward!"
It would be dreadfully embarrassing to be a coward right now. And possibly deadly.
(OOC: Jerad's Fear cleared by Commissar Shrake's Rally Action)
At the squad's forwardmost positions, Celine and Mikael both pull the pin from the grenades they'd prepared, and hurl them into the enemy's defensive position. Celine's arcs perfectly through a shattered window, bounces once, and lands between three Doomed Youth, who are only now beginning to realize the suppression fire has shifted from their position.
Two of the Gangers look down at the grenade that just landed at their feet, nod to eachother, and turn to fire on Celine and Mikael. Mikael grunts as a fan of bullets scatters off his pauldron but fails to make an impression, while Celine ducks back into cover ahead of a high caliber bullet from a lever rifle.
"We are Doomed." The Autorifleman manages, and then the grenade goes off.
Both men are consumed entirely by the blast, all that had been them painting the walls of the interior of the building. One of the Gangers, perhaps smarter or less committed, threw herself prone inside of trying to take their attackers with her. It seems to have availed her little: The woman's hand is clamped over her neck as a river of gore jets and pours out from between her leather gloved fingers. Her choking cries last only a moment before bloodloss claims her.
The other grenade strikes a wall, bounces off, and detonates deeper inside. Someone shouts in pain.
"Fall back!" Another shouts, and before two forms are fleeting out the back door, one limping. Jerad, already in a flanking position slides forward along a burned out autocarriage, then ducks across a street with a single elegant motion. The two survivors of the massacre inside have joined two of their compatriots at their cover behind a burnt out truck. Before Jerad's one of the forms, a prone woman trying to reload a laslock, takes a lasbeam in the shoulder from Filly, and drops the weapon, clutching the smoking wound.
"We can't stay here." One of the three remaining heretics says, matter of factually. Jerad decides to send them on their way indeed. The Autogunner, who by now is standing up from his prone position while other two survivors prepare to do a runner, only manages to get to his knees before Jerad's first shot strikes him directly in the forehead. The man's entire face is flash vaporized, and a red, eyeless horror screams into the pink mist that had been it's face before it topples over, mercifully dead. Jerad's rifle tracks over to the man wounded by the grenade, and two shots strike him in the torso and shoulder, blasting through the mail he's wearing and slamming him into the side of the truck, flesh fusing to mail and leather at the two wounds. This one is not dead, but judging from the screams and thrashing, certainly no longer a threat.
The third man points at Jerad's position. "Meat for the Sumps." He says, eerily calmly, even as three of his comrades hit the ground next to him, dead and wounded.
As Jerad wonders what that could mean, the Sniper, taking the oppurtunity of O'Garan's squad pausing to reload, fires a shot down at Albert, who is busy hammering away at the cannon position. The Heavy Gunner sees the flash of the scope, and ducks prone into cover, but the shot punches straight through tangle of rusted iron he's using for cover and strikes him in the crown of his helmet. He stumbles back, pain spiraling through his head, and the sounds of the battlefield fading away. His vision goes momentarily black, but he shakes his head and remounts his stubber. Before the Sniper can even turn the bolt on his rifle, lasfire is crackling away at his position again. Albert steels himself, and despite the pain, continues to pour fire onto the Crank Cannon position, hails of empty brass slamming itno the earth beside him.
Jerad doesn't have long to wait. "We are Doomed!" Two voices shout, and a pair of forms storm out of the central building, knives raised to butcher Jerad. The Guardsmen finds himself flanked himself, and two blades hiss for this throat. He backs aside one, letting it skim across his helmet in a spray of sparks, while the other embeds in his chinguard and has to be pulled out before Jerad could impale it's user with his bayonet.
Across the street, the one remaining survivor of squad's attack calmly stands , and fires his autopistol on full auto at the advancing squad. Penal Legionaries, still at their heart wanting to get out of this alive, duck down into their meager cover as a hail of bullets slash past. Only Filly, hardened by a life of violence and certain in the knowledge that pistol caliber rounds won't penetrate flak, ducks forward through the hail of fire and around the side of the truck the shooter uses for cover.
Beneath his veil, the Ganger smiles. "We are Doomed." He says, simply, and lunges for Filly's throat with a knife as she comes around the corner of the abandoned truck, abandoning his now empty autopistol.
Filly shoots him twice in the center of the chest before he can even make it halfway. The man goes down, grox leather and flesh and blood boiling away beneath the furious light of the lascarbine. He lays insensate on the ground, flesh sizzling and smoke curling from his wounds.
The rest, still cautious about potential ambush or counter attack, move up after Filly, heading towards where Jerad fights alone against a pair of adversaries.
"Filet you for offerings." One says, his knife failing to get past Jerad's Slaught enhanced guard.
"Your burnt flesh will bless us when the Emperor returns." The other says, her voice calm as she tries to ram her knife into Jerad's throat.
Fortunately, they don't get a chance to make good those threats, as Mikael, Celine, and Filly come storming forward, bayonets fixed or swords raised high. Celine's blade slashes out and catches one of the Ganger's across the shoulder, opening it from elbow up. The woman drops her autopistol in slack fingers, but with still deadly speed tries to step into Celine's guard and open her throat all the same. "We are Doom-"
Jerad's Bayonet impales her through the back, the tip of the blade exploding out of the front of her torso. Her knife clatters to the ground, and the woman slides off the bayonet, red dripping from the wound and the blade both.
The final Ganger doesn't even manage such words before Mikael's bayonet slams into his shoulder and the man collapses, screaming. Mikael yanks the bayonet out, then kicks the man's abandoned sidearm and knife away, letting the man slump against the wall, blood pumping from the wound.
The gunshots and crack of lasbeams, at least in this area stop. Behind and to the west of everyone else, Nyla fires a pair of token shots after the fleeing Crank Cannon crew and the rest of the Gangers before the flee. The Sniper is nowhere to be seen, through O'Garan's mob put a few dozen more shots into his position just to be sure. Albert secures his stubber, steadier now that the concussion of the shot has passed.
The Squad forms back up on Squad 123-F's position, to account for ammo and wounded, and to prepare to press on again.
Shrake is already awaiting, and speaking with Sergeant O'Garan and Corporal Hansan.
"Sir, with all due respect to yourself and reverence to Him on Terra, our Squad's down two bodies, one gone to the Emperor's rest, and the other soon enough. We'd be better off redeployed to—" Hansan is saying.
He's interrupted by the crack of leather gloves and the metallic noise of a Bolt Pistol being removed from it's holster.
"I am sure what I just heard was not insubordination, but a brave soldier detailing their preparations for charging boldly into battle in the Emperor's name. This would, of course, improve the chances of any soldier being released from this grand Penal Legion, and severely reduce the chances of me exercising my Emperor-given right to execute any craven fool that would dare defy their orders. Isn't that right, soldiers?" Shrake says.
O'Garan, looking even paler than her natural Voidborn paper-white, nods. "What my Corporal means to say is that we have need of uh, Medical Evacuation for Trooper Enos. We are otherwise all happy to continue to push forward..."
She glances out over the battlefield and the smoking corpses of the enemies of the Emperor. Shrake's two Enforcers are corralling the surviving Doomed Youth into a line of prisoners.
"Your compatriots in Squad 123-B were much more dedicated to the Emperor's work." Shrake says, gesturing towards the squad where they'd filed in. "You'd best learn from them, and quickly." He pauses a moment. "Medicae is needed for these prisoners. I will ensure your man is evacuated with them."
The unspoken catch of 'If you get moving' is backscored by the thunderous blast of a shotgun, as one of the potential prisoners, too wounded to move, is disposed of.
"You shall have but a moment's rest, more than you deserve, then you will finish your sweep of the assigned area. We are almost through this accursed tangle of outhive." The Commissar gestures with his pistol forward, at the looming shape of Hive Lozepath, taking up the skyline. "The Gates await us, soldiers. Do not shy away from your duty in clearing the way to them."
And on that worrying note, the squad is left to patch up it's wounded. This is the last area that needs to swept for mines, then they could head back, hopefully to a rest and a meal.
Hopefully.
(OOC: Make First aid and any other misc choices. The last area you need to sweep for mines is around here, and Shrake expects you to get on with finding them, so no rest for the wicked quite yet.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 18/60 Shots in current power cell, Slaught* (5 minutes remaining), Bayonet Fixed
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, Stimm Expended, 24/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell, 3 Stimms left in Medicae Pack, Stimmed (12 turns left)
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 0/7 fatigue, Stimm expended, 36 shots left in current power cell.
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 22/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 3/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 90/200 Rounds in current Belt
*Slaught gives the Light Reflexes talent (+10 to Dodge/Parry, allows rolling for iniative twice and taking the better), gives +20 to your Perception, and increases your Agility bonus for the purpose of Initiative and movement by 3.
Albert winces lightly as he gently pries his helmet off and gets to work on doing what he can for it with his medkit. Though it hurts and caring for himself takes much of his focus, He makes sure to say a prayer to the Omnissiah and Emperor in thanks for the luck to survive such a shot as he works on his head.After doing what he could for his wound he reloaded his stubber with a new box of rounds.
Once the mostly spent magazine was stowed away he used little time he likely had left to rest to begin cleaning his helmet. Albert knew that it shouldn't be his priority right now, but the idea of the inside of his helmet being covered in blood disgusted him in a way he couldn't put into words. So he scrubbed at it, again and again with the time he had left during this break.
(Basically heal up, reload, and then trying to clean his helmet)
Mikael was left with a worrying question, what to do in the meantime while some of his squadmates healed? There was alway of patching himself but truth be told he wasn't as injuries as some of them, so he wasn't sure what to do.
Checking his equipment he came to a realization, ammo, they all have been expending some since the start and some like Albert were probablu low on it.
Nodding to himself he decided to look around for any kind of ammo, perhaps he would get lucky and find something specially good.
As keenly as ever before, Celine feels Sylvia's absence from the squad as she takes the Medikit to attend to her own flesh. Mindful of the Commissar's presence, and wishing for anything to occupy the sullen silence that has fallen over the street at the conclusion of battle, the ever socially acceptable staple for such emerges anew from her throat. Prayer.
"I offer my strength to the Emperor, I pray that He redresses it."
"I offer my blood to the Emperor, I pray that it quenches His thirst."
"I offer my body on the altar of the battlefield, I pray He grants me a noble death."
"I pray for His protection, as I offer all that I am."
