[Only War] Hang High the Gallows IC

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The peculiar remark was scribbled in a faded blue ink, in small, but well-practiced script of am experienced scribe, and lodged on the margin of one of the final pages of Mesnan 1st file Lucius received for review upon his reassignment.

'Throne, what a mess.'

The blot of blue broke the monotony of the bureaucratically written document, strangely visceral when compared with dry, stale paragraphs detailing the regiment's organization, chain of command, provisions and service history.

'Sepronian campaign: 57% causalities. Withdrawn upon ceasefire.
Thalstian campaign: 49% causalities.
Regran campaign: 69% causalities.
Expungian campaing: 21% causalities as of the day of the report's completing. Conflict ongoing.'

The final three positions from the service history did look bad - still, within norms for regiments like that, as far as Lucius could recall from the lectures on the realities of war. What was not normal was the timespan of the engagements: all three took place in the last year. The regiment was not offered a single day of respite before being transitioned to a new warzone. It was a violation of several procedures, but the yellowed document in his hands remained silent on the reasons for it.

In fact, the entire thing was next to useless. The chain of command did not differ at all from the bog-standard regimental organization across the Spineward Front, all the information on the "provisional colonel Rorke" being a low-quality pict record of him clipped to a crumpled copy of his case file indicating that he was a former general sentenced for "extreme cowardice in the face of the enemy", the regiment's history was just a collection of dates and numbers without context. And the data about provisions and supplies was just a smug-sounding enumeration of successful shipments of supplies, with so much time between them that it was difficult to imagine how that could actually supply the regiment. Still, it felt somehow chilling to look at all this data, straining the eyes to pick out the small script in the dim light of a large two-deck shuttle preparing to make a planetfall onto Expungia IV.

A planet that the other file Lucius was given described, briefly and barely. A former low-tithe world of near-nil importance, taken over by some sort of a semi-religious, rebellious cult that managed to subvert entire PDF along with three regiments of Malfian line infantry. Together, they apparently managed to create a force strong enough to resist the understandably half-hearted efforts of Munitorum to take it back, that so far bore little fruit. That, in short, was the entirety of information regarding the theater of war the Commissar had been trusted with. It felt vaguely insulting that the data was not even confidential.

From high above, the globe looked mostly inconspicuous. Large, brown-blue ball wreathed in yellow clouds, orbiting an unremarkable star in a system firmly under Battlefleet Calixis unaware control. And five regiments of Imperial Guard deployed below - they weren't even named in his data-file, as if he was not supposed to know them.

The pair of engines behind growled loudly, and the entire shuttle shook, the lights illuminating his compartment flickering and then dimming to a faint, red glow. That, along with a sharp tug in his innards signified that the vessel was finally able to enter the atmosphere and finally deliver him to his fate.

His glorious arrival: a rusted shuttle where he shared one deck with a stack of Munitorum-stamped supply crates, because on the other, there were so many convicts crowding the deck that there was literally no place for him there.


Soldiers

Corraine Septa's life was ended by a fluke, approximately twelve hours ago. The square-faced, brooding woman who had been in the regiment forever had the misfortune of being outfitted with overly sensitive explosive collar whose capricious machine spirit interpreted her scratching her neck underneath it as an attempt of removal and blew her head clean off before she had the time to utter a single, desperate "frak".

Now, her corpse lied in the corner of the second floor, near the nasty splatter she had left, wrapped in blanket, not out of respect, but to keep the stench from spreading. That was not the issue.

The issue was that she was standing next to the squad's vox-caster upon her demise, and the explosion mangled the machine beyond repair, cutting the squad from the command, leaving them stranded in an old, robust, throughly looted hab-block.

Two days ago, the entire 2nd Company was ordered to take a little town, formerly little more than a roadstop on the way to the region's capital, now a few rockcrete structures jutting from the lake of ruins. The assault was met with surprisingly moderate resistance and within hours, the Gallows Legion managed to secure the "key positions", that is the buildings with walls thick enough to withstand small arms fire. But then, the rebels decided that they did want the town after all, and launched a counter-attack. Counter attack that consisted of a few hundred maniacs with autoguns, wearing the old PDF colours. The net result was that the ruins were currently swarming with hostiles incapable of breaching through the makeshift barriers erected in the entrances to the hab-block the squad occupied, but more than able to cutting all the soldiers inside down the moment they stuck their noses out of it.

The last contact with anyone beyond the building was shortly before Septa's misfortune; captain Melk confirmed that the company was to "hold the position until further notice".

The last cannonade; a mostly futile effort at scaring the soldiers inside into doing something stupid took place three hours prior. Its only result was a number of bullets littering the floor near the only window, gleaming like marbles in the noonday's sun.

It went without mention that the atmosphere inside was rather tense. Varga sat in the corner tending to his weapons, Hattie close to him and alternating between slurring, jumping towards the window and then back and slurring more. Lyra tucked herself in the corner opposite to the one occupied by her deceased comrade and seemingly napped, but no one really had any idea whether she was actually asleep or not. And Spook decided to take it to the roof, in order to investigate the "engine sounds" she reported hearing.

Her footsteps rang on the abused staircase, heralding her return.

'Frakkers brought themselves a sentie with an autocannon' she reported, short on breath. 'Five minutes from us.'

According to the Munitorum's specification, an autocannon round could pierce up to ten centimeters of rockcrete, if given the opportunity of sustaining fire against it.

[LCP]

Lucius

The young commissar leafed back and forth through the dog-eared pages of the reports, trying - and failing - to keep them in order. He felt as lost in the cramped letters of these shoddy records as he had ever since leaving Cantus.

It had been a short voyage from the Markayn Marches, but to Lucius it had seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Every night, the memories of that awful meeting with Commissar-General Kadir had played endlessly through his head, focusing in on the fateful moment when the old man had asked whether he had wanted to appeal the posting. Why hadn't he said yes? Pride, that was the best answer he was able to come up with... and that was a damned poor reason to let yourself be shipped off to some regiment of convicts, alone and hundreds of light years from home.

Stifling the feeling that he was standing on the edge of an abyss, he tried to focus more closely on the file, as a means of displacing other thoughts. He brushed past the casualty rates with scarcely a second thought; finding redemption in death was the whole purpose of a penal battalion, at least for the lost souls who made up the rank and file. What he was more interested in was the officer corps. He was more than a little shocked to find that their colonel was a convict like the rest of them - that seemed like setting a rat to guard the larder. Leafing through the pages behind, he looked for any mention of the regiment's senior commissar. After all, he could hardly be the only one.

Could he?

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The note about Commissars attached to the Regiment was hard to find - it was just another list. Five names, dates and the customary "martyred in the service to Him on the Holy Terra" formula meaning "KIA" in Commissariat's parlance. The first three were in rapid succession, a replacement Commissar being attached the moment the reports of his predecessor's demise reached the High Command. Then, after the initial three, there were two long interludes in between the final two short-lived services. The first one survived for two weeks after assignment, the second one got killed on the day of his arrival.

And before Lucius could ponder more on those numbers, dates and implications, the shuttle plunged itself into the atmosphere, and reading became impossible.

It was a surprisingly smooth planetfall, though, the pilot at the helm gliding the bulky, ungainly craft through the atmosphere with the grace of an virtuoso. It still made the Commissar want to spit his innards out, but that was to be expected, and at least no piece of loose equipment smashed him on the head, and the "Litany of Safe Passage" blaring full volume on the inner speakers did wonder to muffle all of his unpleasant thoughts. One could almost call that soothing.

Finally, the roar of the engines subsided to a sharp wheeze, and the ship started to decelerate. A slight turbulence followed the extending of the undercarriage and moments later, another stiff shake of the craft marked the safe and successful landing.

The camp outside was miserable, and perhaps it was the only word that could constitute a fitting description of it. A bunch of long, low-roofed barracks from flimsy wooden planks, two slightly larger buildings of the same materials that probably were important, though they were not marked in any obvious way, a number of drab tents stuck between them, number of soldiers scurrying between them laxly. A single watchtower with some heavy armament mounted atop constituted for the entirety of the camp's defences, as far as he could see. All baked in dull, yellow dust that clung to every single flat surface in a thick filament.

And, in the middle, seemingly without purpose, a half-dismantled Chimera stood, long braids of exhaust fumes rising into the hot, dusty air.

'OUT, OUT, OUT!' he heard a yell - the four shock troopers assigned to the vessel forced the other part of the vessel's cargo outside. He could see them through the exit ramp, rushing forward to avoid getting clubbed - a blind motion that led them right into the hands of a sizable group of penal legionnaires in their characteristic flak cloaks that assembled around the ship, apparently already waiting to welcome the fresh recruits, and take away every single item of value they managed to find. Some new arrival had a good pair of shoes, another an additional shirt under the jumpsuit... The ones in that left the ship first had it worst, for they got into the hands of those who managed to secure themselves the best position in the looting queue.

Some tried to protest, shout and stuggle against this treatment, but were quickly and brutally silenced. Mesnans had no qualms about making the show out of those who gave them the most problems, ganging up on them to give them a sold beating and teach the pecking order.

No one awaited to welcome Lucius, though, and perhaps that was for the best. Only after a moment, after the new recruits were finally taking away to wherever the regiment wanted them to go did a short, wiry wisp of a woman enter the cargo hold. She had a pleasant face - maybe not very pretty, but a warm smile adorned it, matched by something soft in her eyes. The collar on her neck was painted in bright colours - warm greens and blues, into some sort of a picturesque landscape with animals chasing after each another. In the dim light insight, the Commissar could not see if she bore any rank distinctions - and she did not seem to notice him, either, instead looking at the heavy crates piled in the hold.

'Oh' she turned to him all out sudden. 'Sir? I'll be needing help with those cra...'' she squinted, then blinked at his sash, then made a quick step back. 'Emperor's blood' she wheezed, a tinge of fear in her voice. 'A commissar?'

[Revanus]

Spoons was standing over Septa's pack, rummaging carefully around to collect her rations, mess kit, and anything else that might be of value. Septa's spoon was already in his belt. When Sally came back, Spoons caught her eye.

They both knew he had a couple of krak grenades on him, but Spoons had hoped to use them as currency. Oh well.

Then again, it wasn't likely that they'd ever be within throwing distance of the Sentinel. At least, not without some massive stroke of luck--good or bad.

Spoons shook his head, and looked at his comrade. "Are those frackers still swarming the building?"

Spoons patted his webbing, feeling for the blind and frag grenades on his side. He glanced at his companions' shotguns. A sitting duck is a dead duck. Maybe they could make a run for it? Blast a hole in the crowd and slip into the woods?

Spoons gave a sudden, hollow laugh. "Anyone want to try their hand at fixing the vox?"

Awareness (scrounging around the area for anything useful, including Septa's supplies/ammo/nades/weapons, etc.): [roll0] vs. [41]

Edit: Fixed for coherency. I didn't catch that Spook said it had an autocannon. Silly me.

[SlyJohnny]

Trooper Zimm paces around, as he's been doing so for a solid couple of hours now. Most soldiers seize on any lulls like this one as an opportunity to rest, but Zimm is still a little green, and he seems like he has an unlimited supply of nervous energy with which to pace and curse.

"A frackin' sentinel? That's one of the stompy walkers, right? Mate, that'd do me. Let's get the walker and fracking merc it, bloods. Stomp right out of here, find Captain Melk and the rest of the platoon. I can drive it. Can't be that fracking hard, or the locals wouldn't have cracked it."

He glances at the window, then turns to Spook. "Where's the walker coming from? There a way out, across them roofs, yeah? I reckon I could jump it." He says, even as he tries to remember how far this building looked from the neighbouring building form the outside.

He falls silent for a moment, actually thinking the situation through.

"Fraggers have got us surrounded. That thing gets here, it's just gonna pump rounds into the place until it falls down around our ears- no diss, Razor, no diss- or we get driven out just the way they expect us to come, right into the autoshooters. Even if we do make it out, some fragger will say we abandoned our position, and pop our collars for us." He eyes the corpse of his former friend and comrade in the corner of the room, his expression unreadable. "So we gotta play this smart."

He grabs a table and pulls it over, pulling his monoknife from it's sheath on the front of his uniform and etching a square into the plasteel surface, which is presumably supposed to represent the structure they are in. He begins to etch other lines into it.

"So half of us make a push on the barricades near the front, toss a couple blind grenades out the windows. Make it look like we're trying to push out. Make a distraction they can't ignore. The other half of us sneak up, out the roof, move across the rooftops and meet that sentinel before it gets here. Them walkers move too fast for footsloggers, and I bet it's racing here, so it might not even have people escorting it. We get on a building in it's path. I jump down into the cockpit, kill the crew, work out the controls, and then drive it back here and come at the autoshooters from behind with that big cannon, then BLAMBLAMBLAM-" he says, spittle flying from his mouth as he mimes firing a heavy weapon, "save all your candy asses from the fire."

Varga murmurs quietly from his side of the room as he finishes adjusting the sight on his carbine, " 's not as crappy a plan as I was expectin', rook." he says, his eyes flicking up to glance at the enthusiastic underhiver, "But yesterday, you asked me how ta turn a screwdriver on. I'm thinkin' maybe someone should drive that sentinel, but it sure as frek shouldn't be you."

Zimm glares at Varga, annoyed at being caught off stride. "You're jes' looking for an excuse to jump onto it, anyway." Varga finishes.

[LeSwordfish]

When the building had been taken, when the killing and the looting had stopped, Razor had settled himself in a corner and started tossing his knife in the air, flipping it end over end before catching it by the tip of the blade. Lyra, sat next to him, scowled as he did it.

"Stop that."

Razor looked up at her. "No."

"Fine."

---

"Not a bad plan." Razor grudgingly admitted. "But we don't want this damn walker. We want it dead. Don't try and drive it, just throw a few frags into it and jump off."

He glanced at the corpse and the vox. "On the other hand... I bet it's got a caster. Or parts for one."

"We need a caster more than we need a cannon." Lyra opined. "Cannon won't help us when the order does come through."

[Revanus]

Spoons goes back to rummaging through Septa's bag.

"I was kidding about the vox-caster. I doubt HQ cares if we're surrounded. Hell, they might even prefer it. That way, they can blow our collars once we get overrun--a perfect ambush."

Spoons glanced at Lyra.

"Still, I'm not going to protest if someone thinks they can repair it."

Spoons shifted his gaze over to Zimm. He looked young.

"Not bad. One thing to keep in mind. Attacking the Sentinel is probably a one-way ticket--even if we succeed. Unless we find some way to scare off the horde, there's no way back in to this building. Or out, really. I doubt the crowd will fall for the same trick twice."

Spoons went back to sifting through Septa's pack.

"If we're attacking the Sentinel, our best bet is to shoot the driver out of his chair. We'll need the sentie's firepower to disperse the crowd. Assuming one of us can figure out how to fire it."

Spoons shrugged.

"I think the vox is a lost cause. But I'm no tech."

Truth be told, he thought sitting tight was a death sentence. And he figured the squad would be better off if they staged a breakout as a unit, and then just slinked into the forest and disappeared. Strength in numbers.

Of course, Spoons wasn't about to get fingered as the sap who suggested retreating.

"If we're splitting up, though, I'm not staying behind. "

Spoons glanced at Sally.

"And neither is she."

[18th Avenger]

Tech Use - Fix the Vox-Caster
[roll0] vs (37 - 40)
Trooper Trask, in direct contrast to his comrade Haddon, was one of the few troopers snatching as much rest as he could. But at Spoons' suggestion, he sat up and sauntered over to the vox-caster, intent on fixing it. After all, it was his responsibility. Haddon's unrest could be attributed to the fact that the former Roane had ordered that she watch over it while he took a nap. Meaning, she'd been standing pretty close when Septa had joined the Emperor in short notice.

It was then he heard Zimm's ridiculously dangerous plan to hijack the sentinel. He felt his hands twitch at the thought of piloting one again. "First off, Zimm, a sentie isn't just like an aircar or an ATV. The frakkin' thing judders and shakes. It takes years to get used to the movement, much less fire the onboard weapons right. Haddon, tools." One never called Haddon by her proclaimed nickname. "But the plan could work. Sentinel operating procedure in urban areas does use them more for close-in support, which means letting the hull take the small arms and shoving the cannon into spitting range. Hopefully the frakkers are clueless when it comes to chicken-driving." Trask used the nickname given to the sentinels for their distinctive bi-pedal profile.

Haddon knelt by Trask, who handed him the battered multi-tool for him to get to work... Which meant he poked the bits and pieces that were once a functional vox-caster and shook his head, much like a doctor that had attempted to save the life of a bifurcation victim. He looked at the squad.

"Taking the sentinel looks like a good idea now..."

[LCP]

Lucius

Having seen the terrifying dregs who gathered outside the shuttle, Lucius was secretly relieved to hear somebody call him "sir". He wasn't about to let that show, however. Rising to his feet and doing his best to master the dizziness of the descent, he clasped his hands behind his back and fixed the woman with his best stare.

"A salute is customary, guardswoman," he said. "Name and rank?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The salute she obediently offered could be described as clumsy, at best, and back in Schola would earn her at least a few lashes from the drill-abbots.

'W-warrant officer second class, p-provisional' she gave her rank in a slightly shaky voice 'Zoe Prunikos.'

She had the youthful, round face of a juve, hair that certainly outgrew the regulations and still showed traces and shades of their former, bright hues, now bleached to palest greens, blues and purples and a pair of short, narrow scars on one of her cheeks. All in all, the Commissar could tell without a slightest doubt that she was younger than him - it'd be hard to attribute her with more than twenty Terran years.

'I'm the quartermaster, sir' she explained after a moment, looking back at the crates - maybe just to aver her eyes. His presence was worrying her, and she was making no efforts towards concealing it. 'We haven't been expecting a Commissar' she added after a moment.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Fidgeting and still bothered by Corraine's death, Lilian sat in the corner opposite the troopers now headless corpse attempting to find a plan that could save them. Listening to the others, she realized that one option had yet to be brought up. "We could always pretend to want to join them, catch them off guard in an ambush. Penal legions aren't exactly known for there loyalty anyways."

[18th Avenger]

Trask took to scrounging what bits and pieces he could from the wreck of the vox-caster when the red-robed techpriestess, the one least-likeliest to look like a penal legionnaire, piped up with her own idea. Concentrating on the work, he said nothing.

However, the pixie-ish guardswoman, Haddon, had a response in mind (after mulling over Lilian's suggestion for a bit). "An' wot if the brass gets it in their 'eads to flip the switch," she retorted. "Our gel Septa there barely scratched 'er's. Look where she's is now!" She gestured at the unlucky guardswoman's shrouded corpse.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"Well," Lilian replied, her voice a mix of fear and annoyance. "We don't have any contact with anyone else and I figured that as long as we jumped them here there'd be no reason to think we were switching sides. Lazy Larry here," she continued, indicating her blank faced servitor "Could even go out there for us." She paused as if finding a new idea. "In fact, we could fill him with krak grenades and send him over to the sentinel to help with 'maintenance'."

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm nods. "Yeah, Had’s right. Can’t trust a fragging cultist. It could work. But even if they didn’t shoot us right out… which is what I’d fraggin’ do, Throne almighty… and even if they were dumb about it and let us get into a position where we could jump ‘em without being surrounded or disarmed, we’d be giving up our cover."

"They got the numbers. Being cooped up in here’s the only reason they ain’t scragged us all already." Varga opines, in his slow, rumbling voice.

Zimm muses on it, pacing. "Maybe pretending to lay down arms would be a better distraction than shooting. We should still try for the sentinel, just in case they’re not stupid and they don’t buy it. Hedge our bets, you know?”

He unslings his shotgun from his back, and eyes Trask. "What about you, smart guy? You think you can drive one of them walkers better then me? You wanna come with us, put your money where your mouth is?”

[Revanus]

Spook stared daggers at Lilian. Her knuckles were gripping her lascarbine so hard they were white.

"I'm not surrendering. I'd rather have my head blown off by this collar. You might be filled with gears, but I bet they'll still find a way to rape you to death."

Spoons glanced up at Sally. They shared a look.

"Anyway, I'm not surrendering either. And I think the blind grenades are more distracting than waiving a white flag. If we can't get the vox fixed, I vote we ambush the Sentinel. If the horde turns on us, we should melt away and head for base, Sentie and all. Maybe HQ will like their new toy so much, they'll send us off on another suicide mission rather than blowing off our heads in camp."

Spoons got up and went back to his gear, hands full. Septa's blanket dragged behind him. He stashed her ration into his bag, slipped the extra autopistol rounds into his webbing, and made sure Septa's frag and blind grenades were secured to his person. He hadn't bothered with the rest of her kit--he had enough charge packs, and didn't want her weapons.

He pulled out his blanket and began to tie the two together.

"If you're coming with us, toss me your blankets. I'll make a rope. Then we're leaving."



Survival:
[roll0] vs. 41

OOC:
4 posts left until Sentinel arrives. Make 'em count :)

[SlyJohnny]

"Yo, lay off the cog, huh? She's one of us." He says as he shoots a glance at Spook, then turns to shrug at the techpriest. "Spook's right, though, cog girl. We pretend to surrender, they won't take no chances. They'll go with it just long enough to get us into the open and shoot us.”

He nods to Spoons, passing his blanket over to be tied into the rope. "Aright. That’s what we’re doin’. I got point." He flicks the safety off his combat shotgun. He briefly gestures to Razor and anyone else staying behind. "Do me a solid. If you’re gonna throw any grenades, throw one twenty seconds after we head up stairs. Then if I screw up and fall through the roof, at least the noise might cover the sound I make."

He looks round at the grim, determined faces of his squadmates, and grins widely at them all. "Smile, you sorry sons of bitches! We're getting outta here!”

He turns, and bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

[18th Avenger]

Trask gave Zimm a smirk that seemed to say, "Boy, I been driving sentinels even before you stole your first aircar."

But instead, the silent Roane looked at his comrade and ordered her to grab Septa's lasclips (he'd wanted the autorounds, but Spook took first dibs), foul weather gear and to pass the mono-knife to Lyra. Damned if I'm going near Razor. He turned back to Zimm. "Yeah, why not. If it'd be my last chance to get behind the levers... Haddon, give Spoons our nappies!"

"Whoa, whoa! We're goin' out there!?" She looked up from handing Razor's partner the quality knife the Munitorum saw fit to issue them. "And why y'never call me 'Hattie'?"

"I'm going out there. You, Private Haddon, are gonna stay here 'cos you're better than me with a lasgun and gotta make ready to make a break for it. Keep those clips." Task grinned a dead man's grin. "You'll need those. Also, watch my stuff." Trask gathered up the parts he could still salvage from the wrecked caster and went over to prepare the kit he would need. Haddon took her blanket and Trask's, handing them to the thin woman known as Spook while the Roane packed a knife, his lascarbine (with the stock folded), his autopistol in a ready draw and his multitool. He followed after Zimm, who was already bounding up the stairs two at a time.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Lilian sighed, "I'm surrounded by angels." she said sarcastically and unslung her lascarbine. Walking over to Corraine, she grabbed her tags, tying them to her own. " Ready when the rest of you are."

[LCP]

Lucius

"Well, Quartermaster... Prunikos," said Lucius, taking a moment to try to pronounce the name correctly. The syllables sounded alien to him. "I will need to speak to Colonel Rorke about that." He frowned and corrected himself. "Provisional Colonel Rorke. As soon as you like, guardswoman." He waved to the crates. "I'm sure some of the other soldiers can see to these."

[LeSwordfish]

"I'll stay here. Hold the building." Razor offered, without looking at anyone. "If this goes arse-up, we need this place to fall back to."

"Such as it is." Lyra added, passing Razor the pilfered knife. He didn't acknowledge the gesture, slipping the blade into his belt. With the hand that wasn't spinning his own knife, he pulled a pair of krak grenades from his bandoleer and held them up.

"You might need these to take it down." As someone reached for them, he pulled them back in. "Trade them. For a pair of frags."

He didn't seem to greatly care if the transaction continued or not, and didn't look up as it was completed.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The girl gulped audibly, looking around uneasily. Her eyes, she still tried to avert from the Commissar, but on her face, the begging of a protest could be seen - mixed with an abject terror at his frown. The legends about Commissars had certainly reached this regiment before.

'Sir, please don't shoot me...' she began meekly. 'But if I don't get those supplies to the depot, they'll be looted within five minutes. And without that... without that...' she added, patting one of the crates as if to underline her point. 'And... sir... I don't think...' she paused abruptly, the level of panic in her words rising quickly. 'No, no, please, I ap-apologize. I'll take you to the Ol... to the col...' she stuttered through several attempted sentences, shaking lightly. 'To the pr-provisional colonel Rorke' she agreed, sounding defeated - and a few kinds of desperate. She gave the supplies a longing look. 'I'm... I'm sorry sir, I did not meant to...'


Soldiers

It was sure a sunny day outside, sunny and warm. There was that kind of dampness in the air that made everyone sweat and bore a suggesting of a coming rainstorm - but for now, not a single cloud marred the eerily yellow sky. Still, even such, the air tasted fresher than the stale, rank of fear one that filled the building beneath.

There were ruins all around, husks of homes slowly crumpling into piles of bricks and pebbles. For now, they stood, jutting out like shards of bones, clearly visible in the dusty, heavy air. The hab-block rose above it, even with its few number of floors, and from the rooftop, a view of town's carcass opened, as if from an island in the middle of a grim sea. From some broken windows, barrels protruded: the renegades waited inside, patient, and maybe even bored a bit.

The sentinel itself was easily visible, trotting from the south towards the hab-building, slowly and carefully, its topside swaying from side to side as the pilot surveyed the cityscape for potential dangers. He did not seem to spot the ambush, though, the low, battered cornice crowning the structure hiding the guardsmen from sight. And neither did the men escorting him, ten rebels in dark coats spread around it through the entire width of street, their autoguns at the ready. Spooks could not had seen them before; the ruins failed to hide the sentinel, but they did conceal them. The vehicle and its escort assumed intended position the moment the guardsmen hit the roof, its autocannon raising up and starting to look for a target.

Something clicked below, clattered and then with a soft hiss, the blind grenades went off, covering the entire crossing with a thick carpet of acrid, bilious smoke. Seconds later, gunshots rang as the escort started spraying the facade of the building with blind fire, expecting someone to storm off.

The rope was makeshift at best, but quite solid none-the-less. The best one could get within five minutes, certainly. Hopefully strong enough to hold the weight of the few troopers hanging from it. Down, into the fire below.


Technical info:

Smoke will last for 1d5+1 rounds (rolled secretly), as long as it lasts, you are unseen.

Ten cultists stat suppressive fire with full-out bursts against the facade of the hab-block, filling the air with much lead and causing Pinning as normal.

As long as smoke lasts, sneaking up on the cultists is a +30 stealth test.

Cultists and the sentinel are approximately ten meters from the building's facade.

[LeSwordfish]

As the smoke filled the crossing, Razor pressed his back against cover and leaned out. Not far, just enough to start filling the air with las. A look of almost boredom on his face, he played the carbine back and forth, firing off quick bursts of bolts. On the other side of the doorway, Lyra did the same, though she had an expression on her face. With his other hand Razor pulled a frag grenade from his webbing and primed it, ready to throw as cover, or a distraction, or however it was needed. Or if it wasn't. He liked fragmentation grenades. He liked to see what they did to flesh.

Pinning test: [roll0] vs 30-20 (I don't think Resistance (Fear counts for pinning, right? If i'm wrong, vs 20

Suppressing fire with carbine.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm is initially annoyed that the terrain didn't favour getting as close as he'd like to the sentinel, and that the vehicle has an infantry escort. He soon bounces back though, a ridiculous grin spreading out over his face. He turns to his comrades, murmurs “Frackin’ watch this, bloods.”, and then, shotgun in hand and monoknife grasped in his mouth, rappels down the side of the building on the blanket rope, drops the last meter to the ground, and dashes quietly off in the direction of the sentinel.

He leaps up onto the segmented leg of the sentinel, hauling himself up towards the cockpit. He slips on the slick metal half way up, and stifles a curse, not wanting to draw the attention of the entire squad of armed soldiers currently surrounding him. He reaches up again, grabbing on to one of the hydraulic cables pulling himself up towards the cockpit.

[roll0] vs 71 stealth
[roll1] vs 30 Athletics (Not sure what modifiers apply)
Will spend a fate point to reroll the stealth if I botch it. Or the Athletics, if and only if the smoke dies on the same round I fail. Otherwise I'll eat a round or two of failures.
Fate reroll if needed [roll2]

I am delaying my climb action until after the others, so if they're going to shoot the driver, it happens before I climb up there and start waving to him like an ewok.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Hugging the wall as much as possible, Lilian took carefully aim at the sentinel pilot through the smoke. Zimm looked to be having trouble, and while no one had seen him yet, it was best not to take any chances.

Assuming I don't have to take a pinning test, I'll take the full action aim.

[Revanus]

Spoons stares in disbelief as Zimm disappears over the side of the roof. Too young. Too brash.

He glances at Spook and the others. He makes the hand signal for "sniper," shifts his body into proper shooting form, and brings his lasgun to his shoulder, flicking the fire-selector to Overload.

Spoons struggles to make out the smokey outline of the walker, and finally lines up his sights for a careful shot at the cockpit. Sally does the same, letting lose with a supporting volley an instant before Spoons pulls his own trigger.

Comrade Half-Action: Ranged Volley [+5 BS]

Character Full-Action: Called Shot on Sentinel Driver.

Attack: [roll0] vs. 60 45+5 (Ranged Volley) + 10 (Elevation) + 30 (Surprise) +10 (Close Range) -20 (Smoke) -20 (Called Shot)=60

Spend 1 Fate to reroll if miss: [roll1]

Damage: [roll2] Pen 2 + 1 dmg per 2 degrees of success beyond initial. Lasgun Barrage starts off success at +1


Following the shot, Spook quickly snatches one of Spoon's Krak grenades from his webbing, silently offering it to Trask.
Comrade Half-Action: Give/Ready

[Revanus]

3 Degrees of Success. Ambush adds 1 damage.

9 damage at Pen 2 to Sentinel Driver's Exposed Head.
Ammo: 56/60

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius kept his face immobile as the woman began to break down in front of him. He wanted to head her off, to tell her he wasn't going to shoot her, that he'd find someone else to show him the way. Kadir's voice played through his head, in the training halls of the Scholam as if it were yesterday.

Don't try to befriend them. They'll think you're weak. They have to fear you more than the enemy, and you can't fear your friends.

"That's enough, guardswoman," said Lucius, cutting her off before she could quite finish her last sentence. "You said these supplies would be looted? This is considered an acceptable state of discipline in the regiment?"

He looked out of the shuttle's cargo bay and picked up his peaked cap, settling it firmly on his head.

"I will find the colonel myself. Give me the directions to his headquarters and then you can be about your work."

[18th Avenger]

"Oh, sod."

Trask, being the second to follow Zimm, was creeping on the roof right next to Voss. His lascarbine was strapped to his chest and he'd drawn his autopistol for ease of use.

He'd followed Zimm and Voss on to the roof, where they were now watching the ex-ganger attempt to climb up the sentinel's hydraulics. The Roane wasn't saying he looked to be having trouble, but if the man couldn't get onto the cabin soon...

The silent trooper crouched as best he could on the roof and, like the techpriestess, took his weapon in a two-handed marksman's grip and aimed at the cockpit as well.

Back at their hold point, Haddon, with her clips propped up on the lip of her firing post, followed Razor and Lyra's example and began to wild plink away at sentinel's complement of support troops.

Trask - takes a Full Action Aim
Haddon shoots at the cultist troopers (Ranged Volley)
[roll0] vs 45 (40 + 5 BS)
[roll1] Pen 2 + 1 dmg per 2 degrees of success beyond initial

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The woman exhaled forcibly, hid her face in her hands for a moment, but when she straightened again, she seemed to had lightened up, summoning a feeble smile to her lips.

'T-thank you' she mumbled, something warm glinting in her eye. 'Sir' she added after a second, breathing out again. Lucius noticed that her hands were clenching it fists and opening time after time - it took her a good bit of effort to calm down. Hysteric, maybe? 'Those supplies will be looted' she was speaking slowly now, more for her own sake, than Commissar's 'because they are the first shipment in a month. S-see' combating her still shaking fingers, she managed to draw a small data-slate from her pocket, and displayed it to Lucius as if it was a proof of her innocence.

It showed a standard Munitorum requisition form: Aquila and a thought of the day on the top, followed by a bare table containing requisitioned items and the decision of the Departamento whether to yield such supplies to the regiment. Most of the positions on the Quartermaster's Prunikos list ended with bold, scarlet letters reading "request denied". Such an ornament adorned all requested munitions (apart from a single crate of fragmentation grenades), all vehicle parts and most of basic supplies. Only the ten crates of relief ration bars (1000 bars each), five filled with water purification tables and one of "basic medical supplies" were accepted for shipment by the clerks.

'It's not the discipline, sir' she said quietly. 'Half of the regiment has not eaten for the last three days. They are just hungry... And b-besides' the smile on her face was looking woefully out of place, and terribly forced, too 'everyone here's a bit of a looter. To survive' she justified quickly, with a shrug intended to mean "that is just how the things roll."

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius scanned the data-slate in his hand. The first shipment in a month? It was difficult to imagine how a regiment this size could function without regular resupply runs.

"That is not what I wanted to hear, Quartermaster Prunikos," he said, falling back on what he knew. "Hungry or not, stealing or misappropriating Guard supplies is a capital offence under article one thousand, one hundred and thirty two, fifty-four D." He put the slate back in Prunikos' hands. "Perhaps you might remind your friends in the ranks to put their duty before their stomachs."

"Now," he said. "The colonel. Where is he?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

She sighed again, but nodded obediently and still maybe a bit fearfully. It looked like she really wanted to say something about Lucius' last remark, but wisely stayed her tongue, instead just clenching at the dataslate tightly. Given how smoothed to the point of bending this thing was on the edges, it could be reasoned that it was neither the first nor the last time she vented stress in such a discreet manner.

'Far right corner' she gestured deeper into the camp. 'A small building from flak plates. Only one with a guard outside. Col... Provision-nal' she still stuttered slightly, though certainly ways less than moments before. As much as she tried to appear collected, she was quite far from that state indeed 'Colonel Rorke is always there. Uhm...' for a moment, she seemed as if about to add something, but she opted not too, exhaling once more and hiding the data slate back in the pocket and turning away back to her crates, looking around for some mean of ferrying them.

It was hot outside, certainly a warm and a sunny day. Sky above had a peculiar, yellowish colour, not very intense, almost fawn, but still alien enough to remind the young Commissar how far had he ventured - if he had the time to look up, that is, for the camp itself presented a rather interesting, if ungainly sight to behold.

Ramshackle - it would be the best word to describe the place, from its foundations. Everything here was ramshackle. Tents, huts, pathways in the dust, fences, guard-tower... All barely holding together, bolted quickly and crudely, held together by judicious application of adhesive tape and tangles of wire. There was always a certain makeshiftness to field camps like that one, but usually it tended to fade with time, the soldiers turning out their little blot of land into the closest thing to home they could create during deployment. But here, it felt different, as if this base was about to be abandoned, and no one really cared about what happened to it, whether it stood or fell apart.

But that outlook was hardly limited to the constructions; in the grunts scurrying around it was perhaps even more evident.

Most of them were skinny, often sickly so, even if judging by their frames, they should had been built well - but that was easy to miss, perhaps because of the flak cloth everyone cloaked themselves in. But there was just something almost tangible to them, some condition perhaps reflected in their slight hunch or lazy gait, or the way they wore their uniforms and arms that shrouded them in the same air of temporariness and fleetness that emanated from every crude structure in the entire camp. Were one to feel overly poetic, he could tell that in the eyes of those men and women - eyes all set on the Commissar, glinting angrily as they fiddled with their weapons - there was no tomorrow reflected. But that, again, would be overly poetic, and in some way too lofty for this dusted place.

Finding the colonel's quarters was not hard - Prunikos' directions were easily followed, and within a few minutes of walking through the camp, Lucius found himself before a small, ungainly square structure made of khaki-coloured flak-plates, with doors apparently taken from some civilian apartment, the paint on them scraped and dull. A guard stood on post, as expected, a long-faced pale fellow with shifty eyes and and a lascarabine with a severe case of rusting.

[LCP]

Lucius

Walking through the camp, Lucius felt his despair deepen - but with it came anger. Anger that anyone could have let a regiment sink this low, penal battalion or not - anger at the Munitorum bean-counters who had clearly strung them out to dry, and anger at the commanding officer who had allowed it to happen. Lucius was suspecting that Provisional Colonel Rorke's "extreme cowardice" might not just extend to the enemy.

Coming to a halt outside the door, he met the sentry's stare and waited for the man to salute. Looking at the man's gun, he said in a loud voice:

"Is that your lascarbine, guardsman?"

OOC: What time is it at the moment?

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The sharp sizzling of las discharges joined the dry staccato of autogun fire - and once again, the guardsment started risking their lives for some reason.

Some reason.

In the smoke, the band laying down suppressive fire upon the barricade scattered, throwing themselves for the cover too upon realizing they were being fired at, too. Their movement was barely visible through the haze, but scattered and random; the few las-bolts unleashed by Razor enough to break their bravado for a moment.

Zimms choked on the same smoke - that impossible to forget mixture of burnt gunpowder, ozone and just simple dust - trying to climb the sentinel. The machine was mostly still, but it swayed and shook nonetheless, and a wrong part gripped would likely result in having his fingers turned into reddish paste. Thankfully, the pilot had not noticed him - something else, and that is a las bolt blow parts of his jaw away occupied his attention. He yelled in pain, and panicked, pulling on the controls and launching his walker into a hurried run, with the young ganger still clinging to its leg. He was trying to run, obviously, blood pouring profoundly from his face - probably fatal due blood loss or infection, but in some time.

His yell alerted the remaining grunts only further, and they cowered behind rubble and fragments of buildings littering the street - poor cover against those on the roof, but they apparently had not noticed them yet in the distracting haze.

It would be hard for the clangour raised by them all not to alert the remaining rebels so far hidden in the ruins around, the ones responsible for the previous assaults. The street below would become a very dangerous place very soon - even though it was already rather perilous.

A stiff breeze blew down the alley, and the smoke begun to thin, the outlines of the men inside of it becoming clearer with every moment - it would last only for a moment longer.


Surprise round over, roll for imitative. Smoke 'nades expire next turn.
Theirs initiative: [roll0]

The sentinel accelerates and moves at its Tactical Speed. The penalty for climbing it becomes -10 and failing by two or more DoF will result in falling down.

[SlyJohnny]

"Frack. Frack!" Zimm hisses under his breath, his voice muffled by the knife into his mouth, his eyes going wide as he struggles to keep his grip as he's pulled along by the sentinel. For perhaps the first time since he landed on the planet, punching and swearing and spitting at the convict soldiers who hauled him out of the dropship and tried to steal his boots, he is genuinely scared. Not of dying, but of having his chest or legs entirely crushed by one of these huge metal feet and still living. Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea after all?

Nah. Nahhh. This is fine. He's been in worse scrapes than this. He's going to get on the roof of this thing and he's going to look fragging awesome.

He struggles upwards, twisting his body this way and that, trying to throw his lower weight upwards so he can hook his legs around the next segment, and from there pull himself towards the upper cabin...

Ideally I want to get on top of this thing and lie or hang at a angle so neither the infantry nor the driver can immediately see me, but I'm not sure where the infantry are or if that's possible.

Atheletics: [roll0] vs TN 30
Fate reroll if necessary: [roll1] vs TN 30

[Revanus]

Move and shoot. Move and shoot. A sitting duck is a dead duck. Stay a step ahead!

It had been a long time since marksmanship school, but Spoons hadn't forgotten the cardinal rule--an exposed sniper is already dead.

Almost as soon as he'd pulled the trigger, Spoons was on the move. He hadn't bothered to see if his shot hit--though the pain-ridden screams wafting on the wind confirmed he'd hit something in the smoke. His skilled hands had grown calloused and clumsy in the brutality of the mines, but at least some small part of his skill hadn't left him.

Only amateurs gloat. Spoons was more focused on finding cover. His old skills kicked in, and he moved quickly to the heaviest cover that would still give him a shot at the Sentinel while shielding him from view.

Half-Action Move [as few meters as possible, so as to still be in range of the staircase and in cohesion with comrade]

Stealth: [roll0] vs. 75 (45+30 (smoke))

Sally followed suit immediately, diving behind cover. She remembered her training.

Comrade Full-Action: Take Cover!

Safely behind cover, Spoons returns his attention to the battle. With grim resolve, he carefully eases his rifle up to his shoulder.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady.

Half-Action: Aim

[Gargulec]

Commissar

While Quartermaster Prunikos reacted to him with fear and alarm, the guardsmen in front of the office did not seem half as fazed by the sudden appearance of a Commissar.

He looked down at Lucius contemptuously, then raised his carbine as if to give it a closer inspection, before slinging it on his back nonchalantly.

'Ya, sir' he blurted at him, giving him something akin to a parody of a salute - and obviously intended to come out that way. 'That'd be my gun. What y'are, sir, blind?'

Commissar's loud voice attracted attention - probably as intended. From nearby tents and sitting places, a small group - perhaps a dozen, maybe more - of collared grunts rose, approaching the situation with somewhat of an idle curiosity. They had noticed Lucius before, and were eying him carefully ever since, but now they were interested in how the situation was going to unfold. They all bore their weapons, and their hands stuck dangerous close to the triggers. Whispers were passed between them, but too quiet for him to make out individual words.

'Ya don't like it, sir?' the trooper asked, a nasty grin appearing on his face. 'Maybe y'are gonna assign me to a penal battalion as a punishment, sir?' there was nary a trace of fear nor respect in his face, but a lot of rampant insolence.

Someone in the gathering chuckled slightly, as if it was a joke.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Switching her target as the sentinel fled, she fired at one of the shadowy rebels in the smoke below. Seeing her target remain standing after taking the hit, she took a moment to adjust her aim.

Half action: standard attack
Half action: aim (could I continue it next round to get the +20?)

[LeSwordfish]

Razor pulled the pin from his grenade. Five seconds to detonation.

Four. When a grenade detonated at head height or close to the main body mass, the effects were far more dramatic and devastating than an explosion underfoot.

Three. More usually instantly fatal.

Two. Though that couldn't be helped.

One. Razor leaned out from his cover and hurled the grenade at the nearest enemy below.

Throwing a frag grenade. BS 36, no modifiers i believe? If you don't need to "ready" a grenade, i'll HA aim it, but i presume you do. [roll0] to hit, [roll1] scatter in [roll2] direction, [roll3] damage.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius was stunned for a moment. Where was this man's rightful fear of the Commissariat?

"Article eight thousand, three hundred and thirty two, ninety-four K states that any soldier who allows his weapons or equipment to become rusted will be flogged," he said. He jerked his head in the direction of the lascarbine. "You will report to the punishment yard in one hour, where you will receive thirty lashes, and if I find one speck of rust remaining on your weapon by then I will make it sixty." He scanned the slovenly guardsman's uniform, looking for any sign of a name tag. "Give me your name and rank."

[18th Avenger]

Back at the hold point, Haddon kept up the fire, keeping her head down and popping off the occasional shot by raising her lascarbine over her cover.

Current Ammo in Haddon's Clip - 54/60
On the roof, Trask had frontside seats to watching Zimm (whose fast-moving mouth was indicative of wild effort) haul himself closer to the driver's cab of the sentinel. Down below, grenades went off and the walker's compliment of infantry was doing a half-hearted job of trying to dislodge Razor and their remaining comrades.

Someone's shot punched into the cab and winged the pilot. That was good. It spoke of divine favor glaring down at them, especially considering the smoke and chaos. Now it was his turn. Trask, in his studied marksman's stance, slowed his breathing and took in the juddering movement of the sentinel.

This would be a one-in-a-million shot. And anything he could do would make their lives (especially Zimm's) all the easier. Trask breathed in and sighted down his pistol.

He breathed in, letting the heat and disorder of the battlefield fall away like petals in the wind.

He breathed out. Aware only of the world only as faraway sounds and sensations.

The trigger on the battered autopistol was squeezed slowly.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The soldier just shrugged, entirely unmoved by the punishment he had been just sentenced to. However, his fingers started stroking the laccarabine's safety switch, a gesture not meant to be discreet at all.

'No can't do, sir' he replied, apparently a bit amused. 'Y'see, I've been assigned to this post, and I can't leave... so ya'll need to flog someone else.'

'Carbo has it' someone called from behind, an unremarkable, lanky soldier who too toyed with his gun in a way that was certainly not allowed in Manual of Use. 'He can't leave his post, that'd be against the regs, right, boy?' the last was apparently aimed. 'You seem to know a frakking lot of them regulations, so tell us.'

The previous chuckled changed into open, mocking laughter, bereft of any mirth nor pity.

One more thing occurred to Lucius: the vast majority of the soldiers around him looked older than him, by far. Skinny, weathered, balding, sickly looking, few of them had any trace of youth left in them, even if they by all accounts should be little more than juves. Compared to them, he looked like a child, all cleaned and tidy in a very messy world.

'So, sir' the guard asked, his tone openly ridiculing. 'What shall it be? Ya gonna parole the poor grunt, innocent and unblemished like frakking newborn babe?'

[LCP]

Lucius

Looking around, Lucius had an uncomfortable feeling that he was surrounded. His experience of the lower classes thus far had been limited to the respectful nods of the Cantus regiments while on cadet attachment from the Scholam; he had never been spoken to, let alone spoken back to, by so many. This close it was easy to see why they were kept out of the upper spires - easy to smell it, too.

Backing down was not a luxury he had. Back down here and his authority would be crippled forever. This was the colonel's door; his best chance was to make as much noise as possible.

"My name," he said, raising his voice until it was practically a shout, "is Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville." He tried to imbue his words with the cut-glass, aristocratic ring of command that had always served him on Cantus. "Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville. I have been seconded to your regiment by the blessed Munitorum, and I intend to do my duty. As you should do yours."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. A wealthy man's diet and the rigorous training regime of the Scholam had left him with a height advantage over most citizens of the Imperium.

"There is one regulation you ought to know, guardsman, even if you do not know the others. What is the penalty for disrespecting an officer?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

His height, his posture, his broads shoulders and the voice that was actually well trained and cracked loudly and sharply - it was what saved Lucius. The grunt in front of him hesitated, and the laughs behind his back died down as if cut with a knife, replaced by the characteristic and unmistakable sound of lasguns being revved up.

But fingers were not on the triggers, and the Gallowers behind suddenly silent and nervous. Mere moments ago, they were disregarding the Commissar as an idiot to be forgotten moments after being put in the dirt, but now, Lucius managed to put a crack in their boldness fueled by numbers. Their eyes were now all on him, awaiting his next move anxiously, and without a trace of their former amusement.

The guard twitched and cowered slightly, lowering his corroded gun again - he averted his eyes, too, no longer starring impudently in Lucius' face.

'I do, sir' he uttered finally, though clenched teeth - both angry and intimidated at the same time. And that "sir" at least did not sound like a slur in his mouth.

[LCP]

Lucius

"Well then," said Lucius, keeping his voice loud and brisk. He fixed the sentry with his stare. "Let us both agree you never intended to do so."

He nodded to the man's carbine. "You are relieved of your post, guardsman. Go clean your weapon." He turned and scanned the others, looking for the one who seemed the most smartly turned-out. "You. You will take this guardsman's post until he is ready to return."

"Now," he said, "I need to see your colonel."

He did his very best to ignore the tiny, high-pitched voice at the back of his mind. It would stop screaming some time soon.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers


Initiative order:
Zimm: 15
Trask: 14
Spoons: 13
Sentie: 12 (deceased)
Lilan: 10
The wild bunch of rebels and cultists: 9
Razor: 8


Zimms, sitting square on the rickety roof of the sentinel heard a popping sound, and then, abruptly, the screaming below stopped, replaced by a tormented, but thankfully quiet whine. Before the pilot had the opportunity to actually launched the walker into run, a hole was opened in his chest, blowing off a huge chunk of flesh and stealing away his breath and ability to actually move beyond twitching. The head of the sentinel shook, then dropped as he slumped on the control levers, but Zimms managed to hold on - and from his elevated spot, he even managed to see the corpse of the pilot, still shuddering slightly as last of his life bled away fell out of the cockpit and dangle down from the safety harness.

But there was no time to observe; a few more las-discharged cracked in the dry air, another rebel cried out in pain as a stray projectile evaporated parts of his armour and singed him badly as he was desperately trying to unjam his weapon, to which his comrades answered with yet another unorganized barrage, laying down heavy fire on the hab-building's front and the barricade standing in the entrance, the soldiers on the roof still hidden from them by rapidly dispersing clouds of smoke.

They continued to squeeze their triggers and fill the air with lead even as the grenade exploded in front of them, sending shrapnel keening over their heads, but only managing to lacerate the dead pilot further and muffle the cannonade for a second.

After the blast had rang its course, and the dust settled, another gust of wind rendered what little remained of the chaff into a transparent fog, uncovering a battered crossing, the rebels cowering behind pieces of rubble and in craters blown before, nervously glancing behind them, where from the ruined buildings, their comrades started to swarm forth to join them in their assault.


The sentie pilot is dead. The rebels once again lay suppressive fire on the barricade, achieving nothing apart from keeping Razor pinned. The smoke is gone, and the people on the roof will be noticed promptly.

[18th Avenger]

Trask's autopistol - 17/18
Trask looked at the halted sentinel. The he looked at his autopistol, its barrel still smoking lightly. He looked at the sentinel again. Then back at his autopistol.

"Well, sod me," he breathed out. While it felt like he had forgotten how to use a lasgun in the five years he'd worked the Mesnan mines, apparently he'd become rather good at firing solid round munitions.

It was then he also remembered that while the sentinel was now no longer a problem, there was still the matter of the escorts. Hurriedly, Trask lay on the roof to lessen his profile and aimed his pistol through the smog, loosing more rounds in their general direction.

Full Auto Burst - Half Action
To Hit: [roll0] vs 30 (40 - 10)
Damage: [roll1]
Clip - 11/18
From her position, Haddon calmed down enough to send steady blasts of lasfire down at the attackers' heads.

Ammo in Haddon's Clip - 52/60

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Sir, yes sir!' the guard sprung for a salute that would make any drill sergeant proud, an expression of utter relief painted clearly and vibrantly across his face. The one Lucius chose quickly assumed his place, passing the Commissar a salute, too, and even opened the door for him courtly, letting him into the brightly illuminated interior.

Even though it was sunny outside, and a lot of light fell through two windows cut in the walls, a pair of lamp-packs blazed on the solid desk in the middle, saturating the entire office in eye-tiring radiance.

'Eh?'

And behind that desk, Provisional Colonel Rorke sat.

He was once a plump man, and tall, too, giving him quite a jovial appearance. And while everyone around in the Gallows Legion seemed to be skin and bones, the commander managed to somehow keep his bloated belly, barely fitting into the stained, faded officer uniform, once richly embroidered with gold and silver eagles and skulls, but now vulgar copper was sticking out from under the flaking layer of precious paint. The flange of his coat was left upright, covering his entire thick neck in what seemed like a failed attempt at giving oneself and aristocratic look, and was apparently aimed at concealing the collar beneath it.

And what was above too made a poor impression: a fat, round face on a balding head, with water, small eyes that had been squinting in the light for too long, cheeks sagged.

'Oh' he grunted again, scrambling up from behind the desk (he was apparently in the process of penning a letter, given the autoquill and a roll of parchment sitting by the lamps). 'Who the warp is... oh' he paused for a moment, and then, suddenly a wide, smug grin was on his lips. 'A Commissar! Good day to you, good sir!' there was something quite obnoxiously subservient in his tone. 'I am Colonel Rorke, the commander of this despicable bunch' he waved his thick fingers towards the camp proper. 'We have not been warned about your arrival' he added. 'You bear us some unexpected news? Maybe a pardon?' he paused for a moment, before forcing a bout of faked laugh. 'Hah! Just jesting, just jesting. We are all very glad to risk our lives for the Emperor...'

The entire office was littered with parchaments, discarded quills, tomes of Lex Imperialis, and a few cartons of what appeared to be ration bars.

[Revanus]

Spoons watched as the Sentinel dropped its nose, the heavy corpse of the driver slumped over and straining against the harness.

Good shooting.

Fluidly, he shifted his aim down, towards the enemy soldiers. From his elevated vantage point, he had an unobstructed view of the troops below.

Textbook ambush. This would be easier.

Spoons flipped his fire selector to semi-automatic, and thumbed the power switch to overcharge. Sally was a step ahead, already firing down on the cowering rebels.
Comrade Half-Action: Ranged Volley [+5 BS]

Aiming down his sights, Spoons centered his lasgun on a guardsman in the middle of the pack.

A kill is more effective when everyone can see it.

The lasgun fired, sending three angry bolts into the unsuspecting crowd.

Semi-Auto:
Hit: [roll0] vs. 105 45 +5 RV+10 Aim+10 Elevation+10 Short Range+30 Unaware=65. +60 Max bonus.

Damage 1: [roll1]+4+Ambush=13
Damage 2: [roll2]+4+Ambush=13
Damage 3: [roll3]+4+Ambush=9

5 DoS +1 DoS for Lasgun Barrage. Replacing Damage 1 with 6. +3 Damage for Ambush.

Move and shoot.

Again, Spoons didn't wait to see the results of his shots. He and Sally were already on the move--shifting to another piece of heavy cover near the stairwell, but preserving a view of the action below.

Half-Action Move.
Stealth: [roll4] vs. 45

Comrade: Half-Action Cohesion
Ammo: 50/60

With his back against cover, Spoons tried to catch the eye of Lilian and Trask. He pointed to the stairwell, and spelled out "V-O-X" using hand signals.

[LCP]

Lucius

Squinting in the bright light, Lucius felt his heart sink as he took in the sight of Colonel Rorke. Nevertheless, he snapped off a sharp salute.

"Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville at your service, colonel. Not bringing any news, sir. I have been assigned to serve with your regiment."

Standing until invited to sit, he allowed his gaze to wander around the office.

"It seems we've both been put at a disadvantage. You were not expecting me, and I was not expecting to be only commissar in this regiment."

He wanted to say more, but he was talking to an officer now. However shabby the colonel might look, Lucius could not force himself to adopt the same brusque tone with Rorke as he had with Prunikos and the others.

"I must say, colonel, from what I've seen so far the regiment does not seem to be in the best state. I tried to discipline a fellow just now for egregious neglect of his equipment, and the man was downright insolent." He glanced over his shoulder towards the door. "I encountered your quartermaster too, coming off the shuttle, and she told me that the other soldiers would loot her supplies as soon as look at them. Is this... normal?" he asked, trailing off a little. "Has there been some great battle, to damage morale?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Oh Commissar' he smiled as if to an oblivious child. 'There is no discipline among those dregs, and there cannot be' he nodded sagely. 'They are a cowardly and a superstitious lot, fit only to die, for the Emperor's glory' he pointed at a small shrine standing on the corner of his desk, an actually pleasant little thing, wooden and carved expertly. It displayed the Emperor Merciful, gracing his loyal followers with gifts of strength and zeal. 'As for looting, what would expect out of thieves and murderers and traitors? I'd have to hang high the Gallows, all of them' he snorted with laughter again, amused by his own joke. 'Let them steal and let them loot, they are the bottom of a barrel anyway' contempt in his voice - contempt for his own troops - was as open as it could only get. Contempt and hatred.

Lucius caught a glimpse of the headline of the document Rorke was composing before being interrupted. In High Gothic neat, caligraphed, visibly aristocratic in character, it read "To the Lords of the Sector, most Exalted in their Boundless Grace, a humble plea for clemency from an Innocent wrongly accused".

'So, you have been assigned to us. Certainly a grace, though I am worried your qualities are wasted on those scum' he continued talking. 'You seem like a good lad. Back in the time before I was unjustly' he put a terrible stress on that word, as if it was the sole pillar of his belief 'unjustly and foully stabbed in the back by those who would seek to hurt such a fine servant of the Emperor as I am, I used to know a Mayford-Dunsertville. Cassius Mayford-Dunsterville. A fine man, just as you certainly are. In all honesty, I believe that you have been assigned here as a mistake. Certainly, Commissariat meant to put you somewhere else, and only because of some foe of you you were stuck with this... filth' the same tone again, that same mixture of bile, bitterness and hatred towards his troops. 'You can never know who will hurt you, lad. Who will do you wrong. There are enemies of us everywhere, hiding in the shadows, waiting for us to make a single mistake to destroy our lives...'

[SlyJohnny]

One hand gripping the handle of his shotgun and the other hand brandishing his monoknife, Zimm swings round into the sentinel cabin, and casually remarks, " 'sup? "

He frowns as he realizes the driver is already dead. He wanted to see the poor bastard's face, before splattering it all over the back seat with his shotgun. Still, at least this indicates that his new comrades can actually shoot straight. Sometimes he wonders about those dour bastards, he really does.

Still, there's no time for regrets or reflection. He needs to stop this sentinel in its tracks. He leans in, kicking the driver in the head so his lifeless body lolls back against the seat and away from the control panel, and then swings himself inside the cockpit to sit on the corpse's lap.

He glances over the control panel, surprised (but not actually troubled) that the controls on offer look entirely unfamiliar and unintuitive. He notes the more recognizable levers that likely control the autocannon, resembling as they do the controls on a fixed gun emplacement, and Zimm's eyes light up as he instantly loses whatever fleeting interest he had in gaining control of the vehicle.

He spins the gun around to bear on the infantry closest to the hab structure and engages the weapon, sweeping it across their huddling masses. The way the walker shakes and rattles as the gun booms out the Emperor's wrath makes him want to whoop and shout, but the small part of his brain that's occupied with self-preservation decides not to draw more attention to the coopted vehicle than necessary.

Semi-Auto Burst, close range +10, elevation +10, no surprise: [roll0] vs TN 68
Spending Fate to reroll to-hit, if necessary: [roll1]

Aiming for unwounded soldiers, allocating additional hits to separate individuals:
First [roll2] Pen 6
Second [roll3] Pen 6
Third [roll4] Pen 6

Bah! Ah well, my luck had to run out sooner or later.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius blinked like a lizard. His mother had been a Dunsterville, his father a Mayford; as far as he was aware, the name Mayford-Dunsterville had started with him when his mother's more prestigious family had refused to let her child carry only the father's name. He wasn't about to challenge the colonel on the matter, but it only confirmed the opinion he was forming of the man. Common.

"Dregs or not, colonel," he said, "they can hardly be expected to die effectively for the Emperor if they have forgotten how to follow orders. There are enemies in the open as well, and it's our duty to bleed them as hard as we can for every one of these dregs they kill."

"I didn't see a punishment yard on the way here; I'd appreciate it if you'd order the men to rig one. To remind them that offences must be punished. I would also like to hold a weapons inspection for the regiment at dawn tomorrow."

Producing the crumpled file he had been reading before the descent, Lucius looked back at Rorke. "I'm afraid my briefing on the situation here has been terribly incomplete. Could you tell me what other regiments are operating in this theatre? Where they are stationed? The disposition of the enemy?" He paused. "Oh - and where I will be billeted."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'No one is saying anything about dying effectively' the colonel shrugged, almost offended by the notion. 'This is a place for them to die, and if they die, the Munitorium is content. And that is all required of them, to bleed' again, this same hatred, this same disdain. 'And I heartily suggest you concern yourself little with them, and instead join me in the only important effort left to us, since we are stranded among madmen and scum. We need to convince those damned clerks, Emperor-forsaken fiends with their qulls' he scowled profoundly and very much bitterly 'and cogitators and rampant disregard for the humble servants of His Divine Majesty, we need to convince them to pardon us, move us somewhere...' the fact that Lucius was not convicted apparently slipped his mind, or he chose not to notice. 'For I am telling you, this regiment is a gallows, nothing more!' he thumped at the table, a gesture meant to come off as furious, but turning out to be desperate instead. 'Can you imagine that? Everything that I had, taken away from me, only because I chose to be smart instead of suicidal, only for His greater glory...'

He was lying. And he was lying poorly - but in a way of a man who repeated the same lie a thousand times, to others, but mainly to himself, and decided that he preferred it to the real.

'Thus I sit here among the damned, and I write, write, write, I plead and I beg, for I know that the scales of the Imperial Justice will forever account in balance, and that I will be rewarded for my sacrifices!' he kept on smashing his hand, faster, stronger, almost a tantrum. 'For I am innocent among the guilty and it is all their fault, their doing! Our foes, our traitors, the ones who sought to destroy me, because they could not match me...' his voice snapped suddenly, like a chord pulled too taunt. 'If only my friends had not abandoned me...' he whispered, resting his palms finally and slumping back, as if all the fevour was bled away. 'If only the Munitorium could see me for what I really am... but there is no hoping for that, is there?' he looked at Lucius, his eyes hurt, pained. 'I will wither and die amidst the foulest, amidst the scum, amidst this... this... this...'

He sighed desperately.

'Go, commissar, go and get murdered like the others before you... You are dismissed.'

[LCP]

Lucius

"Like... the others... before me?"

Lucius had seen the atrocious casualty rates in the file. He had never considered that they might be due to anything else than enemy action.

He considered his options. It was clear that the colonel was not about to make himself helpful, but Lucius knew the value of first impressions. After a long hesitation, he decided on a new tack.

"Why don't you tell me, colonel?" he said. His voice had an air of confidence between officers. "Tell me how you came to be here."

He helped himself to a chair at last.

"After all," he said, "as you say... I'm the closest to an official hearing you're going to get."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Rorke considered for a moment, but shook his head again, waving his hand as if to scare off something particularly annoying or biting.

'I am tired of talking, Commisar, and with explaining' he mumbled dully. 'There is nothing for me to tell you about, and if you are stuck in this pit with me, then you shall surely hear the tale from some other mouth. Leave me to my woes and my daemons, if you please, for they are plenty' a faint, acidic note in his voice implied that he was starting to get annoyed now. 'Be dismissed. Go and arrange your little execution yard, see if this moves this filth to anything but base amusement. Or do whatever you see fit. In the end, you will rot here just as I will...' he finished, closing his eyes and folding his hand on the chest, assuming the look of a particularly bloated mummy.

[LCP]

Lucius

Looking at the colonel now, Lucius could no longer veil his contempt. Standing back up, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

"As you wish, colonel," he said. "You will oblige me by telling me where to find your second-in-command."

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

As the smoke cleared, Lilian was able to actually see her target for the first time. Firing at the man once again, she turned before seeing the shot impact and moved towards the stairs giving Spoons a quizzical look.

Half action: standard attack [roll0] vs 80 (BS30+aim+high ground+ short range)
Damage: [roll1]
Half action: move
I don't have the book on hand at the moment, so I may have made a mistake. I'll check it when I get my hands on my book again.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

It was loud on the crossing before, gunfire and shouts, but the moment the autocannon spoke, the entire thing exploded into a deafening cacophony.

The large-caliber rounds whistled safely above the rebels' heads, exploding in the facade of the building behind them and just crumpling it, sending shards of brick in every direction and throwing the heretical reinforcements even closer to the ground, scrambling for their guns in a panic. Spoons' methodical barrage from the roof, along with the less precise, but still loud and terrifying spray of gunfire coming from the tech-priest and the operator scattered them further all across the pavement, unable to focus their fire on a single target.

Two of them were struck, their screams of pain joining the noise - they started to flee almost in the instant, running in the opposite direction of the sentinel and the hab-block, fumbling and tripping, but not stopping for a second to look back.

Others, however, decided to stand their ground, as valiantly as they could - and confident that they could overwhelm the guardsmen with superior numbers.

Another cannonade of auto-gun rounds followed, but this time not aimed at suppressed Razor behind the barricade but rather cutting down the squad. A pair of rebels, obvious more shocked than the others, continued to empty their magazines in the direction of the Sentinel, managing to scrape its paint more than anything before lurching back to cover, but one of their comrades proved far more level-headed or just insane, and with a wicked grin walked out from behind the rubble previously concealing him, threw his gun to his shoulder and aimed casually and precisely, before putting a bullet in Zimms' leg - and if not for the jerking and twitching of the walker still uncontrollably slowly trotting down the street, it could have landed far worse.

The remaining just battered at the guardsmen on the roof - they shot a lot, and not without success, a bullet winging Trask in the hand before he could hide behind the wall again.

More of their allies swarmed, another group of ten running towards the building from the direction of the lurching sentinel, intent on joining the fray, apparently yet unaware that the sentinel was not under their control anymore.


Cultists act! Most of them just shoot, one of them aims and shoots Zimms. Total of two hits: 9 damage to Zimms' right leg and 7 damage to Trask's right hand.

Another band of ten will join the battle next turn.



Commissar

'Captain Tasquo fills this role' the colonel shrugged idly. 'Hopefully for not long. You can find that cursed man in the shack next to this... office. Go' his urging was once again underlined by a wave of the hand.

There was actually a plate hanging from the door to a surprisingly tidy little shack five meters from the one occupied by Rorke, a tarnished brass plaque calling the building the size of an overgrown latrine the HQ of the 1st Company's commander, Provisional Captain Tasquo. There was no guard posted here, but a few grunts sat near, playing something with tattered cards on a flak-cloak thrown to the floor. They looked at the Commissar briefly as he passed, but said nothing, just offering what in their minds was a salute. They had witnessed him deal with the previous guard and apparently did not really want to aggravate him more than it was necessary.

'A Commissar' he heard a dry voice behind him, and turned to face an aging man, once tall but slowly being dwarfed by the years piling on his shoulders. A flak-cloak hanging from one of his arms did not hide the captain's distinctions on the other. He saluted - briskly, though imprecisely, a gesture that was usually considered unnecessary for the officers of his rank - and smiled. 'You have just arrived, I see. Come' he stated, opening the door leading into the shack and point in. 'I'm sure you have many questions.'

He did not look much like a soldier, actually, but rather a scribe or a scholar with a wrinkled faced and balded head mottled with dark spots, a long, hooky nose and a pair of dully-grey eyes peeking from behind it finishing the picture of a stereotypical savant. Still, he held himself upright, and there was certain sternness to the way he moved, indicating a man of a lively spirit.

The interior was a polar opposite of Rorke's quarters. A small, tidy room with a cot in the corner, a bowl of water standing on a footlocker and a desk bending under the weight of files, maps and complete edition of Tactica Imperialis piled on it.

'As you have probably figured out he said walking in 'I am the provisional captain Septimius Tasquo, leader of the First Company and one of the few original Mesnans still alive. Please, have a seat' he pointed at a stool next to the desk, while sitting down himself, to the sound of a painted grunt. 'I'd treat you to to a cup of something warm, but as of late, the only thing this regiment drinks is purified water and the booze Sunny somehow manages to acquire, Warp knows how, so will have to keep to the water. No offense, but you don't look like you could stomach a jar of her brew' he sighed lightly again, almost longingly. 'Did the colonel send you?' he asked quietly, a glint in his eye suggesting that he knew just as well what kind of sending the colonel could give.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm whimpers in agony and instinctively clutches at his thigh as the auto-round cuts straight through it. He's been shot twice before- one time taking a bullet to the stomach during a hijacking gone bad, and before that, the time he discharged a round into his own foot with his very first stub revolver- and he is very distressed to find that it isn't something that seems to get less objectionable with practice. He watches the blood pool around his hand as it seeps out of his leg and stains his cargo pants, and then shakes his head, struggling to regain his focus.

Focus. Right. New squad of soldiers coming towards him. They haven't noticed him yet. Deal with that, before it becomes a problem. He spins the autocannon in their direction. Okay, not so low this time. Don't need to account for the recoil like you would if you was holdin' it yourself. Easy. Check firing solution, aim, and... He squeezes the trigger, discharging three rounds into the centre of their formation, attempting to frighten them into scattering and halting their advance.

There. What else? He shakes his head up and down, woozy from the sudden blood loss, and looks out into the street as it passes by. Ah! The sentinel. It's still moving away. He needs to stop it from doing that. And he doesn't know how. Ferden does, though.

He leans bodily out of the cockpit, and yells loudly in the direction of the hab block that the sentinel is currently ambling away from, waving his bloodied hand to further attract the Operator's attention, sending rogue droplets spraying onto the side of the walker's hull.

"YO! TRASK!" he roars. "What buttons do I gotta press to stop this thing or make it walk backward? Talk me through it, you know what I'm sayin'? "

Suppressing Fire (Semi-Auto), close range +10, elevation +10, surprise +30, -20 suppressing fire: [roll0] vs TN 78

Aiming for the reinforcements, allocating additional hits to separate individuals:
First [roll1] +5 from Ambush talent = 42, Pen 6
Second [roll2] +5 from Ambush talent = 35, Pen 6
Third [roll3] +5 from Ambush talent = 29, Pen 6

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius hesitated. "That is one way of putting it."

He held out a gloved hand for Tasquo to shake. "Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville, of the Cantus Dunstervilles, at your service." Taking a seat, he made a mental note of the comment about 'Sunny' and illicit alcohol. "I have been attached to this regiment for the foreseeable future. I was hoping you could brief me on your situation here."

OOC: Things Lucius would like to know:
The current strength of the regiment
The names of the other commanding officers
The names of the other regiments deployed here with us, and where they are based.
The nature and disposition of the enemy
How the war on this planet has been going up to this point
Where Lucius is going to be billeted

[Revanus]

Spoons kept his head down. The crack of a bullet breaking the sound barrier echoed nearby.

Shifting positions now would be dangerous. A distraction was needed.

With practiced ease, Spoons adjusted the fire settings on his M36 back to standard power. No need to waste ammo just to keep heads down.

As usual, Sally was on the same page. She opened up on the troops below.
Comrade Half Action: Ranged Volley

Easing out of his cover, Spoons opened up with semi-auto suppressive fire, catching both groups of troops in his 45* firing arc, the las bolts casting a fiery red glow down the main boulevard.

Full-Action--Suppressive Fire:

[roll0] vs. 50 45+5 (Ranged Volley)+10 (Short Range)+10 (Elevation)-20 (Suppressive Fire)=50



Allocate any hits to the original group of 10 (closest to the building).
Damage 1: [roll1]
Damage 2: [roll2]
Damage 3: [roll3]

Hit test rerolled below. No jam, no hits, lots of pinning tests. :)
Ammo:47/60

[Revanus]

Fate reroll:
[roll0]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Captain Tasquo turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant interlocutor, as much as the circumstances allowed. Reasonably cultured, calm if somewhat bitter at times and often glaringly unaware of how basic military maneuverer took place, he quickly gave Lucius a briefing into the situation on the Expungia, and the state of the Gallows Legion.

As of that day, the Gallows Legion consisted of three companies that theoretically were supposed to be four hundred men strong - but actually due to loses and spotty reinforcements, hovered around the three hundred mark - the Colonel himself with a command detachment attached to him, and a handful of various "logistic staff" as Tasquo put - quartermaster, chief engineseer, vox operators, cooks, all the people not serving with a lascarabine in hands but nonetheless vital for the Regiment's smooth operating. All in all, a thousand men and women, slightly more given the fresh shipment of convicts.

The remaining commanding officers of importance were the two other captains, leaders of the remaining companies. Captain Melk - when speaking about him, Tasquo furrowed his brow saying that 'he'd be the best soldier we have if he'd ever got sober for longer than an hour' and captain Viedo, for whom Tasquo had nothing but a contempt. 'He's from Rorke's mould' he explained. 'And as Rorke, all he wants is a pardon, but he actually actively trying to make his soldiers make him into a hero.' His attempts at heroism had caused his company to suffer twice the casualty rates of the other, and so far no victory won by it was even noted by the Munitorium, stirring the man to even stupider moves. 'At least I know I'm a bad commander' the captain in front of Lucius summed up wryly.

The remaining four regiments, apart from the Gallows Legion were mostly unremarkable: 17th and 18th Dreahian Line Infantry, stationed good five hundreds kilometers away from the Gallows' position, currently rooting out the rebels from the lowlands that occupied most of the planet's northern continent, 3rd Fenkswordian Artillery, deployed very close behind - actually, Mesnans were to serve as a buffer between their basilisks and manticores and the enemy and - probably the most interesting position on the list - 12th Savlar Chem Dogs, operating in the general area, and having their base of operations set around fifty kilometers away.

'Sunny claims they're a godsend' Tasquo added, upon mentioning the other penal regiment. 'They get twice as much supplies as we do, and can be traded with easily, according to her. Same scavenger's instinct the, she's telling me.'

The war itself was pretty much a stalemate at this moment. The Imperial Guard removed the rebels from the open grounds of the planet and assumed control over some of the more important space ports, locking the dissenters in the sprawling urban complexes that occupied the better part of Expungian's southern, warmer continent. The problem was, the cities were literally swarming with enemies, and while they could not or just were not organized well enough to push guradsmen back, no one knew how to actually push them out of the cities. Five regiments spread over two continents was a pretty measly force, certainly too small to just recklessly lock itself in the meatgrinder of urban warfare. Thus, for the last few months, the war limited itself to attempts at taking over various small towns in the orbit of the metropoleis, which without exception only caused said town to be reduced to rubble, and gave no tangible strategical benefits or advantages.

The enemy himself was mostly a militia by now, but a numerous militia. Leftoevers from the planetary PDF forces, two renegade regiments and as many civilians as they could draft in, poorly armed and armoured, but devoted and as said - very numerous. They had thankfully lost most of their heavy armour in the initial months of fighting, which made them even less capable of matching the Guard in the open.

As for billeting: there was a similar, currently vacant shack in the opposite corner of the camp, near the vehicle bay that Lucius could and should take over.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius listened closely to Dasquo's briefing, nodding along to the salient points. When the captain was done, he hesitated for a moment.

"When I was assigned here, Dasquo... I was expecting to be assigned to a squad, or a platoon. Instead I seem to find myself as commissar to the whole regiment." He paused again. "Colonel Rorke... made certain insinuations about my predecessors. Could you tell me what happened to them?"

[18th Avenger]

In what scant cover the roof could provide, Trask shook his lightly wounded hand and cursed. The blast winged him and almost made him drop his autopistol. Thankfully, he was able to slide a little lower out of their wild field of fire.

From his post on the roof with Voss, the operator was quite ready to begin a second round of firing down into the confused (but now-ready) mass of enemy soldier when he began to hear Zimm shouting for instruction. It was almost funny, actually. Trask rose in his position and let loose another burst.

Full Auto Burst - Half Action
To Hit: [roll0] vs 50 [40 - 10 (for Full Auto) + 10 (Elevation) + 10 (Closeness to Target)]
Damage: [roll1]
Clip - 5/18
Whether or not he hit anything this time, Trask rose to his full height, waving and shouting in Zimm's direction. "There's two thingys! Big levers that should jut up at chest height! They're gonna be moving too!" He shouted, making a gesture as if he was in the cab of the sentinel, his arms pistoning in time with the disjoined walk. "Pull those back! Pull! Those! Back!" He mimed the motion of pulling back.

Getting Zimm to turn would be a lot more tricky.

And right downstairs, Haddon thought it would be a brilliant idea to freshen up her repertoire by cursing blisteringly with each burst. It also might have made people wonder how she found a new firing spot so quickly.

Ammo in Haddon's Clip - 50/60

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The final question gave Tasquo a pause. He went silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke - with a heavy frown on his face - his tone grew profound.

'They were martyred in the line of duty' he repeated after the Munitorium's document. 'We saw no evil, heard no evil and most assured, we spoke no evil in that regard.'

He slumped in his chair, leaning back at staring at the stained, dieted plank of wood serving for the roof about, as if he wanted to see through it, into the yellow sky above.

'Commissar' he spoke quietly before Lucius could leave. 'We are all here to die, and no one has any qualms about it. It is not a punishment, it is not justice, it is not a chance of redemption, it is just a cruel death we were all sentenced to. I am not even sure if it is better than the mines' there was little, if any emotion in this description. Stating facts, not making assumptions. A weight of experience, a weight of misery. 'Make of that what you will, but don't forget it.'

[LeSwordfish]

Lyra leaned out of cover to fire a few carbine bursts, and immediately ducked back in as a stray round pulverised the concrete and drew wire-thin scars across her face and neck. She wiped the blood from her eyes and laid down a burst of semi-automatic fire without looking.

"Dammit, Razor!" She growled. "Do something."

So that's how she looked with blood in her eyes.

As he switched the firing mode on his carbine to Overload and laid it in the crook of the window, Razor idly copied the expression. Mild distaste, in the eyes and the set of the mouth. Interesting. He made the expression again, and leaned out of cover to fire a full-strength sizzling bolt at the nearest foe.

Pinning: [roll0] vs 20 IIRC
[roll1] to hit vs 36+10 range +10ss?. HA aim for another +10 if pinning test passed. [roll2] evasion for the target. [roll3] pen 2 damage

6 carbine rounds depleted.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius fought back an irritated frown. It seemed no-one was going to give him a straight answer - but like the colonel, it wouldn't do to alienate this man on his first day. Particularly as Dasquo seemed like he might actually be helpful.

Nevertheless, Lucius couldn't help but wonder what the little fellow was driving at. All this talk about punishment and certain death... that might apply to them, but it certainly didn't apply to him. He was a Dunsterville, and destined for better things.

He settled for saying "I see", in a voice that did its best to convey complete understanding of whatever it was Dasquo was getting at. He would find out about these other commissars, whether they liked it or not. He'd ask every man in the camp if he had to. Perhaps that sentry from earlier wouldn't be so damned mysterious.

"Well, captain," he said, "I'm here now, and I must say that what I've seen of the regiment so far hasn't been entirely encouraging. With your help, I would like to rig a punishment yard, and conduct a full equipment inspection for all guardsmen here in the camp tomorrow at dawn. Let them know that slackness will not be tolerated." He looked around. "In the meantime, I suppose I'd best be getting settled in. Would you send a runner to Quartermaster Prunikos, to ask her to come to my - " - he stopped himself from saying 'shed' - "- my office, as soon as is convenient? With her records for the regimental stores."

He paused. He'd forgotten something, he was sure of it.

"I'd like to meet with Captains Melk and Viedo too. Are they in the camp?"

No, that wasn't it.

"Oh... and who is Sunny?"

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Frowning and still trying to figure out what Spoons had meant, Lilian returned to the edge of the roof, taking a second to aim. Things weren't looking great now that the rebels were returning fire but they could still get out with only some scrapes and bruises.

Half action: move
Half action: aim

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Tasquo's frown eased, then vanished completely, replaced with an almost warm smile. There was certainly no ill will in him toward Lucius - or at least no ill will that the Commissar could see.

'There is a punishment ring already, if unused. We set gallows up wherever we camp. Closest thing to a regimental tradition we have' he said. 'And an inspection... that could be more difficult, actually. Perhaps even a bit counter-productive. Second Company is still out of the camp with Captain Melk, and besides, who will conduct it? You alone?' there was a note of disbelief in the question. 'You'd need more than just yourself to check every soldier's gun. People loyal to you more than to their comrades, and no offence, I don't see that happening very soon.'

'Captain Viedo is in the infirmary as of now' an unusual amount of vengeful satisfaction was contained in that sentence. 'His system is not sturdy enough for this place, so he is spending a lot of time there. He should be out soon, though, if you want to talk to him. Tomorrow or day after. I hope, Commissar, that you will have more stomach for emergency ration bars than he does. For your own sake. As for Quartermaster Prunikos' it was a bit heartening to hear that he mangled the name badly, too 'I'll tell her to find you personally. I was intending on visiting her soon, anyway. And by the way, she is the Sunny you asked about - everyone in the regiment calls her that. And Emperor be my witness, she is the glue that keeps the regiment together' he sounded sincere in that declaration, as if he adamantly believed in that.


Sorries for the quality of the post, was feeling terribly uninspired while writing it.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius gave Dasquo a perplexed look.

“You mean to say inspections are not routine?” He paused. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. No, I absolutely insist on the inspection, captain. Just now I saw a guardsman whose lasgun was practically rusted solid. We'll hold the inspection for the first and third companies, and when Second Company return we will inspect theirs separately.

"Each platoon sergeant will be responsible for inspecting the men under his command, and we'll let it be known that any man caught covering up for those beneath him will share in their punishment. You and I will simply be making spot checks up and down the lines. The most important thing is that we let them know now, so that they have the rest of the day to make sure their kit is in good order for tomorrow.” He gave a wry smile. “I imagine if we held the inspection now, we'd have to flog half the regiment, eh?”

Rising to his feet, Lucius made to leave.

“Thank you for your assistance, captain. You've been very helpful.” A slight emphasis on the 'you' conveyed that this was in contrast to certain others. “If you could spread the word about the inspection, and send Prunikos along, I will be in your debt.” He looked over his shoulder. “I may pay the infirmary a visit – see how Captain Viedo is holding up.”

OOC: Your post seemed fine to me :smallsmile:. What time of day is it at the moment? What's Expungia's day/night cycle?

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Half?' he snorted, amused. 'If we were to shoot the other one, I guess. But yes, that sounds like a reasonable idea, Commissar, I'll make it known. However... I hope that you don't meant to follow that with a through inspection of their belongings. If we start to pick into that, and, Emperor forbid, confiscate things they're not supposed to hoard, it will spark a mutiny at best, and make the entire regiment starve, at worst' he seemed dead serious on that, but lightened quickly. 'Still, it has been a pleasure assisting you, Commissar. Feel free to check on Viedo, though trust me, he isn't worth much of your attention. I'll tell Sunny to find you, though give her an hour, would you? She had a shipment, so she'll probably want to have it all organized and secured before leaving the depot.'

He gave Lucius another look, an odd one. Somehow patronizing, though not because of a sense of superiority but something else... something that looked equal parts pity and respect.

'Just be careful among the men' he warned, smiling again, though there was something grudging in that. 'We have all strayed far from the Emperor's light.'

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius listened carefully to what Dasquo had to say. He was fairly sure that if he went on the record as agreeing to the men's right to hoard and loot, he could find himself being court-martialled by the Commissariat. But he remembered his encounter with the man outside Rorke's door, and the prickle on the back of his neck when the sentry's friends had come swaggering over.

"Mm," he said, deciding it was best to stay tight-lipped on the subject. "Well, captain, we'll have to see what we can do about that." That seemed neutral enough. "I'll be waiting for Prunikos in one hour exactly. If you need to find me in the meantime, I'll be at the infirmary." He gave a short salute as he stepped out of the door. "Don't worry about me, captain. The Emperor protects, eh?"

Slinging his pack back over his shoulder, he headed in the direction of the shack Dasquo had told him about. He would just dump his things for now, and then it would be off to see the disreputable Captain Viedo.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The rebels dived for cover. Smartly, given how little were the bits of their companions, pulverized and sprayed all over the street's length by the autocannon barrage. They had not noticed that their fire managed to harm Zimm - and the brave one who hurt him was also the first to explode from an autocannon round.

Maybe, if it was only the sentinel, they would had stood their ground out in the open, somehow tried to disable it, take it out. But the rest of the guardsmen generously sprayed fire at them from their position in the hab-block, and what was supposed to be ratting out a bunch of scared soldiers suddenly left them in poor cover, against enemy in a superior position.

They started to fall back, in an unorganized, chaotic manner, more a result of panic, noise and lack of good leadership than a conscious tactical decision. Under the suppressive fire, hunched, they ran towards the safety of the ruins on the opposite end of the crossing, where more of their comrades waited, hidden behind broken walls and in shattered interiors. The guardsmen pushed them back, an odd, unexpected and somehow frenetic victory that did not decide anything.

Within moments, the street was clear of them, though it was not difficult at all to notice them still sulking in the rubble, observing the guardsmen closely. The street went oddly silent, but for the last few wheezing breaths of those rebels who failed to make it back to safety, and those few cut in the initial barrage. Six, maybe seven corpses sprawled and otherwise mangled over the pavement - the damage wrought by the sentinel upon poorly armoured infantry made it really hard to tell the exact count. Some of them still clung to their lives, judging by the desperate, futile twitching they put, so unwilling to let go even as they were bleeding their last.

Still, as much as the sudden calm was welcome, there was no doubting that they were going to return after the initial shock passed - and the autocannon in the sentinel, if Zimms read the display properly, had only ten more rounds left in the ammo-box. The rebels were not exactly well supplied, either.


Combat is over, for now, though if you linger, there will be more. The rebels fell back to the ruins they crawled from, and mind: they still have field of vision to you, and they still have guns, so the street is hardly safe.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm exults as he spies the rebels retreating. He was not looking forward to getting shot again. He stands upright in the cockpit, hooting and hollering at the men as they slink away to cover, Yeah? YEAH! That's right! That's what I thought! Get your punk asses outta my town! Real Emperor's finest right here, baby! Woooo! What you got, heretics? Huh? Whatchu got? You got nothin'!"

He slumps back against the corpse, laughing. He turns to the dead man he's sitting on, glances into his dead eyes. Yo fam, you see that? Hahh."

His eyes flicks down to the controls. "Trask is gonna cack one if he doesn't get to get up in this hot action. Let's see... levers, back..."

Half action to operate controls and send the sentinel into reverse: [roll0] vs 38 (or 28?)
And another one if necessary. If the first is successful, I'll make another post to operate the vox instead: [roll1] vs 38 (or 28?)

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm grins as the sentinel starts backwards, then nearly bites his tongue off and barely catches himself from falling out of the cockpit as the lurching, juddering movements suddenly reverse. He's startled, but soon recovers, gestures to the Operator to anticipate his arrival, and turns to comment to the corpse behind him.

"And he made out like this was hard. You and me, bro, we're the brains of this outfit, you know-what-I'm-sayin'?"

Zimm grabs the corpses left arm and slings it over his right shoulder and behind his neck, cozying up to his new friend. He leans over and starts fiddling with the vox unit, turning it on.

He takes a moment to listen to any vox chatter that was on the caster's default frequency, hoping for useful intelligence tidbits, and then tunes to his platoon's command frequency.

"Yo, this is Squad C to First Platoon command, vox check, how copy, over?"

He releases the transmit button, waiting for a response. Then he gets bored, and presses it again. "Any Mesnan units on this frequency, Squad C has just repelled an attack on our position by two heretic infantry squads reinforced by a light armor unit. We have been out of vox contact for 12 hours, and we request a sitrep. To repeat, we have not had any vox contact for 12 hours now, and we wanna know if our last orders to hold position until relieved are still good. We gettin' out of this craphole any time soon, sir?"

Second action for this round, operating voxcaster.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

Briefly, the vox replied only with static hisses and crackles, but soon, a familiar voice of the company's vox operator punched in.

'Holy frakking ****, we've thought you dead for sure!' she exulted, somewhat panicky. 'The orders are no longer actual, I repeat, orders are no longer actual' she added in a more official tone. 'Command changed its mind six hours ago, all squads are to withdraw and regroup' she repeated the order, talking very fast, as if there was no time to lose 'in preparation for the Fenkswordians basilisk and manticore batteries getting into range for an artillery bombardment' she made a pause that sounded awfully much like checking a chrono. 'The bombardment will begin in ten minutes and that sounded awfully, too, awfully calm, as of someone slowly realizing the ramifications. What followed was a shriek. 'For frak's sake, get out of there, run the frak away, idiots!'


Commissar

The infirmary was an unremarkable, if surprisingly well-kept structure somewhere in the middle of the camp, by a field of tents that served as resting place for the grunts who failed to secure themselves bunks in the actual barracks - which usually meant the new-comers. Some vaguely familiar faces flashed among them - Lucius' companions during the planetfall, not yet given their standard issue kit, but already striking claims to spots of ground. Apparently the ones here were the more enterprising ones, that realized that in the Gallows, there is never enough anything for everyone.

As before, he draw glances and stares as went, though the rumours of his appearance and of the danger he posed spread quickly - a faint air of hostility did simmer over the soldiers, but they - or at least a visible portion of them - saluted him as he passed them by, to get on the safe side.

It was fetid inside of the infirmary - an atmosphere of drugs, sweat and omnipresent dust congelated under the low roofing, thick in spite of its arid sterility. It was also surprisingly empty, only two beds occupied - one by some soldier with death painted across her face, so deeply lost in a long agony that she could not break the medical silence with even whimpering. Not because of sedation, though - she was anguished to the point that her body was starting to fail showing that. Something in her eyes was so terribly dull and inhuman, some reflection of her pain, that Lucius found it hard to look into them, however briefly.

Captain Viedo occupied the bed on the opposite side, a surprisingly handsome man, even in the hospital bed, with his face green. There was a certain nobility to his countenance, and he looked well-built underneath the blankets covering him. In full ceremonial orders, he'd fit perfectly into a Munitorium's propaganda poster, one of them with the beautiful soldiers standing against the backdrop of dozens of tanks and carting an Aquilla sign proudly. It'd require someone to remove his explosive collar, though.

'Who's that?' he asked hazily, turning his head towards Lucius, sky-blue eyes half open. 'Doctor... could you give me some more painkillers, please? They seem to be wearing off...'

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm stares at the vox, dumbstruck. A disbelieving grin spreads over his face. He hears himself saying, "...Copy that. Be advised, we are withdrawing with a reclaimed sentinel scout walker, autocannon pattern, with the following markings-" he says, quickly describing the appearance of the walker, "tell the 'fenks or whoever else is near to not shoot our walker. And... I know they won't listen to dregs like us, but willya try to buy us some time? Just a couple minutes more? This is gonna be a really frackin' stupid way to die, is all."

Zimm unstraps the corpse from the harness, slings it over his back (along with it's weapon, if it has one), and hops up onto the roof as soon as the sentinel comes into contact with the building, leaving the seat clear. Varga stalks over, fists clenched, but Zimm starts babbling before he can say anything.

"Don't even start with me, old man! Fenkswordians are set to glass this whole fracking town in ten minutes. Get your crap together, people! We leave right now, and we don't wait for stragglers!" he says, keeping his voice low enough that the enemy don't hear, but everyone on the roof does. He races downstairs to pass the same message on to Lyra and Razor. Funny, really. He seems more excited than scared.

[18th Avenger]

From his vantage point, Trask stood up to watch the rebels turn tail and run. When Zimm (clumsily) walked the sentinel closer to their point, it was then his heart began to feel light. They hadn't gotten lucky in a long time.

But just as Zimm started shouting about an incoming artillery strike by their allies, the light feeling was going away in a hurry. Trask cursed as he hurried towards the sentinel, following the trail the ex-ganger had blazed.

"All of you, grab what you can off the corpses! We gotta haul arse!" Trask made himself as audible as he could without shouting and took a moment to scrounge an autogun and a couple of magazines from the corpses before shimmying up into the sentinel cab. Back inside the hab, Haddon began packing the last of the Septa's gear and distributing it among the rest of the squad before hitting the street to begin salvaging what she could.

[LCP]

Lucius

"I'm afraid I'm no doctor," said Lucius, taking off his hat. "Captain Viedo, I presume? I am Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville, newly attached to your regiment. Came to see how you were getting along. Captain Dasquo told me you'd been taken ill."

[LeSwordfish]

Lyra swore as the bad news hit, Razor merely grinned. "Time to get moving, then."

He slipped his carbine back into his webbing, and slung his heavy shotgun out and ready.

[Revanus]

When Spoons hears Zimm's statement, his mind clicks into overdrive.

4 meters a second. 240 meters a minute. 2400 meters...

He'd once watched his entire squad vanish in an artillery blast. He wasn't sticking around for another demonstration.

Spoons pulls back from his cover on the roof. Passing Lilian, he points out the direction of HQ, and whispers "Have everyone regroup that way." He doesn't stop to hear her answer.

Quietly, he and Sally move to the rope still dangling off the roof. Sally uses it first. Spoons closely follows.

No stragglers.

They hit the ground, and immediately start moving off towards the woods. Spoons knows exactly which direction HQ is in. He and Sally will get as far as possible in the next 10 minutes, and then wait for the rest of the squad once the barrage of death is over. He figures they won't be trailing too far behind. And he'll be able to hear the walker, assuming Trask takes it along for the ride.

Or, they'll be dead.

Barely pausing to break his stride, Spoons scoops up a standard issue flak helmet lying abandoned on the ground. Some rebel probably ditched it in his rush to flee. It fits well.

Still, that was the extend of Spoons' scrounging. Adding to the weight of his pack right now would be absurd. Nothing is useful if you're dead.

Sally and Spoons slink off. The squad would follow. Probably.

[SlyJohnny]

As Razor switches out to his shotgun, Zimm slams the corpse onto the table, rifling through it’s pockets and grabbing it’s weapon. He doesn’t spend any longer than he needs to on searching it, though, just grabs for any visible armor or webbing pouches, and then races back up to the roof.

Zimm moves to the edge of the roof, keeping low and using the body of the sentinel as cover. He jumps onto the top of the sentinel, wincing as he lands hard on his injured leg. He reaches out a hand for Varga, pulling the man onto the roof beside him, and they both lie prone on it, securing themselves as best they can, lascarbines readied and pointed at the neighboring building. “Nine people ain’t gonna fit on this thing, rook.” Varga murmurs.

“Yeah. I know. Trask! Toss me one of those autoguns. Yo, Spoons, which way do you figure for the nearest edge of- Spoons?”

Zimm glances around, realizing that the quiet sniper and the edgy woman that is always with him have already disappeared. Maybe they're the real brains of this outfit.

He thumps the roof of the sentinel several times. “Let's go, let's go! Frag looting, we got less than 10 minutes to live!”

Navigate: Surface to figure out speediest route out of the town, and how long that will take at a brisk march; trying to work out how much we need to balance speed versus caution. [roll0]

Readied weapon is an autogun, if the driver had one or Trask passes me one, and my lascarbine if not.

[18th Avenger]

"Get him a weapon!" Trask shouted down at the scrounging Haddon, who looked up and nodded. In no time, she handed Zimm an autogun and an extra magazine of ammunition, as well as a canteen of water.

"Don't touch that yet," she piped up as she palmed him the canteen. "Could be all manner of bad news in that little tin."

The operator checked the built-in chron in the sentinel (apparently, the Munitorum saw fit to not provide them with timepieces). Zimm said they'd had ten minutes before a bombardment. The clock ticking down was making him antsy. Trask flipped a switch that opened up the inbuilt speakers.

"You heard the man, we've grabbed all we can. Ready or not, here we go! Pick up your knitting and follow me!" Whether or not Trask knew where to go, the Sentinel began to stalk away.

Trask goes as soon as everyone's done.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Quickly following spoons, Lilian yelled back at the group. "Spoons is going this way!" She pointed in the direction he had gone. "I don't know about you guys but I'm going with him!" Her heart beating fast she slipped down the makeshift rope and followed the two already fleeing troopers. She needed to get that fraking thing replaced or it was going to kill her.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

Running.

There is a certain simplicity to it, soothing in all the wrong ways. Or perhaps even not a simplicity as much as the breath pressed out of the breast by the effort, coherent thoughts going away along with it. It is hard to think much while sprinting for one's life, it was hard to consider and plan. A state of mind as unwelcome as it is liberating.

The feeling of asphalt under the boots, feet landing on the ground to a hurried rhythm, dust swirling around in the yellow sun, the entire world covered as if by a thick curtain, only barely transparent. The sounds distorted, too, the thumping below vibrating and low, the breath hurried and ragged and wheezing, something keening in the air, the sharp crack of bullets chipping off fragments of the demolished town, wearing it down... And another booming, louder and more metallic, of the steel walker running, too, its clawed feet breaking the pavement under their weight, shots ringing off its armour melodically.

The hab-block was not that far away from the town's edge. Taking the main street, it made for five hundred meters, give or take some. Running between hollowed-out facades, their empty windows bristling with autguns, flaring up when fired.

Hundred meters. A shot or two passing just by the head.

Two hundreds. A lot of lead in the air, but it is damn hard to hit someone sprinting, and the heretics do not have good aim.

Three hundred, over half a way through, the road cutting off from solid asphalt into dirt, the edge of the forest already visible on the horizon behind the last rampart of ruins. Another sound joined the noise, another note played out. Tracks grinding on the rubble-strewn gravel. A familiar outline of a Chimera driving into view, blocking the road, a heavy bolter mounted on its turret swinging to sweep the path in front, a signal upon which all of the rebels hiding in the ruins around decided to join the frenzy, too. They did not want to see you flee.

And they did not know that even if they were going to be victorious, it would ultimately matter absolutely nothing.


Chimera's initiative: [roll0]
12 rebels initiative: [roll1]

The road is about six meters wide from one wall of ruins to another. Rebels are more or less evenly split between two ruined buildings to your side. Chimera entered from behind a different pile of ruin about 25 meters from Spoons' position, and where the sentinel is. Rest is lagging behind 5-10 meters. The buildings to the sides are dark, but enterable. Probably dangerous.

Roll initiative.

[SlyJohnny]

"Oh for- are you fragging kidding me? A fragging IFV, just for us?" Zimm cries.

"We're the only ones left, rook. They knew we'd run eventually. Probably had this little surprise set up hours ago." Varga says, the grim resignation in his tone contrasting with Zimm's excitable babbling.

Zimm grunts in agreement. "Okay, we can't do crap to the tank, so just- there! Up in the windows! Let's mess 'em up!" Zimm shouts, sweeping his purloined autogun around to bear on one of the buildings.

He sweeps the weapon in a line across the floor he can spot enemy soldiers taking cover behind, the rounds smashing into the brickworks and sending dust and fragments flying everywhere. He whoops with joy at the sight of rounds impacting. Lying beside him on the sentinel, Varga fires silently and efficiently, rattling off stacatto las fire in the wake of the autorounds.

first Full Auto Burst, half action.
[roll0]vs TN 53 (BS 48+5 Ranged Volley+10 short range-10 Full Auto Burst)
Targetting heretics on the left side. Up to six shots can hit, I am allocating extra hits to seperate nearby targets where possible. Everyone shot at this round has to make a Pinning test due to Hail of Fire:
First [roll1]
Second [roll2]
Third [roll3]
Fourth [roll4]
Fifth [roll5]
Sixth [roll6]

second Full Auto Burst, half action.
Targetting heretics on the right side.
[roll7]vs TN 53 (BS 48+5 Ranged Volley+10 short range-10 Full Auto Burst)
Up to six shots can hit. I am allocating extra hits to seperate nearby targets where possible. Everyone shot at this round has to make a Pinning test due to Hail of Fire:
First [roll8]
Second [roll9]
Third [roll10]
Fourth [roll11]
Fifth [roll12]
Sixth [roll13]

Comrade Actions:
Ranged Volley (Half Action)
Hail of Fire (Half Action)

[18th Avenger]

"Everyone, get off! I can't work like this!"

When Trask was sure those hanging on to the hull had disembarked, he threw the Sentinel in reverse. He was intent on providing a screen for those of his squad who were lagging and loosed a shot in the direction of the Chimera.

[LeSwordfish]

Razor barely even put his head down as the storm erupted around him, instead veering sideways towards one of the buildings.

"We're just that special!" He roared, and then laughed like a loon.

Half action move into the nearest building, rest of my action dependent on what i find in there: If a person, attack, if a door, go through.
Init: [roll0]

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Seeing the Chimera roll out into the street, Lilian's heart practically tore itself from her body. Racing ahead of Razor she entered one of the buildings on the right of the street lascarbine at her shoulder.

Same as Razor, move to the building and then act accordingly.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Uhhh?' the patient answered dumbly, blinking and trying to focus his vision. 'A Commisshar?' his voice grew less coherent, the words melding one into another as he spoke, trailing off. 'And gives me a m-medal...' a wide, happy smile emerged on his face.

'Y'ain't gonna get much out of the poor sod right now, Commissar'

The new voice came from behind, after a few hurried footsteps and the sound of door opening. The woman that entered glared at him, a sardonic smirk forever glued to the corner of her mouth.

It was hard to approximate her age - she looked like she could have sixty or hundred and sixty years on her back, having reached that point of life where there is nothing of your left in the face and in the body for the passage of time to replace with ungainly crinkles and wrinkles, and not even a slightest hint of colour remains in the thin, brittle hair of a crone. And she looked a lot like a crone for a cheap holo-vid, too, with a hooked nose, scowl and eyes glinting intensely with far more energy than such an old body should allow. Still, she did not bow to time, and walked straightened up, head held high, and in spite of towering over her in height, Lucius could not help the feeling that he was being looked down upon.

'The bootleg painkillers are mildly hallucinogenic, so he's having the dream of his lifetime. Guess that he's bein' all decorated and ****' she gave the patient a surprisingly contemptuous shrug, as if she was not caring much one way or another. 'Slipping between here and there all the bloody time.'

Ignoring Lucius for a moment, she walked to the other bed and gave the woman in it a quick glance.

'C'mon sister' she whispered quietly, though audibly enough to be heard. ''Tis the time to go, nothing left to hold to... Sail away somewhere nice, somewhere far away...' she sighed heavily. 'Don't be stubborn.'

For a moment she looked at her, as if waiting, then stood up, bones croaking.

'Now, unless ya need medical attention, boy, I'm gonna go and get myself one more smoke' she fished a half open package of LHO from the pocket of a doctor's smock hanging.


Soldiers

Zimms' guns fired - a sharp sound, familiar to a fabric being forcefully torn. Bullets scattered over the ruins, ricocheting wildly and striking a clear note in the battle's noise. One of the heretics dove for cover, afraid to stick his head out.

One.

The comrades of the hiver-boy rushed to the safety offered by the rubble, behind his back. Suddenly, the street was empty, but for him and Varga by his side, the gentle-eyed giant already knowing what was about to happen.

The ganger released the triggers, smoke trailing into the dust from the ends of the barrels, slowly dispersing in the hot air. Empty casings clattered on the asphalt, rolling to the sides.

There was a pause - not an actual one, because it all took place so quick - but still, there was a brief moment, between taking and letting out a breath, between heartbeats where the world around seemed so wonderfully calm, so wonderfully silent, so beautiful when basked in the full sun, shining off the barrels of the autoguns returning to the windows, on the ammo-belt of the heavy bolter swiveling to take aim on the boy in front of it. He was standing in the middle of a devastated street, on the edge of a devastated town on a devastated planet, and yet everything seemed at peace, somehow.

Varga turned slowly towards Zimms - or maybe it just looked like he did it slowly, maybe he wanted to rush to him, but for that, he did not have the time. There was terror in his eyes.

Eleven autoguns barked, and that fleeting moment of beauty ended brutally and painfully.

They had elevation on their sight, and it was all almost on a point-blank range. There was precious little question in whether they could hit him. A few dozens of bullets tore itself around and into the ganger, drawing gushes of blood and throwing him off his feet. Second later, the heavy bolter joined the cannonade, the sound of it firing different, more wheezing, followed by violent explosions. The exploding bullets covered Zimms in a cloud of smoke and shards, only faintly painted red.

'Die, die, DIE!' someone shouted from the above, his voice fevered and triumphant.

There was, however, some grim benefit to all of that. The rebels and the chimera gunner got so distracted with putting dozens of bullets in Zimms that they failed to notice the remaining grunts sneaking into the buildings to their side, right under the feet of the heretics shooting from the windows. The hiver's recklessness and the dear price he paid for it bought his comrades the ability to sneak behind the enemies, mostly unnoticed.

Or, at least, that could have been.

All who wanted to sneak into the ruins did so successfully. They can hear the renegades on the floor above. I am still waiting for Spoons' action.

[Revanus]

Spoons stares at the Chimera as it rolls out in front of him.

The chattering of autoguns from above bring him to a dead halt.


Frak!

Sally dives for cover.
Comrade Full Action: Take Cover!



Automatically, Spoons reaches for a blind grenade.

The boom of Sentinel's friendly autocannon is little comfort. At least Trask got his shot off before Spoon's next move.

The pin dings faintly as hit hits the ground. Spoons throws.

"Smoke out!"
Half-Action Ready.
Half-Action throw
[roll0] vs. 45.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius frowned at the word 'boy'. 'Bootleg painkillers' didn't sound good either, but that was why he had asked to talk to Prunikos.

"It's 'Commissar' to you, guardswoman. Commissar Mayford-Dunsterville. You are the chief medic here?"

He gestured to Viedo.

"What's he in for? I can't see any injuries."

[Revanus]

Deviation (may not matter, given that it's smoke):
Direction: [roll0]
Distance: [roll1]

Attempted distance: as close or as far so as to shield Spoons from both the Chimera and the gunners above.

Edit (post roll): If numbers matter, 3-5 meters is probably what Spoons would have thrown. Enough to protect him against deviation in any direction as far as the Chimera is concerned, which is his major fear. Smoke has a 3 meter radius.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The woman, hardly bothered to turn to face Lucius, shrugged again.

'Discipline your soldiers, not me, child' she replied, strangely free of impudence. She almost sounded like giving a piece of advice. 'General's coat, commissar's sash, glory-boy's carapace, ya think it makes much difference here?' she pointed at one of the beds. 'Y'all bleed just the same, Mayford-Dunsterville or Ionny the Hiver. Y'all die the same, too, child. Can't see why treat ya differently from this poor gal there, then.'

She turned, finally, to look at Viedo once again.

'Ah, him?' a note of barely concealed annoyance rang in her croaking voice. 'A bloody blue blood, that's what happened. His poor little tummy does not react all that well to our rations' she explained with an openly vengeful cackle. 'He'll be all good to go come tomorrow, but until then I had to sedate him, or else he'd make a bloody lot of noise.'

[LCP]

Lucius

A bloody blue-blood. That didn't bode well for Lucius. He resolved to be careful about what he ate.

"The last time I checked, guardswoman," said Lucius, doing his best to temper his voice with ice, "the medicae corps were still subject to the chain of command." He considered his options. According to article 3645/67k, this woman was already begging to be shot for insubordination - not to mention the fact that she had failed to salute. Considering her age and the absence of other medics, however, Lucius guessed that such an action wouldn't be well-received among the ranks. Scum of the sector though they might be, it was rapidly becoming clear that the respect of the regiment was a resource Lucius was going to need if he was going to get anything done.

Still, old man Kadir had always taught him to despise a popular officer. Don't try to befriend them, he heard the crippled commissar-general's voice in his head. You are the Emperor's judge, jury and executioner. They have to fear you more than they fear the enemy, and you can't fear your friends.

"Now," he said, "why don't I agree to overlook your insolence, and you tell me your name, rank, and the number of other medics on this station." He looked back to Viedo. "And why a case of indigestion requires painkillers so extreme that the captain is hallucinating."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Now' her voice snapped suddenly, like a lash of a whip, sharp and quiet enough to be thundering. 'You're going in over your head, child. Asking for the wrongs things and asking the wrong questions.'

He had seen that before. That kind of tranquil rage, cold and calculated, seething with emotion but subjugated by the mind, ruled by it.

'But, I will indulge ya' she looked him in the eyes, the warmth all but gone from her face. 'I am Mebbeth Briarson, and in the two hundred years of my life, I have served with twenty seven regiments of the Imperial Guard, saved many and failed to save many. I have seen full-blown Waagh, and I sew the poor sods who fought it. I have seen Tyranids devour planet, and I have patched together those who defended them. I have seen Eldar of all kinds and am probably one of the few people in the sector who know precisely how to treat death-spinner wounds. I can describe to you the symptoms of the Nurgle's Rot. I saved a few shot by Gauss Flayers of the Necron. Child' her lips broke into a thin, mirthless smirk 'your crimson sash, your furrowed brown and your little scowl fail to impress me. As for for your second question...' she looked at Viedo again. 'I gave him the bootleg painkillers, because I am not going to waste the good ones where they are not needed. He is here because of a severe allergic reaction to a local meat, so far the only one to suffer from it. But by asking about him, you ask the wrong question. There is something else that should have picked your interest' she narrowed her eyes, stepping to the bed with the dying guardswoman. 'Don't you find that curious that I had some painkillers to spare for him, and yet I cannot give her any, even though I know that she is suffering, and even though I want to help her? Isn't it curious? Or is she beneath your notice, Mayford-Dunsterville?'

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

A funny thing about miracles: they happen.

It is simple as that, sometimes things just align themselves in a way that can not be described in words other than miraculous. And while the Emperor-botherers, priests and chaplains of all kinds would like them to come into being in a ray of golden light and to the tune of angelic choirs singing praise, that is not how they appear.

Oh, true miracles terrify. True miracles astound. True miracles happen so that you don't know it was a miracle, but only later do you realize that something happened, something grander, great, unexplainable.

Mysterium tremendum, mysterium gloriosum...

When the dust cleared - and there was a lot of it, filled with sharp splinters of rockcrete and iron - Zimms was lying flat on the rickety sentinel, unharmed save for the old wound in his leg. Not a single bullet grazed him, not a single bolt-explosion singed him, it was as if they had not shot at him at all.

If there could be time to consider, everyone would have to agree it was a miracle. But there could not be, not there, not then.

The guardsmen who chose to seek the safety of cover found themselves standing beneath a half-collapsed floor, the chatter of autoguns audible from above. There was no clear way up, but anyone even moderately fit could easily just climb behind the rebels.


2nd turn begins! I am assuming that every soldier who sought cover is in the same ruin. If it is otherwise, just tell me.

[LCP]

Lucius

"I asked your rank, Briarson, not your age. You seem to be confusing the two. Now, for the last time of asking: who are the other medics on this station?"

Lucius waited with his hands held behind his back until he got his answer. Once he had, and only then, he finally deigned to look in the direction of the woman on the bed.

"As to your question... I can see you are itching to tell me exactly why, but your patients are yours to handle, Briarson, not mine. I came here because I need to speak to the regiment's commanders. I asked you about Captain Viedo because, at a time when he may be called upon to command his company at a moment's notice, you have seen fit to render him insensible with counter-regulation narcotics... to treat a stomach-ache."

Setting his cap on his head, he half-turned to leave. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am on my way to speak to your quartermaster about this regiment's disgraceful shortage of stores. Please ensure Captain Viedo is awake and lucid as soon as possible, won't you?"

Setting off, he paused in the doorway.

"And the next time you fail to salute an officer, or address one by anything but their title, I will see you punished to the full extent of the regulations." He gave a minute nod of his head towards the woman in the bed. "I don't imagine she'll thank you for it."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Silence fell. That peculiar breed of silent that is everything but quiet, a moment of stillness before something terrible happens.

'Commissar' the woman wheezed, her tone malicious. 'I have show grave insubordination in the face of the representative of the Commissariat' the declaration sounded oddly satisfied, as if it was not guilt at all. 'In accordance with the Most Holy Article 3645/67k, you are duty-bound to bring me before the regiment and execute me as an example of a failure.'

She smiled, and that smile was a poison.

'You know the regulations, don't you, child? They must be followed, lest the discipline will vanish, and where there is no discipline, there is only cowardice' she asked venomously. 'So. Will you fulfill your duty to the Emperor?'

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius looked back at the old witch, grinning her caustic, mutinous grin at him. Emperor damn it.

"I do know the regulations," he said. "Well enough to know that 'in front of the regiment' is an embellishment of your own."

Brushing back his coat, he opened his holster and drew out his bolt pistol. Straightening his arm, he levelled the pistol at Briarson's face.

"One more time. Where are the other medics?"

OOC: Intimidate check: [roll0] (vs. S 33)
Fate Point if failed: [roll1]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

It almost seemed - if briefly - that she was going to cackle in his face and let him shoot. It almost seemed - if briefly - that she was taller than him, greater. Spirit towering over spirit, age triumphing over youth...

Almost and briefly.

She slumped back into the body of an ages-old crone, made short by the years on her back, hunched slightly - she was hunched the entire time, Lucius realized, he just failed to notice that past her eyes.

But they did no longer glint, and just looked as they should, weary and misty.

'Afraid?' she murmured to herself, startled. 'You win, Commissar' the admission of defeat sounded bitter - it had to sound like that! - but not only. There was a note of inhuman exhaustion in it. 'There are three more but me. Sonie twins are on the sortie with the second company, Helix is somewhere in the camp, gambling or something in that vein.'

She exhaled loudly, then coughed, dryly and painfully.

'You want anything else of me, Commissar?' she asked, not politely, but without hostility, either. Only defeat.

[LCP]

Lucius

"That will do, Briarson," said Lucius, holstering his pistol again. "For now."

Four medics for a thousand men. Somehow Lucius had almost been expecting worse, but the truth was still pretty bad. He'd studied many of the Guard's greatest actions back at the Scholam - Balhaut, Karsk, the conquest of Iocanthos. He was fairly certain that in the event of a major battle, the regiment's medicae staff would be swamped. The death of a penal legionnaire was no great loss, of course... provided there were other soldiers to take his place. Here on Expungia, that didn't seem to be the case.

Weary from his repeated confrontations with the Mesnans, he headed to his 'office' to wait for Prunikos to arrive. Doing his best to scavenge up a chair and a desk, he placed his cap conspicuously on the desk in front of him, shrugged off his coat, sat down and waited.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm grimaces despite himself at the vibration of such a sheer amount of lead spraying against the armor of the sentinel.

"You have a lot of stupid ideas, kid." Varga comments to Zimm. "This one was the worst, though."

"Man, we're alive. I dunno what you're whining about." Zimm snaps back. "I was gonna jack the chimera too, but those guys messed up and shot at me. You hear what I'm saying?"

Zimm produces a krak grenade and tosses it up in the air, catching it. It then slips from his hand and he nearly drops it to the street below, but manages to catch it with the butt of his carbine.

Readying krak grenade and lascarbine.

Stealth roll to conceal my movements in the smoke: [roll0]

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The smoke, just as before, went off with a loud sizzle, and soon, the street was filled with noxious clouds of heavy chaff, hiding the sentinel within.

The soldiers must have assumed that their barrage ripped Zimms to pieces, because the fire ceased promptly - a quiet disturbed only by the grinding and cracking of the chimera's tracks and the thumping of the sentinel moving on a reverse.

'Toriah, prep the flamer' the guardsmen in the ruin heard an order barked from above. 'Frak knows what those frakkers have in their frakking smoke' the same voice added, a tone clearly used to commanding - collected in spite of the firefight, almost relaxed. In his mind, the fight was already theirs. 'So we're going to frakking smoke 'em out. And the rest of your lot, take frakking guard, by the windows! Eyes on the street, the smoke ain't gonna last forever!'


The soldiers set overwatch on the street, and one of them is bracing a weapon.

The smoke shows no sign of wearing off for now.

[Revanus]

Run!

Spoons doesn't notice that the firing has stopped. The rush of adrenaline has thrown off his hearing, almost as though his ears have been yanked down a long tunnel.

Spoons reaches for Sally, half-pulling her into a dead sprint through the smoke. Somewhere deep, he dimly hopes that the blind grenade will cover their movements.

Right now, though, the only thing that matters is getting out of this deathtrap. Even if it means rushing past the Chimera.

The two of them zigzag through the street, coming to rest behind the nearest outcropping of cover.
Stealth:
[roll0] vs. 65 (45 AG + 20 Smoke)

Spoons: Full-Action--RUN! (24 meters forward, -20 BS, +20 WS)
Comrade: Full-Action--RUN!!!

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The hour passed lazily and without any disturbances - sure, if one was to carefully listen into the idle sounds of the camp, hints of many infractions could be heard. Raised voices of a minor brawl, gamblers yelling at each another, shreds of songs that while certainly not heretical would easily cause stir a passerby Ecclesiarch into a frenzy.

Life rolling slowly, and surprisingly peacefully, given the war-engulfed war. Only the distant report of an artillery barrage being underway betrayed that the serenity was short-lived and shallow-rooted.

Quartermaster Prunikos arrived a few minutes late, knocking on the side of the door (the door itself consisted of a long sheet of canvas) and then entered with a clumsy salute, a small pile of dataslates clutched underneath her arm.

'Sir' she greeted in a voice confident just enough to show how worried she was. 'I... I was asked to report here, sir. Is there something that concerns you?'

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius opened his eyes and did his best to give the impression he hadn't been asleep.

"Good afternoon... 'Sunny'," he said. His voice seemed to handle the nickname with tongs. "Please be seated. I see you brought the records as I requested."

He held out his hands for the dataslates and gave them a brief perusal.

Linguistics (Low Gothic) vs. Int 31: [roll0]

What can I determine without keeping Prunikos waiting too long?

After a short silence as he read, he put the slates down on the table.

"Quartermaster Prunikos," he said, "I was wondering if you could give me a slightly more detailed account than before of the state of the regiment's stores."

OOC:Questions Lucius wants to ask:
What are the supplies the regiment is shortest of?
Where do the supplies come from - where is the nearest Munitorum depot, or do all the supplies come down by orbital drop?
Who is responsible for the lines of supply outside the regiment, and what are our channels of communication with them?
How long has this state of affairs been going on?
Are there any groups or individuals within the regiment making matters worse - particularly egregious thieves or racketeers?

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Pulling a krak grenade from inside her filthy Mechanicus robes, Lilian looped her finger around the grenades pin. "You guys wouldn't mind distracting everyone above us, would you?" she said nervously to no one in particular. Not waiting for a response, she disappeared into the smoky street.

Half action: ready weapon (krak grenade)
Half action: move to the chimera as fast as possible without getting a penalty to the stealth test.

Stealth: [roll0]
Fate reroll if I fail: [roll1]
EDIT: vs 50 man am I unlucky, lets hope there's more than paste left when their done with me.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The slaters were - alas - a chore to read through quickly. Not chaotic though - the data contained within was perfectly organized, but also scribed in an impenetrable mixture of bureaucratic jargon, abbreviations and numbers which rendered it hard to decipher. Given time, Lucius could probably decipher them, but on a swift skim, it was a pure gibberish for his mind.

Which did not really hinder him much, though. Quartermaster Prunikos proved phenomenally informative if a bit jarring when compared to the rest of her camp. When she spoke, stuttering lightly and starring at the floor to avoid earning the Commissar's wroth, her tone just differed from the lazy and resigned voices of the soldiers outside. At first, it was hard to nail that difference down to a single aspect, but the more he listened to her, the more it dawned on him that what set it apart was its weight - it sounded light, almost lighthearted, optimistic at places where it should not be - by any rights - optimistic.

After all, the regiment's logistics could be best summed as a disaster happening slowly and with consideration, as if to avoid leaving any part of the unit functional.

The Gallows Legion was short on everything, start to finish. It had just enough weapons to arm the infantry - though getting a replacement should a lasgun be lost in combat was a nightmare, and the weapons shipped reeked of the cheapest and most run-down forges, often requiring absurd amount of tinkering to just get into working order, and said tinkering equally often only complicated matters further because standardization was pretty much non existent.

'Twenty e-eight variants of laguns currently in use' Prunikos enumerated. 'Fifteen different kinds of autoguns running on seven different types of ammunition. Three models of autoguns and... and... the one we have in majority is discontinued and getting spare parts is impossible' she sighed lightly, as if offended by that decision. 'C-can be easily jury-rigged, though, but that increases wear. Shotguns, though' she lightened up quickly 'we have in a single model. But little ammunition, the ones we're shooting are hand-loads. Funny story, actually' the more she talked about the area of her expertise, the smoother her words flew - and there was that spark of passion in her that made it obvious that logistics were her element, the only one where she felt confident it 'Munitorium refused all my requests for ammo components, but I managed to bribe a Valhallan quartermaster back on Regra with a few bottles of amasec we looted in to fill a form in his name and then...'

She spun a tale filled with greasing palms, deftly abusing quirks in Munitorium's functioning and outright appropriating "homeless" equipment when possible - a tale that culminated with an acquisition of a few high-quality shot-shell presses and a few crates worth of components.

And it was hardly the only such tale. She had dozens of them, painting the image of how supplying the Gallows Legion looked from inside - wheeling and dealing, trading and scavenging where possible, establishing "beneath the regulations" liaisons with other regiments nearby to gamble, hustle and trade them off any "surplus" they had, which was basically anything that could be of any use. Expired rations taken away from some warehouse with a quiet approval of the foreman who was more than glad to rid himself of the trash then turned into bootleg alcohol exchanged for combat drugs from the Savlar Chem Dogs that were then quietly traded with the Fenkswordian artillery-heads for emergency rations, a crate worth of fresh power packs and a few canisters of promethium. Particularly bone-chilling was the way new explosives were acquired - by dismantling and repurposing the charges in the explosive collars of the deceased, reached by sawing heads off after death.

'I- it keeps the wheels spinning, sir' Sunny remarked, tone defensive. 'Munitorium supplies the ground pounders here via Navy shipments once in a while, but they never give us a third of what is necessary. And I know how it looks like' a blush emerged on her cheeks with that confession, disarmingly innocent and entirely aware of guilt, like a child caught red-handed on looking through porno-slates. 'But... but we are not bad folk. We do that to survive, sir. Only to survive. We barely get enough to go from day to day, and we need to be able to fight, to have something to shoot, to stab... It has always been like, sir. Always!' she raised open palms. 'Been even worse before. But it can be managed, and I... I do manage it' a tentative note in her voice showed that either she did not like boasting or just was not really feeling up to what she was saying.

Still, the more she said, the more remarkable it became that the regiment was capable of still operating. The man who handled the requisitions on the Munitorium's side - an anonymous clerk who Sunny recognized by his stamp on the forms returned to her with each shipment - apparently believed that being sentenced to death, wasting Emperor's precious resources on them would be borderline heretical, and thus did his best to waste not. And, as a direct result, what little resources there were on hand had to be zealously protected from the soldier's themselves who always expecting the worst hoarded everything they could from themselves - from food to munitions.

'They stopped stealing from the depot, tho' the girl admitted with a sense of pride, beaming gently. 'Just, report a half of their findings, maybe less. But sir, those are ci-circumestances, not their fault. There are no bad men here. Just unfortunate. Unlucky. A few annoyances, but no one really bad. They all say they're innocent, sir' she added with a faint, nervous chuckle. 'I don't, tho.'

[LCP]

Lucius


'There are no bad men here. Just unfortunate. Unlucky. A few annoyances, but no one really bad. They all say they're innocent, sir' she added with a faint, nervous chuckle. 'I don't, tho.'

"No bad men here," repeated Lucius. He stared at Prunikos. "Quartermaster, you are aware that you are in a penal regiment? These men are murderers, and rapists, and worse. Or do you believe them when they say they are innocent?"

Pushing the dataslates aside with a sigh, Lucius clasped his hands together on the table.

"Tell me then - what was your crime?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

For a moment, Sunny attempted to answer and found herself unable, mouth moving without letting out words.

'Ex-extreme cowardice, s-sir' she dropped her head even lower, finally managing to speak. 'I ab-aban... abandoned my post, and let... let my squad die, sir. Be-because I was afraid, sir. So... so very afraid. So... so I'm guilty.'

The other part of Lucius question, she did not answer, for one reason or another.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius paused.

"Well, quartermaster, that is in the past. It's not my place to judge how you received your sentence... only to see that you serve it well."

A thought struck him.

"I suppose you all know how each other got here, eh? Colonel Rorke and his captains... they must have interesting stories."

He left the implied question dangling.

[18th Avenger]

Behind the squad not mounted on a sentinel (which meant most of them), Haddon followed at the tail. Before she'd ducked into cover, she gave Trask a last look before disappearing into the gloom

Back in the middle of the street, in the cabin of Zimm's hijacked ride, Trask became uncomfortably aware that hell would come visit them by way of their allies. He decided that he would have to act fast.

He ran his gaze over the panels with a practiced eye. Nine rounds left, Trask thought quickly. Better make them count. He pushed on the levers and threw his vehicle into a lope. He had a plan. A mad one.

I'll take Revanus' suggestion and make it a game... Gonna run behind the Chimera and take a potshot at its naked booty.

Agility - Drive
[roll0] vs 44 (Be sure to add any difficulties)

Ballistic Skill
[roll1] vs 40
[roll2], Pen 6

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

It was easy - trivial even - for Trask to outmaneuver the ponderous, heavy chimera. His sentinel stalked out of the smoke, zipping past the transport's side and lining up for a shot right into the thin, rear armour.

The autocannon barked loudly, the walker shuddering with the gun's report. The shell exploded right on the mark, shaking the vehicle - but it still stood. Suddenly, Trask got all the attention he could ever want.

Ignoring Spoons and his comrade fleeing at a break-neck speed (figuring out that they were not going to get them anyway, maybe), the chimera's driver also hit on the reverse, the tracks grinding as the vehicle gained momentum, catching up with the running sentinel, driving just past it, so close that the metal of the hull grated at the sentinel, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air, the turret swinging to unleash a barrage of bolts on the poorly-protected side of the walker, the gunner just squeezing the trigger and not even bother with aiming - there was no reason not to. The dull, resounding explosion of the autocannon round was returned in kind with the ripping sound of a burst of bolt explosions.

In short, both made an awful lot of noise, for now concealing the actions of Lilan - however, since both vehicles escaped the fading smokescreen already, and were driving at a tactical speed, reaching it with a krak grenade would be rather difficult for the tech-priest. And it also meant that if Zimms was still on top of the sentinel, he would had gained massive issues with actually disembarking.


The Chimera moves at a tactical speed, overtaking the sentinel and starting to lay down fire on the walker's side, while running so close to it that its armor actually grates against the sentinel from time to time. Full auto barrage from the Heavy Bolter, point blank range. Base BS is 31, -10 from Tactical Speed, - 10 from Full Auto, +20 from sentinel's size, +30 from Point Blank Range.

[roll0] - against 61, extra hit per every DoS.
Damage will be rolled in OOC.

If I messed up somehow, which is likely, because I am quite useless lately, let me know.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm pulls the ring from his krak grenade, grinning at the ominous whine that emerges from it. "Alright, you big junker. This is what I think of your stupid crap." He leans up from where he was cowering on the roof of the sentinel and hurls the grenade onto the roof of the chimera, sourly wishing he could've come up with a better line in the heat of the moment. He realizes the men in the chimera probably can't hear him anyway, and his mood sours even further.

Varga opens up with a steady stream of lasfire onto the chimera's turret hatch, both to prevent anyone coming up to dislodge the grenade, and to help Zimm sight the vehicle in case the smoke should abruptly change direction.

Half Action standard attack w/ krak grenade, half action Aim with las carbine.

Comrade Actions:
Ranged Volley (Half Action)
Hail of Fire (Half Action)

Still lying prone on top of the sentinel. Made a successful Stealth test last round in the cloud of smoke, not sure if Surprise applies.

standard attack +10, point blank +30, enormous +30, Ranged Volley +5 : [roll0] vs TN 108
[roll1] (replacing 1 roll with 6 DoS) +4 = 17 damage
Pen 6, Concussive (0), Pinning

16 rear (roof) armor, -6 Pen= 7 damage

[Revanus]

OOC:I'll post now, since my earlier stealth roll + smoke should keep me invisible to the soldiers, and Spoons moved 24 meters downrange last turn. The enemy soldiers were alongside Razor/Lilian, which should put them about 34 meters behind Spoons--before this turn.

As the Chimera rolls past, Spoons and Sally shrink as far as possible into the rubble they'd taken cover in.

Even so, the Chimera passes within a foot of them as it rolls past to confront Trask's Sentinel.

As the two vehicles lay into each other, explosions and bolter fire thundering down the street, Spoons taps Sally on the leg.

They ease out of their crevace, and sprint down the street, aiming to get as far away as possible from the impending doom.

Spoons is no hero.


Full-Action: Run!
Comrade Full-Action: Run Run Run Run Run!

Awareness: [roll0] vs. 41
Stealth (shouldn't be necessary given my 4 DoS from last turn's roll, but just in case): [roll1] vs. 45 (65 vs soldiers)

[Gargulec]

Commissar

She nodded briefly, after a second of pondering.

'We were never told, sir' she said, finally. 'But they say that Rorke used to be a general in some da-dandy regiment...'

And thus began the tale. Prunikos told it deftly, knowing well how to keep interest, and even if she stuttered lightly from time to time, it did not break the narrative's flow.

There was a regiment - 18th Sinophian. A place for sons of the cursed planet, one of those few units of Imperial Guard composed solely of the scions of the affluent. High and haughty it was, and unlike most of what the forsaken hive birthed, of good renown. Sure, they were sneered at as glory boys stealing recognition for those who truly worked to earn it - a sentiment Sunny surely shared, judging by the tone and words she picked to describe them: "the glory boys", "the gilded soldiers" - but in spite of that malicious whispers, they did go through their baptisms of fire, and they did fight and die for the Emperor, dutiful and stubborn in the face of the enemy. They fought enemies both within and without, and the chronicles of their victory were printed far and wide, read aloud from amboes to the flocks of the faithful, to tell them how was glory and heroism made manifest in the flesh.

Heroes, that is what they were, and even Sunny had to admit that "they were damn fine soldering folk".

And Rorke - a second son of a great family, at least as much as a family can aspire to such a title in the broken hives of Sinophia Magna - was that regiment's part. And a good soldier, too. Zoe did not tell that outwardly - but it was left to be glimpsed from between the lines of her tale. Rorke, when he still had his lasgun and his flak, was a good soldier. One of many - but out of the many, he was chosen. Because of his family? Because of his actions? Because of some dark machination?

He rose through the ranks, surely and steadily, until he finally appointed a general, and given command over the 18th. Some say that he distinguished himself in small skirmishes and little wars that were no true test of skill and soul. Others that after he achieved his life-long dream, the part of him that was good and that was strong withered away slowly. Sunny did not know, and did not guess.

Because one day - when orks invaded, and the regiment was sent to repel them - Rorke proved to be inadequate. In the face of an overwhelming enemy, against a foe that if defeated would cap the legend of the regiment as gloriously as it could only get, he panicked. Few foolish orders, then a retreat sounded too early.

One and a half thousands of lives lost. And he alone, along with a few lucky unlucky ones surviving the tide, saved by the commoner soldiers whom they were supposed to be an example for. His fault, his fault without a doubt.

There were fathers asking about their sons - and then about retribution. Death... too simple and too easy. It would be better still to destroy the one who wanted to be a hero utterly, break his spirit. Strip him of his rank, strip him of his glory, strip him of everything he wanted to be, and send him to lead soldiers who were everything his regiment was not, and everything he despised.

And maybe then, after a few years of watching his plight, the blood of Sinophia would consider itself avenged.

'They snapped him, sir' Sunny summed up, voice oddly respectful, or maybe even regretful. 'Rorke's a wreck of a man, nothin' more. Like a Savlar without her chems. But Savlar can get them back.'

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius listened carefully to every detail of Prunikos' story. Anything that gave him leverage over the troublesome colonel was valuable right now. Extreme cowardice in the face of the enemy. That sounds about right.


'Rorke's a wreck of a man, nothin' more. Like a Savlar without her chems. But Savlar can get them back.'

Something in that phrase sparked an intriguing chain of thought. Putting it to one side, however, Lucius only nodded.

"Well," he said, after a short pause. "Back to the business at hand. This Munitorum clerk, the one with the stamp - where is he based? How do we communicate with him?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'By forms' shrugged the girl, and slid another of her data-slates to Lucius. 'Thousands of them. Hills of paper wasted. He's somewhere at the front command, in one of them logistic centers near Malfi, I guess' she did not sound much confident. 'Tis where what ships ships from, so I assume, sir. D-don't hold me to it' once again did she stutter, smiling with a hint of embarrassment, as if she felt guilty over being unable to provide the requested information. After a second of silence, she fished something out of her pocket and gave it to Lucius too.

A small seal, cut from an official document - pieces of the hemp string that held it attached to a document still protruding from the tin casing in which the pale-red wax rested, a likeness of Munitorium's emblem stamped into deep it, circled by a proclamation of the seal's sanctity. The wax was smoothed and crumpled at places, rendering the entire depiction quite blurry - but the imagery was still easily recognizable.

'That's the seal' Prunikos explained. 'Cut it from some manifest a way back, never know when such a thing can come in handy.'

[LCP]

Lucius

So our nearest point of contact is a sector away, thought Lucius. Things were looking better and better.

"Alright," he said, handing back the seal. "These forms, they go through an astropath somewhere? Attached to the regiment?"

[LeSwordfish]

Razor considered a blast of pellets through the floor, aimed at the fuel tank of the flametrooper. It would take too long to set up the shot, though, time he didn't have with the shells streaking towards the line. His blades whined, but he ignored them choosing to head out of the back of the building he was in, and away from the fight.

He did check the back of the building for a window through which to hurl a grenade though. He wasn't made of stone.

OOC
Half action move out the back of the building. If a window, ready a frag grenade. If no window, another HA move away.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'Ya, we've got a spook' Zoe nodded, looking at the slates. 'Poor gal, really. Spends half her time trying to sleep and the other half trying to convince herself that the things she sees when she does ain't real. We call her Sister Vagabond. She couldn't remember her own name, even' there was a palatable sense of fear - not revulsion, but fear, of the superstitious kind - in the quartermaster's tone. She almost seemed to hunch, as if afraid that speaking of the devil would summon it. 'Though, honestly, don't like patching things through her if I don't have to. A-always getting the feeling that the girl will keel over on me when broadcasting. So I just... uh, I get it through Savlar's. Their s-spook is just easier' she shrugged. 'When high, but they are always high anyways.'

[LCP]

Lucius

"Well, I'll be needing to send a communique through this... 'sister'," said Lucius. He reached for his pack, then remembered how little he'd brought with him. "Do you know where I can find some writing materials?"

Straightening back up, he put his hands together on the 'desk'.

"After that, I think a visit to the Fenskworlders is in order." He glanced back at the dataslates he had been given. "I'll be needing a vehicle from the motor pool."

[18th Avenger]

"Oh, sod!" At the blossoms of fire coming from the Chimera, Trask howled and hauled with all his might on the control levers of the hijacked Sentinel. Long years of mining had not dulled his ability to drive his chosen vehicle. With his body working on memory, he attempted a trick even veteran pilots would have thought foolhardy. "HOLD ON!"

For all intents and purposes, it looked as if the sentinel had squatted down and with an explosive burst of hydraulic power, leapt forward. The cannon mounted on its prow fired a thunderous 3 round burst as it pounced forward.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

As Zimm's krak grenade tumbled towards the chimera, Lilian caught sight of Spoons tearing past the chimera. Quickly deciding he had the right idea, she sprinted through the nearest hole in the row of buildings beside her and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Sorry it took me so long.
Going to follow spoons lead and take off running, beneath our attackers feet though.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'I'll fetch ya an autoquill, sir' Zoe nodded shortly. 'Might be a tad fidgety, but should work. We probably even have some ink remaining.'

Once again she smiled, her hand supported on her neck, on the brightly painted collar. There were deers on it, and fishes, and sun on a blue sky, surprisingly well rendered - and the paint itself was not flaking any, a testament to good conservation. Compared to everything in this regiment, the little fresco held up surprisingly well.

'There should be a free chimera, sir, though I'll have to ask the cogboy how the machine's doing. We took a hit to our motors lately. B-bad one. Lots of patching up' she shook her head with a shrug. 'A-anything else you will be needing, sir?'

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

Two sounds - first, the acrid tearing of the krak grenade going off clean on the chimera's top, blow a hole through its roof and smearing the gunner on the vehicle's floor, and then the autocannon's encore, three massive shells detonating more on the inside of the unfortunate APC than on its armor.

For a moment, the tracks continued to roll, as if dragged by some invisible inertia, by the machine spirit's mad hope of recovery. But it lasted less than a single second, and the third note was struck, louder than even the ones preceding it.

A roaring explosion, painted in oranges and scarlets engulfed the chimera, tearing it into shrapnel wheezing in all directions, fuel, ammunition and everything inside vapourized by the cannonade.

The booming sound rolled through the ruined city, reverberating as Trask' sentinel was pushed back by the force of it, the pilot himself (and the unlucky ganger on the roof) singed bad by the ferocity of their own firepower. At least the walker itself was a bit too sturdy to be harmed much by the shockwave.

And maybe the sound itself reached farther still, or the fates had a sense of humour many would consider wicked, for as if to answer a call, another sound cut through the air - and a bright point of light marked the yellow sky, a flare burning bright white, falling down slowly towards the the town's center, harbinger for a far more deadly rain.

The rebels inside the ruin did not remain oblivious to it.

'Frakkers got our chimera!' the same voice as before yelled. 'And they ain't stopping on that! Toriah, drop the ****ing thing, we're not staying until they blow our arses to pieces. Gather equipment' he calmed, and started giving orders in a collected, harsh voice. 'Let them flee. We're leaving on our own.'


Chimera explodes, dealing 1d10+6E damage to everything in its vincity, and that is both Trask and Zimms, 'cause it is a blast.

The soldiers start to gather their equipment and remove themselves from the positions. So far, they mostly delay their actions.

Damage from the blast:
[roll0]

[LCP]

Lucius

"That will be all, thank you, quartermaster," said Lucius. Watching her leave, he wondered who had painted her collar. It seemed difficult to see how she could have done it herself - the thing was locked under her chin. Putting the thought aside, he began to peruse the dataslates in more detail,

When Prunikos returned, Lucius set to writing.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I have recently been attached to the Mesnan First, only to find them woefully under-supplied. While I understand that a penal legion should not expect to be treated with the same respect as an honest regiment of the Guard, the Mesnans have been posted as the sole defence of the Third Fenksworld Artillery here on Expungia. I judge that their lack of provisions, particularly food and ammunition, is endangering the safety of the battery.

He paused.

Should the position fall, I will say as much in my report.

Nodding to himself, he continued.

I was also surprised to find that many of the regiment have been issued with solid-projectile weapons, requiring constant resupply of bullets when rechargeable las-weapons would be far more economical for the Munitorum. As such, I wish to request the following...

He then went on to list what he thought necessary, starting with the food and ammunition. When he was satisfied he had gone through what the regiment was most urgently in need of, he moved onto lascarbines to replace the grab-bag of autoguns the Mesnans had been dealt, and into the sundry other shortages he could find in Prunikos' data-slates. Better to ask for too much than too little.

These supplies are needed with some urgency.


- Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville, Mesnan 1st.

"Alright, Prunikos," he said, blowing on the ink to help it dry. "Where can we find this psyker of yours?"

[18th Avenger]

Trask

Even though he should have been safe in his lightly armored cab, Trask howled in as he felt his skin singe from the explosive backwash. The operator fought back the urge to sit and weep as he forced his hands back around the control levers and was rewarded by the sight of retreating rebels.

"That's right, you bastards!" He blared from the built-in speakers. "The Gallows Legion says 'Suck it'!" From somewhere, it sounded like Haddon gave a cheer.

It was then he remembered two things; Zimm might still have been on the roof. And the bombardment was still coming.

"Oh, Throne above! Let's hustle everyone! Forecast's coming in and it's says eight kinds'a hell is coming our way!" He gunned the Sentinel's engine and once more it loped for the closest exit right out of the town.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm smirks as his grenade and the autocannon rounds hit their targets. "Wooo! That's what you get, when you frag with this! You came to the wrong neighborhood, motherfu- oh, frack!" He gasps, as the chimera explodes into fire and shrapnel. He flattens himself against the roof of the sentinel and attempts to roll sideways so he can hang off the side, using the sentinel's hull to shield him from the blast. Failing that, he merely clasps his hands over his head and attempts to shield it from the blast.

Dodge roll -20 due to prone [roll0] , other actions to follow.

[SlyJohnny]

A heavy chunk of burning metal slices through Zimm's flak vest and across his belly. Varga's face is burned, and he roars in anger.

Zimm takes up his carbine and fires over at the neighboring building again. Varga recovers quickly, firing alongside him, despite the pain.

"Guys! The heretics are bugging out! Surround and suppress! Tell Squad B to hold position and torch them as they leave the building!" Zimm yells. He doubts the heretics will buy it, but Throne, he only needs to make them hesitate a minute or adopt a slower and more cautious retreat, and then it won't even matter. He wonders for a moment if they know the artillery strike is coming too, and only lingered behind to keep the Mesnans trapped.

Suppressing fire (semi auto)

Comrade Actions:
Ranged Volley (Half Action)
Hail of Fire (Half Action)

Still lying prone on top of the sentinel. Made a successful Stealth test last round in the cloud of smoke, not sure if Surprise applies.

short range +10, elevation +10 Ranged Volley +5, Suppressing Fire -20 : [roll0] vs TN 53

Damage rolls (If necessary, firing on the high powered setting)
[roll1] Pen 1
[roll2] Pen 1

[LeSwordfish]

Razor looked up at the little cluster of heretics, and then down at the grenade in his hands.

"While i'm here." He grunted, and hurled the grenade into the back of the building. He didn't turn to look at the result, instead running away, smiling at the satisfying "crump" of detonation.

Roll to hit: [roll0], damage [roll1]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

One look at Sister Vagabond was enough to explain her moniker. Sitting by a doused fire, outside of the camp's limits, by the crossing of paths leading out and into it, she could be mistaken for a stranger, for a vagrant so easily. The robe on her shoulders had to be an eclessiarchical one day, but now it was a shred of its former shape and colour, a rag stained and stitched in more places than one could count.

In her fingers, a coin skipped and gleamed in the sun, deftly danced. The other hand rested on a walking staff, a bundle of seashells tied to its top, clattering quietly as she moved it.

'Soon' she hushed to herself, confident in the truth of her words, even as the collar hung from her neck 'I will pack myself and go. Go and go, until horizons change. And then you will never find the way to my dreams again, old friend, and I will go and go, until my soles are all worn down...'

Either she had not noticed Lucius (and Prunikos trailing close behind him - she explained that it was sometimes difficult to find the psyker, and offered her help in doing that) or just deemed him far less important that whatever wild things was she seeing in sky she was staring into so intensely.

[18th Avenger]

Trask

From his cockpit, Trask let his squad what he thought of them attempting to play catch-up. He halted the Sentinel and turned to blare into the building where they'd taken shelter. "Sod that noise, you frakheads!" yelled Trask. "There'll be plenty of time to pop rebels later! Now haul arse!"

And with that, Trask let loose one last round from the autocannon and then redirected the avian-limbed walker and loped for the exit.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Continuing in an all out run, Lilian only barely heard the renegade's orders. 'yes, get out of here! We don't need you dead, we just need to live!' she thought, Larry clumsily following in her wake.

[LCP]

Lucius

Approaching the extinguished campfire, Lucius frowned. If this was the regiment's astropath, where were the robes of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica? Where were her minders? Was she honestly being treated like the rest of these common criminals - or worse still, was she one of them? What crime could a psyker commit where being shipped off to the lax oversight of Colonel Rorke was preferable to a swift bullet through the skull?

"Good afternoon, adept," he said, in his clearest, most carrying voice. "I am Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville. I have an inter-system message for you to relay."

[Gargulec]

She blinked. The coin in her fingers stopped, clenched tight between them. Then, she flicked it swiftly, had it make a twirl in the air before landing flat on the flat of her palm.

'I have seen your face before' she declared solemnly. 'Are we connected? Is there something that ties us?'

With a clap, her other hand landed on the coin, and grabbed it, once again setting the little metal disk to a strange dance.

'No, you were a dream. But now you are flesh. Tangible. I can touch you.'

Without asking, she reached to him, a finger pointed, tipped with a dirty, bite-marked nail. Delicately, she touched it to his sash, and ran it down the scarlet cloth.

'I can touch you' she said, breathing out and raising her eyes to meet his. 'I am a vagrant here, and tomorrow shall I leave. But before tomorrow comes, I will tell the stars, as you ask.'

[LCP]

Lucius

The psyker's words unnerved the commissar. How could she have seen him coming? It was a mistake, surely, him being here. An administrative error. Lucius' destiny led to better places than this.

"Thank you," he said, after an awkward pause. He was about to say that he would prefer the message sent immediately, but he had already wrestled with enough recalcitrant Mesnans for one day. Instead, he just handed the woman his communique. "Here is the message."

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The soldiers ran.

Once again, the same strange exhilaration of a sprint's simplicity, the clatter of foot on the asphalt, then ground - softness beneath, a shadow overhead. A forest.

How long did the run take? How long did it take them until they finally broke away from this hell of a town, the blind flight taking them away? For short enough so that when the first bass note of the artillery barrage was struck, the earth beneath shook and trembled, throwing everyone down - and yet, apart from the ringing in the ears and the terrible, stomach-twisting sensation of brushing with death, no harm came to them.

Shreds of bark and dry wood rained from above, the ground trembling from the forces that were currently changing the ruin the soldiers left behind into a spectacular display of destructive powers. Shell after shell, rocket after rocket, pounding down and exploding with thunderclap, the brief pauses between detonations laced with the droning of next wave of projectiles falling down. Gusts of warm air that blew from the conflagration reeked of burn prometheum and explosives, noxious and heavy on the lungs.

The woods that became the shelter were sparse - the soil of the planet had never been a rich one, and the vegetation reflected that. Thin, tall trees, almost weed-like in the way they swayed, their canopies hardly concealing the sky and letting sunlight to philter down through the leaves and paint the underbrush in all hues of yellow. Dry brushes and ferns carpeted the soil, strange vines creeping up the thin trunks. There was easily enough space for the sentinel to march through, though sometimes it would probably need some help clearing thickets when they came. And it all seemed so calm, or just so natural, unmarred and untouched even if there were probably bones hidden beneath the thin layer of vegetation. The soldiers crossed the edge of the woods. They lived.

Escaped at last. And the town behind that died.


250XP everyone.

You escaped. Combat time is over. Feel free to rest for a moment.

[LeSwordfish]

Only when the bombardment had ended did Razor stop, and lean against the bole of a tree. Theknife he'd been cutting through the greenery with hung limply in his hand, and he was breathing heavily. Next to him, Lyra sat down hard.

"Well. That was fun."

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm gingerly climbs down from the sentinel. For once, he seems to have the wind taken out of his sails; he stares back at the burning town with wide eyes, but he doesn't shout or whoop, just nods in grim satisfaction and spits into the dirt beside him. He finally turns to the others.

"Those were some dope ass moves back there, bloods! I'm glad I got lumped in with you frackers. "

He looks back over at the town, apparently keeping watch for any figures that might emerge from it. He idly wonders if anyone was still there, or if the enemy knew it was coming.

"I mean it. Can't think of a group of people I'd rather die with, nah' mean? Speaking of, cog girl... you mind examining me?" He says, eyeing Lilian speculatively. The squad doesn't have a medic, and he figures that techpriests like cutting bits off people and sticking metal bits back on, so they must at least know basic surgery. At least, he assumes that's what they do; he realizes he doesn't really know. "I'm bleeding, some. I got shot back there, and some shrapnel from the tank made it through my flak. I'll even take my shirt off, if you ask real nice."

He rolls up the legs of his uniform, to show her where the bullet grazed him.

"Someone oughta get on the vox. Ask them whether they want us to do a recce on the blast site, or whether we should just roll on home. No rush on that, though. Fraggers can wait."

Actions: keeping watch, and asking Lilian to attempt an untrained Medicae check to administer First Aid. She has the best Int, and so is our best choice for medical attention.

Also, can I confirm what loot there was- if any- from the sentinel pilot? I'm assuming the autogun I picked up had a full magazine before I started firing it, but let me know if that's not the case.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"Oh, is that so?" asked Lilian, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her expression switching from one of adrenalin fueled fear to a rather more relaxed and playful look. "By all means, if you think there's anything worth looking at there then feel free to lose the shirt, just remember which of us has the knives." she continued teasingly. With that she dug through her robes and retrieved her combi-tool. Approaching Zimm's she set to work, tearing several strips of cloth from the dead sentinel pilot's uniform to use as bandages.

Lets see how this goes, [roll0] vs ~45 or so.

[18th Avenger]

"Gallows Actual, this is Squad C. Completed exfil from village, awaiting orders. Gallows Actual, do you copy? Over." Mindful of his burns, Trask took the vox horn and contacted the Legion's main base, more or less in sync with what Zimm suggested.

At the Sentinel's foot, Haddon, who'd been carrying an excess of gear plus the improvised blanket rope, let out a long sigh and sat down. "Throne above, shouldn't 'ave doubted any of you." The wiry private smiled up at Trask. "Knew I picked right with Traskie..."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The woman took the message with a short nod.

'You are flesh' she savoured the sound of those words. 'I will tell the stars. And tomorrow, I leave. Tomorrow...'

'Sister...' whispered Zoe, quiet until then. She stepped closer, crouched by the astropath. 'Stay with us a day longer. We'll go away together, but we need to wait a day... two more, fine?'

'Here, he finds me' Sister Vagabond replied, the coin swinging again. 'But...'

'I can't go with you tomorrow' Zoe cut in, smiling warmly. 'And you shouldn't go alone, right? You don't want to.'

'I have been alone for far too long' she agreed after a pause. 'And you...?'

'I promise I'll go with you' Sunny assured, sounding as genuine and honest as if she was truly believing. 'Just, we need to wait. We'll go together, but there are preparations to be made... we need to wait. Just a bit of a patience, sweetheart. So that you're not alone' she patted her on the back, a friendly and gentle gesture.

'Yes' the astropath murmured, sharing the smile. 'I'll wait. So that I don't go alone. You promised.'

'I did' the word flew down softly, but there was something more to it, something nasty, something sick. It was not the first time, Lucius realized. Hardly the first time.

Sunny stood up and turned away, smile slowly fading from her face.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius said nothing more to the astropath, but stepped closer to Prunikos as they walked away, speaking in a low voice.

"What in the name of Terra was that about, quartermaster?"

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

At first, the vox replied with nothing but static barely cutting its hisses above the uproar of a town being leveled. However, after a moment, the crackling subsided a bit, allowing the voice of the operator on the other side to clear through.

'We read you, Squad C. Frak me if y'ain't a bunch of tough bastards' it was barely readable, but still clear enough to make out the individual words. 'Getting loads of feedback, tho. Might be... the voice broke into a series of snapping, dry sounds, before returning. 'Might be a jammer somewhere in the woods. You're gonna find your way home, boys and girls?'

[18th Avenger]

"Gallows Actual, we just took down a Chimera as well as stealing this damn Sentinel," Trask tiredly rasped into the vox horn. "If you don't mind, we're gonna try to head back. If we can deal with it, we'll engage. Squad might not be 100% effective, but the Emperor provides. Gallows Actual is still in the same place as it was this morning, right?"

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm grimaces as Lilian attempts to clean out his wound and roughly bandage it, holding his flak vest above his chest. The hiver is all stringy muscle and tough bone, muscular and fit, though the nasty red gash accross his abdomen ruins the effect somewhat. Varga looks on, placidly. "Looks painful." he remarks.

"Had worse." Zimm grimaces. "But I seen wounds smaller then this get infected, back in Khartoum. Mate of mine got the tip of his pinkie sliced off, then lost the whole hand to fleshrot. "

"Need a medkit. We get back, we needa shake that little quartermaster upside down by her ankles until one falls out."

"Ehh. Nah. Just be more crap to carry. Thanks, cog girl. Bandage'll hold until I can bother the doc back at camp." Zimm says, shrugging indifferently. Varga looks at him and grunts in irritation. Zimm, for some reason, glances over at Lyra and Spoons with an unreadable expression.

Zimm settles down, looking like he's going to rest, but then suddenly springs up, staring at the sky and trying to track the squad's current position.

"Hey, cog girl. Think you could figure out where that jammer team is, from the interference? Even if we don't go hunting, it'd be nice not to walk into the fraggers on the way home."

Navigate: Surface [roll0]

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Scratching the point where her respirator unit met her jaw, Lilian shrugged. "I should be able to find out how far we are from the source, but pinpointing a location is going to be a bit harder. If there's a structure of some other notable terrain at the same distance that seems like the most likely location." she shrugged, "Though at that point it's just guess work." moving over to the vox, she listened to the static, attempting to determine the distance of its source.
Common Lore: Tech? Tech use? [roll0]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Prunikos answered only after they were back inside the camp, away from the strange astropath.

'S-she...' she mumbled, her stuttering back in full force. 'Sh-e's used to... uh, wander off before. Ju-just pack her things and go, and almost tripped over the killzone, and... and' she gulped. 'A-and I lie to her that I will go with her, so that she doesn't' she blushed, as if confessing to a great crime.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius paused, as if waiting for another conclusion to the story.

"...and no-one has thought to confine her to her quarters?"

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

It took Lilan a fair bit of guess work (and reminiscing on her experiences from a times where she was supposed to have some kind of a future) to work with the vox interferences. They were weird, did not seem to originate from any common type of a jammer she could remember - granted, that would not be much, but still - there was something distinctly eerie in this particular brand of static. Perhaps the fact that as far as the efficiency of the thing went, it was actually pretty poor - she had no problems hailing most of the frequencies she attempted to, even if the interference were caused a lot of difficulty with communication, it failed to render it impossible. Which should be a vox disruptor's entire purpose. And then, something else was uncanny in all those hisses and crackles - something sinuous, almost flowing. As if the strength of the signal waxed and waned, reaching an apex of a white wall only to collapse into a faintly-screeching noise.

One way or another, the source could not be all that far away - no more than ten clicks from the squad's position, give and take a few.

Meanwhile, the barrage finally started to slow down. The ground stopped shaking, the hellish wheeze of shells slicing through the air eased, and then ceased, and with a satisfied rip of the last few explosions, Fenkswordians decided that they gave the town enough. The booming echoes lingered for a moment but then they too went down, leaving behind a very freakish kind of silence.

What remained of it was a charred sea of rubble, barely visible from behind the thick cover of noxious smoke and skipping fires consuming the last bits of fuel that remained amidst the rubble. Nothing but half-melted lace of twisted and torn rebars raised above the ground level to show that mere hours ago, there were still some shelter to be found there. What stayed upside when the barrage started, got just vapourized. What tried to hide in the cellars and shelters found itself buried under tons of rubble - if the heat did not cook crisp before.

All in all, one hell of a throughout job.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Sunny gulped loudly, and looked away.

'There-... there were attempts' she explained, spreading her arms as if to underline her helplessness. 'We... just... we just c-couldn't, sir. Just... we post guards, we tell, tell her to stay and then she i-is out of the c-camp, wandering. P-people got scared, c-called her a wraith, wouldn't want to get near her...'

[SlyJohnny]

Varga is staring out at the smoldering ruins of the town with an emotionless expression, but Zimm whistles, appreciatively. "Well, frag. Was gonna say we should go back and sift through for weapons and gear, but... never mind. Hey, what do you call something that bounces around the inside of a room and leaves red smears all over the walls? A heretic during an artillery bombardment."

"Stow it, rook. Artillery bombardment is a bad way to die." Varga snaps, surprisingly touchy. Zimm stares at him, raising an eyebrow in an exaggerated fashion.

"Least it's quick. What's the difference between that and getting shot by a tank? Or taking a round to the face?"

Varga snarls, touchy at being asked. "It's just noise and noise and nothin' you can do about it and then you die and it ain't even anything you did. Crump. That's what gets me. Not being able to do somethin' to change it."

Zimm rolls his eyes. "Oh, piss on that. You can't change nothin'. Everyone thinks they're different, they're special. They're not gonna get shot because they're too smart or fast. Corraine was a better soldier than you, and look what happened to her. Think she was glad she went to bed early three days ago before we moved out? Cleaned her weapon in the morning before we set out, and made sure she packed two pairs of socks? She probably died wishing she'd gotten laid more often."

He springs to his feet. "You spend your whole life worrying about the bullet that's got your name on it, you just die sad. Might as well cut loose. Have some real fun. Like Razor, here. He knows what I'm talkin' about. Right, Razor?" he says, gesturing to the imposing man who is still holding his beloved knife.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Lilian frowned. The jammer used could just be of exceptionally poor quality, and she could still be on edge from her brush with death but something about the interference unnerved her. Leaning towards the vox she spoke nervously, "Operator, we've narrowed down an approximate distance from whatever's causing the problem. Do you guys know if there's any structure or notable landmarks about ten clicks from the town?" Looking back at what was left she felt referring to it as a town was just a little too generous.

[LeSwordfish]

"You're the techie." Razor began "so you should know this crap. Does a jammer need to be high up? Or something. If we're going to be moving, we should be moving uphill."

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"Well," Lilian said, turning to razor "It's not that they need to be anywhere, I just assumed that if someone was operating it they'd rather be out of the sight and out of the weather. Of course, they could have just left it in the forest, but I'd like to avoid searching a twenty click wide circle."

[18th Avenger]

Trask poked his head from the Sentinel's cab, to get a bit of air. His wounds bothered him, but he was still rather keyed up from the fight. The Roane listened to the group and realized glumly that this jammer would take precedence over a return back to Gallows Actual.

Talk of the jammer made him think. "Voss, you think you could trace them from pre-installed codes in the Sentinel's vox?" He carefully pushed down on the levers so that the Sentinel seemed to squat, like a bird pecking the ground, enabling Trask to ask without needing to raise his voice. "I mean, our friends had to take orders from somewhere, right?"

[SlyJohnny]

"Let's start heading back. We'll see whether that makes the jamming weaker or stronger, then we can figure out where the source of it is in relation to us."

Zimm gestures in a direction.

"Camps thataway. I got point. Let's keep to the forest as much as we can."

[LCP]

Lucius


'There-... there were attempts' she explained, spreading her arms as if to underline her helplessness. 'We... just... we just c-couldn't, sir. Just... we post guards, we tell, tell her to stay and then she i-is out of the c-camp, wandering. P-people got scared, c-called her a wraith, wouldn't want to get near her...'

Lucius stopped walking, and turned to face Prunikos.

"You're saying she can walk through walls, quartermaster? Past armed guards?"

He hesitated for a moment, then covered his face with one hand. He'd really had enough for one day.

"No. You know what? I don't need to know." He breathed out. "You are telling me that the one psyker in this regiment, in this penal regiment, is not under proper control. Just tell me who is responsible for her and I will deal with them..." - he trailed off - "...later."

He jerked his head in the direction they had been walking.

"Come on. Let's see this motor pool of yours."

[18th Avenger]

"Sooner the better," Trask muttered as he buttoned up in the Sentinel. The burn wash on his cheeks was more than a little irritating. With a few expert tugs on the control levers, the chicken-legged walker righted itself and began a looping pattern around the area as he followed Lillian and Zimm's directions.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"I might be able to track them that way Trask." Lilian replied "But technically we weren't ordered to do so, so if everyone would rather head back I don't see any reason to search more."

[Revanus]

Having spent the past few minutes regaining his breath and compartmentalizing the recent near-death experience and subsequent carnage, Spoons looks up at the group.

Sally was still sitting on her pack, muttering to herself and shaking. Most of the words were indistinct--what little was audible sounded like a rant involving the words "red," "slaughter," and "swords."

Spoons placed a hand on Sally's shoulder, and she seemed to calm down a bit. Spoons hasn't said much since the bombardment stopped, but it would be a mistake to think he wasn't listening.

"I'm all for heading back to base. Let someone else sort out the transmitter-seems like a fool's errand and I've had my fill of suicide missions for the day."

Spoons glances at Sally.

"In fact, we both have."

Spoons offers a thin smile up at Trask and his Sentinel.

"Besides, we got a nice lucky streak going. No need to muck it up by getting ourselves killed--especially after the miracle we just pulled off in nabbing our shiny new toy."

Finally, Spoons nods towards Zimm.

"I got your back. If you take point, I'll cover the rear."

[Gargulec]

The regiment's motor pool was housed in a large hangar made mostly out of flak-boards. Compared to the ramshackle-ness of the rest of the entire camp, it struck a decent first impression - mostly clean, at least as much as such a place could get, with a pair of guards posted outside, by the three chimeras parked in front. Guards that actually seemed to know what they were doing, looking like they were on the lookout for any sort of intruders, scavengers or any other kind of such scum that this regiment had to offer. They stepped aside quickly upon noticing Lucius (or Sunny waving to them coyly), and even saluted quite crisply.

'Engineseer Diego is inside' one of them announced, smirking to Zoe. 'He might be irate, though, Sunn...'

In that moment, the other guard gave him a quick nudge, sending a quick meaningful glance at the Commissar.

'Uh, of course I meant you, sir' he corrected himself quickly and with an uneasy chuckle to mask unease. 'Engineseer Diego is trying to salvage one of our Sentinels, currently.'

A something of a bellow could be heard from inside, following by a clanging sound of one or many tools being thrown against a rockcrete surface, and then a long, high-pitched series of wheezes, chimes and whistles that Lucius could recognize as strings of the scared Binary of Adeptus Mechanicus. Of course, recognizing did not mean understanding, but it still managed to come of as particularly angry.

[LCP]

Lucius

Straightening up and clasping his hands behind his back, Lucius did his best not to smile in relief. He had half been expecting the motor pool to be made up of rusty tricycles.

"Well, no need to trouble him, then," he said. "All I will be requiring is a staff transport and a driver to take me to the Fenksworlder batteries."

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The operator on the other side sound a bit annoyed over the crackling, or maybe even bitter.

'No, I have no frakking clue' she replied to Lilian's question. 'We're not allowed to look at maps, we're scum, remember?'

That much was true, maps were restricted for only the highest ranks in the Gallows Legion. Apparently by an order from somewhere above, so that the soldiers would not be able to plot an escape route. Given the explosive collars, it was widely recognized not as a safety measure as much as Munitorium's personnel's attempt at spiting the grunts even more than they absolutely had to.

'So no idea. And besides, it seriously isn't your business or your problem, boys and girls. Leave the jammer be, Emperor be merciful and Fenks will deal with that. Melk's too drunk to order ya, so why care about it? Over and out.'

On that resolute remark, she cut the feed, leaving the soldiers free to attempt to find a way home through the forest.

The trip itself proved both more and less troublesome than expected. The woods did not thicken, which at least allowed for the sentie to wander without any trees getting in the way, which again allowed for the entire squad to remain out of main roads, which gave hope of actually evading notice. Also, it was quite a pleasant walk, in the shadow of the trees, during the later parts of a day, a dozen or more kilometers from the camp.

And this actually proved to be an issue. Soon, the night started to fall, and the woods showed no intention of clearing, which meant that there was no chance in Warp for the squad to reach the camp before darkness - and walking through the deep creek-ridge crossed forest by night, with a sentie, was invoking a huge disaster, not to meant that while in the light of the day navigating was not much of an issue, at night, it would be hardly that simple.

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm scowls up at the moon, as if he's not quite sure what it's doing there. From his unfamiliar expression, you think he might be wondering where the switch is to make it brighter. "Man, frag this. It's getting dark, we ain't gonna make it back tonight, and the sentie's gonna trip on some fragging tree and get broken. I got shot to get us that thing. Let's find us a campsite, kids. Somewhere easy to defend, with as much elevation as we can get without making things difficult for the sentie."

He glances over at Lilian. "Cog girl, we don't wanna be searching for camp in the direction where we think the bad guys are. This direction we're going, you reckon we been heading away from the jamming, or towards it?"

Varga hasn't said anything for the past couple hours, but his gravelly voice suddenly cuts in. "I been thinking. If they're jamming us in that weird way, who's to say they ain't tracing the signal back to it's source, too? I'm thinking we oughta keep vox-silence. At least for tonight."

Zimm stares. "Wha? There are machines that can do that? Hear where vox is coming from? That's creepy, yo. Yeah, let's stay off the caster."

Zimm starts searching around for a suitable campsite.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

It could be considered a small miracle that there was actually a running, if open-topped chimera in the regiment's vechicle pool - one of the six, actually, or seven if one was to count the one that had its old, STC-based engine re-purposed to serve as the main power generator for the camp. Most of them, however, were used to ferry the Second Company to their forward base of operations, and the one Lucius was currently riding was only left behind because of several mechanical failures that made it unusable even in the eyes of Mesnans.

Judging by shaking rivets, an intense stench of burnt prometheum and a truly impressive snarl that the engine gave out even on the low gear, the claims that the repairs made it safer could be considered dubious at best. And certainly involved a lot of duct-tape strengthened with prayer and good intention. At least, the fenkswordian camp was only twenty clicks away, so chances were that it would hold at least that long. Then again, the chimera itself apparently could not go faster than thirty, maybe forty clicks per terran hour.

The pair of grunts assigned - by a mean of a high-pitched whistle and a calling coming from the quartermaster - to him as an escort (Sunny warned against a few bands of stragglers and deserters that apparently roamed in the surrounding ruins and forests) was mostly quiet. One of them, a sickly skinny woman with bald head and sunken eyes cared only about a piece of something... that she was chewing ever since the commissar saw her, while the other one, similarly malnourished man of an indistinct age also kept to himself, chewing on quietly-mumbled prayers while staring dully onto some point on the absolutely bland horizon of the planet.

There was absolutely nothing of note to it - thin, yellowed-out trees that matched the hue of the sky above sparsely growing alongside a road paved by heavy machinery, a few messily hills topped by slightly denser clumps of vegetation. Woods and grass as far as an eye could see, only rarely decorated with burnt-out spots or wreckage of past battles.

An abrupt thump, followed by a nasty and an elaborate thump came out of the driver's cabin.

'Frakking piece of frakking garbage' Lucius heard the voice. 'Repaired the vox my frakking ass.'

The pilot - an absolutely non-descript man with a shred of an lho-stick forever glued to the corner of his mouth - took his eyes out of the familiar road and peeked into the passenger's compartment.

'Our vox went on a fritz... sir' he announced, scowling as if personally offended. 'We'll be a bunch of frakking unexpected guests for them fenks. Here's to hopin' that they'll be gracious enough not to sh...'

He didn't finish.

A loud, metallic smash interrupted him mid-sentence, a smash of the chimera ramming into something on the road, throwing everyone inside to the floor and making the pilot slam his head painfully on the compartment's wall. The vechicle ground to halt.

'Oh frak me' the driver moaned, wiping blood from his brow, while the pair of "guards" assigned to Lucius scrambled sluggishly off the floor, grasping ineffectually at their guns. Thankfully, no shooting followed, or else they'd all be dead in a moment.

Like the crew of a burnt-out shell of what used to be a salamander that Lucius' chimera rammed into, their corpses scattered around the wreckage, expression of panic still frozen on their faces.

[Revanus]

Spoons nods.

"Let's bed down for the night. Sleep 'til dawn, with a staggered two-man watch. No drifting off. We'll do two-hour shifts. Trask should probably stay in the Sentinel cab, just in case. And no campfires or lights--they attract attention."

Sally comes to life at the mention of campfires.

"Damn straight. Back in training, we used to practice shooting lho sticks out of servitors' mouths. Even the dregs of our marksmen class could nail 'em at eighty percent from two hundred meters. And campfires are a frackin' godsend--especially for photo sights and prey scopes. We go full blackout tonight if ya'll wanna see another sunrise."

OOC:Survival (for a secure and stealthy campsite--if necessary:
[roll0] vs. 41

[LCP]

Picking himself up off the floor, Lucius clutched his bruised head, feeling around with his other hand for his hat.

"Throne on Terra!" he shouted in anger. "Driver, how in the Emperor's name did you not see..."

He trailed off as he laid eyes on the Salamander.

"...that..."

He stared for a few seconds.

"Driver?" he said, his voice high-pitched and tense. "Driver, tell me you have not immobilised our vehicle."

OOC: Can Lucius see
What killed the Salamander - nature/location of the damage
How the crew died - the nature of their injuries
Whether they were Mesnans (do they have collars on?)
What colours the Salamander was painted in
?

Perception if necessary: [roll0]

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Sighing, Lilian responded to Zimm's question. "It's entirely possible that I could figure out if we were getting closer but like you've said, it's probably best to stay off the vox for now."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

There were no markings on the Salamander that Lucius could read - then again, the vehicle was destroyed in a way that left little more than a burned-out frame of charred metal. The commissar was hardly an expert on such a matters, but it looked like no heavy armaments were involved in the attack - someone just managed to nail an eerily precise shot right at the exposed fuel line, causing the tank to catch fire and rupture, but still giving the crew enough time to bail out before the ensuing explosion.

The corpses wore no uniforms, though, nor any markings. Deserters or rebels, it was tough to say - but certainly not guardsmen. They were cut down promptly after leaving their transport, probably by las-fire, at least as far he could see from the distance. Chunks of the flesh were obviously missing, but not enough to point to bolters and way too much for solid-projectile weaponry. They were surprised, but not enough to fail to react.

However, they did not go out without fighting back, whoever they were. One of the corpses still clutched onto an empty polyplas tube - a spent one-shot missile launcher, often issued to PDF units galaxy-wide.

The driver failed to answer Lucius, slurring in a high-pitched, panicked voice, even as the two soldiers guarding the Commissar finally managed to give the area a sweeping look.

'Seems clear' the woman sighed with relief, and the Commissar himself couldn't see any apparent danger around, either. It looked like that the attackers were gone by now - or, a disturbing thought - still waiting in an ambush.

The chimera shook again, the sound of the engine spurring back to life. A puff of acrid smoke flew into the passenger compartment, but at least the transport still worked.

'Frak me, it works' the driver mumbled, grabbing the steering wheel. 'We're bolting, sir?'

[LCP]

Lucius

"Yes," said Lucius, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Yes, get us to the Fenksworlders. Get us to a working vox."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Nothing else interrupted the drive, and the setting sun did not bring with itself a sudden hailstorm of fire from the woods flanking the entire length of the road. Lucius' escorts calmed quickly, remaining just as quiet as before, with only the prayers of the more devour of them getting spiced with strings of barely eligible expletives.

The Fenkswordian camp could be heard long before being seen - the first sign of its vicinity was the low, rolling rumble of an artillery barrage underway. The sound grew richer as the chimera approached - Lucius could pick out notes of rocket-fire between the thumping of basilisks.

Finally, the forest cleared, revealing a well-illuminated and a well-fortified camp.

Comparing it to Mesnan encampment would be just missing the point, the artillery regiment prepared their position with a strict adherence to the Tactica Imperialis, regulations and common sense, all with a healthy dose of overblown carefulness. The perimeter around the base was constantly monitored by several search-lights stuck on top of turrets bristling with armament heavy enough to shred anything short of a heavy tank within moments.

Through several layers of fences, tank traps and razor-wire, the Commissar could see rows of rockcrete buildings half-buried into the ground, several of them reinforced enough to look more like bunkers than barracks. Spots of light showed where patrols were making their rounds around the camp. It appeared that the Fenkswordian unit did not much believe in the Gallows Legion's ability to protect them from hostiles and decided to go an extra mile to ensure that their vulnerable big guns would never come to any sort of harm.

The Chimera got spotted almost immediately, and several autocannons were brought to bear onto it.

'They are trying to hail us, no doubt' the driver uttered through clenched teeth, slowing down. 'And we're not responding. Throne, please, don't be trigger happy, don't be trigger happy...'

[LCP]

Lucius

Making sure his cap was seated firmly and visibly on his head, Lucius pulled himself up to the top of the vehicle and waved his arms energetically over his head.

"COMMISSARIAT!" he yelled. "OUR VOX IS GONE!"

[18th Avenger]

Trask's burn wounds and the cut above his nose were bothering him some, but he'd cleaned them as best he could. When (and if) they got back, the medics would be the first people he would see.

But for the meantime, the Roane deferred to the judgement of the ground pounders, even if they didn't have answers he didn't want to hear.

"I'll watch first," offered Trask, climbing back into the cab. "Haddon will be next, then she'll wake Razor." Haddon had given him a rather sharp look but said nothing as she began to unwind the blankets from their current rope form. Once he'd climbed back into the purloined walker, he set about cutting the power at its lowest ebb to conserve fuel. The only thing that he'd kept open was the vox.

Just in case.

[Revanus]

Spoons shakes his head.

"Two people to a watch. Just in case one of you falls asleep. Let Haddon take the first watch with you."

[SlyJohnny]

"I got dibs on last watch. Varga, too." Zimm says, quickly claiming the other favorable unclaimed sentry stint. He also volunteers Varga because Septa had a pack of playing cards in her kit, and Varga is the worst card player in the squad who can still be baited into putting down thrones.

He unties the blanket-rope, claiming both his blanket and Corraine's, and then nestles down to rest, using his backpack as a pillow. He peers up at the gently stirring foliage above, wondering at the source of the odd jamming, and the weird vibe he's been picking up from this forest since the moment he entered.

"So. Anyone got any good ghost stories? You, Spoons? I know you got a good one."

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The forest's night was a soothingly quiet one, even with the wind playing the canopies without pause and distant calling of what little animals remained within the woods. None of their howls and cries sounded familiar, but neither were they particularly menacing. Just living, out of sight and mostly out of mind.

War felt far-away for a moment there, and nothing on sky nor earth could point out to exactly how ravaged the planet was. No barking of canons, no orders shouted, not even the idle buzz of a living camp, in all of its tense boredom and the heavy sensation of an absolute lack of sense to all of this.

Watches passed, wounds itched, stories were told, clouds stirred in the sky, sometimes revealing shreds of a yellow-tinged moon - time went on smoothly.

But calm was not allowed to last - no one had such luck on this Emperor-forsaken planet.

During the final watch, when the had sky had already turned pale gray in anticipation of the breaking dawn, a point of blueish glow appeared up above the canopies, sweeping quickly over the forest. A flier descending from above the clouds, looking for a landing spot somewhere in the woods. This alone could be distressing - but then it had to remembered that none of the Imperial regiments stationed on the planet had been assigned any air forces by the Battlefleet above.

Whatever this point of light was, it did not belong to allies. And judging by how swiftly it moved, it was not human in origin, either.

[Revanus]

Spoons stirs from his sleeping hole as dawn begins to show. Sally is already up, sitting nearby and sharpening her knife.

Spoons grabs his backpack from his sleeping hole and proceeds to relieve himself in the shallow depression he slept in. He then fishes a combat ration from the bag, and munches on it as he heads over to Zimm.

"How'd the watch go?"

[SlyJohnny]

Zimm scowls darkly down at his hand. In keeping with the typical professionalism expected of the Gallows Legion, during his watch stint he'd been completely ignoring his surroundings in favor of practicing card tricks, eventually managing to goad a reluctant Varga into a game. However, the sly older man was handily winning; either Zimm's luck wasn't with him tonight, or Varga was a better card player than he'd previously let on.

"This is whack. You must've marked these cards, or-" he grumbles, but then trails off as he spots the blue glow coming from the treeline over Varga's shoulder. "Flier." he hisses.

They both rise, instantly alert, the game forgotten. Although Zimm does maintain enough presence of mind to seize the opportunity to steal back some of the thrones he lost as soon as the bigger man turns around, snatching them up from Varga's pile of winnings. Varga heads off to wake the others, and Zimm moves over to the sentinel. He scrambles for the autocannon controls and aims up through the canopy, trying to sight the craft so that he can potentially shoot at it if it approaches.

Varga nearly bumps into Spoons, coming the other way. "Bogey, above. It don't look like a Navy bird." the old Elysian murmurs in reply to the sniper's question. He casts a long-suffering glance over at Zimm, who is enthusiastically trying to track the flier's movements with the sentinel's autocannon. "It probably ain't seen us yet, so don't let the kid shoot at it. I'll go wake the others."

Varga shuffles past Spoons and starts quietly rousing the others, explaining to each that they need to get their gear and get ready to move.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Jerking awake at Varga's touch, Lilian listened to him and gathered what little she had. It was unlikely that whatever it was would see them or even knew they were there, but it was best to be prepared. Maybe he had been right last night and someone had traced the vox signal back to them.

[18th Avenger]

"Momma?" Trask snorted and slurred when Varga shook him awake. "'S'goin'on?"

To his surprise, it was not the Roane's mother. Even more of a surprise was the unwelcome news of inbound enemy aircraft. Not a morning person by any standard, Trask nonetheless shoved his feet into his boots as he struggled to get his gear ready. The years of practice on deployment began to fuel his movement and the Roane was ready in no time, just as Haddon turned to him equally ready. For all her faults, the former Continental had proved herself to be a a capable and ready soldier.

With quick nods, Haddon went to join the rest in a line while Trak ran to find Zimms in the Sentinel. Given the young hiver's eagerness in getting behind the levers any chance he got (well, he had been the one to capture the walker), the operator made a note to begin training him in its operation. Ignoring his wounds, he climbed on to the hull and held on, exactly like Zimm did the other day.

[LeSwordfish]

Razor shielded his eyes to watch the glow more closely. "What is that thing, anyway?"

"Should we call it in?" Lyra asked.

Razor shrugged. "They'll find out about it."

He tapped each of his knives on the hilt, to check they were still there. "Are we ready to move? We can eat while we walk. If any of us have anything left."

[Revanus]

Spoons shoulders his pack, nodding at Razor.

"I'll cover our tracks, again."

Awareness (if necessary): [roll0] vs. 41

[Gargulec]

Commissar

For once, the Emperor seemed to be smiling on Lucius, and the gunner had both good hearing (something hard to come by in artillery regiments) and a deep respect for the lives of Commissars (something that Lucius had reasons to doubt in - maybe). He did not squeeze the trigger of his large gun, and though the barrels were still leading the Chimera - safety first - it was allowed to reach the gates and a security checkpoint. The vehicle ground to a halt.

From his vantage point out on the low turret overlooking the gates, a guardsman peeked down into the Chimera. A spotlight sat next to his position, so Lucius could hardly see more than the outline of that man. Or woman, as it turned out.

'Sir' he heard a feminine, sharp voice, and the guardswoman above snapped him a salute. 'We were not aware that the...' she wanted to say something, but bit her tongue. One of Lucius' escorts spat. 'That the Mesnans had been assigned a representative of the Commissariat, so sir, I am required to ask you to present a proof of your identity. Safety measures against the marauders and infiltrators, sir.'

She sounded professional, but not without a note of anxious embarrassment. Asking Commissars to do things - especially when she herself was but a lowly grunt - was always a perilous game.

'Toes the fraking line' the woman on Lucius' side mumbled, summing up the situation.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius shot his own escort a sharp look, and nodded to the sentry.

"Your diligence is commendable, guardswoman." He fished his ident tags out of his tunic. "I assume these will do?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The guardswoman inspected tags swiftly and nodded.

'Yes sir' she acknowledged, and then paused for the moment, mumbling something quietly - probably to a comm-bead. 'I alerted the base of your arrival, sir.'

The gate ahead started to slowly slid to the side, grating quietly - the mechanism was well oiled.

'The command is straight ahead, sir. The biggest bunker with a flag. You can't miss it, sir.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius thanked the sentry, and headed straight for the bunker she had indicated.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The rest of the way home - for a given value of home - was mercifully uneventful, and short enough that long before noon, the squad had cleared the forest and emerged in sight range of the forward encampment they were supposed to fall back to day before.

It consisted of a few hastily erected trenches around a bunch of tents and a number of parked vehicles - the Gallows Legion's sole salamander serving as a command center and a badly mangled sentinel which - as far as the Mesnans could remember - had been acquired by the engineseer Diego in circumstances that were better left unexplored. The walker apparently was supposed to serve as the heavy weapon support for the camp. Aside from it, the usual - some campfires fed flak cloth and damp wood, and a bunch of fellow legionnaires lazing around them, waiting.

The only other presence in the camp had been at the courtesy of a small buggy painted in the fenkswordian deep greens, standing in a certain distance to the rest of the guardsmen, as if the pair of fenks inside of it were afraid to even approach Mesnans. Hardly surprising, too - the artillery regiment hated the penal one. Or maybe hate was too big of a word? One way or another, having to involve themselves with the collared scum was a veritable torture for the hive world's finest.

No one halted the squad as it approached the perimeter - perhaps because they got recognized or perhaps because the guards were asleep or past caring. One way or another, the first acknowledgment of their arrival was some legionnaire standing up from his mess of a sleeping place, squinting towards the group and its cranky sentinel and groaning out loud.

'Frak me, they're really alive' it drew some more attention from the rest of the second company scattered around. There were a few of them, though, apparently only skeleton crew, with the reminder already on its way back to the main camp.

'Who would've thought' another guardsman sighed, scrambling up from his spot beside the medicae tent and the small pile of bodybags heaped before it.

[Revanus]

Sally softly chimes in towards the rest of the squad.

"Let's keep an eye on our sentinel. Whether we trade it or keep it, the bird is ours. I'd rather slit a throat than see our treasure go to someone else."

Spoons remains silent and watchful. With his thumb, he flicks the fire selector of his lasgun to semi-automatic.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Taking interest in the pile of body bags by the tent Lilian asked no on in particular, "Did something happen while we were gone or did I just miss those the last time?" pausing for a second she continued, again to no one in particular "Does it have anything to do with those Fenkswordian's?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

They were already waiting for him, a small display of discipline and hell-guns. An elderly-looking woman with cybernetic eyes and a commissar's sash slung over her chest, flanked by a pair of carpace-armored shocktroopers, saluting perfectly in synch as Lucius disembarked from his ramshackle vehicle, his own escorts returning the salute lazily and rather reluctantly.

'Commissar' the woman extender her hand, smiling pleasantly. Her voice had to be beautiful in the past, echoes of silken tunes could still be heard in it, even if the years of service roughened it and stole its luster. 'I am Amanda Olwen, by Emperor's grace the Commissariat's representative in this regiment, and allow me to say that it is my very good honour to meet you.'

She made a step closer, the smile still on her face, and judging by the hissing of some pneumatics, there was more to her than her eyes that had been replaced by cold steel - and the row of service ribbons attached to her uniform spoke much of her opportunities to give up parts of her body in the service of the Emperor. If Lucius remembered his classes correctly, some of the campaigns the woman had participated in were at least half a century ago.

'Sadly, Colonel Theresa will not be able to meet you, but allow me to invite you to my quarters instead. I am curious to hear the news from off-planet.'

[LeSwordfish]

Razor snorted.

"Yeah, cause a pile of bodies is a strange-ass thing to find around here, right?"

He turned to spoons. "You slit the throat of everyone who wants that, you'll be cutting jugulars from here to high command. Sell it, 'fore someone takes it."

With that done, he settled himself heavily on a rock and began sharpening his new blade.

[LCP]

Lucius

Civilisation, thought Lucius, at last.

“Commissar Olwen,” he said, briskly shaking the offered hand. “The honour is all mine. I would be more than happy to consult in private.”

[18th Avenger]

"Gently, gently!"

In spite of his elation at reaching camp, Trask was not having a great start to the day. Zimm was an eager student, credit where credit was due. But what the Roane had not realized that there was more to teaching than simply telling your pupil what to do.

That, and Zimm was very eager to dry some of the more daring maneuvers you could attempt with the spindly-legged walkers. Also, Trask's mood was not improved by the burns and shrapnel wounds he'd taken the other day and had taken a dive when Hatton tilted her head in Razor and Spoons' directions, both of who seemed to be preparing for impending violence.

"If y'can't trust your allies, who can you trust, right?" The pilot said somewhat sarcastically.

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Olwen's quarters were sparse in the best traditions of the Imperial Guard. A room inside of the guard bunker, close both to commander and the outside, in a place perfect to keep track of everything that was going on in the base.

There was little inside. A table, neatly arranged data-slates on its side, a wardrobe and a coat-hanger, a bed visible from behind a curtain. A few touches of personality - a pict-recorder on one of the shelves, the model a bit too elaborate to be Guard-issue, some books standing beside it, gilding long gone from their sides. An unfinished cup of recaf left perilously on the edge of the desk, holding down a paper looking down like some sort of a boring report. But nothing out of order, nothing out of place, everything as disciplined as it should be, not a single trace of excessive luxury. A place of work, not opulence.

'Have a seat' she offered, sitting down first. 'There should be recaf ready for you in a moment. I apologize, but we can't really serve anything else here. Amasec only for triumphs' she chuckled delicately. And true to her words, after no more than two, three minutes, a guardswoman wandered in with a tray of carapace mugs, fragrant beverage included.

The room was phenomenally sound-proofed - in spite of the artillery barrage slowly winding down outside, not a single sound of it pierced through the layers of rockcrete. Seems like the regiment's engineers knew their trade well.

'So... I apologize for being blunt' the smile vanished from her face promptly. 'But how in the Warp did a boy like you get assigned to that cesspit out there?' she waved vaguely in the direction of Mesnan camp. 'You did something? Cowardice? Bad results?' she shrugged. 'I can find it in the papers if I want, so why not tell me? I mean, they do not send Commissars there unless they have really earned it...'

[LCP]

Lucius

"I'd rather appreciate it if you did find it in the papers, Commissar Olwen," said Lucius, taking a delicate sip from his cup of recaf. "I'm somewhat at a loss to explain it myself." He paused, not sure what to say. "This is my first posting. I was expecting something rather closer to home."

Setting down the mug, he cleared his throat. "If I can be straightforward with you myself," he said, "it's about that cesspit that I've come. It may not be the assignment I'd have chosen, but it's the one I've been given, and I'm resolved to make a decent fist of it. At least until any... administrative muddles regarding my posting might be sorted out." Always leave a window open. Don't give up hope, Lucius. "The Mesnans are an ill-disciplined bunch, but they're half-starved too. Little food, less ammunition." He hesitated again, wondering what tack to take. Best not to mention how poorly they'd taken to his discipline in front of a senior Commissar. It might sound like an admission of cowardice.

"I can flog them, maybe even shoot a few, but that won't put food in their bellies. I was taught in the Scholam that an army marches on its stomach. I believe that if the Mesnans' stores can be replenished a little, they might yet be licked into a respectable fighting force. That's why I've come to you, to beg for any surplus your quartermaster might be able to spare. Ration wafers, corpse starch, anything. After all, Commissar," he said, "the Mesnan line is currently the only thing standing between these emplacements and the enemy."

He paused one final time. Something else was troubling him. "Speaking of which... are you aware that there is a wrecked Salamander in the territory between our camps?" He glanced over his shoulder, as if worried that the forces that had destroyed it might still be following him. "We encountered it on our way here."

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

'Eh, them?' a guardsman sitting by a campfire, a persona of an absolute non-descriptiveness aside from his rather thin, fawn beard shrugged towards the pile of corpses. 'Sods got winged there back at that frakking town, and our medic' he raised his canteen in a mock toast 'finished the job, Emperor bless her soul.'

'Frak you too' the medic in question, an aged woman with a badly-disfigured face marred only further by a deep scowl spat out a stump of an lho-stick and sulked back into her tent, apparently offended. The offender promptly picked up the butt and tucked it away in his pocket, chuckling lightly.

'Poor lady sufferin' us poorly, apparently' he summed up. 'So, you guys got yourself a fancy new clanker, huh? Neat.'

'Sunny gonna wet her panties' another one threw in, standing up from his sleeping spot and coming closer to the band. 'Just you look at this heap of scrap! Maybe the chemies will take it, hum?'

'And maybe we should just keep it?' someone else suggested. 'I mean, not like we get any replacements, and that new commissar of ours...' the entire camp spat as one, a feat of discipline to make a drill-abbot proud. 'I mean, with that fraking psychopath running around, Warp knows if we get another opportunity to exchange our trophies...'

'I say that they should make a fraking penal regiment out of them fraking tophats. I mean, for once Imperial justice would get someone guilty, eh?' the non-descript one suggested wittily, prompting a bout of earnest laughter from all gathered.

[18th Avenger]

Haddon's face looked like she relished the thought. "If'n only life be so kind..." The pixie-ish woman said wistfully.

"Comissars," Trask agreed when Zimm slowed the walker down long enough for him to hop down. "What good have they ever done anyone? If y'ask me, we need more of them Sister Hospitallers. Emperor's beneficence and all that." He gave Varga a nudge and a knowing wink.

He stretched as he followed the medic into the tent. "Anyway, got anything for my burns and cuts?" Trask gestured at his face.

[Revanus]

Spoons and Sally shared a look.

A commissar? Here? Fracker wouldn't last a week.

Sally takes a minute to catch Trask as he climbs down from the Sentinel.

"Hey. I don't know about you, but me and Spoons could use a Long-Las. And as a whole, we could probably use some dummy-proof med-supplies.

While we definitely needed that autocannon support, we don't have guarantees the chain o' command will let us keep our toy. Wanna just trade it away for some nice goods? Otherwise, we could attempt to bluff our way into becoming the First Mesnan Armored Recon, but I dunno if we'll win."

[18th Avenger]

Before Trask stepped into the Med Tent
Trask couldn't help but give a tired laugh. It was beginning to hurt, laughing. "Why not? Saw Zimm there jack the chicken. Fix up a few of the APCs, 'borrow' more? First Mesnan AR sounds pretty sweet."

One the mention of weapons, the pilot looked a lot less sure of himself. Even though racketeeing was what landed him here in the first place (and made for his usual offering of tales at campfires), the base camps of the other regiments were pretty well-guarded, making any attempt at reaching quartermasters risky, at best. "I'll see what I can do and ask around, Spoons," Trask eventually said, even though his expression clearly said 'prepare for getting jack-all'. "We're not exactly a las blast from a forgeworld, after all."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Olwen listened carefully, nodding from time to time, careful not to interrupt his speech, sipping her recaf reluctantly, as if the beverage was there just to maintain proper forms.

'I see' she nodded for the final time after he wrapped his piece up, and went silent again. After a moment, she quaffed the rest of the cup in a single gulp, and shook her head, annoyed or startled. 'Now, I need to tell you something, and I...' she bit her tongue, and paused for a while once more. 'I am not going to assist you. No one is, and no one should. Your legion is a place for scum to go and die, and everything spared for them is already too much, and you know this just as well as I do. Respectable combat force?' she sighed bitterly. 'I am sorry to break that to you, Commissar, but that is the decree of His' reverently, she touched the small Aquila plaque on her chest as she spoke 'most holy Administratum, not for us to second-guess. You are meat, not soldiers. You will die, and that is all that is asked of you. And that you were attached to them is certainly reasonable, and certainly just, for the scales of Imperial justice account forever in balance. Even if it is not papers, you got what you deserved' her tone grew harsher and less forgiving as she spoke, as if she was shedding inhibitions, growing first irate, then outright contemptuous.

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius blinked.

"You expect they appoint criminals to watch over other criminals, Commissar?" he said, in a mild tone of voice. "That would be a little like setting a wolf to watch over sheep, don't you think?"

He shook his head. "Believe me, my opinion of the Mesnans is no higher than yours. Since I've arrived in their camp I've seen nothing but sloppiness and insubordination, from both the men and their officers." He looked Olwen in the eye. "You expect them to die, Commissar Olwen. I expect them to die for a purpose. If the Munitorum just wanted them dead, it would have been far cheaper to gas the lot of them. And frankly I wouldn't have objected." He took a steadying sip from his cup, trying to marshal his arguments.

"How many regiments are in this theatre? As far as I see it, we have a whole planet to subjugate, and only a handful of men to do it with. Treating them as cannon fodder is only going to lose us this war." He looked around him at the bunker's austere furnishings. "The Mesnans are guarding your line, and there's no-one else to do it for them. If they break, it'll be your camp the enemy overruns; your guns they capture, your men they kill. I'm not asking you to pardon the Mesnans, just to help me make them sell their lives dearly." He tried a smile. "Morale officers. That's what I was taught we were, and that's what I intend to be."

OOC: Charm test: [roll0]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

How does one treat a leper? Does he aid him in his misery? Easy his pain? Medicate him? Lucus would be forgiven for thinking so, for should a leper appear among his family, even as disgracing as such an example of Emperor's wroth be, the unfortunate soul would be taken to medicae, and the malady dealt with. Perhaps at a price, perhaps not instantly, but certainly.

But the spires of his home were far away from him, and his name was probably the only keepsake he still had of the places like that.

'No' Olwen uttered, steeling her voice even further. Her face twisted a bit, constricted, her anger apparent. 'Plead and beg as much as you want, but you will have nothing of that.'

The Mesnans were lepers. And as it is with lepers, they were doomed - doomed not for the lack of supplies, not for the lack possibility, but doomed by the virtue of being lepers.

'There is no need to find evidence of sin for the sinners' the Commissar spoke, quoting some revered text, no doubt. 'To doubt in Imperial justice is to doubt in Imperium, and those convicted are guilty, because they were convicted. And for those who are guilty, there shall be no mercy and no reprieve, for to err against the ways of Imperium is to strike against it and betray it.'

His words could scarcely reach her - she could hear them, of course, and maybe she could even attempt to understand them. But in her eyes - he saw it, a glimpse of a gut-wrenching understanding - he was not a fellow, not a Commissar, not a person. He was a sinner, a convict, a man of guilt, a foe of hers more than an ally. In her eyes, she was doing him a grand grace by speaking with him as if they were equals, and in her eyes, he was paying for that grace with impudence and wretched demands.

And worse still, nothing in that surprised her, not at all.

'And that you request leniency for them means that you are of their ilk and among them, you belong.'

That is how one treats a leper.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Scurrying over to Sally and rubbing her hands togethor with glee she spoke in a low voice to both her and Spoons. "If we're trading it away you two wouldn't mind me taking a look under the hood would you? I figure the parts might come in handy if we end up near a mechanized unit."

[Revanus]

Sally stares at Lillian. Very quietly, she responds.

"Uh...the whole point of putting the thing up for trade is that it works. Don't go breaking things that don't need fixing, cog girl."

She shrugs.

"And I'm pretty sure we're the closest thing to a mechanized company around."

Sally spits into the dirt.

"You ask me, the walker's mainly Trask's and Zimm's booty. And I ain't sayin' we don't need the walker. I'm just making the point that Spoons and me can kill a lot better with a true sniper's rig."

With that, Sally mimes a round entering the side of her own head, and the resulting splatter of an exit wound bursting out of the other side.

[LCP]

Lucius

Putting down his cup, Lucius stood up.

"I'm sorry if you think I questioned the justness of the Mesnans' sentence, Commissar Olwen," he said, quietly and a little stiffly. "I only asked that they be given the supplies to fight the battles they were sentenced to fight." He paused, looking down at his boots. "I see them as munitions to be expended, and poorly-maintained munitions are as dangerous to us as to our enemies."

Raising his eyes to meet the senior commissar's, he gave her a polite salute. "I won't waste any more of your time, commissar. If I can trouble you with one last question, when does Colonel Theresa return?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

Olwen did not stand up in turn. Amusing how fast can one deem another beneath his notice and beyond the need for politeness - moments ago, he was a fellow, a peer to her, and now all that she could see in him was yet another convict amidst the gallows.

'I will make sure to alert you when that happens' she said icily, tone not so subtly indicating that she was not particularly keen on the idea of letting him to "her" colonel. 'Mari' she gestured at her aide, until now hidden soundlessly in the corner. 'Please see the commissar to his escorts.'

The woman - or a girl, because she lacked in both years and ruggedness that could be expected of a guardswoman of her rank bowed politely and opened the door for Lucius. In fact, she did not look much like a soldier at all, pretty and well-kept. Chances were that she was a daughter of someone who had enough pull to ensure that his child would not see frontline duty.

'This way, sir' she pointed, leading the way, guiding the Mesnan through the few corridors that separated him from his Chimera and his troops.

He found him almost exactly as he had left them, the praying-man propped lazily against the hull of the vehicle and mumbling his psalms all the same, while the chewing-woman busied herself chattering with some heavily-armed guard, white markings of a fire-team leader visible on his carapace pauldrons. As Lucius stepped outside, the fenkswordian laughed mockingly in the woman's face, turning away, leaving the woman staring at him, as if she wanted to see him struck by a lightning right there.

'And frak you too, useless glory-boy' she spat at his back. 'Ya hear me? I sure frakking hope that the ork that sired you did your mama well, you...'

Suddenly, the air grew thick, and the world around the commissar slowed down just a bit, tensing before a disaster.

'Such a crude crea...' Olwen's aid exasperated.

'Hear me, frakker?' the mesnan kept on, flushed on her face now, eyes gleaming madly.

'What did you say, you piece of...' the shock-trooper in questioned turned back towards her, his hands suddenly clutching his hell-gun, finger slipping from the trigger-guard onto the trigger itself...

'Ya've heard me, you fraking little tur...' the woman threw her arms into the air...


Agility +20 test required for Lucius to act before bad things happen.

[LCP]

Lucius


'I will make sure to alert you when that happens' she said icily, tone not so subtly indicating that she was not particularly keen on the idea of letting him to "her" colonel. 'Mari/ she gestured at her aide, until now hidden soundlessly in the corner. 'Please see the commissar to his escorts.'

"Thank you, commissar," said Lucius "but I would prefer to be informed of the time in advance." He looked Olwen in the eye. "The Mesnans' vox systems are not in the best repair, and I would hate to miss your communiqué on their account."

He stood his ground. "In the meantime, I would like the speak to the Fenksworlders' second-in-command, if that is possible." He thought for a moment. "Or failing that, the most senior lieutenant in the base."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

...the finger on the trigger started to clench...

'My troops' major Alena had a... problematic voice. High pitched, unpleasant, grating on the ear. Perhaps because of the bulky vocal-chords replacement strapped to her neck 'always had good discipline, Commissar. We never needed Olwen's services much.'

She met him in some command room, bent over a table with representation of various local landmarks and a perfectly functioning holo-lith currently displaying the trajectories of the artillery barrage the regiment was raining on some unfortunate town.

'Yours, however, seem to be an issue.'

A good thing about her was that her synthetic manner of speaking rid her words of any emotion, and her face was terribly scarred and properly disgusting to look upon - but also rendered almost perfectly unreadable, too. For all Lucius could know, she could contempt and spite him twice as much as the Commissar, but she would not be capable of showing that. Not without breaching protocol, anyway.

'Honestly, I don't understand your purpose at all, and believe that you are a waste of resources, but I am not going to second-guess Munitorium. Still, your troops are trouble-makers. At least I have heard that much. And your colonel is fraking useless.'

Or maybe she did not care much about the protocol anyway.

'I guess that you are new to this theater and wondering what the frak is going on' she switched the holo-lith to instead show the patchwork of fronts and Guard's presence across the planet. 'To sate your curiosity, we have no clue either. This war is absurd, we are not gaining anything, we are not losing anything, nothing is accomplished. Just lobbing shells from far away and maintaining discipline. I think that some clerk forgot to forward our reports to Segmentum Command. Or something in that vein' she shrugged. 'Again, no second-guessing. But, here is that. Not a war we can really win. Not a war we stand a chance of losing.'

One more shrug.

'So, explanations behind us, is there anything you need? I am obliged to assist you by the letter of the Guard's regulations.'

[LCP]

Lucius

Lucius looked down at the tactical display with interest. It reminded him of the Scholam, and those were memories of happier times.

"Not a war we can lose?" he echoed. "You'll forgive me, major, but as epithets go that seems in the same class as 'they couldn't hit a dreadnought from this distance'."

Looking up from the fascinating hololith, he saluted. "Apologies, I'm speaking out of turn. Commissar Lucius Mayford-Dunsterville, at your service." He held out his hands for Alena to shake. "And as far as your assessment of Colonel Rorke and his regiment is concerned, I'm afraid I couldn't agree more. Nevertheless, I've been landed here and I mean to do my best." He smiled a bright, brittle smile. "Chin up, eh?"

"I've come to you because the Mesnans are starving," he said, with what he hoped was a disarming frankness. "I've seen them with my own eyes, and half the men are dead on their feet. The shipment that brought me down was barely enough to supply a company, let alone a regiment, and I'm given to understand it's the first they've had for months." Best not mention the looting for now.

"You said it yourself, Colonel Rorke is a weak man. As it stands, if the Mesnans were to come under concerted attack, I don't believe more than a third of them would stand. The rest are just bodies and munitions, waiting for our enemy to collect them." He coughed. "I mean to put a little steel in their backbones, but for that they need some protein in their bellies. That's why I've come, to beg whatever supplies you have spare. Rations that would otherwise spoil, anything you have." He broke off as he felt himself falling back into the same rehearsed patter he had tried on Olwen. "Your commissar wasn't convinced, but I was hoping you might have more of an appreciation of the strategic concerns at stake."

OOC: Charm again! Come on, Lucius.

[roll0]

[Gargulec]

Commissar

'This has been going for years. We have been stationed here for two, the agri-worlders on the other hemisphere for ways longer' the woman shrugged. 'Since then, the rebels have not mustered a single act of offense against us, and yet rooting them out goes at a pace you can probably imagine. In a way, this is not a war as much as an exercise in patience. They will starve...' she cut abruptly, and sighed. 'Commissar, I apologize, but I cannot aid you. Nor your regiment. We are forbidden from doing that.'

She then cited some regulation from some part of her regiment's specific rules, then gave some precedent, then shrugged awkwardly. It was all droning that she spoke, infuriating, monotone drone of someone who would not admit the real reasons.

'I apologize.'

And if she had a real voice, maybe he could say for certain that she did not mean that, that in fact, she did not feel the need to be apologetic at all. But her voice was of a machine, at least it saved some of her genuity. A shred of it.

'Colonel Theresa would surely aid me on that. Your regiment has proven to be problematic for us in the past. Certainly, should the information that we are supporting you get out to the troops, it would stir unrest. They did not earn their honors to feed...'

And one more awkward pause, and one more apology, and one more shrug.

Droning, droning, drowning.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Reflecting on the idea, it was an exceptionally bad one. If they were able to trade the broken walker to someone who thought it still worked, there were bound to be problems later on. "Hey Zimm! If that things still holding up I'm going to try to find something to do around here. Need any help with it feel free to drag me back here." and with that she strolled off humming a cheerful tune to herself.

[LCP]

Lucius

Suddenly, Lucius felt very tired.

"I find it difficult to understand, major, why your regiment should invent its own internal regulations concerning other regiments. I am concerned with the regulations, laid down by the sacred Munitorum, and no-one else."

He shook his head. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time. If you could mention the Mesnans' situation to your colonel when she returns, I would take it as a personal favour." He held out a hand for Alena to shake. "I'll be on my way."

Pausing in the doorway, he looked back for a moment. "Just one last thought - if you've been here for two years, and nothing's changed, perhaps it's time someone started doing things differently?" He did his best to keep his tone of voice unfailingly polite. It was becoming difficult. "How many men do we have on this planet? One for every ten thousand square kilometres? This is the rebels' world, major. I sincerely doubt they are going to starve. Not before we do, at any rate."

He gestured in the general direction of the Mesnan camp.

"There's a whole regiment of fighting men out there, waiting for someone to make use of them. How much more of your career do you want to spend on this rock?"

Without waiting for an answer, he went on his way.

[LCP]

He found [them] almost exactly as he had left them, the praying-man propped lazily against the hull of the vehicle and mumbling his psalms all the same, while the chewing-woman busied herself chattering with some heavily-armed guard, white markings of a fire-team leader visible on his carapace pauldrons. As Lucius stepped outside, the fenkswordian laughed mockingly in the woman's face, turning away, leaving the woman staring at him, as if she wanted to see him struck by a lightning right there.

'And frak you too, useless glory-boy' she spat at his back. 'Ya hear me? I sure frakking hope that the ork that sired you did your mama well, you...'

Suddenly, the air grew thick, and the world around the commissar slowed down just a bit, tensing before a disaster.

'Hear me, frakker?' the mesnan kept on, flushed on her face now, eyes gleaming madly.

'What did you say, you piece of...' the shock-trooper in questioned turned back towards her, his hands suddenly clutching his hell-gun, finger slipping from the trigger-guard onto the trigger itself...

'Ya've heard me, you fraking little tur...' the woman threw her arms into the air...

Muttering a hasty curse under his breath, Lucius strode forwards, his hand going to his bolt pistol.

“IN THE NAME OF TERRA!” he bellowed, in his best voice of authority. “STOP THIS AT ONCE!”

OOC: Command check: [roll0]

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AcDfzaYm6LY/UKkx1d_8qTI/AAAAAAAAARk/9TMhYXi74Wo/s320/kermitFlail.gif

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

Before Lilian could wander off, the entire squad - still clumped in one location - was visited by a pleasant sight. Mostly pleasant. The communication officer, the same one that heard from them when they finally managed to re-establish vox-contact.

'Oi, you, hide' she whistled at them with the pleasant voice of hers. She was pretty new to the regiement, so the realities of the Gallows Legion has not yet managed to kill all of her charm. A pretty, petite lady with an empty pack of lho-sticks tucked in the pocket of her flak vest, her hand missing a few fingers. Apparently, from what she used to tell, she was completely innocent victim of some Forge World that apparently mistook her attempts at decreasing the load of the power grid for sabotage, or something in that vein. Girl was competent enough to get a coveted position of someone mildly indispensable, which managed to help her conserve herself a bit. 'Our beloved captain wants to see you!'

'Is he even sober? someone asked, chuckling.

'Barely. But his bottle is empty for now' she shrugged. In the company, she was second to the Captain, mostly because she had the knack for keeping him running, or just bringing him back to the point of wakefulness where he could tell up from down, which given his drinking habits and the quality of booze the Gallows Legion had at its disposal was no mean feat. 'So chances are that one can talk to him. If they want to. I mean...'

'We have nice lodgings here, right?' another guardsman else chuckled. 'We should enjoy our camping until they frag that stupid tophat. I mean, he ain't gonna pay us a visit now, right?'

'Warp knows' the girl shrugged again. 'Point is' she stared at the squad again 'he wants to talk to you, so pay the command tent a visit after you are done messing around, kay? No rush.'

[Gargulec]

Commissar

His voice, it seemed, was his most potent weapon - though his throat was getting pretty dry from all that shouting.

Still, it rang in the courtyard, and momentarily defused the tension, in the way that dropping a bomb into a crater saves one from an explosion. The storm-trooper turned to him almost immediately, snapping into a salute in an impressively smooth manner, while the woman just stared at Lucius, and he could not tell if hatefully or thankfully or somewhere in-between.

'Sir' the stormtrooper spoke. 'The woman has not only attempted to sully her uniform with most... disgusting offers, but also dared to insult my regiment and my personal honor!'

He had a pretty stiff aristocratic accent, of the kind the people used to speaking High Gothic daily get.

'Sir, the state of your soldiers is pitiable' he added after a moment, something akin to a smirk flashing through his face.

'You...' the mesnan woman started to flare up again, but thankfully, Lucius other escort intervened, grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her back.

[Revanus]

Spoons stares at the com-officer, saucer-wide eyes inscrutable. His las-rifle remains on semi-automatic.

Sally spits in the dirt and shrugs.

They'll both follow the squad into the command tent. But they'll be bringing up the rear.

[LCP]

Commissar

"Thank you for that trenchant observation," snapped Lucius. Somehow he felt energised by the man's aristocratic tones. He'd been verbally sparring with men like the storm trooper for most of his life; suddenly he felt a tiny bit at home. "Do you have any others for us? Perhaps that the sky is blue? Or that the guns are loud?"

Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared the stormtrooper down.

"I expected sloppiness from the Mesnans, soldier. I did not expect it of the likes of you." He glanced down at the man's weapon. "Yet only just now I could swear I saw you aiming a hellgun at my driver. Firing such a weapon would put you in contravention of articles six nine one two fifty-five W and four seven three four sixty-eight Y of the regulations. The prescribed sentence for the latter is being sent to a penal battalion." He looked back into the storm trooper's eyes. "It seems to me the transfer could be easily arranged."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The way the shocktropper paled could only be described as gratifying, his smug expression of superiority melting into something both less haughty and less dignified.

'Sir' he uttered through a clenched throat. 'Sir, this was misunderstanding and sloppiness on my part, sir. Mishandling the weapon. It will not repeat itself, sir.'

He straightened up, tense as a chord, utterly terrified, waiting for Lucius to answer.

[LCP]

Lucius

"Good," said Lucius, doing his damnedest to stifle a smile. Finally, some good old-fashioned respect. "See that it doesn't."

Turning to look over his shoulder, he gave the Mesnan woman a stern glance. "Get our vehicle running, please." He turned and began to walk back towards the Salamander. "I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd avoid crashing into any wrecks this time."

[LeSwordfish]

"No rush. Just until he gets the next bottle open." Lyra commented drily. Razor let out a low, sharp bark of laughter.

"She's right, though." he grunted. "If he's sober, for once, we shouldn't arse around."

He stood, heavily, and brushed his fatigue trousers down. When the pretty comms officer had left, he punched Lyra on the arm, with surprising gentleness. "Stop staring, Agotia. You're dribbling."

"I am not." Lyra scowled. "I'm just... appreciative."

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"So then, are we going now or later?" she asked the group, "He'll probably forget about us if we don't show up."

[Gargulec]

Commissar


350XP. Fate point reset.


The group left the camp in silence, the sound of the engine whirring the only thing to disturb the quiet in the passenger's cabin. The woman did not bring up the incident, acting is that had not happened at all, still staring somewhere at the now-dark horizon. The other mesnan stopped his prayers, or at least kept on reciting them quieter than the Chimera allowed Lucius to see.

The sky above was dotted with stars, the clouds dispersed after the night-fall. More stars than Lucius had ever seen - no light of a Hive or of a moon hid them, and the entire galaxy laid open before him. Perhaps one of the flickering dots on the velvet black was the holy Sol, the center, the axis. Maybe, he couldn't be sure. Maybe, somewhere out there he could catch a glimpse of home - if he ever had any. A bitter thought. Yet, there was something soothing in the vastness of it, the richness of the silver sprinkled above, and a serenity that even the knowledge that those stars were sites of untold wars raging, couldn't mar.

The engine's pace was steady now, and the driver took caution to avoid any more mistakes, lengthening the journey. Forward lamp-packs skipped past the trees, only sometimes drawing out glimpses of some strange shapes between them, shifting, tenuous, alien...

'Commissar, Commissar, of Holy Terra emmissar...' a voice whispered into his ear, a voice he recognized almost immediately as belonging to the strange psyker that the Gallows Legion held. She was sitting by him, and he could feel her scent - sweat, smoke, hyacinths.

The darkness around thickened, and the stuttering of the Chimera felt distant now, as if coming from behind a thick veil. He could no longer see his escorts now, and the cabin itself melted down, vanished into a featherless plain, walled off by shadow, capped off with stars.

'I hoped we would have more time, but it is the time for me to leave now' she kept on speaking, her voice slow and steady, matching the tune of the engines, somehow lacing with it. It was coming from where she was standing, just by him... or maybe somewhere far away? 'I carried your message to the stars, but they will remain deaf. And send a different messenger for you.'

Now the stars were all around, and he was standing on a pathway through them, beholding a new shape emerge from places beyond. A familiar outline of an Imperial cruiser, and yet not familiar at all - for it was rusted as if specked with blood, and adorned with icons he could barely abide to look at.

'My emissary, I have to leave. Before they come. It is how it is' Sister Vagabond kept on...

'What's with the tophat?' a voice of a man, from somewhere really distant, from a different realm of being.

...whispering.

'But maybe if Emperor graces us, it will not be our final parting, here...' she smiled lightly, taking a step away. The ship above was passing so closely that Lucius could see it in all the grisly details - the weapon batteries ready to kill, strange, fell crackling shrouding it in place of the imperial void shields.

'He's dozed off like a fraking child' a woman replied, slightly annoyed. 'Don't wake him up'

'If you can, tell Sunny...' Sister Vagabond started again, but paused abruptly. 'No, don't. She doesn't need to know.'

One more step away, and the vision around blurred. The engine now louder, closer, the stars more distant, the ship just an outline...


Willpower test required to keep hold of the vision, otherwise Lucius will wake up.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

Captain Melk had a bottle in his hand. He always had one, even if the booze inside was long gone. Empty, full, filled with just a few drops of the stinking alcohol produced by Sunny and Diego's cooperation, sometimes broken when his mood was really bad. He would sooner part with his life than with his drink, they joked, and the biggest joke there was that it was hardly a joke anymore.

Captain Melk used to be a handsome man, with a clean-cut jaw, steely eyes and a permanent stubble worthy of the most rugged veteran. But that was years ago, back when he still hid his bottle, back when he wore dogtags over his neck instead of an explosive collar. Back among Cadians, back when he was someone.

Little remained of him. Stature, maybe, but while he used to be a man who could stare others down, now he usually moved with a hunch, stumbling from time to time. Sometimes a glint in the eye. But a beard instead of stubble - he seldom bothered shaving, stains on his skin, slight shaking of the hands. Anywhere outside the Gallows Legion, that would be pathetic. But here? Who was to blame him? Who was to surpass him?

It was still early when the squad gathered in his tent, the communication officer standing next to the captain, sighing quietly as the man stared blandly at his empty bottle, maybe hoping that he could spot something inside finally. His armor and his coat were tossed in the corner, and a gun - a standard-issue laspistol was stuck somewhere between them, the tip of the barrel protruding. Were one to be dramatic, he could say that it felt a bit like a piece of a broken bone sticking out from a festering pile of flesh.

But such drama would be awfully tacky.

He did not react when the squad entered, however, until the communication officer finally tapped him on the shoulder. He blinked heavily, then slowly turned his head to them.

'Who the frak are they?' he asked, his voice flat and without luster.

The officer shook her head, as if in despair.

'The ones I've told you, the suspicious ones.'

'Ah' he acknowledged with an awkward nod, before finally facing his soldiers. 'So, how in the warp did you survive that, huh?' he asked, a question that could be menacing if he was to bother.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"We got lucky." Lilian replied, glaring at the communications officer. She hadn't seemed half bad yesterday, but this early in the morning she wasn't in the mood to be accused of... well, something."It happens occasionally."

[Revanus]

Spook was staring daggers at the Coms Officer. Her hands were balled into fists so tight her knuckles looked like snow caps.

If it wasn't for the collar, the pretty little coms officer would probably be dead.

Instead, Spoons did something uncharacteristic. He stuck his neck out.

"It wasn't luck. It was skill combined with their stupidity."

He tapped Spook on the wrist. Don't lose it.

"They brought in a Sentinel. But the traitors are amateurs--cannon fodder who don't know their weapons. The should have simply brought the building down on us with that autocannon from 400 meters out--would have been a cinch. Instead, they ran that walker up so it was practically point-blank."

He nudges Spook.

"She an' I, we have marksman training. It was easy shooting. His screams were loud and clear. And the cockpit is still full of the fracker's blood. Between the smoke grenades we tossed and the suppressing fire we put down, the traitor infantry escort got confused."

Spoons point at Zimm.

"He got into the cockpit. He's an idiot, but his idiocy has the Emperor's blessing, whereas the traitor's idiocy is without hope. Once he got into the cockpit, the odds turned to our favor. He turned the Sentinel's autocannon on the enemy, and they didn't stick around."

He nods to the coms officer.

"After we heard about the incoming artillery and got ordered to withdraw by her, we made a tactical return with our newly reclaimed materiale. We hit some resistance on the way out, but it was scattered--not focused. We made it into the forest and into cover for the night."

Spoons shrugs.

"We've only just got back, sir. We left the Sentinel we captured in the motor pool. It's in better shape than the one we had before--it walks and shoots."

Finally, Sally unclenches her fists and speaks up.

"it's not like the other side would just give us a frackin' sentinel. We killed for that. And the fact is, we got explosive collars, sir. Everyone in the Gallows Legion knows the other side shoots us on sight, in case we turn into walking bombs once we're captured. "

She stares another set of daggers at the Com officer.

At least, those of us who serve in the field know that."

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The dream continued somehow. Lucious could feel the world around him, the chill and vibration of the Chimera's hull, the chiming of his escorts talking, but the vision dragged on, laid over the view of reality, as if a pair of pict-films stacked one on another.

'They really thought they could hold me' the psyker kept on talking, but now, it did not feel as if she was addressing the commissar, instead of murmuring to herself, the ship passing over her head without a sound. 'I sometimes pity them, in their short-sightedness...'

Shadows of narrow, tall trees hazed over the image of the cosmos' vastness. Mushy underbush under Lucius' feet, and the woman walking before him, the third image laid on top of the previous dream, the outline of the foreboding vessel sailing through what looked like an ordinary, star-filled sky. And each step that she has made the forest feel more real, once again tearing Lucius away from waking, making him follow her, even if unwillingly, unable to step away even as she stopped noticing his presence.

There were lights behind whatever woods those were, lights fading gradually, the woman walking away from them, gradually fading, until all that remained her was a thin outline. Then, she stopped, all out of sudden, on the edge between the last ray of light and deep gloom, threw her head away, and began to wail.

Sing.

'What the frak?' the man to his side exclaimed, and Lucius was once again back in the waking world, the vision, the dream vanished, cut away - in all, but a single sound.

A high-pitched, sonorous howl, human just enough to almost not be monstrous, echoing and reverberation above the forest, above the Gallows Legion's camp that suddenly all close.

'Emperor gracious, what the frak is that noise?' the soldier uttered, dragging himself up from his seat and taking a quick, worried look outside of the chimera.

'Our spook. Astropathing. She always yells when she does her magic' the other escort shrugged, but as much indifferent as she wanted to appear to, Lucius noticed her shivering. She spat on the vechicle's floor, then noticed the Commissar waking up.

'Sir' she asked, tone surprisingly respectful 'You alright? No mean feat falling asleep here' she knocked at the vehicle's hull, smiling faintly, an expression that still held a shred of a womanly charm, in spite of her pellagric countenance.

[18th Avenger]

"Not like the other side'd even give us anything," Trask muttered. His face still stinging with the stitches and what ever it was they used to clean wounds (certainly wasn't antiseptic), the operator coughed and sneaked another quick look at the comms officer, who was the one best sight in the camp.

"Guardsman Thompson has the right of it, Captain," The Roane sniffed and tried not to scratch at his wounds. "Exfil out the village was met with heavier resistance, but the squad came out with few scratches between us."

[LCP]

Commissar

Sitting up straight, Lucius rubbed the base of his skull, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck from where he had been sleeping. He felt disconcerted by what he had dreamt – but not half as much as he did by the fact the Mesnans' witch had been inside his head. He was a commissar, not an astropath. Mumbling the reassuring words of the Litany Against The Mutant under his breath, he pulled himself to his feet.

“That's the camp?” he said, blinking foggily as he looked out over the Chimera's prow. “Very good. Carry on.”


~

When they reached the camp, he had regained a little of his composure. Before disembarking, he turned to the Mesnan woman who had started the fight.

“One moment, guardswoman,” he said. “About your conduct in the Fenskworld camp.”

Looking round to make sure their arrival had not drawn too much of an audience, he spoke in low, terse tones.

“I said nothing to you because I did not want to give them the satisfaction. But if I see you brawling again, I will see you punished in front of the whole regiment.” He looked his escort in the eye. “Do we understand one another?”

OOC: Assuming here that we cover the remaining distance uneventfully. If that's not correct then feel free to just ignore this second bit.

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

'That's now what I've meant' the comm officer raised her hands, quickly going on the defense, eyes suddenly low. 'I've just...'

'That's exactly you've frakking meant' Melk cut in heavily, his voice more tired than angry. 'Now get lost, you slippery little bitch.'

'I had all right to...' she whined lowly.

'Get' for the first time, Melk displayed some overt emotion - annoyance, to be exact. 'Lost.'

The girl apparently wanted to protest some more, but turned out sane enough not to, and just dashed out of the command tent as if the floor was on fire. Unexpectedly, she didn't even bother with sending the squad hateful glares. Perhaps a proof of sound mental constitution as well.

'So...' the officer croaked a few moments after the girl vanished, squinting heavily. After a brief pause, he turned away from the soldiers, and started digging through a duffel-bag behind. 'That was some decent soldiering' he finally found what he was looking for - a hip-flask battered beyond any recognition. He gave it a short shake, and slurred loudly upon hearing nothing. 'So, I should prolly put that on a report, right. But we've got a fraking commissar back home. So, just as a reward... you want me to omit that feat from the files? So that the damned psychopath does not notice you?'

[Revanus]

Sally shoots a quick glance at Zimm and Trask, but doesn't say anything.

Spoons just keeps his head down.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

Lilian looked at the others, then back to Melk, speaking hesitantly "Well, if the paperwork isn't too big a problem for you I think we'd prefer you did write something up."

[Gargulec]

"Sir" the woman acknowledged shortly, lowering her eyes, looking around to see her comrades dispersed into the camp the instant the Chimera stopped, leaving no trace of their presence. Even Lucius barely noted them dart off to the sides, and then vanish between the flimsy tents. She apparently wanted to follow their footsteps, but caught the worst thing a guardsman can get in his already danger-filled life - commissar's attention. "Sir" she mumbled once again, lowering her eyes and shifting uncomfortably.

Her voice would normally get lost in the idle noise a camp, but it was eerily silent around, enough so that at the edge of his hearing, Lucius could pick out the soft, dry wind whistling above. Such silence was doubly strange for him, raised in a Hive and then a schola, both places that were always laced with even a small measure of background noise: from the subdued roar of billion of souls stacked one upon another on a tower-city soaring towards the sky to the decisive, terrifying clanging of drill abbot's heavy boots on the marble corridors of his schola, there was always some sound, some clattering, something to stir the silence. And now - his own heart registered as loud.

"Sir" the guardswoman finally spoke, her voice changed a good bit - forcibly meek now, as if she was breaking herself to sound humble. "Sir, I know of something sir would like to know. I will tell, if sir gives me something to eat."


Scrunity +20 please.

[LCP]

Commissar

Lucius was perplexed. "If you have important information, it is your duty to tell me, guardswoman," he said. Not to mention that I don't actually have any food.

[18th Avenger]

"To be safe, sir," Trask piped up after quick soundless conferral with Sally. "We can chalk up what we did to the 'fine cooperation of His Most Munificent Forces' or something like that."

But then the operator got to thinking. "Though what's our new black hat like, if I might ask?"

[Revanus]

Sally nods.

"I agree, Sir. Me and Thompson, we don't need fame."

[LeSwordfish]

"We don't need a sash." Razor muttered. "We don't need medals, we don't need..."

Lyra leaned in and muttered something to him. He frowned.

"Yeah. What's he like?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

The woman blinked, making an unthinking step back, almost cowering before Lucus.

"Uh..." she mumbled quickly, almost biting herself on the tongue. "Uh... uhm..." her eyes darted to the side, as if looking for a place for her to make an escape. "I..."

She went silent, trying not to look towards Lucius, her mouth twitching slightly, without a single coherent word coming out of it.

[TheAnnoyingNoob]

"Think of it this way guys, if we get on the new guys good side we might be able to keep him from finding out about some of the less than legal stuff that goes on around here. Think of the profits at least!"

[Gargulec]

Soliders

'I'd say you'd be better off without his attention' the captain advised, scrambling off the ground. 'Must be that Commissariat played a prank on the poor sod, they sent us some youngling fresh out of schola, head full of holovids about the proud Guard' the bitterness in his voice as uttered those words was more than palpable. 'So I'm hearing he already called out for an inspection and managed to wave his gun in front of folk back home. He won't last a week, but until then, he's the clueless tophat we've all always feared.'

He seemed to liven up a bit talking to the soldiers, and the pained expression on his faced eased a bit, as if relieved of some tension, some burden.

'So' from the pile of junk littering his desk, he drew a lho butt and a stained lighter, insignia stamped into its steel casing certainly belonging to some more illustrious regiment than the Gallows Legion. 'I don't want to home until they blow his brains out, not much. Never healthy to stick around fraking tophats. So, I've had Sunny hook us up with some supplies from the chemies. But, nothing's ever free. So, you'll do a thing for me, now that you have your very own sentie.'

The lighter clicked a few times, but finally produced a small fire. For a moment, Melk stopped talking, instead taking the last few drags from his stump of a smoke.

'Chemies had their patrol disappear last night, a Chimera with some of them inside. But, none of them is particularly willing to haul their asses to find out why, too busy getting high on obscura. So, you'll go where the patrol went missing and see if you can find anything. Mostly the Chimera. It's not like they get replacement ones easily' he coughed - or maybe chuckled.

[Revanus]

Spoons nods. If they're going to keep the sentinel, it's only fair they get asked to use it.

Sally speaks up.

"Ignore the cog girl, sir. They filled her with all sorts o' smarts, but no common sense."

Spoons glances at the Captain.

"Sir--I'm a marksman by trade. If there's a long-las somewhere in storage, it would help ensure we get the sentinel back in one piece."

[LCP]

Commissar

"You... what?" asked Lucius. He gave a weary smile, trying to put the woman at her ease. "Don't be so nervous, soldier. If I was going to shoot you today I'd have done it back at their camp."

OOC: Gonna try to use Lucius' new-found Charm: [roll0]

EDIT: http://cdn01.cdnwp.celebuzz.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/14/request-five.gif

[LeSwordfish]

"How far is it?" Razor asked quietly. "Is it frontline? Are we actually expecting them to be still alive out there?"

[Gargulec]

Commissar

After a moment marked by panic, the girl sighed quietly, and forced her lips into a very sad smile.

'Sir, I haven't eaten in a week' she shrugged, past caring. 'Funny how I don't even feel much hunger anymore. Just weak and tired. And I want to eat. I really do. I asked that fraking glory-boy if he'd like a quickie with me in exchange for rations. I'd sell my comrades to a fraking commissar in exchange for rations. I'd do everything. Really.'

She shrugged again, and leaned back against a nearby shack, loosening, limping, the tautness in her gone, replaced by some quiet, resigned desperation.

'I don't really know anything, sir. Just had hoped that you'd feed me for a wretched lie. Guess not.'

[Gargulec]

Soldiers

The captain gave Spoons a long, heavy look.

'Do I look like a bloody quartermaster, soldier?' he grunted. 'Have no clue, ask around in camp. I don't do book-keeping.'


A logistics test with a negative modifier huge enough to render it impossible is required. Ask again in camp, maybe there they'll have something.


'Funnily how, but the patrol vanished away from the frontline' he explained. 'Fifteen clicks south from here, on an underused road through that forest, between their camp and us. Marauders, most likely. Or the chemies just decided to skip returning home and hold an orgy, Throne only knows what those junkies are capable of. And honestly, I couldn't care less for their life. If they are walkin', they'll die somewhere else, if not, well, Emperor bless their wasted souls. Chemies want their Chimera back, or at least accounted for, that's all.'

[LCP]

Commissar

Lucius fought back a sigh.

"Well, as you saw... I am making the provisioning of this regiment my top priority." He thought on that for a moment, and the sigh escaped anyway. "And as you probably gathered, I don't think the Fenksworlders really got my point of view."

He thought for a moment. "What's your name, guardswoman? And how much of the enemy have you seen since being deployed here?"

[Revanus]

Spoons nods, content to let the mission briefing flow around him. He won't be calling any more attention to himself.