Only War: Against the Savages

[blackouttwo]

“Waaaaaagh!” –Opening statement and closing remarks of Ork Warlord Grimtoof Git-Slaver’s negotiations for peace
--------------------
Map of the Spinward Front, circa 816.M41 (http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/mediawiki/images/c/cb/Spinward.jpg)

"The opening to the seventeenth year of the conflict on the Spinward Front was an unpleasant one.

"With the secession of the holdings of Duke Severus the 13th and the formation of the breakaway state called the Severan Dominate, combined with the invasion of the forces of the Ork Warlord Grimtoof, the entire Periphery had become a battleground the likes of which the Calixis Sector hadn't seen in centuries. Heretic warbands and Dark Eldar raiding parties ran rampant, and the Ork hordes of Grimtoof rampaged across the subsector in droves, while the forces of Duke Severus refused to yield on dozens of battlefronts across the Periphery."

"In Warzone Epsilon, Imperial Navy ships attempted to seize the Lycurgos starfort and secure orbital supremacy over the vital agri-world it orbited, to no avail. With the secessionist forces still receiving vital shipments of food from the planet, and war materiel manufactured on the starfort, Calixis Sector High Command pulled back their remaining forces from Warzone Epsilon to reinforce other battlefronts in the hopes of a success on some other world. Meanwhile, in the Hervara system, Ork capital ships successfully interdicted the mining world, and landed ground forces in a warzone where Severan Dominate secessionists among the local PDF and several regiments of the Imperial Guard were already heavily engaged in tunnel fighting across most of the planet. With the Orks holding orbital supremacy over Hervara uncontested, the Calixis Sector’s core worlds, including the sector capital world of Scintilla, was directly threatened by the Ork invasion. If Hervara could not be secured, then it was entirely possible that various vital star systems could be assaulted, and soon, a situation deemed utterly unacceptable by Sector Governor Marius Hax.

”However, the Guard and Navy had other concerns than just securing the core worlds against Ork attack. With materiel and supplies of all kinds rapidly running dry, even with frequent shipments from the wider Calixis Sector, High Command needed to take action on several fronts that were now being deemed higher priority due to their value in resources and their proximity to the other warzones of the Spinward Front. One such world was the death world of Skrynne. Originally paying its tithe in Imperial Guard regiments and excess food production, the world had come under assault by Ork forces a decade prior, and the local PDF had been putting up a token resistance in that entire timeframe, with support from a regiment of the Brontian Longknives. However, some in-depth surveys by the Gibraltar dynasty of Rogue Traders uncovered that Skrynne held massive deposits of promethium - if secured, the deposits would be sufficient to fuel the core worlds of the Calixis Sector for a century or more, nevermind the potential value for the beleaguered Guardsmen of the Spinward Front.

”With this new information, and a hefty bribe in bartered promethium fuel from the Gibraltar dynasty, High Command rapidly reassigned a number of regiments to the Skrynne warzone, including the 19th Stygian Nighthunters, the 73rd Deadsky Revenants, and the 316th Anto Mechanized Infantry, with the stated goals of securing Skrynne against the Ork menace once and for all.”

--------------------
"The Imperial world of Anter is an infamous one; when one thought of civil strife, Anter was the first to leap to mind in the Calixis Sector until the days of the Tranch War. Colonized centuries ago by a Rogue Trader dynasty during the waning years of the Angevin Crusade in M39, Anter is a world steeped in sociopolitical division and countless divided cultures and states. The majority of the populace either only pays lip service to the Imperium, or outright rejects or ignores its distant control. A single continent, Remus, was secured against the unruly natives immediately following colonization, and over the centuries, developed into what has been called 'a series of micro-hives' spanning the entirety of the continent.

"Within the walls of these micro-hives, unassailable by the countless warbands, states and natives that fight one another across the rest of Anter's surface, the planetary nobility reign supreme, any of them claiming descent from the command staff and highest-ranking retainers of the Rogue Trader fleet that had originally established the colony. The word of the Imperial Creed was sung from the highest spires, and the natives suppressed each time they sought to rebel against Imperial rule.

"Over the centuries, this state of affairs has not much changed, a fact the local governor has often deemed acceptable, as it permits them to keep their Planetary Defense Forces sharp with periodic rebel-suppression campaigns on Anter’s other continents. The planetary population outside of the micro-hives on Remus often claim resentment of the Imperium and the pro-Imperial factions that dominate the world with an iron fist, but resentment is a small price to pay for the continued flow of the Imperial tithe.

"The nobility often maintain close ties with the Cult Mechanicus, and over the centuries, this has grown into an odd sort of relationship - Mechanicus aphorisms and phrases have become common slang among the noble scions of the various families that control Remus, and the majority of the population is exceptionally astute in techno-arcane lore by the standards of most Imperial commoners. Remus also has an exceptional manufacturing base in no small part due to these close ties. This is often put to good use in the outfitting of Imperial Guard regiments sent offworld to fight for the wider Imperium.

”Regiments hailing from Anter are frequently composed of the top few percent of the local PDF, themselves oftentimes composed of noble heirs, or second and third in line for ascension to the leadership of their dynasty, who were assigned to mechanized infantry or heavy-reconnaissance units. As a result of the importance and overwhelming firepower of such forces, themselves often assigned to the thickest of the fighting in the internecine police actions and civil wars that sweep across most of the planet, these units are invariably the finest fighting forces to come from Anter.

“Anter nobility often send their children to fight in the PDF as a means to help them toughen up, or the young scions occasionally enlist voluntarily to go and find their way in the world, and when one or more regiments show exceptional promise, they are selected for the Imperial tithe and sent offworld. Members of such units are often called chrome-domes by other Guardsmen, due to both their close ties to the Mechanicus, and their shaved heads, a sign of superior breeding and cleanliness on Anter. They return the favor by calling low-born soldiers ‘furheads.’”
--------------------
2130 Hours Dulce Et Decorum Shipboard Time

121.816.M41

Inbound to Skrynne Orbit

Year 7, Day 124 of the Skrynne Campaign

Planetary Assault Landing Imminent (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joO3jyU67TI)

When they talked about pre-drop nerves, it was usually because the Guardsmen were shaking, not the ship. The Dulce Et Decorum isn't a frontline warship. A Grace-class troop carrier, the vessel wasn't meant to be plunged into a naval engagement like the kind that had met the Naval squadron as it made its way towards Skrynne from the Warp translation point. The two weeks of realspace travel had been hectic for the Guardsmen aboard the ship, combat-preparations and last-minute maintenance rites taking up most of their waking hours amidst the Dulce's captain frequently making updates to the troops about the status of the transport and its escorts, two Sword-class frigates and two Cobra-class destroyers of Battlefleet Calixis, in the face of an apparent Ork presence in system.

At least, he was until the commanding officers of the regiments aboard his craft 'politely' asked him to stop.

But considering that the ship is now rumbling and shaking unnaturally badly, the effects on regimental morale from such a course of action had been negligible. During the last few hours, there were no reports of battle damage over the ship's inter-vox, no alerts, and no sounds of macrocannon shell impacts on the outer hull; only an alert two hours ahead of schedule that all Guardsmen must report to their designated lander bay, which only left a few possible options, foremost of which is that the ship is being unsafely pushed beyond its limits to get into orbit and deploy its Guardsmen before the Orks can attack the troop-carrier and destroy it.

As it turns out, it's precisely that.

The Dulce has achieved orbit approximately two hours ahead of schedule. Hence the final preparations that Squad Red-19 has found themselves doing.

"Power curve optimal." The servitor intones in a dull voice as it runs its final diagnostic checks in the command chamber at the front of the craft. The lander's inter-vox projects the servitor's voice across the cargo bay. Dull whirring noises resound throughout the lander bay as the Chimera locks into place, magnetic clamps rising from the deck and attaching to the sides of the tank's turret and treads to keep it firmly stuck to the floor of the assault lander. More than a dozen other such shuttles do the same, securing their tanks and passengers without fail. "Drop checks complete, all systems nominal."

"This is going to be so much fun! A death world for our first deployment. Maybe we'll get some souvenirs! Like animal pelts! It's all the rage with furhead regiments, I heard!" Lucretia finishes running the last few maintenance rites on the Chimera's autocannon turret before loading it with a full drum of shells; the rounds ratchet into place with a CLANK.

"Pelt's gonna be poisonous or something." Ric murmurs under his breath as he finishes cleaning his lasgun. A man of few words, the rookie-medic is. Meanwhile, Regina finishes tinkering with her lasgun, and starts putting her toolkit away to stow it for the drop. "Probably. Death world."

"You're all whiners. We've got this. We're Tortoises! Besides, we can just burn the jungle down if we need to. Requisition a few flamers and we're good to go! Maybe thin the Orks out a bit while we're at it." Aliya had made it clear the whole time that she was hoping to fight the secessionists on their first outing, but she's changing her tune, it seems. Orks burn all the same. Morganna, meanwhile, just stays silent, staring down at the lasgun in her lap, either deep in thought or just spacing out.

The general chatter and din inside the tank is nothing compared to the rattling and rumbling of the Dulce, and everyone is getting the impression it's about to get a lot louder. A glance out the top or rear hatches of the Chimera and out the viewports in the side of the lander doesn't say anything, as the lander hasn't launched yet, but it more than likely will spell out everything the squad has to know once the deployment is underway.

[Murska]

Jeremiah Gramont

Power. Check. Tracks. Check. Fuel. Check. Not that he hadn't looked at every little thing for at least a dozen times now, but there was little else to do to soothe the nerves.

"Welcome to the Jungle, huh. I wonder why we're here, instead of somewhere more... flat." Jeremiah shrugs and then stretches. "Eh. It'll be fine. Takes more than some underbrush to stop this baby."

[happyturtle]

"Ric's right. Everything out there is poisonous. Don't eat it, touch it, or use it to wipe your ass. I've only got enough anti-venom for the people I like, and I'm not telling you if you're on that list," Medic Ngozi Kainen says, fussing with that spot just behind his ear. He hadn't gotten enough depil cream there last time, and a slight black fuzz had started growing back against his yellow skin. It was driving him crazy.

[Darkcomet]

Ooooh, bad move, Kainen.

A steely violet gaze fixes itself upon the medic. "Refusal to do your duties based on personal bias..." Commissar Victrix lets that hang in the air, not issuing any further threat or raising any bolt pistols. After all, she wasn't one of those psychotic blamhappy wastrels who make the logistics crews cry from all the bolt shell expenditure. Although it might also be because all the shaking would make a bolt shot go somewhere decidedly unintended. Who knows?

The Commissar, next to the witch, probably constituted the second strangest individual in this thing to the rest of the squad. The mark of her homeworld's proximity to the Eye of Terror in her eyes and a distinct, though still short (they are military), blonde refusal to adopt the regiment's world's customs on her head served to illustrate that almost as much as the commissar's coat over her armor did.

Although, privately, in the safety of her own thoughts, provided the resident witch wasn't getting nosy, a little complaint did occur to her.

A commissar's coat over full flak armor in a Chimera, in a jungle. Whose idea was this? ...feh, worry more about the orks...

[Lord Magtok]

Specialist Mariya Vasilyevna chuckles nervously, despite having made every effort not to. She'd tried her hardest to remain as stoic and stony-faced as certain other members of the squad, but pre-drop jitters being what they are, it just slipped right out. She holds a hand to her mouth bashfully, before her eyes droop to the Chimera's floor. Throne, so many southern continent guardsmen. The only one here with anything even remotely close to the same geographical point of origin is Aliya, and she'd lost her accent months ago (out of shame, perhaps?).

[Gullara]

Wintre Paulus sits off against a nearby wall, her eyes closed as she massages her temples. Sadly, it does little to alleviate her growing headache. She sighs and entwines her fingers in her hair. What little of it there is. She keeps it fairly short, and there are bald patches where it's fallen out or she's pulled it out. Maybe she should just adapt the style of others and shave it all off...

The psyker opens her eyes to survey her squadmates. She squints, as if against a bright light. Hopefully they can be off soon; she doesn't care for the waiting. If only because it gave her nothing to think about besides the pounding in her skull...

[happyturtle]

((Ngozi's gender and sex have been ret-conjured to male. Name unchanged.))

Ngozi's smile only grows. "Commie, you're definitely on my favourites list." The laughing medic doesn't seem to take anything seriously. But he does recognize the threat enough to say, "Lucky for everyone else, we technically aren't short of anti-venom, but we have the standard amount - not what is recommended for a jungle world. Any one of you who gets poisoned doing something stupid, like coitus with the natives, leaves that much less for legitimate casualties." Okay, very slight tone of seriousness in that last bit, but not much.

To fellow Antos, Ngozi's voice has the clear accent of the highest caste of the highborn, though the outworlders probably think all Antos sound the same. His mother is fairly high up in planetary politics. Not a household name, but known to anyone who took more than a passing interest in the subject. Ngozi had gone to the right schools. Made the right friends. If his squad hadn't been chosen for the tithe, then a suitable marriage probably would have followed in the next few years. Nothing so gauche as an arranged marriage, but he'd have been expected to attend high society gatherings until he and somebody's second or third daughter found one another interesting enough to spend more time with. That all ended with the tithe. He probably could have gotten out of this little jaunt, but not without costing the family a great deal in bribe money and face, which would have meant the end of any marriage chances and the beginning of the lectures from his sister about how much he'd disappointed them all. Ngozi didn't have to be told all of this. He worked it out for himself in the first sleepless night since the tithe was announced, then went first thing - before recaf even - to swear the oath. That simple act put bribes into astronomical regions, and far out of his family's reach, and thus made the decision irreversible. No marriage. No kids. "I can probably make more, but I hate to do that with anyone's life hanging on the line. So don't be stupid, none of you."

Ngozi gives up trying to scratch that little patch of hair away behind his ear - that never works - and starts tossing around a koosh ball instead. The drop is both scary and boring, which is a nifty trick. It helps Ngozi if he keeps his hands busy. Throne, if this keeps up any longer, I'll have Commie and the Sanctionite over to check their head-fur for nits.

[Murska]

Jeremiah catches himself flicking the manual loader cap on and back off again for the fifth time, and mentally berates himself for degrading the equipment. There's nothing more to do here to get ready, so it is best to be occupied by something else.

He turns, seating himself sideways - the originally annoyingly pointed edges of the chair have been surreptitiously filed away from the right side to allow for just such a maneuver. Then he prods the hatch to the crew compartment with his foot, widening the narrow gap in it to allow him to view the others.

"If all goes well, I'll not have to even leave this can for the duration. But, well, what're the odds of it all going well, right?" Gramont grins at the others. He's perfectly up to the Anto grooming standard, as second nature to one of his birth, but there are small black stains on his skin from the engine checks. The Gramont family is relatively well-known back home, not as the richest or most influential group but as one with a long and honourable tradition of military service. Their estates were located rather near to some particularly troublesome natives, who needed some proper straightening-up every few decades. This in turn had led to Jeremiah, a third-son with no great prospects, to be an obvious choice for the military. Being chosen for the Tithe as part of an Armoured Fist unit was the first real distinguishment he'd achieved, however, being somewhat lazy and ill-motivated. Oddly enough, he seems to have taken to life in the Guard surprisingly well, despite the strict discipline and lack of status.

"So, has anyone heard anything about what exactly we'll be doing once we hit the dirt? Sarge?"

[UncleWolf]

"That's Sergeant or Sir for anyone but my mother, Engineer. And you certainly aren't her." The Sergeant in questions says as he strides up the ramp of the Chimera. His white and purple armor is absolutely pristine, Sergeant's cape and cap included, but unlike all the other "Natives" of the regiment, Sergeant Vincent "The Bastard" Parrish, sports not only a short beard, but fuzz on his head as well. The hair isn't long, only about a half inch, and it was entirely due to his breeding. As a bastard child, Vincent held absolutely no rights to inheritance, making The Guard the only possible life for him. His rise through the ranks had been hampered by his inferior breeding, but he'd made quite the name for himself as a duelist, challenging and killing any who had besmirched his honor.

Needless to say, it was a good idea to tread carefully around the man with a heavily worn chainsword at his side. He might know how to use it.

One he's in the vehicle he activates the ramp to seal it shut behind him. "We're going to be going in hot. Ready all weapons and assume we'll be landing in an occupied LZ. Our orders are to meet up with the closest PDF unit to our landing point and attach ourselves under their command. This is where it gets complicated." He states with a sigh as he begins to go around the vehicle to check everyone's gear. "The local Ork populace has been reinforced by the invading Warboss known as Tufgob and in the process they maintain a steady Air Superiority. While we'll have an escort as we land, our air support will be sporadic at best and our Hydra Flak Tanks won't be landing in this wave." The Sergeant says as he reaches down to pat Trooper Parrish on her shoulder. It might seem out of place to outsiders, but everyone here will know she's his niece. "The Brontian Longknives have been here longer, supporting the PDF, but both forces have suffered massive casualties in anything but skirmish engagements. Another issue we'll face is that this is a Death Planet. The local wildlife has it out for us as well. Keep a special eye out for what they call Terror Cats. They're eight legged beasts capable of shrugging off most small arms fire. Apex Predators." He explains before going over his own gear a final time. "Something we'll have to keep in mind all the time is that there are only two Light Cruisers in orbit and they've been fighting for months to keep the Ork ships from getting to bombardment positions. We can't rely on them forever. Questions?"

[Murska]

Jeremiah eagerly raises his hand. "Question, Sarge-ant! When exactly is the anti-air coming down? We don't exactly hide well in this thing, even in a forest.

...also, did you say we're fighting under the PDF?"

His other hand, behind his back safely hidden in the cockpit, flicks a few gestures of their own sign language to the gunner, eliciting a small snicker.

[blackouttwo]

"If we're fighting under the PDF, then there's something wrong. I'm not taking orders from some idiot Death Worlder. We're supposed to be above that." Lucretia's complaint is spot-on with the usual Anter rhetoric, signing back to the Engineer without delay in a derogatory manner.

"No way they'd subject us to that." Ric begins to skim a dataslate he has with him, an annotated copy of the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, Calixis Edition, letting out a small chuckle at some amusing images intended to inform the reader about the Ork threat and instead coming across as highly entertaining.

Meanwhile, Regina glances out one of the Chimera's side-ports. "We're getting ready for takeoff. They're pulling the maintenance servitors off the shuttle."

The (truly massive) assault lander that Red-19's Chimera has found itself locked into contains the entirety of 8th Platoon of the Anto 316th Mechanized Infantry Regiment, Red Company. Six Chimera tanks, each with a full squad of mechanized infantry and a full crew, lined up in two neat rows of three.

The lander itself is a pattern from the Calixis Sector's forge world of Haddrack. The uncreatively-named Haddrack-pattern Kodiak Heavy Dropship, as far as dropships go, is fairly impressive. Ungodly massive VTOL engines, enough capacity to carry half a dozen tanks of any class short of a superheavy vehicle (or, if they're not carrying tanks, Sentinel Scout Walkers), and sufficient heavy weaponry to cover the passengers as they disembark. Two sets of twin-linked, long-barreled autocannons in rotating turrets on the bottom of the vehicle, and a pair of missile pods allowing it to function as a light missile battery upon landing. A total crew of six keeps the whole machine operational.

Red 19's Chimera happens to be the closest to the loading ramp, and anyone who peeks out the side or top hatches will see the maintenance crews and servitors piling out as the ramp closes behind them with a 'hiss' of pressurization. "Alright, buckle in-" Aliya's quick to strap herself into her seat, the rest of her sentence drowned out by the sound of the lander's engines flaring to life.

Thirty seconds later, the Kodiaks, one by one, take flight as they plunge to the planet below, leaving the Dulce et Decorum far behind. Side viewports in the shuttle's passenger bay give anyone daring to look out a decent view of the action in the void beyond their metal shell. At least two Fury (http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/3/35/800px-Fury_Interceptor.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110801182048) Interceptors (http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Fury_Interceptor) are within the viewport's line of sight, flying in formation - escort craft to ensure the lander makes it where it's going.

"Attention all passengers, this is your pilot speaking. We may experience a bit of enemy fire on the way down. Please sit back and observe with interest." The...let's call him 'self-assured' Navy pilot flying the Kodiak certainly sounds calm as the lander banks slightly. The Chimeras remain firmly in place due to the magnetic clamps keeping them locked to the lander's deck.

Any passengers inside the Chimeras that aren't strapped in most certainly do not. Cries of surprise and fear (and yelps of pain from inside some of the other tanks) can be heard over the Kodiak's engines in a cacophony loud enough to wake the dead. A bright flash of blue light outside speaks of lascannon-fire from the Fury escorts at an unseen target.

It's entirely possible every single one of you is about to die, and the pilot is being unnervingly calm about that fact.

It's a bit disturbing.

[UncleWolf]

"If I were joking, I'd be smiling." The Sergeant tells them as he adjusts his seat's straps. "It is not our place to question such orders anyway. I'm certain our Commissar will agree with me in those regards. Keep in mind however that the PDF has been fighting these Orkz the longest. They may be dying in droves and may not have our training or prestige, but to ignore them would be a grievous mistake. They'll have far more intelligence on the Orkz than we'll ever be capable of getting on our own. If they can point us towards our objective, then so be it. You will suffer in silence." He commands them with a scowl.

"As for the Hydras, I don't have that information. We're heading right towards the battlefront to achieve a holding point. Presumably they'll be coming in after that point." He says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back for the rest of the trip to relax.

[Darkcomet]

"Besides, the Commissariat has authority over the PDF. If there's a situation where their leadership proves lacking, I'm sure they'll respect our advice on the matter, given the price of incompetence," Victrix coldly muses. Alluding to the standard Commissar practice of summary execution by bolt pistol has never sounded more reassuring. "There shouldn't be any problems for us from their leadership."

She distinctly doesn't comment on the potential risk of death before even landing, and doesn't even look outside. It helps that she bothered to strap herself in, as is standard protocol.

[Murska]

"Well, I take my orders from you either way, so nothing's changed there. It's you who'll need to suffer the PDF nonsense. Sir."

As the launch begins, Jeremiah slips back into his seat in a practiced motion, pulling the hatch closed, and straps himself in.

"Get ready, we're going to need to be out of here in a hurry once we hit the dirt."

[Gullara]

Wintre tries not to show it, but she looks incredibly queasy. Thank the Emperor she is buckled in, because she's sure she would have shared what she had for lunch with the rest of the squad otherwise... Naturally she's none too talkative right now. She'll feel better when they land...

[happyturtle]

Ngozi buckled up when he got in, so nothing to do now but wait. More waiting. Toss the Koosh ball. He's about to tell a really rude joke about fur-head savages when a sudden lurch of the lander distracts him by forcing him to use all his attention to catch his ball. It's probably just as well. With as many fur-heads as they have with them, it was ill-advised at best.

[blackouttwo]

A series of red lights illuminate the interior of the shuttle during flight, casting everything in an eerie glow. The roar of the engines slowly intensifies, overshadowing all other sound, save the occasional worried laugh or gasp from your comrades in the APC. It quickly becomes apparent from the glow of friction-heat, visibly from the viewport, that the lander is beginning to make it into the planet's atmosphere.

"Lieutenant, fifteen clicks off the deck!"

"Standing by to adjust trajectory. On my mark."

"Brace!"

"MARK!"

A lurch throws the entire squad to one side in the Chimera, before lurching back to a stable sitting position. The autocannons mounted on the lander can be clearly heard shooting at something. The dull 'thud-thud-thud-thud' of the autocannons is quickly drowned out by the lander crew's shouting. Beyond the viewport, as the lander begins to stabilize in-atmosphere, you can see a blue sky, without a cloud in it. The first new sky you'll see in the Imperial Guard and your only view of it is from a lander viewport you can't even get a good look out of.

You can, however, make out distant lights and flashes of lasfire and explosions on the ground below as the lander suddenly banks to the other side. "Ork strikecraft! Break right!"

Another lurch, to the right this time. Being thrown around like this is rapidly becoming disorienting for everyone aboard. At least, except for the crew. "Escort wing, this is Lander One-Niner-Three, need immediate assistance!"

"Copy, deviating! Continue on course!"

A flurry of intense beams of blue lasfire flash across the viewport's field of view, and the burning, flaming wreckage of an Ork aircraft flies by in pieces in the other direction, the lander's shrieking engines and the 'thud-thud-thud' of its autocannons drowning out the explosion.

You get the faintest glimpse of the top of a jungle canopy, which then gives way to what looks like a raging battleground; a large clearing, in which rest the walls of a small fortified outpost, and a very large, very green force of Orks assaulting it. Vehicles such as Warbuggies and Wartrukks can be clearly seen rampaging or blasting away at the Imperial fortifications with rokkits and heavy weapons with reckless abandon while Ork infantry on the ground and the human defenders on the walls exchange intermittent bursts of fire.

Amidst the anarchy of the battlefield below, high on the walls of the outpost, you can see a banner: A human hand clenching a sharp, scimitar-like blade, with the High Gothic numeral 'IV' clearly wrought in gold thread beneath it. The markings of the 4th Brontian Longknives, some of your allies here on Skrynne.

Needless to say, considering the numbers arrayed against them, they look to be in need of assistance. The shuttle circles overhead, trying to find an ideal location to touch down.

That's when a very loud explosion and the noise of shrieking, tearing metal coincides with the lander suddenly beginning to shake much more violently. It begins to circle and spin out of control-

"This is Lieutenant Laraf! All passengers and crew, brace for impact-"

A thunderous roar as the lander hits the ground, a massive furrow dug as the lander's thrusters are quickly cut by the pilot. More shaking, screams from amongst the crew and passengers as they wait for the ride to finally end, whether it be in an explosion or the lander coming to a stop half-buried. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it ends, the rumble of the engines dying and giving way to silence.

As the ship finally stops moving, the compartment lights switch from red to white and a green light illuminates the hatch, indicating that it is unlocked and may be opened. Groans of pain, dizziness and confusion can be heard all about the craft as the other Chimera crews collect their senses. The smell of a fire, smoke, and burning promethium fuel, can be detected coming from the back of the shuttle where the exit hatch is located; right next to Red 19's Chimera.

"All squads sound off!" A female voice, indignantly angry and young, trying to keep her composure in the face of her platoon's first landing being a crash. Lieutenant Lissa Bennaio (of the Deramand Bennaios, and she'll never let anyone forget it). "Everyone alright?!"

"Sergeant Erickson here, Red 18's OK!"

"Sergeant Henrico reporting. Lost one in the crash. Damn fool strapped himself in wrong, snapped his neck when we got hit. Someone grab his gear. We'll need it."

"Sergeant McNash, Red 15 has two wounded. Give us a second to inspect the injuries. Looks like busted ribs."

"Kelsey here. Red 16 is fine, no casualties. Whole squad's battle-ready. Anyone get a good look at what hit us?"

"Squad Red 20 reporting in. No casualties, but we think our Chimera's out of the fight! Crash broke one of the mag-clamps on our tank, and it ripped off the entire frakking tread on our left side! We're ****ing mission-killed!"

Well. That's a cheerful thought. Casualties and broken tanks before you've even disembarked, to say nothing of the Naval crew operating the lander, most of whom sound like they're dead or incapacitated. That lander engine looks like it might be cause for concern. Fire and promethium rarely mix well. And there's Orks about, who were all but certain to be the ones responsible for shooting your shuttle down, and are most likely closing on the crash site as you all collect your bearings.

And you're the ones closest to the ramp and burning engine.

This deployment's off to a grand start.

[happyturtle]

Ngozi tries to work his harness loose, and stuffs his Koosh ball into a pocket. "Anybody hurt?" Of course that isn't a foolproof check, so he goes seat to seat to check on his squad, reminding Ric with a shake of the shoulder and a gesture to do the same. But his mind is wandering, trying to remember what he's been reading recently on the Internewsnetworks about the war on the Spinward Front.

[blackouttwo]

The general consensus/disoriented chorus from the rest of the squad is that nobody's hurt. Some bruises from straining against the straps while they were dropping, but that's the worst of it. A few more shouts can be heard from the front of the lander. "Someone help the Lieutenant! Laraf!" "Here, I'll grab his legs!"

A few of the APC crews are already piling out to flip the switches controlling the magnetic clamps. Loud, dull 'THUNKS' can be heard as the clamps detach from the tanks to allow them to move. Engines can be heard rumbling to life in the confines of the shuttle.

This is just an indicator of what you can expect going forward, especially until the rest of the Dulce et Decorum's ground forces make it planetside to reinforce the Anto 316th, which could take hours.

The Brontian Longknives defending the outpost you crashed down near are an Imperial Guard light infantry regiment specializing in close-assault and protracted engagements, with standard kit geared towards that. Close-combat experts who have been here for seven years and counting, so they know how to fight Orks.

That said, the war on Skrynne hasn't been going well. The Orks very clearly have superior numbers they're willing to commit to large, protracted assaults like this, and are more brutal in close combat than the Brontians. And if there's been promethium discovered here on Skrynne like all the briefings and scuttlebutt have said over and over again, Ork vehicles can be expected in larger than usual numbers for a jungle world. Promethium = a topped-off fuel container in a tank engine, and the planet's chock full of it. The Orks have all but certainly taken a few refineries since making it planetside seven years ago, and that means 'Ork vehicles everywhere.'

Furthermore, it's very likely the Skrynne PDF will have some presence in the area supporting the Brontians. Making contact with the locals will be more than a little beneficial, considering they're supposed to have intelligence to pass onto your platoon.

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant unbuckles when things stabilize somewhat takes a look around while doing some mental calculations. "This is Sergeant Parrish, Red-19. We're all fine. Lieutenant? I have five spots open for part of Red-20 so I'm requesting permission to take them on. If not them, then at least some of the lander's crew. I'm certain others have some open seating as well. This wreck is going to be a very hot area soon and from the looks of things, I think we can use every person we can take with us, ma'am." He says, keeping his tone neutral, adding a slight submissive spin to it. Best to keep her happy. Besides, if she gives permission and tells them who to take, then it'll be her idea and she can get credit for saving lives.

[Darkcomet]

The Commissar doesn't say a word as she quickly removes the safety harness and...immediately runs off to go see to the engine fire, with little but the standard Guard toolkit (and a lascutter, I suppose) to do anything about it with. It's certainly no combi-tool, but somebody has to do something about that engine, and 'bare hands' seems like a bad idea.

It just wouldn't do if the whole lander exploded and killed everyone inside.

[Murska]

The shock of the crash momentarily paralyzes Gramont with indecision. The fire's definitely not good, but there's wounded, and the clamps need to disengage...

After a moment, he at least figures to start up the Chimera, but then looks at the fire for a moment. He doesn't have any equipment for that. And the tank's only got the back access point, too, so he can't even get out very fast. Everything seems so confused - not at all like drills and exercises.

[blackouttwo]

Lieutenant Bennaio sounds like she's about to tear into Parrish over the microbead channel, before metaphorically biting her tongue. Parrish can hear some chatter on her end of the vox channel, someone else in her command squad informing her of something. "Copy, Red 19, you take the lander's crew. Just enough room for the survivors. One of the autocannon gunners is dead, and the rest are in various states of injury. Flight Lieutenant Lafar seems to be in the worst shape, but they all look like they'll live; have your medic give them a better look. Red 20, distribute your crew and infantry among the rest of the platoon. All units prepare to mobilize. Someone get that fire out, and deploy the exit ramp. The Brontians are getting slaughtered so we'd better get out there. Red 19, you're on point."

A sensible move, considering Red 19's Chimera is closest to the exit hatch and in good shape. Possibly less sensible with the Navy passengers in such bad condition, but the Orks are probably closing in on the crash site anyways. Leaving them here is the worst possible option, and Ngozi is probably the single most competent medic in the platoon. There's only so many options when you've just been shot down and have wounded personnel on hand.

Morganna briefly gets out to flip the switch for the magnetic clamps keeping Red 19's Chimera locked in place. A resounding 'THUNK' can be heard as she does so before getting back into the tank. The Chimera's engine roars to life as a few wounded men and women in Naval uniforms hobble over. Most of the injuries seem to be minor, although at least one of them is sporting a head wound, and a second man, unconscious and wearing an officer's uniform is being carried by two of his compatriots. You all recognize the unconscious man as the lander's pilot. The man in the lead raises a hand to greet the squad as he climbs into the Chimera's rear hatch before approaching Sergeant Parrish to shake his hand. "Petty Officer Michael Lors. Acting commander of Lander One-Nine-Three's surviving crew. I understand we're riding with you."

The tank's autocannon turret briefly rotates, the gunner Lucretia probably trying to make sure the systems responsible for it are still working.

Victrix's brief inspection of the damage allows her to find a control panel near the exit hatch. The controls clearly read 'Fire Suppression System.' It's a simple switch, next to the controls for the exit ramp. She can flip both switches and to open the way out and get the fire under control before heading back to the tank.

Meanwhile, a brief glance out the exit hatch viewport is obscured by smoke. From outside. Probably wreckage from the burning engine that got hit in the first place. You're not sure, but you think you can hear gunfire. You probably didn't touch down too far from the Imperial outpost that was under attack. If that's the case, the Orks might not be expecting a mechanized charge, especially not from behind their strike force, let alone from the shuttle they just shot down.

That said, they almost certainly know where the shuttle landed. And it's going to take forever to get the entire platoon disembarked. Your best guess is ten minutes. Fifteen at the outside. More than enough time for the Orks to drop a mob on your heads.

The tank's engine roars to life with no problems, and the magnetic clamps disengage as one of your squadmates gets out to flip the switch. You're ready to roll. You can hear Lucretia rotating the autocannon turret. Seems whatever bad luck has struck the lander and the rest of its passengers, it passed by Red 19. You're good to go, you just need the exit hatch opened and everyone onboard.

[UncleWolf]

The sergeant smirks to himself when he realizes that the Lt had to eat her words for a moment. She was going to be a fun one to deal with. "Make room for wounded. Ngozi, do what you can for the worst and make them comfortable. We leave as soon as we're able to." The sergeant warns everyone as he waits by the back hatch. When the Petty Officer offers his hand, Vincent shakes it. "Sergeant Vincent Parrish of Red 19. Glad to have you aboard. Our medic will see to the worst of your wounded, but if any of you can bear weapons, get them ready. We're the first out so we'll be in the middle of it all."

"How are the repairs coming, Commissar?" He asks over the microbead as he heads up to the top hatch and opens it, taking his spot at the pintle-mounted Stormbolter. "As soon as you're done, we're heading out, guns at the ready."

[Murska]

Gramont snaps out of her reverie at the orders and glances over at Lucretia.

"Turret front. Load piercing, just in case. After that, I'll appoint you the temporary crew chief: make sure I know the moment everyone's in and make them shut the hatch. I don't like being a can in a can, and if I'm guessing right, we'll be going out guns blazing."

Then he opens the microbead channel to the squad. "Sergeant. Reporting vehicle fully operational and combat-ready. We're on point, and in a few moments whatever guns the greenskins have out there will be aimed on the ramp. We need it open and everyone in the vehicle ready to go as soon as feasible, sir."

[Gullara]

It seems like everyone who wasn't injured recovered from that crash faster than Wintre. It feels like she's in the middle of a whirlwind as people rush to deal with the damages, the injured, and prepare to move. It looks like the most pressing problems are being swiftly dealt with, so she finds herself waiting for orders. They'll need to be inside the chimera and leaving before long anyway.

[Darkcomet]

"Engaging fire suppression systems and opening the hatch now." Yep. That's what she's doing. Hopefully there aren't actually any orks out there yet so she can, y'know, actually get back to the Chimera and not get stuck without it in an ensuing firefight. Because if possible that's what she's going to be doing afterward.

Whee.

[Lord Magtok]

Mariya is at something of a loss for words, wandering numbly towards the firing ports with her meltagun drawn, for lack of anything more important to do. Ugh, what a terrible display that was, sitting there indecisively like that. Everyone seems so sure of themselves and knows exactly what they're supposed to be doing, and she was just sitting there, like an idiot. Those orks outside better just line up to die and not pull any funny business, she is in no mood for their antics right now.

[blackouttwo]

The vehicle's two gunners, Morganna and Lucretia, both take up their positions. Morganna mainly does it to keep close to her uncle, but as it turns out, she's competent handling the heavy flamer. The lack of precision required no doubt helps, as does the fact she's firing it from inside the tank to shield her own psyche from the enormity of the harm the weapon can truly inflict. Lucretia, on the other hand, checks the fire-control system's machine spirits one more time before nodding.

"All systems are green! We're clear to move!" A claxon erupts towards the rear of the shuttle as Commissar Victrix engages the fire-suppression system and several fire-extinguishers built into the walls of the shuttle engage all at once. The rear ramp begins to lower as the hatch opens. With the fire dead and the hatch opened, there's a clear way out and a clear view.

Namely, that of a large, open jungle clearing. Gunfire and the roar of distant vehicle engines can be heard. And it sounds as if they're getting closer. The Naval personnel all draw sidearms - cheap Navy-issue autopistols, nothing officer-grade, none of it even the least bit useful against an angry greenskin. It's what they have, though. The four wounded voidsmen haul their unconscious pilot in and sit down as close as they can get to the front of the Chimera, loading and double-checking their weapons.

The other members of the squad take up positions at the Chimera's side-ports, opening the small port-hatches to allow them to fire out of the APC's sides with their handheld weaponry. Ideal for the melta-gunner and those of the squad with lasguns.

Yup.

They're getting closer.

You can see anywhere between five and eight oncoming Ork vehicles charging the lander from your position at the hatch; you've landed just across the clearing from the Imperial fort that seems to be under attack. It's a good-sized clearing, probably cut explicitly for the purpose of housing the outpost. At least two Warbikes and a Wartrukk are charging you; you can't make out any infantry or any of the other vehicles. They're maybe 700 meters away and closing.

They haven't gotten within weapons range, but they're hauling ass. Best to get back in the tank.

The Naval personnel are in varying states of harm, obviously. The best you can tell, every single one of them is in need of immediate treatment in an intensive care unit, especially the man with the head wound. These men are not fit for combat against the Orks. You might be able to patch them up, but not with the squad about to enter a combat situation. Most of them look like they'll manage without immediate attention. As you take a closer look at the pilot, you can see he's likely to make it long enough without medical attention; nothing that doesn't warrant a serious look, but he was obviously just knocked unconscious by the impact. He's breathing steadily, and a check with the diagnosticator spells the rest out.

The flyboy's going to make it, but only if your squad makes it through the next five minutes in battle against the Orks. The man with the head wound on the other hand needs some bandages and a chance to stay still, and he isn't going to get the second one where you're going. Your best bet for patching these people up, plain and simple, is to kill or drive off the greenskins and get to the Imperial outpost they're cutting you off from while hoping the worst case doesn't die in the process. Some bandages and first aid might help him get through the next few minutes.

[happyturtle]

"Commie! Get us to the hospy, pers* not be lasting long!" Ngozi bellows. "They give you those guns? We give those guns to our kidlings for toys!" He unlimbers his lasgun and gives it to the healthiest of the navy guys. "Use this one. Give it back if we live." He claps his hands together. "Now, let us see about living."

Somewhere in all of this bombast, Ngozi completely ****ed up the first aid. :smallyuk:



*Pers is a Anto pronoun, gender neutral plural for 'persons'**
**Shamelessly stolen from Woman on the Edge of Time by Marge Piercy

[Darkcomet]

"Several ork vehicles closing on our position, two attack bikes and a truck, others I can't make out. I'd like to get back in the Chimera now." Getting back in the Chimera before the Orks get here, yadda yadda yadda, not gonna try to fight vehicles on foot when one's nastiest gun is a bolt pistol, etc etc. Not much to be done here. Whee.

[Murska]

On one hand, they need to get all the Chimeras out of the lander and providing fire against the Orks. On the other hand, the Commissar needs to get in the vehicle.

Well, luckily it's not Jerry's call. "Sir. Do we wait for the Commissar here, or do we charge with the others to set up a firing line outside and wait for him there?"

[UncleWolf]

"We wait for the Commissar. Leaving one will kill us faster than the Orkz, so don't suggest such again." The Sergeant warns as he racks the bolt back on the stormbolter turret. "That said, Commissar, I advise you to hurry onto the Chimera. I am not one to tempt fate too strongly by waiting here forever."

[Murska]

"Right." Well, sitting pretty then. Jeremy signals the other Chimeras to move if they are ready.

[blackouttwo]

(Apologies for the delay. We now return to your irregularly scheduled warzone shenanigans.)

The first sight of the battlefield is a surprising one. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EptSSXNHIfg) The vast clearing, obviously artificial and clear-cut years ago, is at least several kilometers wide and across. Your lander crashed down near the edge, the cockpit and front of the craft facing the jungle. Your Chimera is the first off the shuttle's loading ramp, and the first greeting you get is that of the roar of multiple Ork vehicles drawing closer.

Directly ahead, about 150 meters away, those of you with a clear line of sight can see the vehicles in question: Three Wartrukks, a pair of Warbuggies, and three Warbikes in what could loosely be called a formation of oncoming vehicles, guns ready to start blazing in proper greenskin fashion.

Over the din of the engines, you can hear a distant cry taken up by maybe several dozen of the Orks, all screaming in unison. It's your first time hearing xenos, let alone a battle-cry by their unclean kind. Even from this far away, in your armored shell, something about it chills you to the bone.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"

Between the distance, some dust in your eyes, some smoke from the lander's burning engine clouding your view, and the smoke belching from some of the oncoming Ork vehicles' engines, you can't quite make out some of the armaments on the Ork war machines. You get the impression that the buggies might be mounting large caliber cannons of some kind, or perhaps flamethrowers, and that the trukks might be mounting heavy guns of some kind.

[Darkcomet]

"It looks like these Orks had the foresight to bring their own coffins! They just don't know it yet. And as the Emperor's soldiers, it's our job to inform them! Target the trucks first!" Victrix commands, attempting to inspire the squad to wreak great feats of destruction upon the xenos filth.

And to blow up the trucks before they start drowning in Orks. That'll be nice too.

[Gullara]

There's nothing Wintre can do now but mentally prepare herself for what is coming. It'll only be a matter of moments before the orks close and they're in the thick of it. She looks over her weapon one last time, though she hardly needs to by now. She doesn't feel afraid, per say, but the tension has her sitting stiff and upright, her fingers clenched around her lasgun. Just a few more moments...

[Murska]

All right. Roll out smooth, thirty-degree angle to make space for the rest of the vehicles, ease into a stop and angle towards the enemy. Switch gear to reverse in preparation, and stop without kneeling. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast.

"Target lead Ork truck, 012, one-fifty. Fire!" The reverbrating thunks of the autocannon loader begin to fill the space within the Chimera as the shells start flying. At this distance, and against such a mass of targets, it is not exactly difficult to hit. But getting those hits where they count fast is more important. Watching the impacts, Jeremiah clicks open the channel to the crew compartment.

"Crew weapons, be ready at the ports in case those bikers try to speed past us. Catch them on the flanks."

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant ruminated his options quietly, trying to gauge things between his weapon and the strength of the ork vehicles before him. A Stormbolter was a mighty weapon against normal infantry, but against these things it was like blowing lho smoke on a grox. He shakes his head at the effectiveness of their main gun, or rather the overall ineffectiveness, and takes a half-hearted shot at the driver of the same Trukk only to see the two rounds glance off the armor near the Driver's head. "Get us to the side of those things! Their front armor is going to be too thick for us to do anything against! We're anti-infantry, not anti-armour!" He shouts to his Operator. "Our weapons might be better against their flank!"

[blackouttwo]

The Orks in the lead trukk all instinctively lower their heads as the autocannon shells land. A third shell impacts in the field behind them, and as the storm bolter fires, the driver ducks down into his seat, never easing off the throttle, only to squirm his way back into the a proper driving position.

The gunner turned his head back to yell at their leader, a big and burly Ork at least a full head taller than the rest.

"Um, boss?! We'z gettin' sho' up! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UQFvqLGXVU#t=195)"

[Vespe Ratavo]

The Orkz in the front trukk suddenly begin to fight among themselves, muscled green arms slapping and swatting at each other, trukkbed rattling from orks crashing down on the metal floor. "Out of my WAY ya half-gitz!" Kicking one of his subordinates to the ground, Nob Flashteef Krashbang steps on top of a pile of prone Orkz, peering out over the battlefield. He considers the situation for a moment, then nods to himself.

He reaches out with a meaty fist, grabbing a Boy and shouting into a radio strapped to his chest. "Listen up! 'Ere's da plan! Bikez go left, trukks go right, an' we shoot 'em up while da buggiez get in an' burn 'em up! Dis gon' be a proppa fight!!"

The vehicles reply with rumbling engines and a steady, rhythmic chant of "ORKZ, ORKZ, ORKZ, ORKZ, ORKZ! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atKUCxXanXA)" The trukks and bikes veer off to either side as the buggies continue their head-on charge. The air fills with gunsmoke, screaming rockets, and deffgun shells.

A few machine gun rounds strike the hull, to no effect, followed by two rockets - the Chimera weathers the first, but the second sounds bad - there's a crunching lurch coming from the motive systems. (Chimera can only move up to Tactical Speed next turn. 3 damage to SI.)

[Gullara]

Wintre watches as some of the enemy vehicles go wide. This was a good opportunity to make a shot. She focuses on the bikes, thinking she would have a better chance doing some real damage to them. She raises her gun and lines up her sights with the frontmost of the bikers, aiming for the driver. She takes a moment to line up her shot and squeezes the trigger.

"Miss." She says like a curse. The shot went wide and was nowhere near hitting anything. She briefly laments that she can't reach them with her power from this far away. She doesn't dwell on it long, already looking for her next shot...

Until she realizes her gun is jammed. That is met with some actual cursing. She immediately pulls back to let anyone else take a shot from her position. Now she's going to have to clear this jam...

[Murska]

When he hears the Sergeant's order, Gramont turns his head to glance towards the turret in shock. Luckily, the movement isn't exactly visible from the optics. "Uh, sir..." Oh man. Follow the order and die or don't follow the order and be executed? The crunch of an enemy rocket impacting the drive interrupts his thinking.

Oh thank the Emperor. "Um, we took a blast in the treads, gonna be tough to move before I can diagnose it. Hopefully the other cans get out to cover us."

"Target the same truck. Better do some damage now, or we'll have issues. One hundred, 330 and tracking left ten, fire!" The turret turns to track the enemy. Thunk - Thunk - Thunk

The first shell penetrates the ramshackle metal plates on the front of the truck and explodes inside with little visible effect. However, the second passes just a few inches from the first, and suddenly the entire front plating shatters, peeling off in molten chunks of metal as some sort of an internal structure holding it together suffers a catastrophic failure.

And the third shell has little but wood and foil in between it and a pile of ammunition for the Ork guns. The initial explosion immediately triggers a several meter high gushing jet of flame straight upwards from the open top of the vehicle, and the crackle of ammunition cooking off begins to shatter the sides, wrenching the metal supports apart. Finally, the entire thing collapses in a large fireball, throwing out pieces of Ork and metal all around itself.

"Wow." Gramont is quiet for a second, taking in the view. Then he snaps out of it. "Damn, nice shots. New target, 350, one-twenty meters, tracking..."

[Lord Magtok]

Mariya takes aim with her lasgun at the nearest intact trukk (inasmuch as one could call these hideous metal wagons intact), and scowls. She had higher expectations for her first foray into non-simulated combat against the xenos than this. They were supposed to be over here, in meltagun range, not forcing her to plink them from a kilo off with this pitiful standard issue firearm. It's easy to get a good bead on her target, but almost...too easy. Hey, aren't they supposed to be moving or something? Who the hell is responsible for keeping them moving, and why aren't they doing their job? Ugh, bloody southerners...

[happyturtle]

Having finally treated the pilot, Ngozi turns his attention to the Voidsman with the head wound. "How I'm supposed to see anything through all this fur..." he complains. But of course scalp wounds tend to look worse than they really are, due to heavy bleeding. But despite the head fur, Goz manages to clean and glue the wound shut. Without spotting any lice even! "You have a mild concussion. You need to be horizontal and not moving around too much, the second of which our green welcoming party is not keen to allow. No action for a fortnight. Gramont, drive gently!"

This leaves 3 Voidspersons to treat.

[UncleWolf]

Sergeant Parrish ducks when a piece of shrapnel flies over his head and he takes a quick shot at one of the Buggy drivers in retaliation. The shot misses but maybe he'll have better luck next time when they're closer. "Lieutenant, this is Red-19." He says over the comm. "One Trukk is down but we have two more inbound along with two buggies and two bikes. Things are going to get real hot real fast in a moment but there's still time for everyone to disembark and try to cut through their lines."

[Vespe Ratavo]

Nob Flashteef takes careful aim with his snazzgun (careful in that he is, in fact, pointing it toward the enemy) and pulls the trigger, briefly confused when this results in a massive, searing explosion beneath his feet and not the death of the 'umies in their big shiny box. His limp body tumbles across the ground at 60 kph, gradually bouncing to a halt, leaving him scratching his head in confusion. Another trukk thankfully picks him up (accidentally, on the front bumper) shortly thereafter, and the horde of hooting, rattling vehicles continues their full-speed advance. An Ork rokkit impacts the Chimera's heavy flamer - the weapon's sturdy construction keeps it together, at the cost of sending a massive, concussive shockwave down the controls, into the gunner (if any).

Sorry about the wait

[Lord Magtok]

Mariya's careful aim finally pays off, and a driver is shot, blam! Right in its stupid xenos face. Not enough to kill the ugly bastard, though. Maybe once she lines up her next shot. By then their autocannon might have already totaled the entire trukk, though.

[happyturtle]

"Oh, the Greenies outside are frightful
But the Commie's so delightful
While the Emprah loves us so
Let it glow, let it glow, let it glow!"

Yes, Ngozi is singing. His is a rich baritone voice, nice to listen to, even if the lyrics don't make any sense at all. While he sings, he's using forceps to pull bits of shrapnel out of a wound on a Voidsman's left buttock and flank. This particular Voidsman is trying very hard not to freak out about being in the bottom of a gravity well. This is not his natural habitat.

2 injured Voidsman left

[Murska]

The shock of the rocket impact jolts Gramont in his seat, with small shards of metal spalling into the thankfully empty front gunner seat. He starts reversing smoothly to bring the vehicle farther from the charging Orks and give more time for the other Chimeras to get their act together.

"Track the second truck. I need to concentrate on driving. Fire at will."

"Aye." The autoloader clicks confirmation and Lucretia squeezes the trigger.

Thunk Thunk Thunk

The impacts are in the centre of the hull again, but this time they do little, splashing against the front plates. The ramshackle Ork transport is shaken by the blasts, however, and some pieces fall loose. Poorly drawn electric wiring is exposed and shocks one unfortunate greenskin.

"Come on, eighteen, get down that ramp. We're scratching our paint here."

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant tracks the closest War Buggy for as it moves before finally letting loose a pair of bolt rounds right at the Orkz' head, dropping it. "Try to take out the other buggy for now." He advises the rest of the squad. "If we get hit by flamers, we're going to have to deal with a hell of a lot more than just a shaken hull or disrupted track."

[Gullara]

Wintre focuses on unjamming her gun as quickly as possible. Maybe too quickly, because the gun gets a rather severe tongue lashing in a few moments. It's safe to say it's not going well, and that the psyker will be out of the fight for another round.

[blackouttwo]

There's some sharp, pained breathing coming from the front-gunner's seat, which isn't actually empty; a female voice. Morganna's been wounded from the Ork rocket that hit the Chimera's flamethrower. The normally quiet Guardswoman's voice is loud and clear as she calls into the back of the troop compartment.

"Goz! Goz, I'm hurt!" She sounds like she's just barely trying to avoid gritting her teeth as she cries out. From anyone else's position inside the tank, it's impossible to see her or the injury unless they move to help her.

The driver of the leading Warbuggy's head has exploded into a fine pink mist, leaving the vehicle spontaneously motionless. The warbuggy's gunner looks down at his dead partner with a look of puzzlement, visibly scratching his head, as if to ask 'wot, dis ain't roight.' In response to this, the Warbuggy directly behind it jinks slightly to one side in an attempt to go around, and continues its relentless advance at top speed towards Red 19.

The second and third trukks actually halts in its advance as their turrets traverse to face Red 19's Chimera, and let loose with rokkits. Both rokkits strike home, their gunners screaming over the constant din of the battle; the first impact is just loud. The warhead seems to be a dud, shattering on the tank's hull and doing nothing of note but scratching the paint. The second rokkit is much louder, a dead-on hit to the same spot that got a piercing shot. The entire vehicle shudders from the second impact, and a brief shriek of tearing metal can be heard.

Meanwhile, Red 18's Chimera can be seen through the clearing smoke, rolling down the lander's loading ramp, autocannon turret traversing to track one of the Ork warbikes. Immediately behind it, the Lieutenant's command vehicle, a Chimera with a noticeable, large set of advanced, long-range vox equipment on top, follows Red 18's vehicle, its own autocannon traversing to target the other Warbuggy with a flamer.

"Red 18 has disembarked! Have a visual, we are engaging the enemy!"

"17 right behind you, 18! Engage and destroy the Orks! Clear the field!"

The two Chimeras fan out on Red 19's left side, moving to engage the enemy and cover 19's flank, with 18 covering the second trukk, and 17 traversing its turret towards the second, oncoming Warbuggy. The two autocannons' collective racket is deafening, even inside the tank. The Chimera targeting the Warbuggy fires three solid shots into the vehicle's turret, the turret's armor being shorn apart under the shells' impact, and the gunner being reduced to a fine red paste immediately. The trukk, meanwhile, takes three solid impacts to its front, the armor crumpling slowly but surely under steady blows.

The Ork Warbikes, seeing this, seem to...divert. The thick clouds of smoke around them begin to move away, back towards the edge of the clearing, as the bikes retreat.

"The bikes are turning back! We have the greenskins on the run!" The Lieutenant's triumphant tone is a rather dubious one, considering Red 19's been doing the lion's share of the work since landing. At any rate, the Warbuggies are effectively out of action, the bikes are retreating and the trukks are at risk of being overrun.

And you still have wounded inside the tank.

[Murska]

"Oh..." Bloody hell. Why had she made her way to the flamer? There was nothing to shoot at yet, and the cargo compartment had superior protection. Plus the passengers could actually get out if the vehicle got killed, unlike the crew.

Acting on instinct, one hand locks the treads while another grips on the tangent to transmit to the entire vehicle.

Sir, Mor's been hit, vehicle slightly damaged but operational. I'll drag her out while Luc provides covering fire for the platoon. If possible, direct the Lieutenant to pursue the Orks - we don't need them bringing more company our way while we gather ourselves, and we need space for the damaged vehicles and wounded personnel to leave the lander.

Not waiting for a response, Gramont releases the straps on the seat and dives into the front gunner's compartment to drag Morganna out and through the hatch to the back.

[happyturtle]

Ngozi stiffens up when he hears his name called. He does his best for every patient, but it's different when it's one of their own. By the time Gramont has her out of the gunner's compartment, Goz is there. "Just stay with me, Mor. It's all going to be okay. Just hold on like a snapper." And while he works, he starts singing a nonsense bit of song about a tortoise - a nursery rhyme long since converted into filthy soldier lyrics.

1 injured Tortoise
2 injured Voidsmen

[Lord Magtok]

****ing greenskins. ****ing animals, like ogryn but green and twice as stupid, Mariya screams in her head, grabbing her melta as she rushes right out the back of the Chimera. For Emperor's sake, she's had this gun just sitting here the whole time, perfect for the occasion, if only those ****ing stupid green bastards got closer. Now is not the time for them to just up and leave, dammit!

Mariya opens fire on the closest viable target with her Melta, not even seeming to notice that she's left the relative safety of the tank. Now who's useless and plinking helplessly at armor with a flashlight, huh?

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant curses audibly and clambers down from his seat at the stormbolter to assist in moving Morganna from the front. "Commissar, the storm bolter is yours. Gramont, get back into the driver's seat and don't abandon it again." He commands the Operator. "The Lt. won't listen to me again, we all know that, so get your ass back in the seat and get us ready to move. And Throne damn it! Mariya! Get back in here NOW!. We're on the Throne-Damned Move and I did not give you orders to disembark! Take whatever shot you're looking for then get back in here before I leave you two for the Orkz!" He shouts, obviously angry but unable to put his heart into it at the moment.

[Darkcomet]

"Confirmed." The Commissar elects to deal with the clear lack of discipline later, instead doing the obvious: getting on the storm bolter and firing on the already heavily damaged ork trukk, riddling it with bolt shells.

[Murska]

Gramont helps the Sergeant to push Morganna through into the passenger compartment and then slips back into his chair. For a tiny moment, his generally carefree facade cracks to show a hint of barely contained anger, but he's already turned around and by the time he's handling the controls again, his voice is smooth as ever.

"Yes, sir. Medic, be careful with the patients - looks like we're going to have to roll out, and there's no roads here."

After voicing his concern for the wounded in a way that hopefully won't get him shot for insubordination, he shifts the engine into gear again and switches his comms back to the crew net.

"If we're moving, aim at the bikes before they escape and try to move in the shadow of Red 18 so the third Trukk doesn't have a clear shot. It might be that the hit we took to the tracks earlier slows us down a bit, in case there's cracks in the wheels."

[blackouttwo]

The Commissar's concentrated bolter-fire has a peculiar effect on the trukk she focuses on.

Of course, by 'peculiar', this narrator means 'she triggers an explosion large enough to kill every Ork within a seventeen meter radius, including the all of the crew and passengers of the trukk next to it.' The damaged trukk explodes in a shriek of tearing metal and a fireball that flings a massive plume of smoke and burning promethium fuel into the air as scrap is flung across a seventeen-meter radius. The trukk next to it tips over, it's passengers and crew spilling out, roaring in a combined frenzy as they burn to death. The nob can be seen pawing at his own scorched skin trying to put the fire out, before finally collapsing to the burnt earth.

The remaining two Chimeras in the lander roll off the ramp and shift their fire to the fleeing attack bikes. The warbuggy with the destroyed flamethrower turns and tries to flee, following the warbikes. Observers can see the Ork in the other warbuggy shoving the body of his dead driver aside to seize the driver's seat himself. His warbuggy then turns to follow the rest of the fleeing Ork vehicles.

"Excellent work, Red 19! The trukks are destroyed and the remaining Orks are pulling back!" Lieutenant Bennaio shouts over the vox channel. "All remaining units, hold position! Shift cannon-fire, concentrate on the buggies and move onto the attack bikes! Do not pursue!"

"Copy, shifting fire. Red 17 acknowledges."

"16 here, order's acknowledged, shifting fire and holding.

"Red 15 has two wounded we need to get someplace secure, Lieutenant. We might not be able to sit here and take potshots at the Orks' asses. One of our boys is starting to breathe real shallow-"

"I said to hold position and hit them with your cannon, McNash."

McNash's reply is a quiet and reluctant one. "...Orders acknowledged, Lieutenant. Holding position, shifting fire."

"Erickson, Red 18, here. Judging from what I'm seeing, looks like the Ork assault is faltering against that outpost. I think they know we're about to hit their main assault force from behind and I'm not seeing anymore armor. We could cut the bastards up and roll right in if we felt so inclined. Flamers could use a test run, I think." Anyone looking out a hatch or viewport at the assault against the Brontian outpost in the distance can clearly see large mobs of Orks attempting to break off and retreat back into the jungle. The Brontians, from the look of it, aren't trying to pursue, instead shooting the Orks from their fortifications and cutting the infantry down as they try to retreat.

Meanwhile, the Chimeras of 8th Platoon, Red Company uniformly shift their fire to concentrate on the fleeing vehicles. Most of the shots fail to impact on the vehicles, landing in the field or impacting against the foliage of the tree-line beyond as the turrets attempt to track the fast-moving Ork vehicles through the acrid smoke thrown off by the engines of the warbikes; the two Warbuggies, at least, are blown apart with lucky shots to their rear armor.

Medicae for Diagnosis: The Diagnosticator isn't giving you positive readings. Morganna was cut pretty deep along the thigh by a shard of metal that cut right through her flak armor when some of the tank's hull burst inward up near the flamethrower at the front of the vehicle, and it nearly split her open along the stomach. What saved her was her turning to one side and twisting a bit in her chair at just the right moment.

She's bleeding, and hurt badly. She needs medical attention quickly, or she might not survive the next hour.

[happyturtle]

Goz is medicing up a storm, singing more nonsense songs to Morganna as he brute forces the wound closed and uses something that sort of resembles a high tech pallet wrap to keep it from reopening. The whole time, she holds onto Ric's hand with a deathgrip, whining like a wounded animal.

"COMMIE!" Goz bellows. His voice can really carry when he wants it too. He turns to face Victrix, and his hands are dripping with blood, his face orange-brown and his bald head dripping with sweat.

[Murska]

Holding position, Red 19 fires a few cursory shells roughly in the direction of the escaping Orks. Gramont keeps the vehicle still and starts running diagnostics on the systems damaged by the earlier rockets.

"Gunner, take the time to top off the box*. Just in case. And remind me once we have a spare moment to go over the exterior armor, we might need some repainting."

(*reload)

[Gullara]

Wintre finally gets her gun unjammed, and it's after all the targets are gone. It's safe to say that she is absolutely seething with anger directed at her supposedly reliable weapon. She stands once that work is done and assesses the situation. She likely has a few things she can attend to in the meantime before they move again.

But nothing noteworthy enough to post about.

[Lord Magtok]

Mariya gets the hell back in the Chimera. Stupid gun had to go and jam right when she was going to make her big, dramatic, critical shot...

[Darkcomet]

"Ork engineering, everyone-as deadly to them as anyone else," Victrix says before climbing down from the turret. Well, and also reloading it.

She looks at the medic, then at Morganna. "How long do you give her and the others? And give me your best guess for 15's wounded." McNash certainly didn't sound optimistic, and this wasn't looking good. Between the injuries themselves and the rough ride...

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant looks over the situation inside the Chimera before giving a small nod and patting Morganna on the shoulder. "You'll do alright." He tells her before keying his vox. "This is Red 19. We have one additional wounded in what seems to be critical and damage to our front flamer. Other than that all damage is minor. We'll be ready to go on your mark."

[happyturtle]

"Morganna's going to be fine," Ngozi says emphatically, while leaning against the bulkhead and writing '<1hr' with a bloody finger, then smears it out with a fist. "She needs a hospy. So do our Navy pers, specially the pilot. Fifteen's wounded might be in shock - awful bad. That Louey is up her own ass. Was her job to secure the Ell Zed before we dropped. You make her stop being a problem, Commie?"

[Darkcomet]

This presents a Commissar with an ideological dilemma. It is admirable to possess great zeal in the purging of the Emperor's foes, even at great human cost, for what other kind victory is there in this war-torn galaxy? However, by and large, there are two kinds of Commissars one will see. Those who do their duty by instilling fear of themselves greater than that of the enemy in their Guardsmen, and those who seek to let them overpower fear through great feats of inspiration and bravery. Every one uses both from time to time, but they will inevitably overwhelmingly favor one or the other.

A freshly-minted Commissar can try to avoid making that choice if they so wish, but such indecisiveness is a poor trait in a leader of any kind, least of all one responsible for the troops' morale. Such indecisive leaders have a way of getting shot by their own Guardsmen as they inspire neither loyalty nor fear.

One that wishes to survive for very long must make that choice.

This one...

Victrix looks at the medic's blood-dripping hands, and then at the wounded, and she remembers.

hands on the glass oozing blood
screaming for help, none comes, none can
a slow bloody end for all but one of the house's last

...Not for a few pathetic greenskins.

She activates her micro-bead.

"All units, we're moving on to the outpost. I suggest you listen if you don't want condemning Guardsmen to a slow, painful death on your Commissariat record, Lieutenant. For nothing but a few, insignificant ork stragglers."

[blackouttwo]

OK, so, it's been a while. School's been kicking my ass, but we're getting back into it.

I'll preface this by saying everyone but Magtok's been made aware of, and has made, the necessary changes to their character sheets. Basically, the whole 'tank' thing? Not a great idea from a mechanics POV, and difficult for the GM to work with. I've been running 'simulated' fights, and barring a massive fixation on fighting enemy vehicles, every fight will be one-sided. And if you're fighting enemy vehicles, it becomes a slog. So...I've made an executive decision with some help from a few people within the group, and made some changes to the regiment.

I've changed up your gear and Regiment Type on the G-Doc. YOUR STATS REMAIN UNCHANGED, JUST CHANGE THE TALENT AND SKILL YOU GET FOR YOUR REGIMENT TYPE FROM RAPID RELOAD AND OPERATE (SURFACE) TO COMBAT SENSE AND AWARENESS. KEEP YOUR TALENTS AND SKILLS FOR YOUR CLASS. Some of you have already done the necessary changes.

Replace all Regimental Standard Kit with the new stuff, and keep your class-specific equipment. All XP-expenditures thus far stand and shouldn't be changed.

Magtok gets one exceptional case - he can swap out Lasgun Barrage for Rapid Reload if he so desires on the grounds he hasn't used either Talent yet and gets to pick between the two because his character is a Weapon Specialist.

You're all on foot, in Light Carapace Armor. Murska's character is driving a Sentinel. Slight retcons to how the fight went - you mostly fought infantry with a few trukks, Morganna got hit by Ork gunfire in the heat of combat.

You'll be fully stocked on ammunition, grenades, etc. once you get into the fort.

Questions can be asked over IRC.

"I will not-"

The Lieutenant pauses to consider that.

"-allow my men to die so easily! Get the wounded to the fort! We have a bit of a walk, troops! Fan out, ten meter spread! Cover each-others' flanks! Medics, see to the wounded and get them mobile! Sentinels at the rear of squad formations, weapons ready!"

Nice save, Bennaio.

The platoon marches across the open battleground, the Ork hordes ahead retreating from the fortifications en masse as the Brontians and the PDF drive them back from the walls.

It's a long walk to the safety of the fort.
_______________________________________________
During the trek to the fort walls from the landing site across this massive artificial clearing in the jungle, you can't help looking to the sky above you. You can see flashes of light in the cloudless sky, the battle in orbit raging silently above you, the Navy engaging the Ork fleet with exchanges of cannonfire and lance volleys with sufficient power to reduce entire cities to rubble with each salvo. The Orks are almost certainly responding in kind. Landers and dropships streak down from the Dulce Et Decorum, and you can see Ork strikecraft and Navy interceptors dueling in the skies off in the distance.

You can only hope the battle in orbit is going better for the Navy than your tumultuous landing did for your platoon.

Your arrival is heralded by the front gates of the fortified compound grinding open, old iron gears pushing the doors aside.

Lieutenant Bennaio waves a hand, a quick signal for your platoon to halt while she speaks to an unkempt-looking man in a flak vest, wearing the colors of the Brontian Longknives, with a Lieutenant's rank insignia on his shoulder.

The two speak quickly and quietly, the Lieutenant's voice one of urgency. After a short discussion, the Brontian Lieutenant nods and motions for another nearby Brontian Guardsman to come over to the two officers. The Brontian trooper nods as the Lieutenant speaks, and then turns to head back into the fort, before Lieutenant Bennaio waves for your platoon to enter the compound.

"Sentinels to the motor pool for refueling and re-armament! Wounded to the medical center! Everyone else, follow Corporal Vodicka to the barracks, where your squads will be assigned your respective quarters! Settle in! You are off duty until such time as you are notified otherwise!" The Lieutenant calls over the vox to the entire platoon, and your unit marches in without question.

The sights that greet you as you pass through the fort are tame compared to what one might expect of an outpost that was under heavy Ork attack not an hour ago. The majority of the troopers on duty are unshaven, unkempt, and clearly haven't bathed in some time, while their uniforms are tattered, and their armor and flak vests show varying levels of damage. Lasguns and autoguns show poor signs of maintenance, nothing like the gleaming devices that came off the forge-lines every hour back home, and heavy weapon emplacements on the walls traverse the fields outside as they keep an eye on the jungle's tree-line, watchful for another Ork incursion at any moment.
_______________________________________________

2000 Hours, Skrynne Local Time

121.816.M41

Fortification 17-B, Vieri Province, near the Ork lines at the Kerak Territory border (colloquially referred to as 'The Kerak Front'), Western Continent

Year 7, Day 124 of the Skrynne Campaign

Getting the Sentinel docked and seeing Morganna to the medical center was simple and quick enough. With your private belongings stashed in a filthy billet in the barracks for your squad, you now have the run of the outpost. Night has fallen by this point, and you've gotten a rough feel for the layout of the base and the troopers holding it.

The Skrynne PDF troopers, wearing armor made from local beast hides and wielding battered autoguns, are clearly less buoyant than the Brontians for uncertain reasons, their expressions almost universally haunted with dread as they patrol or mill about the camp. The Brontians, by contrast, all have expressions of grim determination.

It takes only a few hours for you and your comrades to get a full picture of conditions in the camp; the vast majority of the Brontian Guardsmen and PDF troopers here are walking wounded, even the ones on guard duty. Cybernetic replacement limbs and casts are everywhere, and uniforms stained with Ork (and human, in the case of the medics) blood are almost as common. What's more, many of the fortifications along the upper battlements of the fort's walls are unmanned.

This is a camp that's been in the thickest of the fighting since the war hit this part of the planet. High above, the battle in orbit still rages, the flashes of light from macrocannon and lance volleys shining brighter than the stars as the Navy stands their ground against the Ork fleet. You can still see the troop-carrier disgorging shuttles and landers, its gargantuan hold now deploying other regiments than your own.

You have a chance to get a feel for the camp and unwind before going into the thick of the fighting. Wise troopers would cherish the opportunity.

Welcome to the jungle. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQS9C4BGXLI)


Fortification 17-B has administrative offices, the barracks for the troops, the Medicium, the mess hall, motor pool, an Officer's Club, a chapel, the local Quartermaster's bunker, and a small bar for the enlisted troops referred to as 'The Hole.'

Since your squad now has the run of the place and some time off, checking the fort out wouldn't be a bad idea, nor would mingling with the other personnel on-site. It might be useful to make friends, since equipment, supplies, and other such things can be discretely traded between comrades-in-arms (assuming the quartermaster and Commissariat never find out).

[happyturtle]

Unwind? Not until he sees what sort of situation Morganna is going to be left in. Goz stays with the wounded stretchers, but mostly his fellow Tortoise. He keeps cracking bad jokes to whoever is conscious, keeping his thoughts about the conditions of the troops to himself. Troops in bad condition, but someone is keeping them patched up at least. Looks like the problem is too many greenies, not enough of us.

Hope there's enough of us now.

Once he arrives at the medical centre, he looks for someone doing triage. "Medic Kainen of the 316th reporting with wounded. Two critical. Four moderate. This one has lost a lot of blood." he says, referring to Morganna.

[Darkcomet]

This is abhorrent.

Even the slightest look at the PDF troopers betrays the clear morale problem. Fear. Fear everywhere. Not even the kind mixed in with hate, that could be used, harnessed, just the completely useless sort of dread that frequently results in retreats and bolt shells. Victrix supposes it's a good thing she doesn't oversee them personally, or she would probably end up having to use that bolt pistol.

Still, it makes finding whoever's in charge of morale around here all the more important. That and another Commissar might be more agreeable to deal with in general, for her anyway. So she heads to the administrative offices. She'll probably need to get a feel for that place anyway.

[Murska]

Gramont lowers himself out of the Sentinel after docking it in the motor pool. He blinks a few times, feeling the odd aftereffects of the daze of combat. He'd had this short daydream about piloting a Chimera instead, wishful thinking about having some actually significant armor between himself and the screaming Orks. Oh well - you take what you can get.

"Take good care of her, okay?" He turns to the service personnel. "Cut up a good few greenskins today. Something's up with the right joint, though, so if you have someone who can appease the machine spirit, it would be quite appreciated."

Hm. The people here weren't happy, to say the least. Sullen stares, shellshock. Hopefully that's not a constant here, or this posting might not turn out so well. He was expecting at least some cheer for reinforcements, even if the war hadn't been going so well lately. Well, it's still better to get to know the people at the base. Lucretia was tagging along with the Sentinel as usual, what with her carrying much of the requisite ammunition and gear and needing to head to the motor pool anyway to stow it.

"Hey Luc. The others probably already scattered, so how about we find someone to point the way to our quarters, drop off the junk and then see if we can't find something to eat? Pick up the others if we see 'em and maybe get a feel for our new temporary home."

[Lord Magtok]

Mariya spends most of her time in the chapel, silently praying for their continued success in this campaign, for the glory and honor of the holy emperor. She's normally not quite this pious, but the hideous, fur-headed rabble have clearly lost their way, and only a great excess of veneration to the throne and its saints can fix this mess now. Well, that, and copious application of gun to ork faces, but until the next mission, there's only so much she can do, right?

[UncleWolf]

The Sergeant gives Morganna's hand a squeeze. "You'll be fine. Rest up. I expect you to be on duty by morning." He tells her with a smile as she's carried off to the infirmary. Once he's done watching her depart, he decides to go where any good Sergeant goes and heads for The Hole. If nothing else, he could buy a cheap drink and pick up on the scuttlebutt that's going around.

[Gullara]

Wintre is not too inclined to mingle, unfortunately. She knows well enough how the average guardsman feels about psykers, let alone with tensions so high. She lingers near the bar herself, though she doesn't go inside to seek camaraderie. Not without a short while to work up the nerve. After a bit she steps inside and situate herself in a corner. Her eyes lock on her squadmate, simply because he is a familiar face.

[blackouttwo]

[Medicium]
_______________________________________________
The medicium is a pair of the basic hut structures, the same kind that make up the barracks. Rather than metal construction, these are built from native woods. The interior has a musty odour, but the buildings are largely waterproof.

Its hundred beds for injured Guardsmen are tightly packed and the moans of those in pain counter the sound of the life support devices that keep the comatose from receiving the God-Emperor’s final blessing. The front portion of one side is cordoned off as a surgical area, where two surgeons struggle to keep up with the constant stream of new patients; there's less of an influx than there was during the battle earlier, but the doctors are still having trouble.

"Internal bleeding. We can't save this one."

"Right. Get the priests, and get the table prepped for the next one."

A red-robed techpriest of the Adeptus Biologis stands by, aiding the surgeons with necessary adjustments and rites to appease the machine spirits of various higher-tech surgical tools, occasionally intervening directly in the surgery with a medical mechadendrite at the behest of the doctors.

Outside, tents offer cover for the injured who wait their turn for treatment. A small pharmacia is adjacent to the building’s other entrance. Several soldiers who apparently have prescriptions for ongoing treatments are visiting for their daily treatments after the fighting is over.

As the Naval lander crew and Morganna are admitted for treatment, one older doctor with a dataslate and a seemingly perpetual furrowed brow glances over at Goz as he scratches at an unkempt beard. "So's everyone else. We'll get her what we can. Nobody sees the wounded but the surgical staff, understand? This frakking rock has so many strains of...bacteria, viruses, anything. Fragments of the local grass can kill you sometimes if it gets exposed to an open wound. No opportunity for any kind of infection, understand? Everyone stays out here. The priests get to perform last rites, and that's it."

[Administrative Offices]
_______________________________________________
While it bears numerous scars from the ongoing war effort, the administrative building is the single the most structurally sound construction within the fort. It's clearly hundreds of years old and has endured throughout all that time. The ongoing war effort's clearly given it a pounding, though. Two Skrynne PDF guards stand at weary attention out in front of the building. They salute as the Commissar draws near and enters. One of the guards holds a clipboard; a quick glance tells anyone looking it's a listing of any soldiers currently expected to report. It's a short list, but the PDF guards don't deter Victrix from entering the building, noticing her uniform.

Inside, the interior walls are elaborately sculpted gothic stone. There are more than two dozen offices within, though due to the number of officers on site, most house several desks, some of which are shared by officers who work different shifts judging from the names on some of the tags on each desk.

A sign at the front door tells the rest of the story.


BY THE ORDER OF FORTIFICATION 17-B's COMMANDING OFFICER

With the SOLE EXCEPTION of individuals assigned clerical duties, enlisted soldiers are only permitted access in the company of an officer or when they have been ordered to do so.

Failure to comply with this directive will be met with high-risk reassignment.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

It's not hard to find a Commissar's office.

Or, rather, a Cadet-Commissar's office.

And another certain individual.

One office room towards the far back of the building contains two desks. It's the smallest, most cramped office in the building, and the two desks in it each have one nametag.


CADET-COMMISSAR BORESLAV ADAMCIK, BRONTIAN 4TH


CHALICED COMMISSAR MOROCHI LEAF, SKRYNNE PDF - BASTION LERAK DIVISION

Desk #1 appears empty at the moment.

The man sitting in Desk #2 is very clearly not a local, and wearing a uniform that's not exactly standard Commissariat-issue, what with the large chalice insignia on his shoulder. He pauses in his paperwork as Victrix enters the office. He speaks with a distinct Scintillan accent. Upper-spire Hive Tarsus, from the sound of it. Right complexion and usual hair color as well. And he looks thoroughly confused when Victrix walks in.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
The atmosphere in The Hole is generally friendly. Surprisingly so, for an outpost under near-constant attack. The available drinks are well-watered, but cheap booze is better than nothing, and it's probably the one thing keeping morale up at this point. An amateur musician in Skrynne PDF hide-armor is playing a violin in the corner, and there are at least two tables engaged in illicit games of chance: One card game, and a game of dice. A few squads are crowded together whispering over drinks, mostly about their odds now that help's arrived, and any news from other parts of the warzone. A few give the Anto Sergeant a glance of interest.

Then the psyker and her comrade show up. Just from her uniform, it's not hard to deduce her role.

The violin briefly stops playing, all conversation stops, and it takes a few seconds for activity to pick back up.

The whispering and muttering continues, but with a renewed goal of not acknowledging the psyker in the room.

[Chapel]
_______________________________________________
A standalone wooden structure, the chapel represents the Ecclesiarchy’s primary influence upon the fort. And it shows very quickly upon entering.

The exterior of the structure is not ornate, but the interior is clean, well-maintained, and bears dozens of devotional paintings and quotes painted in flowing script upon the walls. There are no seats, but the open space can crowd up to two hundred individuals. Considering the nature of this planet, it's surprising to find artwork and writings of this quality here, especially on the battlefront.

And the lone, elderly priest present inside the chapel is giving Mariya a positive scowl. Like he recognizes her. Or at least where she's from.

[Motor Pool]
_______________________________________________
A corrugated steel building near a few landing pads for gunships, the motor pool has facilities capable of performing maintenance on up to forty vehicles at a time, though it is mostly empty; a few old, battered Chimera IFVs with extensively-damaged plating and gutted weaponry, a few local-pattern ground cars with heavy stubbers mounted on them (in good condition, surprisingly), and a pair of crippled Leman Russ tanks that were probably stripped for parts and left to rust fill some of the space. The steel walls bear countless scars from battle damage - bullet holes and a few patchwork jobs where an Ork rocket or cannon hit the building. Many of these show signs of hasty repairs and mismatched paint work. Others are open to the exterior. The sounds of metal hitting metal, active welding, and the whirrrrrr of pneumatic tools loudly echoes through the structure.

Gramont is directed outside to a cordoned off area for his Sentinel to dock. Several PDF guards stand duty to make certain that only those authorised for vehicle use are able to take them. Several promethium storage tanks for refuelling are also located near the motor pool. However, these are also cordoned off and nothing is stored too close. Old blast marks tell the story. There's probably been instances where an Ork attack struck the storage. The casualties and losses may have reached unacceptable levels.

A couple of attendant tech-experts, some aging maintenance servitors, and techpriests to oversee them approach the Sentinel and begin to run routine maintenance checks. One of the techpriests approaches Gramont and Lucretia, his face a mess of cybernetic implants and augmentations. "You are Anto, yes? Why is this steed under the Omnissiah's care experiencing a problem with the right joint? Surely your ties to the Machine Cult have taught you the necessary maintenance and repair rites." High opinion from a techpriest, if bluntly delivered.

[Murska]

[Motor Pool]

Gramont turns to the tech-priest and nods respectfully, although his voice contains a small hint of indignation as he replies: "Sir, the Sentinel has been properly maintained at all times. We were attacked by Orks right after our lander crashed, and I had some close calls with a few of their rockets. One of the impacts must have caused the issue. I carried out abbreviated rites as best as the situation allowed, but unfortunately my lieutenant ordered us to immediately set march. However, I am blessed by the fortune of having experienced and wise servants of the Omnissiah such as yourself here, so as to aid us all in delivering the Emperor's justice on the greenskins."

[Darkcomet]

[Administrative Office]

Oh.

These guys.

Why the hell are THEY here?

Victrix's expression immediately hardens, and when she speaks, it is with a just contained disgust. "Commissar Kalta Victrix, attached to the Anto 316th. I was not under the impression the Chaliced Commissariat was operating within any active warzones after the Tranch incident."

This is not going to end well.

[UncleWolf]

The Hole

"The freaks are outside the walls, boys." Sergeant Parrish says loud enough for everyone to hear when he notices the lull in activity when his psyker walks in. "They're the ones that are covered in muscle, have snaggly teeth, and attitudes worse than the scum under my boots." He explains before tilting his head in thought and giving a small smile. "No, wait. Those are Catechans. Kinda hard to tell sometimes, but at least the greenskins smell better." He jokes, trying to lighten the mood before paying for a pair of drinks and heading over to the corner so Wintre can join him for a drink.

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

That was certainly a tense moment, if a not unfamiliar one. Wintre is rather grateful for Parrish's presence. She's sure not many others would have done that. "Thank you." She says quietly when the sergeant joins her. Her smile is just as reserved as her words, but no less appreciative for it. "It'll be nice to get a drink in peace for once."

[happyturtle]

Medicium

"So I warned my Tortoises," Goz says. "I am a Guilden Chymist, sure. Where can I scrub up and synthete antitox for these soldiers of God?"



(I'm trying to invent Goz's strong south Anto accent by way word choices. >.>)





*Note to self and GM: Next step in Goz's career is Master Chirurgeon. Cost 400xp: Tier 3, pre-req Medicae +10, 2 starting aptitudes (Int, Fieldcraft)

[Lord Magtok]

Chapel

Mariya isn't terribly bothered by the scowl. She's tempted to say 'If this is the way you treat your faithful, no wonder you have so few!', but it's too soon to go lording her obvious superiority over the locals. She chooses instead to ignore the priest and pray, in High Gothic, as she was taught, as if he weren't even there.

"Our Father who waits upon the Golden Thone,
Hear our plea,
Grant us the strength to defy your foes,
Grant us the will to ignore their blandishments,
Grant us the courage to stand before them,
With your grace, we shall know no fear."

[blackouttwo]

[Medicium]
_______________________________________________
"Antitoxin? Yes, of course. We should have some samples of the stuff the locals use over in the medicine tents. Probably plenty of ingredients, too. Supply drops have been sporadic, so we've had to make do with making all our stuff on-site. Frakkin' death worlders have been good for something, at least." He mutters that last part. "Don't tell them I said that. They'll complain about back east some more and how we don't really care about the fate of their world, or some crap like that. As if we weren't the biggest reason why Skrynne hasn't completely fallen to the Orks yet."

He motions for Goz to follow, passing several lines of waiting wounded expecting some medication for various injuries. Some of the medical staff handling the supplies pause to take a glance at Goz as the doctor leads him to the back where a collection of bags, crates, pouches, and seemingly any other container that could be scrounged together on short notice holds a large collection of what look like medicinal herbs of all shapes and sizes, probably collected locally. A large workbench and barebones chymistry set-up is set off to one side, recently used. "Here. It's basic, but it's what we've got. You'll be working with local ingredients - bags are marked and recipes are pinned to the right side of the bench. We need everything and anything on that list, in bulk if you can manage it."

"Anyone bothers you, tell them to complain to Doc Frai." The doctor extends his hand to shake Goz's in what may be the first friendly gesture he's made in several years.

[Administrative Offices]
_______________________________________________
"Officially, we aren't." The Scintillan officer grinds out through gritted teeth, his dignified, noble tone giving way to obvious frustration in a hurry. "I was told reinforcements wouldn't be arriving at the Kerak Front for another two months, so what the bloody hell are you doing here, Victrix?"

Another voice speaks up from behind Victrix. If she turns to face the newcomer, she'll see a younger man, barely out of his teens, the characteristic Commissar cap in his hand rather than on his head. A Guard-style buzzcut with short black hair tops his head. He's also wearing the classic greatcoat - one size too big. "Sorry to interrupt, Commissar Victrix. Cadet-Commissar Boreslav Adamcik, Brontian 4th." He stands at attention and salutes Victrix, an expression of sheepish nerves on his face. "Chaliced Commissar Leaf was assisting me in handling a bit of requisition paperwork for the fort. Nothing special."

'Cadet-Commissar.' He certainly looks the part. Leaf scowls at the mention of 'assisting' the younger man.

"My immediate superior is currently away from the front for a meeting with the planetary governor and several other figures in the capital. Erm, sorry, need to specify the new capital." Nerves creeping into his speech, the Cadet-Commissar moves to pass Victrix in the doorway and take his seat. The chair looks far too big for him. "He voxed in ten minutes ago to inform me I should assist you in any way possible, as you are now the ranking Commissar in this part of the Kerak Front until the reinforcements have finished landing and the situation is adequately stabilized."

Leaf rises from his chair. "All due respect, Cadet-Commissar, I would like to know why reinforcements are here at all. They weren't due for another two months and I have a lot of paperwork that needs adjusting now, and that's rather annoying if I do-"

Adamcik just groans and pinches the bridge of his nose before pointing at the door. "Oh, for the love of- Get out, Leaf. Nobody cares." Leaf pauses before letting off a mocking salute in the young Cadet-Commissar's direction. "Understood." The Chaliced Commissar storms out, sneering at Victrix as he does so.

Adamcik sighs quietly as Leaf departs the office. "Bastard. Commissar Victrix, I know what you're about to ask me - 'Why is the Chaliced Commissariat in an active warzone against standing policy.' The answer is we...erm...can't...get...rid of them." The Cadet-Commissar shrugs helplessly. "That's the long and short of it. We can't get rid of Leaf or what are left of his colleagues here on Skrynne."

A pregnant pause fills the room. Adamcik awkwardly drums his fingers on the table.

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
The mood's lightened immediately with Sergeant Parrish's awful joke, a few of the Brontians chuckling slightly. None of the PDF troopers make any noticeable sign of relaxing, or laughing, their faces still carrying the stone-cold expression of haunted dread that so many of them have. But nobody moves to bother the psyker.

A few of the Brontians playing cards motion for Sergeant Parrish to join them. "Anto, c'mere! Play a round! Bring your psyker friend! She can't play, 'cause psykers cheat, but she can watch, yeah?" On the card table are several articles of equipment (a finely-crafted knife, a pair of frag grenades, an autopistol of some special pattern, and a double-barreled shotgun with the barrels half gone and a pistol grip, along with half a dozen shotgun shells), and a few miscellaneous tools (one dataslate, a lighter, and a multitool).

It seems they wager gear instead of money for entertainment around here. Might be a good opportunity...with a bit of risk involved, of course.

[Chapel]
_______________________________________________
The elderly priest approaches Mariya, listening to her pray quietly, his eyes still narrowed as he draws near. His expression softens somewhat as she finishes. He looks...surprised, an expression that already looks odd on his aged, wizened features. Surprised and impressed. "Your words are pious, yet you come from Anter. I recognize your armor's markings. Do you not venerate the Machine Cult's Omnissiah like so many of your comrades? The ones of the flock that have been led astray by the techpriests and their soulless rites?"

Doctrinal infighting. So much fun.

[Motor Pool]
_______________________________________________
The techpriest simply raises his hand, motioning for Gramont to stop talking.

"I mean no disrespect, Anto. Your world is held in high esteem by the disciples of the Machine God. I was merely being inquisitive for the sake of full clarity. Rest assured, I will tend to the machine spirit's needs, as is my task. You need not fear." The techpriest's mechadendrites extend and writhe in the air, several tools and articles of repair and maintenance equipment revealing themselves as the metal tentacles reveal their purpose. "Your Sentinel will be battle-ready within the hour should you require it."

This guy is...unusually generous and polite, for a techpriest.

[Murska]

Motor Pool

Gramont nods, mollified, and relaxes his posture. "Thank you. I hope I won't need it in the next hour." He extends his wrist to the man in a greeting. "My name is Jeremiah Gramont, of the Anto 316th Tortoises, and the lady here is Lucretia van Waals. We will be fighting alongside you from now on, so I hope we'll get along."

[happyturtle]

Medicium

"Well pleased to meet you, Doc Frai," Goz says. He looks over the laboratorium space, washes up a sinkful of used beakers, pipettes, and other assorted gear that had been left behind by the last user, no doubt due to a medical emergency, and then sets to work. He remembers the Chymistry Guild entrance exams, where he was given a lab space meant to simulate a jungle world setting with local supplies. In the simulation, the labatorium was still clean and modern, and the leaves and roots neatly placed in freshly sterilized trays.

Also, no dying pers, Gos thinks. He gets to work, singing scraps of Antos anthems or Omnissiah chants. Maybe can change the dying though. He works through the first two stages, and then as he sets that aside to add the oil of Insela leaf, the odour of the oil makes him pause. He doesn't know Insela from Iocayne powder, but the oil smells like decomposing meat. He looks through the various pouches until he finds the leaf itself, and when he breaks it, the smell is sharp, but not vile. He thanks the Omnissiah for guiding his hand - or his nose, as he throws out the spoiled Insela and makes a fresh infusion.

It's midnight before the Anto medic looks up again from the workbench, but he's content with his work when he does.

[Darkcomet]

[Administrative Offices]

When the silence is finally broken, it comes in the form of a sigh. "Right, the orbital situation...and they must have been smart enough not to shoot any of the Guard yet, at least, not that anyone's reported. Right?" Victrix asks, in that way where she pretty much already knows the answer. They would've been shot by now otherwise.

"Brilliant. At least we only have to deal with a bunch of trigger-happy louts, and not a bunch of trigger-happy, moronic louts."

[UncleWolf]

The Hole

The Sergeant wanders over to the gambling table and looks over at the pile of potential loot. He reaches up to scratch his chin in thought before giving a small nod and pulling up a seat. "I'll take a chance at it. I'm not particularly good of course, but who knows what the Emperor has in mind." He supposes as he pulls the lascutter from his side and sets it on the table as his own wager. "Maybe if we're really lucky you can take these blasted things off our hands for us." He says with a lopsided grin before holding out his hand to Wintre. "Yours too. No sense in you lugging the damnable thing around with us." Even if she doesn't agree, he'll play a round.


Deceive being used to gamble: Untrained [roll0]vs22

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

"Oh might as well." Wintre didn't have quite the same physical training as most here, and that particular piece of equipment always wore on her. Especially since she's sure she's never really needed it. She sets it down on the table and slides it next to the other. "I'm tired of carrying the damn thing around anyway." She says, a bit more easily than before.

[Lord Magtok]

[Chapel]
_______________________________________________
The elderly priest approaches Mariya, listening to her pray quietly, his eyes still narrowed as he draws near. His expression softens somewhat as she finishes. He looks...surprised, an expression that already looks odd on his aged, wizened features. Surprised and impressed. "Your words are pious, yet you come from Anter. I recognize your armor's markings. Do you not venerate the Machine Cult's Omnissiah like so many of your comrades? The ones of the flock that have been led astray by the techpriests and their soulless rites?"

Doctrinal infighting. So much fun.

"The Omnissiah watches over his machine spirits. The Emperor watches over mine," Mariya answers simply. What sounds to her ears like a reasonable and sensible compromise between her planet's leanings and her own family's Ecclesiarchy, of course, isn't. You can't have it both ways, Mariya, and you should've known better than to say anything like that to the furry-headed lowborn altar boy.

[blackouttwo]

[Administrative Offices]
_______________________________________________
The younger cadet takes his hat off, and rubs his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. He's young, but he's got a bit of a burden, considering the situation here. Stress, and lots of it.

"They're under standing order from my superior not to execute any of the PDF either. I'd have issued the order to send Leaf and any other Chaliced Commissars on the Kerak Front back to the capit- Sorry, the new capital...But most of them are good shots, and we're short on manpower to fight the Orks as it is. Getting rid of him would be satisfying, but one more gun pointed at the greenskins is a more practical approach to things. Anyone who can stand upright and shoot is on the Kerak Front somewhere."

"And I do mean anyone."

With that, Cadet-Commissar Adamcik picks up a file folder and hands it over to Victrix. It's written in High Gothic, heavy, packed to the brim with detailed maps of the Kerak Front and territorial control over the last six months, casualty reports from the PDF and Brontians, industrial-output reports from one or two cities far behind the main lines on the Imperial side, and scouting reports from various units all along the Kerak Front, along with several detailed status reports and brief summaries of the war over the last ten years, with greater detail around the time of the Brontians' arrival three years into the war.

They paint a grim picture: Forced child labor in factories and on farms out of desperation to maintain some kind of output for equipment and food for the troops; mandatory PDF conscription of anyone over the age of fifteen, planetwide; total planetary population estimated to be beneath 300,000 people where there used to be at least fifteen million; rescue reports of people from the planet's eastern continental shores (the files make regular references to 'Stranded recruits' among the PDF, with a capital 'S'); defenders regularly ceding ground to the Orks on the western continent due to overwhelming greenskin numbers (the maps of the Kerak Front depict regular mass-fallbacks - in good order, rather than bloody and disorganized routs, at least); a laundry list of near-constant supply and munition shortages all throughout the war due to planetary wartime conditions and Skrynne's limited access to tech; regular references to the Orks' orbital supremacy and the ruined status of the entirety of the eastern continent...

A long silence follows as Adamcik lets Victrix skim or read the files in as much or little detail as she wants before he speaks up.

"The conditions you've seen here at 17-B are better than most of the planet, Commissar Victrix. The only thing that's been keeping us all alive at this point is Gibraltar occasionally breaking the blockade in orbit and hitting the greenskins with an orbital strike. The Kerak Front was our last line of defense before the Orks moved on the new capital, and it was not going to hold without offworld help."

Did Adamcik look quite that exhausted before he showed Victrix the files? He certainly looks unnaturally tired for someone so young.

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
The Brontians look at the lascutters and collectively nod in agreement, apparently accepting their addition to the pot without complaint. "Twitch was complaining about his. Frakkin' thing finally crapped out when he was welding some more metal onto the walls for better cover, and the Quartermaster can't issue another charge pack because we're out. If your squad's got some, Sergeant, I've got some gear for barter stashed away."

Cards are dealt as the Brontians drink, eye the psyker cautiously, and talk idly amongst themselves about, of all things, the weather. As if greenskins hadn't been hitting the fort just a few hours ago. Finally they start to ante up whatever they've got on the table, everyone going all-in.

Eventually, it's revealed everyone's hands are completely awful and they were just banking on everyone else's hands being much worse. The dealer slides the entire pot in the direction of Parrish, whose hand was slightly better than everyone else's (to the rest of the group's consternation). "'Nother round, Anto? We're fit to play for a while yet."

One of the Brontians glances at the psyker again. "Actually, y'know what? Ain't right for someone to just sit 'n watch a game. You want in, psyker?"

The dealer glares at him. "Psykers cheat, Kip, y'know that. Remember-"

"I remember our tour in the Fydae system, alright, Sarge? Look, not every psyker is a frakkin' pirate."

Sarge looks at Wintre again, then back to Kip. "Well...this one might be. She did come from space, Kip."

"So did we, Sarge."

The Sergeant waves a hand. "Details."

The third Brontian grumbles. "Still a psyker. She's gonna cheat, Kip."

"Well, OK, fine, Germs, let's ask her." Kip turns to look at Wintre. "Psyker lady, are you a pirate? Yes or no?"

Germs speaks up again. "Don't forget the Toriak campaign! We gambled with a psyker there, too, and he cheated!"

Sarge takes the opportunity to raise one hand. "That one was a ganger. And unsanctioned. Not the same as the incident with the pirate. Very fine distinction, Germs. Remember that."

Germs just looks at Sarge like he's lost his mind, quietly mouthing 'what the frak', while Kip maintains a dead serious expression as he waits for an answer from Wintre.

This conversation got strange about five miles back.

[Chapel]
_______________________________________________
The priest's brow furrows a bit. "An interesting answer." The elderly priest goes for the podium, a massive book of prayer resting on it. He begins perusing it, as if looking for a certain passage in it. This takes a while (it's a big book). "'Look not to any other source of salvation but the Throne, and you will be rewarded. All go to Him in death, and none are missed save those who turn away from His light.'" The elderly priest looks at Mariya closely.

"Try as I might, I see no heresy in you, child. Yet." He closes the book with a dull, resounding thud. "But beware the company you keep. Heresy grows from idleness, and a moment of laxity can spawn a lifetime of heresy. Be vigilant in the presence of your comrades, lest their treachery catch you unawares."

[Motor Pool]
_______________________________________________
Gramont's extended hand leaves the techpriest staring for a moment. He finally reached out to grasp it firmly and shakes slowly, almost as if he's uncertain about the nature of the gesture and practicing it from half-remembered displays other people have made. "Calces Jerichan, Engineer Prime attached to the 4th Brontian Longknives regiment of the Imperial Guard. Presently the ranking Mechanicus representative here at Fortification 17-B. We will see to it that your Sentinel is made battle-ready."

[UncleWolf]

The Hole

Parrish slides the lascutters back into the pile, keen on losing the damned things even as he picks up the data-slate and turns it on so he can fiddle with it as he listens to the inane banter. Anyone paying attention will see his puzzled look slowly fall from his face and turn into one of both worry and determination. "Sorry lads, but the game is over." He says with a growl at himself even as he pulls a few Thrones out of his pocket and sets them on the table. "Keep the lascutters, have a round on me and get to the chapel so you can pray that this doesn't get traced back to you." He says, holding up the dataslate. "Now where in The Warp did you get this blasted piece of equipment?" He asks, looking right at Kip. "I won't mention I got it from you, but I need to know."

[Murska]

Motor Pool

"I am glad to hear it, sir. You do good work."

Time to head out, then. Who knows when the next fight is going to be, and finding their barracks, leaving the unnecessary gear and taking care of personal equipment are still on the list before food, rest or relaxation.

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

Wintre chuckles. "No, not a pirate. Or a ganger for that matter. I've never cheated at cards before either, if that makes you feel better." She smiles a bit at the banter, enjoying the rare experience for her. The fun's over in no time though. She looks between Kip and Parrish uncertain what is happening.

[Darkcomet]

[Administrative Offices]

It is one thing to hear of the horror wreaked by the alien, the heretic, and the mutant.

Even for one who experienced it early in life, seeing it on this scale was another thing entirely. That made it worse, really. The paradox of a Commissar is that, buried in their pasts, there is always that same moment of loss that makes them all too capable of understanding what it means for others in situations like this, to fight on when nothing is left of their lives but to fight for the Emperor, and perhaps take vengeance on their families' and friends' killers.

A Commissar lives their early life with faith and purpose drilled into them, transforming them from broken war orphans to unyielding instruments of the Emperor's will, ready to lead and put down anyone who would get in their way, whether xenos filth or simply a cowardly Guardsman spurring others to abandon their posts. The survivors and PDF on Skrynne, though, they haven't had that kind of training and indoctrination, and that was the ultimate difference between them and someone like Victrix or Adamcik. The wounds were still relatively fresh, and they were never taught to deal with it in the same way.

The agents of the Commissariat don't have the same reaction, as a rule, but every one can remember what it was like, all those years ago. Every one that actually cares about such things at all, and hasn't had a memory wipe or something, anyway. They cannot share the pain of the loss itself, but they can remember their own all too well, see it reflected in every face, and have to make them fight on anyway when they have nothing material left to fight for. Even for one who doesn't feel the losses here so personally, dealing with so many who did under such bleak conditions could crush them with the stress and any sympathy they had left in them. It was part of what made the Astartes so potent, really, being so separated from the rest of humanity that such things are a non-concern to most of them. Even many Commissars couldn't match that, and though it might be considered a flaw by the Progenium, a lot wouldn't want to, to preserve what humanity they have left.

Sometimes, it was easy to see why it might be easier if they could.

"I can see that," she finally says, after a pause. Frankly, compared to her own experience, this probably made the Cadet here the more seasoned of the two. "Have you gotten any updates on the orbital situation since we arrived?" she asks, focusing on the strategic considerations for now. Sometimes it was easier to simply focus on the task at hand rather than look at all the blood.

[Lord Magtok]

Chapel

"Mmm," Mariya answers with a nod. Huh. The girl doesn't talk much, does she?

"I have to go speak with my sergeant," she says, rising and moving towards the door. Prayer is important, but now she's got things to do, people to see, war to wage. Things need to be done, and she should be involved in getting them done.

[blackouttwo]

[Administrative Offices]
_______________________________________________
"The greenskins appear to be willing to stand their ground." Adamcik slides a dataslate over to Victrix, containing some minor tactical updates of the situation in orbit. A lot of Naval diagrams and terminology thrown around in the picts and text on it, but they spell out the picture well enough. "Gibraltar's been wearing them down bit by bit for months in preparation for this offensive. He was willing to commit two capital ships to the liberation effort here. More than he's ever done in the past. Between that, the Navy showing up with a squadron of destroyers and frigates, and the strikecraft contingents on the troop carrier, we're looking at a clear orbit over Skrynne for the first time in ten years."

The ships involved in the fighting are a single Ork capital ship, Kill Kroozer-class (http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Kill_Kroozer), and four Ork frigate equivalents. With those kinds of numbers, the Navy will win hands-down with Gibraltar's light cruisers providing support. It's only a matter of time before the Orks are forced out of orbit entirely.

There's a knock at the door, and Adamcik immediately looks up. If Victrix looks, she'll see a Skrynne PDF trooper in his hide armor, standing at attention and looking dead on his feet. "Commissars, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Captain Fai requests Commissar Victrix's presence for a mission briefing."

"Briefing? What briefing?" Adamcik is more than a little puzzled at this.

The PDF trooper just...hesitantly shrugs. "Wouldn't know, Commissar. He just said it was urgent. He's been in a meeting with the Anto Lieutenant. Briefing room five, down in the basement."

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
The Brontians fall silent at Parrish asking about the dataslate. The Sergeant and Germs look to Kip, who just shrugs. "Bought it off one of the PDF troopers for some rotgut booze back before our rotation outta 14-B a month ago. Said he found it out in the jungle somewhere. He was one of those First Response types. The PDF commandos. Said he couldn't crack the encryption on some of the files in it, and I needed a new dataslate anyways. I didn't look at anything in there. Just used it like I was s'posed to. No harm done."

The Sergeant just pinches the bridge of his nose and grunts in annoyance. "Kip. Where in the hell did you get rotgut?"

Kip's expression doesn't change as he looks to his sergeant. "What rotgut?"

"You just-"

"I didn't say anything about rotgut."

"Yes you-"

"You need to clean out your ears, Sarge."

There's a light slap as Germs brings his hand up to meet his face, shaking his head in silence.

Kip turns to look back at Parrish before his squad leader can keep talking. "So, what's with that thing? Always thought something was funny about some of those encrypted files but all that data-warden stuff was never my strong point when it came to tech. I just set 'em off to the side." He pauses and glances up as a shadow is cast over the table.

That's when Parrish is tapped on the shoulder. Turning around, Parrish will see a Skrynne PDF trooper in local hide armor, clumsily remembering to stand at attention as he remembers his rank. "Sergeant Parrish, I was sent by your Lieutenant to come and find you about a mission briefing. You're to report to the administrative center immediately along with Commissar Victrix. Basement level, briefing room five. She says it's urgent."

[Chapel]
_______________________________________________
"He is likely in that wretched Hole." The priest sounds about ready to spit on the ground at the very mention of the bar. "The soldiers left on this world are sinners one and all, but they are the Emperor's scum. That is more than can be said for many in His realm. You watch yourself, Anto." The priest takes the large prayer book off the podium as he prepares to leave the chapel himself. "Services are tomorrow at 0600 hours, right before the sentry shift change. Bring your squad. They might yet be saved."

(Unlikely, knowing this bunch.)

[Motor Pool]
_______________________________________________
As the techpriest turns away to oversee the task of repairing the Sentinel, Lucretia leads Gramont in the direction the rest of the platoon was going. It's relatively quick and easy to get any gear stowed before they go to relax. They get to the Hole right when Parrish is being approached by the PDF trooper. She mutters to Gramont. "'Urgent.' Never a good sign." A few missions with the PDF's elite back on Anter were 'urgent', at least with the units Lucretia ended up serving with. They rarely went well, from what Gramont and the rest of the squad had been able to gather. And on a death world under siege by Orks, with unfamiliar terrain, that's likely to get a lot worse.

[Murska]

The Hole

"Yeah. Generally means "poorly planned". We should see if we can't find the squad."

He walks into the room, approaching the table with Parrish and Wintre. A smooth smile appears on his face, as he gives a relaxed wave to the soldiers present. "Hola! We got our things stowed, I see y'all have already gotten started. Nice to see you in the middle of things for once... Wintre." The short pause before saying her name is almost unnoticeable. "So what's up?"

[UncleWolf]

The Hole => Meeting

Parrish frowns when he hears where he's to head to and just gives a nod as he stands and pockets the lighter and dataslate he's won. "Maybe I'll get a chance to tell you guys later." He says to Kip and his friends, nodding slightly towards the PDF trooper. He obviously didn't want a big crowd. The fancy knife goes onto his belt, but the psyker will see the shotgun and shells slid towards her. "Yours." He says before glancing up at Gramont. The Multitool is shoved into the Operator's arms as the pair of frag grenades finds themselves in Parrish's pockets as well. "And that is yours. See to it that the pistol is given to Goz. I'll give Mariya her cut when I see her." The Sergeant says as he heads out.

If he sees Mariya on the way to the meeting, he'll shove the two frag grenades into her hands before heading on without saying a word. He certainly didn't look pleased.

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

"Something urgent." Wintre says by way of explanation as Parrish departs, gesturing in his direction. "We were just enjoying a game. Or at least, the sergeant won us a few things. I hadn't gotten a chance to play yet. I get the feeling there's not going to be much more time for that now." She looks toward the doors that Parrish left through.

[happyturtle]

Around midnight, Goz puts both hands on his lower back and stretches. He'd been sitting at the chymistry bench too long. At least he has some good work to show for it.

He scoops up his hold-all from the corner where he'd stashed it and makes his way out of the Medicium. He doesn't know where his quarters are yet, but he's sure someone can direct him that way.

"Emperor bless, Morganna," he whispers as he walks past her cot.

[Murska]

The Hole

"Maybe. Or maybe not. No use worrying before we even got anything." Gramont dangles the multitool with two fingers for a moment, peering it over. "Huh. I get it. It's because I'm the pilot. Very funny."

He takes the seat Parrish left. "Well, I just got off talking to techpriests. I think they're pleased we're here, and hopefully my Sentinel will be ok next time we head out. But you never really know with them. You should've seen his face when I shook his hand."

Glancing at the others around the table, Gramont leans back. "From what I've gathered, things've been rough here. But now that reinforcements are arriving, we'll get to go on the offensive, clear the greenskins out. So, I'm Jeremiah Gramont, Sentinel pilot from 316th Anto Assault Recon. The beautiful lady here is my crew chief, Lucretia van Waals. Please don't be rude, I'm hoping my headache tomorrow will be alcohol-induced. Nice to meet you all."

[Lord Magtok]

Outside the Hole

"Sergeant, the priest said-" Mariya starts, only to find a pair of grenades in her arms. Oh! Is it Emperor's Day already? Well never mind whatever she was going to say, now she has a pair of fragmentation darlings to hide. Such a lovely ceramic casing, where did he ever get these, and why bless her with them? Things to consider while she's hurrying away, zipping back to her quarters to find a secure storage space where the Commissar won't go sniffing about.

[Darkcomet]

[Administrative Offices]

"Well, at least we won't be dealing with bombardment..."

Then that happens.

"I never heard anything about this either. But if duty calls, duty calls. We'll speak again soon, I'm sure," she says, mentally noting that the Cadet-Commissar here has probably had far more experience here than needed for promotion, though she'd need to watch him to make sure he's still all there in the head before sending that recommendation forward, before leaving and heading off to the basement.

[blackouttwo]

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
Lucretia just calls over from the other side of the tent to the bar. "Barkeep! Drinks! I'll pay!"

Kip, Germs, and Sarge start to gather the cards, dealing a hand to anyone sitting at the table who might be interested in the game as they set more gear down for the opening buy-in. Sarge rolls a grenade onto the table. "'Nother frag grenade." Kip slides a charge pack across the table to the center. "Hot-shot charge pack." Germs just glances at Wintre again, and then groans and digs into his combat webbing, sliding a pair of magazines onto the table. "Two box-mags for a combat shotgun."

Germs is keeping a very close eye on the psyker.

[Administrative Offices - Briefing Room Five]
_______________________________________________
The briefing room that awaits Commissar Victrix and Sergeant Parrish is fairly spartan. One wooden table, rickety and propped up with spare copies of the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer where one missing leg would ordinarily be, rests in a small bunker-like room, covered in maps, dataslates, and small figurines showing the disposition and location of Imperial Guard forces, and known Ork concentrations and outposts out in the jungles along the Kerak Front.

Standing over this table are Lieutenant Bennaio, along with two men, one of them with the bearing and uniform of a mid-ranking Skrynne PDF officer, the other unmistakably a common PDF trooper judging from the local skin tone, but without the characteristic hide armor you've seen on the other Skrynne troopers at Fort 17-B. Instead of hide armor, he's wearing a flak vest and standard flak helmet. Not a full suit of armor, but still much more protective than the primitive hide all of the other Skrynne troopers have been wearing.

The vest and helmet were almost certainly imported from offworld at some point, possibly by the Gibraltar trade flotilla, but they lack any discernible markings beyond being the same color as the hide armor worn by the rest of the PDF. "Commissar Victrix, Sergeant Parrish, nice to see you on short notice." She stands aside as the Skrynne officer steps forward to introduce himself.

"Captain Mortimer Thruel, Skrynne PDF. This is Corporal Jerai, from First Response, one of my finest men." Thruel nods to the Skrynne trooper standing at attention off to the side with a stance and discipline that can only be described as unusual for a death-worlder. In a stranger vein, Thruel's accent sounds...higher-class than the majority of the troopers you've overheard in your brief time at the fort. Possibly the Skrynne equivalent to nobility. Again, unusual for a death-worlder.

Thruel extends a hand to shake both Parrish and Victrix's before motioning for the two of them to join himself, Bennaio, and Jerai. "Mr. Parrish, I've been told you're the finest squad leader in Lieutenant Bennaio's platoon. Your display against the Orks earlier was something my own sentries noticed from the walls of the fort, and you did not disappoint."

Bennaio's expression promptly shifts to a very neutral one. Carefully hidden displeasure is writ across her face behind Thruel's back, like there's a point of wounded pride somewhere. The Lieutenant turns to point at specific portions of the map. The map is divided between several blocks of color representing territory held along the Kerak Front - Dark green for Ork-held territory, and then anything south of the Kerak Front in lighter green.

There are small patches and blotches of red, indicating contested territory, but these are far and few between, and several spots are marked on the map that look like fortified Imperial outposts in Ork-held territory. Some of them are clearly holding. Others are marked 'unknown status.'

"You and your squad are being sent on a detached assignment into the jungle. Now that the Guard have arrived and are making planetfall in force, we're launching counteroffensives all along the Kerak Front. We've been planning and scouting out potential targets for months in preparation for it. Something to bloody the Orks' noses now that help's arrived. Now that you're here, we can proceed without further delay, and I want you to handle what we believe to be one of the hardest targets along the Front." Thruel points at one such position marked as Ork-controlled on the map, roughly 250km into enemy territory to the northwest of the fort's position on the map. Two weeks' travel on foot, one-way, past numerous other facilities and outposts either unconfirmed, or held by the Orks.

"This promethium refinery was one of the last major installations to fall to the Orks until we solidified and consolidated our positions along the Kerak Front. Your mission is simple: Ascertain the status of the refinery and its machinery to determine whether or not it'll still be useful, either retake or destroy it to deny it to the Orks, and then vox in to confirm mission success or call for support to hold it once you've taken it. It'll be a long trek on foot, so I've assigned Corporal Jerai from First Response to be a guide through the jungle for your squad. You'll have full squad command for the mission, Sergeant. All tactical considerations will be yours. I trust you'll serve as well as you did earlier at your crash site."

"Questions before I continue?" The Captain looks expectant, but clearly has a high opinion of both Parrish and Victrix, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two. Bennaio's expression hasn't changed, and Corporal Jerai remains silent, his lips pressed together into a thin line. Whatever the Corporal's thinking, he's not saying a word.


_______________________________________________
Mariya and Goz both arrive at the barracks at the same time as they head back from their respective activities.

That's when both can hear Ric cry out in surprise as sounds of a scuffle out back of the barracks can be heard. "Hey!" Aliya's voice can be heard as well. "Oi, get off 'em!"

"Took your ****ing time, offworlders! What, you thought you could just waltz in and be the big heroes?! We've been bleeding for [B]ten years! WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!" Each accusation is punctuated by what's unmistakably a series of blows being landed on some unfortunate Guardsman. (Probably Ric.)

[happyturtle]

Quarters

Ngozi exchanges looks with Mariya, then changes his path to head behind the barracks. He drops his hold-all and claps his hands a few times for attention.

"Where... were.... we? I have to divulge - Anter is just the rich sort of world that every pers hates. Teeming with nobility that every pers hates even moreso. So what do you envisage occurs every Imperial tithe?" He looks around, trying to make sure everyone's attention is on him. "Every and all sort of bribe, blackmail, and favor calling to try and get names pulled off the list. Mater desires me to marry some powdered debutante, so yes, she tries to pull me off. And when all sort of rumours are heard that we would be Warping to a Deathworld? The bribe costs went up. Way up. More than Mater could afford. So I beg her to sell the Forebon estate. Please Mater. I know death. I'm a medic. I don't want to die." This wasn't what Ngozi really did, though it all happened, to soldiers all over Anter, during the Tithe. He tries now to catch Ric's eye, because what follows is pure bull****. "When Ric hear what I ask of Mater, he spit on me. And he remind me of the oaths we swear as Medics and as Soldiers. He tell me to be here is the Omnissiah's will. And so we are here. I am shamed so endlessly that I volunteer to be on the earliest embarkation, with my brave friend Ric, whose loyalty has never wavered."

Goz ***** a wry grin. "Ten years late, but that's the ****ing Navy for you."

[Lord Magtok]

Quarters


"Took your ****ing time, offworlders! What, you thought you could just waltz in and be the big heroes?! We've been bleeding for ten years! WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!"

"Want to bleed for ten more, keep punching him," Mariya quietly warns the hideous lowborn rabble, in a voice that can scarcely be heard over the chaos. She brushes past her clueless medic who foolishly seems to believe civil discussion and diplomacy can solve problems, and produces her standard infantry knife from Throne only knows where she was hiding it, turning it in her fingers until it's in the optimal thrusting-into-the-gut-of-any-furhead-that-steps-to-her position.

This totally won't exacerbate the situation at all.

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

"Um, I'll put in a charge pack?" Wintre says as she finds one and slides it into place. Maybe this wasn't the best idea, as she doesn't consider herself any good at this game, but she surely doesn't want to just back out either. Besides, what's just one charge pack? Germs can watch her all he wants. He won't find anything but a woman getting increasingly uncomfortable with the eyeballing.

[Darkcomet]

[Briefing Room Five]

Victrix eyes the improvised table leg with quiet disapproval before the actual briefing begins. That is definitely not adherent to Munitorium regulations. But there are more important things than that here, and judging by the general condition of the place, they had to use something from it.

Through the briefing, she keeps an eye on the Lieutenant. She'd already had to get her to 'adjust' her orders once, and it wasn't unheard of for officers with too much pride and thirst for personal glory to try to get rid of anyone who gets in their way or dares to make them look bad...especially when those officers are nobles.

"I'm sure the Lieutenant's recommendation for us must've been positively glowing," she deadpans, letting Bennaio know she sees what she's up to. Or what she suspects she's up to, at any rate. That done, she narrows her eyes at the map. "Those outposts...have you had any contact with them? Can we expect any additional support from them if they've held?"

[UncleWolf]

Briefing Room Five

"What we did was nothing spectacular." The Sergeant says as he looks over the plan. "We simply survived. That is all." He says, trying to brush it off. Damnation. We got too much attention. If we survive this suicide mission we'll have to keep it in mind next time. He thinks, chastising himself for doing too well. Now they had a two hundred and fifty kilometer trek ahead of them. At the end he frowns a little before pulling out the dataslate he's won. "A promethium refinery." He repeats, browsing through the files within the dataslate. "I do have one question Sir. What happened to a...Sergeant Slayder and the reporter that they were escorting to the very same promethium refinery?" The Sergeant asks with a frown, holding up a picture on the dataslate showing stormtroopers burning ork bodies while one looks directly at the pict-recorder used to take the image. "This happened just within the past month and a half or so. Is there a third party waiting for us or interfering?" As he asks the question, he activates the audio-log for it. He hasn't listened to it yet, but it might have a little surprise for them all.

Besides, if something went awry, the Commissar and Lieutenant were there to back him up if these guys decided to just try and knock them off.

[Murska]

The Hole

"Ehh, what the hell." Gramont tosses the multitool on the table after peering at it for a while. "Don't need another one. This is worse than mine anyway."

[blackouttwo]

[The Hole]
_______________________________________________
The game proceeds without much incident. Kip and Germs fold fairly quickly, and the Sergeant rolls his eyes and folds when it becomes apparent the psyker has a pretty good hand. Gramont manages to break even, getting the damn multitool back when he didn't want it.

"Toldja. Psykers cheat." Germs mutters with his arms crossed.

"Now, now, Germs. There's no way to prove she cheated."

"She's a psyker. Come on!" Germs looks at the Sergeant incredulously.

"And?" Kip gives Germs a look. "Come on, Germs, this isn't the training grounds anymore."

"I know! This is me talking after every game with a psyker ending in a psyker cheating, for years."

"I don't think she's cheating, mate." Sarge lights up a lho-stick.

"Feh. I'm done for the night anyways." Germs sets a bottle of cheap booze on the table from his rucksack, and slides it over to the psyker. "No hard feelings, eh? I'm going to bed. Enjoy the drink, mates." He rises and turns to head out of the Hole, followed by Kip, and shortly afterwards, the Sarge as well.

[Administrative Offices - Briefing Room Five]
_______________________________________________
Thruel and Bennaio both look thoroughly confused at this question as the audio log plays on the dataslate. (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1geMguq5w5tVfGrOwXJ1zdA6TCkk1nEHcjOEwVZQYrOM/edit)

The man recording the audio-log on the dataslate is whispering, and sounds out of breath as jungle foliage is either pushed aside or hacked away by a large knife of some kind.

"Adept Alaric, Day 28 of my investigation into the death of Solomon Martz, and his relation to the missing truckload of supplies."

"Sergeant Slayder upheld his end of the bargain. I'm with him and his squad into the field to investigate the group of commandos in the unmarked armor. It's along Slayder's patrol route into the jungle, so we're not expecting much deviation from his actual mission. Nothing worth reporting anyways."

"We've had a few run-ins with terror cats and Orks in the jungles already. I'm taking the time to record this log in case something happens. Death worlds are dangerous, after all, and I can't be too careful."

"Days like these, I feel I should've stayed on Landunder instead of recording and calculating Imperial tithes that aren't leaving Skrynne anytime soon. This posting was always going to be a complete disaster. Dead end for my career, at least."

"I will record additional information as I come across it, but hopefully I'll get some conclusive answers for all of this. With any luck it's just a big mistake. End of log."

The basement briefing room falls silent for a minute, Thruel simply raising an eyebrow.

"We've had no reporters here. Skrynne's far too dangerous for civilians these days. Especially for offworlders, except maybe Administratum clerks who got stuck here when the invasion hit. Let me see that dataslate, Sergeant, if you please." If Parrish is willing to hand it over, Thruel scrolls through several more images on it, his brow furrowed in unmistakable confusion. "This is...unusual. The western continent's had substantial promethium deposits for a long time. It was one of our major industries before the invasion. There's more than a few refineries and old forts out there in the jungle, and we want to retake as many as possible. I don't think his logs refer to the one we're sending you to, but it's definitely out in that general direction. Look."

One of the images on the dataslate is a data-image of the Kerak Front, dated two months ago, with a specific point in the jungle marked with a red dot. He holds it up to compare it to the map on the table. The refinery in the dataslate logs is another 50 or so kilometers northeast of the squad's actual objective.

"Most peculiar." Thruel mutters a bit as he scratches at his mustache before looking to Parrish and Lieutenant Bennaio. "Lieutenant Bennaio, would you be against sending Sergeant Parrish's team to investigate this other refinery for evidence of anything unusual regarding these unmarked Stormtroopers?"

Bennaio visibly hesitates before speaking. "That seems outside of the intended mission parameters, Captain. But, since Sergeant Parrish is heading that way, it may be prudent to investigate while his squad is out there in the jungle."

Thruel nods in agreement. "Agreed. Sergeant, if you feel inclined to do so, you have my full permission to deviate from your primary objective and investigate this other refinery for anything unusual or damaging to the planned counter-offensive. Consider it a tertiary objective. The refinery you're meant to deny to the Orks remains your top priority, so no heroics. Just...poke around and see what's going on, if you see fit." He hands the dataslate back to Parrish without further inspection. "If you find any evidence of Adept Alaric or this 'Sergeant Slayder', let us know. Slayder was never assigned here to Fort 17-B, so I don't know the man, but the name doesn't sound like a Skrynner or Brontian one. Probably one of Gibraltar's mercenaries from offworld."

Bennaio looks down at the map again, before looking back to Commissar Victrix. "Distractions and missing adepts aside, Commissar, none of these outposts can be counted on for support. Any that we've had contact with are cut off from us and being hit too hard to reliably divert assistance, and the majority have dropped out of contact already. If you draw near any of these silent outposts, assume that the Orks have taken them. Most of these are refineries of varying sizes, so we're deploying the rest of the platoon to investigate and retake some of them because of their strategic value. If we hit them all at once as a prelude to the counter-offensive, we intend to throw the Orks off-balance and drive the horde into disarray."

If it weren't for the size of the force in question being deployed against the Orks, it'd almost be a sound plan.

Almost.

"Here is a requisition form for the Quartermaster, for some necessary equipment you may need for the mission." Bennaio slides a folded Departmento Munitorum form over to Sergeant Parrish.

"Further questions?"


Primary Objective: Investigate the status of the refinery and clear out any hostile forces from the area.
Primary Objective: Hold the refinery until Imperial support arrives.
Secondary Objective: If the refinery's machinery has been rendered useless to humans by the Orks, destroy the refinery.
Secondary Objective: If the refinery cannot be held against an enemy counterattack, destroy the refinery.
Tertiary Objective: Investigate the refinery where Adept Alaric and Sergeant Slayder's men disappeared. Avoid enemy contact if possible, but confirm the identity of the refinery's occupants, if any.

Mission-Issue Equipment:
1 long-range vox-caster for the squad
1 week's additional field rations per squad member
6 demolition charges for the squad
1 missile launcher with 6 krak missiles for the squad
2 additional frag grenades per squad member

[Barracks]
_______________________________________________
Behind the barracks are Ric and Aliya, wrestling in a scuffle with a pair of Skrynne PDF troopers in hide armor. No weapons have been drawn.

Until Mariya draws that knife of hers.

They pause at the sight of it. Monomolecular, they can tell.

They slowly back off, rattled that someone would go this far. The dirty death-worlders turn tail and run before the situation gets any worse, leaving Ric coughing slightly as he clutches his stomach. No stab wounds or blood, so he's probably catching his breath after having the wind knocked out of him. Aliya slowly helps him to his feet, nice and easy.

The Skrynners are out of sight within seconds. Seems Mariya's bit with the knife did its job.

[Murska]

The Hole

"Well, I guess we should head out too before urgent business catches up."

Jeremy stands up, stepping to the side of the Psyker while grabbing the bottle from in front of him to slide in a pocket. He leans in with a conspiratorial grin and whispers:

"Out of curiosity, did you cheat?"

[Darkcomet]

[Briefing Room Five]

Victrix shoots Parrish a brief look that says 'we're talking about this later,' but does not comment on the strange distraction immediately, listening as the others respond.. She has other things to consider anyway, like this whole plan that's been put together. It is not, inherently, bad, but sending single squads out to take and hold these facilities against the orks is a risky maneuver, to say the least. Had they more troops available, it would practically be a masterstroke, but as it stands, it is a gamble.

Though at least they had some heavier armor and firepower than others would. Perhaps it might even help.

"I'm not sure we'll have the ability to investigate that-this plan is spreading our forces thin and if it looks risky we should stay back and focus on the primary objective."

[happyturtle]

Barracks

Goz stares icily at Mariya. "Put that away before there's a blue on blue incident." Then he goes to check on Ric.

[Gullara]

[The Hole]

"Uh, thanks." Wintre takes the drink and stands along with Jeremy. She chuckles a little. "No, but it's pretty easy to manipulate someone when they're absolutely sure you are." She says with a subdued pride.

[Murska]

The Hole

Jeremy just laughs, a short cackling sound. "That's a good one. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, let's head on down, see if we can't spot Goz. I know he's crazy, but even he oughta have left the medbay by now."

He swirls around with a flourish, bringing his arm on Lucretia's shoulders. His other hand, about to do the same to Wintre, slows down as he glances at her, and after a short moment of hesitation he just gingerly places his fingers on her shoulder, aiming to steer them out of the bar.

[UncleWolf]

Parrish frowns at the lack of reaction over the message but stands to and salutes after he is given the requisition forms. The lieutenant and commissar probably know him well enough to know he is displeased with this entire situation, but no one in their right mind would ever want to be sent out like this. "No questions, sir. Once my squad has rested and is re-equipped, we'll be out of here as soon as possible. If we get a chance to explore the other refinery, we'll do so." He says, sounding far more formal than he usually does. "If at all possible though, Sir, I would like the dataslate back. It might offer some more insight into what was going on. I can turn it over to the Lieutenant before I depart as evidence though in case something happens."

[Lord Magtok]

Barracks

"You're welcome," Mariya answers the doc in a huffy tone, tucking her little flashy, clashy stab-and-slashy away as she does so. There's just no satisfying some people. If one of those stupid thugs decided to break his arm after that cute little speech, he would've been crying all night about how she didn't do anything to scare the locals off instead.

[blackouttwo]

[Barracks]
_______________________________________________
Jeremiah, Lucretia, and Wintre's trip to the Barracks is brief, and they come across Goz and Mariya helping Ric and the Aliya to their feet. The Skrynners are nowhere to be found, and most of the camp has hit the hay at this point. It's likely you're going to get a similar welcome from a lot of the other Skrynners, but for now, at least they've been scared off.

It's difficult to sleep, but somehow you manage it.

Tomorrow, it's back into the field.

[Briefing Room Five]
_______________________________________________
The briefing breaks up shortly afterwards; the dataslate is turned back over to Parrish on Thruel's orders, 'pending discussion among the officers.' In other words, Parrish gets it back, but there's no telling if that'll stick after they've had time to talk about it with other officers in the 316th and the Skrynne PDF. Squad Red 19 has its objectives: Move into Ork territory, seize the refinery in question, ascertain its status, and hold it if deemed feasible.

You are dismissed from the briefing, as Sergeant Parrish goes to secure the gear.

[Quartermaster's Bunker]

A ceramite bunker with a reinforced, double width metal hatch represents the above-ground entrance to the Quartermaster’s Bunker. Parrish's first sight upon arriving is a squad of the most heavily-armed PDF First Response troopers he's seen on base since 8th Platoon landed. They allow entry upon seeing the requisition form.

Upon entry, a hydraulic lift occupies the entirety of the bunker, with a switch that allows Parrish to descend into the depths of the Quartermaster's compound.

When the lift doors re-open, Parrish finds himself in what looks like a sprawling complex that is almost certainly larger than the remainder of the above-ground base. The hum of the air circulation system, the whir of forklifts, and the clank of servitors echo constantly through spacious underground warehouses. Several servo-skulls actively patrol the row upon row of shelves filled with spare parts, weapons, and ammunition - many of the shelves are empty, but unmistakably meant for other Guard and PDF-issue weaponry no longer in circulation or storage on the Skrynne battlefronts. Black and yellow chevrons clearly delimit this area, with automated Tarantula turrets flanking the entrance to the main storehouses traversing to track and mow down would-be, unauthorized thieves.

A small side office with an open door can be seen off to the right of the entrance. Shuffling paper can be heard in the office, and the lights are on at this time of night. Encouraging.

[UncleWolf]

Quartermaster's Bunker

"Now why the frak can't the rest of the base be this well constructed and organized?" Parrish mutters under his breath when he sees all the shelves and the turrets. He'd just about bet that if there were a large scale breach in the wall the quartermaster would force everyone to fill out the paperwork in triplicate just to get heavier guns in order to defend the breach.

On the other hand he'd probably get the Orkz to sign for the damages too.

He'll head into the office and clear his throat. "I have some requisition forms, sir." He says politely no matter the man's rank. You never mess with the man who issues you your gear. It could easily spell doom the next time around if he decided to be difficult.

[blackouttwo]

[Quartermaster's Bunker]

The man behind the counter, shuffling together a stack of papers in an orderly fashion, is a hunched-over man covered in unseemly scar tissue, with a set of piercing red bionic eyes. Parrish gets the impression he's channeling pure frustration into his gaze to bore right through him.

"Eh, what? Requisi- Inbox, right side." He jabs a finger in the general direction of a small, empty plastic tray labeled 'In' across its front. Another, equally-small plastic tray is overflowing with similar forms, the label 'Out' laid across its front. As soon as Parrish lays the form into the tray, the adept reaches for the form. Apparently Parrish had to put it into the tray for him to take it at all.

"Lessee here...Form M-1223233123-95394 D." He shuffles more papers around on his desk, grabs a stray bit of paper, and hands it to Parrish. "Sign here and we'll get you sorted out."

[UncleWolf]

Quartermaster's Bunker

"Thank you, Sir." The man says after the quartermaster takes his form and requests for one signed as well. The Sergeant signs as neatly as he can to avoid giving the man any further troubles and puts it into the Inbox unless stopped. As he waits to be "sorted out", Parrish can't help but feel a rather strong sensation of dread.

[blackouttwo]

[Quartermaster's Bunker]

The form is stamped twice, once in red and then once in blue, and quickly and efficiently stuck into a file cabinet on the bottom, one of several dozen behind the adept.

He quickly prints off a ticket for Parrish, and jabs a finger towards the warehouse outside his office. "Shelf E-1415, right side, Aisle 193. Everything you need should be there. Scan that ticket at the line so the turrets don't cut you to shreds, and if you take anything else the servo-skulls will spot it and murder-servitors will be dispatched to take it back. Thank you for adhering to Departmento Munitorum procedures." The adept turns back to his apparently endless paperwork without further comment, apparently considering the matter over and done with.

[UncleWolf]

The sergeant nods and doesn't speak again, lest he interrupt the man and incur the wrath of the Quartermaster. He does exactly as instructed, making sure to scan the ticket before heading down the aisles to where his squad's gear supposedly resides.

[blackouttwo]

[Quartermaster's Bunker]

The aisle and the shelf in question aren't hard to find.

On it rest several things: One long-range vox-caster, a box of a dozen standard-issue fragmentation grenades (to be distributed among the squad), six demolition charges, and a pair of large wooden crates. The crates are unmarked, and a couple of labor servitors approach with large servo-arms prepared to help Parrish haul them out of the warehouse. If Parrish wants to take a look, it wouldn't be hard to open them. But they're definitely too large for another week's worth of rations for one squad to take up one of them. The other might be the missile launcher they were supposed to be assigned, but the crate's unmarked. Peculiar.

[UncleWolf]

Quartermaster's Bunker => Barracks

"Alright. Take it back to the barracks with me." He instructs the servitors. The crates were far too large for him to move on his own and after he gathers all the loose supplies himself, grunting under the load.

Once he gets it all to the barracks, he'll grab a crowbar in front of everyone and open the pair of crates, hoping his dread wasn't going to be proven right.

[blackouttwo]

[Barracks]

The first crate is bizarre, but unremarkable. Grav-chutes, four of them.

Why they had grav-chutes in storage on a death world that lacked the means to manufacture or deploy them was a question for the ages. The second crate is much more interesting, enough to tie knots in stomachs out of that classic, instinctive 'oh ****' reaction most humans possess on a fundamental level.

Inside is a large box, just smaller than the crate it was hiding in, jeweled markings on the lid, bearing the symbol of the Inquisition.

And the box is unlocked.

Thankfully, no one else in the barracks and common area seem to be paying attention to the find. Yet.

[UncleWolf]

Barracks

"Oh..oh frak." Parrish says, turning pale when he sees the inside of the second crate. He instantly breaks out into a sweat and reaches up with a shaky hand to wipe his eyes. When he realizes he's not just seeing things he gives a loud gulp, obviously fearful. "Commissar? I want to note that the Munitorium has given this to us and that it is our responsibility and we can't exactly take it as it is. That said, I will take full responsibility for whatever comes of this. The others had no hand in it." He explains carefully, making sure that if he's to be executed, the fault lays solely upon him. With that said, he lifts the lid of the box inside to see whats within. If he didn't do it, someone else would.

[Darkcomet]

[Barracks]

Victrix looks on in silence. The Inquisition isn't something anyone wants to be involved with if at all possible, not even a Commissar, but the Munitorium did have it, and they did decree that they would get it. If executions are called for, she's not remotely sure.

So she settles on muttering to herself, a hand on her bolt pistol in case something jumps out at them from the box or something. "...why in the necrotic, pus-spewing bloody bowels of the warp would they even have that in there..."

[Lord Magtok]

Barracks

Mariya is not getting out of bed. Oh no, definitely not, and she did not see that box with an ornate Inquisition seal on it. She knows nothing about any of this, she was facing the wall while lying in her bunk the whole time, you can't say she wasn't! She's absolutely not just wrenching her eyes shut and pretending to be asleep so nobody has any reason to shoot her later.

[blackouttwo]

A hiss of cold air from inside the box reveals the interior has been kept at a very cold temperature for a very long time. Cold, foggy air filters out of the container as the lid opens; the casket inside contains what looks like a suit of heavy armor, obviously a suit of light power armor, with no discernible markings but a coat of unmarred, gunmetal grey paint. Its shoulders mount what look like very small, unloaded missile pods. Next to the armor, the box also contains a single Eviscerator chainsword of exquisite craftsmanship - again, with no discernible markings.

Next to the various components of the suit of armor and the chainsword rests a small array of what looks like ammunition for the power armor's shoulder-mounted missile pods. No indications of what they do or what kind of munitions are contained inside the warheads, but they seem to be marked with different colors. Three sets of two pods each are laid out in the crate, one marked with red warheads, another with blue, and a third with green. Each pod contains twenty missiles.

There is absolutely no indication of what this armor is supposed to be, what pattern it is, who it was meant for, where it was made, or why it was left in a PDF supply bunker on a death world in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of Calixian civilization, in the care of a common Departmento Munitorum adept, under minimum guard, for what may have been a decade or more.

You get the impression you've either lucked out or stepped in it big time.

[UncleWolf]

"Well...we were supposed to get a missile launcher." Parrish says in disbelief as he looks at it. A moment later and he reaches in to try and find if there is any sort of note or message or anything within the box except for the power armor. "Mariya, front and center. NOW. You are the closest we got for a Heavy Weapons user." Parrish orders before looking up at the Commissar. "Unless you object?"

[Darkcomet]

The Commissar shakes her head. "She has a meltagun, the firepower would be better spread out, and it's clearly power armor. You or I would clearly do better with it, in my tactical opinion. In my practical opinion, we have no idea what those missiles are or if they even work properly, and simultaneously, the tech-adepts are going to take it once they find out, never mind the...obvious concern," she explains, rubbing her forehead. This is going to be a nightmare to deal with. "These are obvious relics, and while the Munitorium has spoken on the matter, the Mechanicus will not take kindly to us walking about with them, possibly to the point of endangering the regiment."

I have no idea what I'm doing.

[happyturtle]

Goz is sleeping through this, completely. He was up much too late Chymisting, and is still suffering jetlag transport lag.

[Murska]

Gramont has chosen to, after getting a glimpse of the container, entirely ignore the situation as unhealthy and work on tinkering on a multitool with another multitool.

[Lord Magtok]

"Sir," Mariya answers plainly, leaving her cot with remarkable speed for someone who was definitely sleeping a moment ago and definitely wasn't faking it to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of this leadership spat.

[Gullara]

The Hole

Jeremy just laughs, a short cackling sound. "That's a good one. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, let's head on down, see if we can't spot Goz. I know he's crazy, but even he oughta have left the medbay by now."

He swirls around with a flourish, bringing his arm on Lucretia's shoulders. His other hand, about to do the same to Wintre, slows down as he glances at her, and after a short moment of hesitation he just gingerly places his fingers on her shoulder, aiming to steer them out of the bar.

[The Hole - Earlier]

The psyker smiles vaguely, not sure whether she should appreciate the almost easy camaraderie or read too much into his hesitation. In either case, she's totally fine with following Jeremy's lead.

[Later]

Wintre stares at the seal of the Inquisition with unmasked terror. Everyone who knew anything at the very least had sense enough to be worried about Inquisition involvement. For a psyker growing up they were the monsters that lurked under the bed. And then when they're old enough to shine a light under to dispel the fears, well, that's when they see the real terrors.

[UncleWolf]

"Commissar, turning this back over might cause more trouble than it is worth as well." He points out. "Think about it. I'm certain this was probably not logged as "Inquisitorial Armor", so we'd have to prove we didn't get it elsewhere. And that's something we can't exactly prove. In the meantime though, we can at least see how it works and if it will help later. We can at least keep it as backup." The Sergeant explains before turning to Mariya. "Put it on and tell us if anything such as a name or the like shows up."

[Lord Magtok]

"Omnissiah forgive," Mariya mumbles, before reluctantly complying with orders. Luckily she was already out of her usual flak armor, and so didn't have to make this even more uncomfortable by stripping out of it first. Then again, maybe it's worse this way. She doesn't have any sort of delaying tactic, she's just got to get right in that power armor and hope that it doesn't have some sort of gene-lock that will instantly strike her dead.

[blackouttwo]

The power armor is easy and simple enough to put on. Aside from the shoulder-mounts for the missile pods, the loading mechanisms, and some other utilities that Mariya finds mounted on the suits arms and legs, the suit is easy enough to put on after figuring out what parts go where.

The suit seals shut with a hiss of pressurized air, and the battery mounted in the suit’s power backpack hums to life as the power armor activates.

Mariya hears a servitor-esque voice in the vox-set built into the power armor suit’s helmet as she puts it on. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnscgQK7mUY)

The suit’s helmet comes with an armored visor; to your amazement it has a hololithic projection on the inside detailing the readouts of an integrated augur array, medicae suite, and several devices mounted into the armor, most of which you can easily figure out just from glancing at certain points of the initially-dizzying array of readouts on your helmet’s HUD. Despite the initial shock of the HUD and hololithic display, getting a grasp of the HUD's readouts is easy and intuitive. You can navigate everything within a few minutes of tinkering with the display and adjust display settings according to personal preferences.

The armor comes with an integrated vox-caster, a personal diagnosticator tuned to read your vitals, an array of (currently-empty) injector rigs (presumably for combat drugs or medicine of some kind) that are currently inactive, an augur array mounted in the helmet, a sustainable power supply (ie. it never runs out of power unless the suit takes extensive damage), and a motion-predictor gunsight treated as applicable to every weapon wielded by the wearer.

The strangest part: You hear beeping over the vox. Rapid, as if trying to send a coded message. And quiet, echoing, as if being sent over a great distance.

If there's a message, you don't know what it is. And a quick check of your vox-caster readouts confirms there's no vox signals besides Guard channels and the occasional spat of partially-coded Ork transmissions.

Whatever that beeping is, it's not being sent by vox...but nothing else seems to be happening.

[Lord Magtok]

"Well, it hasn't killed me, sir." Mariya reports. There's a subtle undercurrent of fear to her statement, a lingering doubt that believes she should've finished that declaration with 'yet.' That spooky mystery signal isn't helping matters, either.

"There's a motion predictor, sir. An augur, vox...the Inquisitor used combat drug injectors, too." She sounds surprised. She just sorta assumed Inquisitors were so superhuman they'd have no use for such substances. Hrm. Maybe this suit was meant for a lowborn acolyte, instead.

[UncleWolf]

"Is there anything that might identify the owner?" Sergeant Parrish asks with a frown. This all felt too good to be true unless a catch was found. He'd still rather trade it for some more serviceable weaponry on the field, butif there was no name then this would have to do.

[Gullara]

"Do we want to know the owner?" Wintre mutters, half to herself. Maybe not knowing will shield them from any fallout from this. Or maybe she's just kidding herself.

[Darkcomet]

"Strictly speaking, as far as the Munitorum is concerned, it is ours now, at least until we're ordered to turn it over again. As far as why it's here in a PDF supply bunker? That I have no idea about, though rest assured, I fully intend to make inquiries on the matter," the Commissar says, maintaining a level tone. "But that will take a while."

She means there's a lot of paperwork.