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Thread: The Home Front - IC [M]

  1. #31
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    [*Cadian 1010th Field Army;*]
    [*2451st, 2nd Armoured Company*]
    [*Captain, Antheia*]

    +++Three Days Prior to Reclaimation+++


    Colonel Quirinus and Captain Antheia stood around a stack of crates hastily prepared into a table in 2nd companies section of the motor pool. Maps were strewn about its top, some had fallen to the floor after being cast aside for being outdated by recent intelligence.

    Gathered around them were many of the 2nd company tankers. The platoon lieutenants stood by their Captain, Marcellus was jotting down all the notes while they were going through their advance preparation. Ennius and Linus were whispering quietly to themselves and pointing, no doubt Ennius was explaining the finer details to his counterpart. Linus was a good soldier, with great instincts and initiative, but came off as more of a blunt instrument.

    Across the makeshift table was the Colonel and the regiments attached commissar Heinold. Flanked around him were his four underlings, all junior commissars undergoing their trial-by-fire. Learning the particulars on dealing with more experienced and battle-hardened Guardsmen. Solon Remus was the juniors exemplar, he graduated top of his class at the Progenium.

    "Reconnaissance elements have advised heavy resistance around the area leading to and surrounding the starport. The railhead has known active triple A and at least a hundred foot mobiles, infantry AT is unknown but expect handheld rockets or melta weapons." Colonel Quirinus briefed.

    "What about the starport?" Antheia asked.

    "The starport has been turned into a fortress, we've received word of minefields, old maps show weapon emplacements, at least another hundred foot mobiles, artillery both SPG and SPAA variants. Expect fierce resistance." Colonel Quirinus returned.

    "Any info on enemy armoured assets. Tanks? Hellhound or Russ variants?" Antheia questioned.

    "Unknown. The traitors have whatever they managed to retain from Imperial stores or produce locally after their revolution. Prepare for the worst. Rely on your attached infantry and mechanised assets, you'll be buttoned down through those streets." Advised Quirinus.

    "Nothing against our vehicle up-armouring?" Antheia jested over to My Fair Lady and the portions of scavenged armour plates welded onto Ladies own hull.

    "Do what you..." Quirinus began, before commissar Heinold cut him off by patting his hand on his shoulder.

    "We will use this as a learning experience." Heinold glanced over to his juniors. "Remember this."

    "As a representative of the department munitorum, I must mention that His holy weapons and armour are built to particular standards. For both your protection and their intended purposes. As such, each of these modifications are against regulation. You run the risk of making your suspension front heavy putting additional strain on foremost roller. The additional weight can tax the engine beyond its advised limits." Heinold's voice was cold and matter-of-fact.

    He drew his gaze to each of the 2nd company tankers. His dark brown eyes stared sternly, analysing each of their reactions. Heinold unfurled his crossed arms and straightened his belt.

    "Yet," he continued his voice becoming suddenly warm and his gaze kinder. "I am also the bridge between our two organisations. Whilst His vehicles are explicitly built to their intended purposes they must still be able to meet certain distance requirements before parts need repairs or replacing. Our life in His service can often make these thresholds impossible, so your applique could very well extend the service life of your machines. It could save your life. Then there's the psychological aspect to it, if this additional armour fills your bellies with mettle and keeps you performing in this metal then who am I to question you?"

    Heinold chuckled lightly to himself. Before he turned back to face Colonel Quirinus.

    "We've had this conversation in quiet before Colonel, but I'll make this loud and clear. I have no issue with your men and women outfitting their vehicles as they see fit. Provided it's not overly detrimental to the vehicles performance or malicious tampering to avoid doing your duties. Those caught doing so will be punished." Heinold finished.

    * * * * *

    Captain Antheia and company tech priest Maximilian verbal confrontation on un-sanctioned vehicle modifications.
    Last edited by Jarms48; 05-15-2023 at 10:16 AM.

  2. #32
    The Replicant
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    PM me for novelised versions of any of my RPs, or ones that I have participated in. Set by the awesome Karma.


  3. #33
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    [*Adrantis Republic;*]
    [*Propaganda Tour*]
    [*HERO OF THE REPUBLIC, Colonel Fenerentinus Klemens*]


    Tranch
    Patriot hive world


    From the outside, hive Fornax was a squat, ugly place. Its spires stood less tall than most, and instead of wearing the smoggy clouds around its shoulders like a cloak it merely seemed to brood under them, curled inward to avoid the freezing rain. It almost looked like it had been hammered into the ground like a vast spike, the ground cracking away from its curtain wall in a spiderweb of quarries, dumps and drainage channels that traced the arteries of its underground Soot Warrens. The Warrens comprised nearly half of the hive’s extent, or so Klemens had read; its population of mutant labourers toiling away to feed the city’s furnaces just as they had in the Imperium’s day. Here and there he could see vents and chimneys rising from the ground, their dark smoke struggling to climb against the battering rain.

    The landing pads were as dark and gloomy as the rest of the hive; caked in dark soot and chem-stains, stubbornly resisting the rain’s attempts to wash them clean. But as the rust-streaked docking claws closed over their heads and pulled the lander down into the midspire hanger, hive Fornax was transformed. Beneath the shielding canopy, endless ranks of floodlights illuminated a sprawl of hab-stacks, transit rings and buttressed towers, laid out in elegant looping patterns. Fornax shunned the grid-iron arrangement of many older hive streets, its imperial designatiae having learned millenia ago that such layouts were much harder to defend against an invading force. For once, humanity’s preoccupation with warfare had lent its cities a pleasing aesthetic.

    The descending lander platform shuddered to a halt at ground level, revealing twin ranks of honour guards and a glossy-black presidential motorcade waiting by the tunnel that led down into the hive proper. It had been governor Tierce’s idea to begin their morale-boosting tour with a procession up through the midhive, allowing ordinary workers to catch a glimpse of their heroic leader before meeting with the spire nobles. The oligarchs of Fornax had assured them that the route had been carefully barriered off, and that it was overflown along its length by eagle-eyed skull drones.

    "I promise you Governor Tierce, Colonel Tarquinius and I have thought of everything. We've seen the oligarchs’ security plans and given it the tick of approval. We have some of our own men out there too. Combat dress so polished and clean you could eat off it. I just hope the men haven't spread word of the Ferny drinking game."

    The subsector governor quirked a snowy eyebrow. “You have a drinking game, now?”

    Klemens smirked, as he moved to Tierce's flank. "They say take a shot every time old Ferny mentions one of his medals or knowing a Saint. I've heard it could be quite dangerous. Honestly, I'm flattered to get the attention." He said, his smirk turning into a warm smile as they began down the ramp and headed to the motorcade.

    Tarquinius chuckled as they walked, the smile pulling at the scars of his old soldier’s face. “I wonder if they have another drinking game for captain Tarran.”

    “Let’s hope not.” Tierce replied archly. “I need your men sober enough to actually win this war.”

    Deep down Klemens knew he was no Alicia Tarran, but he was a veteran, his decades of service earned him promotions and prestige. The once child labourer on the manufactorum line, turned guardsmen, then grenadier corporal and vox-operator, rising through the ranks to where he was now. He was humbled.

    “This old dog has many more tricks up his sleeve,” Klemens reassured his companions. “And many of these old Imperial medals need to be replaced with Adrantean ones.”

    “Take a shot.” Tarquinius noted.

    "Hey, hey," Klemens smirked. "What did we just say about being sober? We'll get our chance to play the medals game once the war is over."

    Though many of his war medals still felt heavy on him, each in Klemens’ eyes stained with the blood of friends and subordinates. The iron aquila still reminded him of Millar. The three eagle ordinary's brought him back to his sergeant and lieutenant days, drawing up his survivor’s guilt.

    The old colonel suppressed the thoughts and instead waved to the cameras. Reflection could come later; there was a populace to charm, manpower to be mustered, and a revolution to bring about. Tierce and Tarquinius stood stiffly as the flashbulbs strobed, and then allowed themselves to be ushered into the motorcade.

    “You have a way with the pictographers.” Tierce observed as the door closed, the armoured bubble of the motorcade muting all noise from outside.

    That was, Klemens supposed, true - and a point of difference between himself and both the governor and Tarquinius. And, from what he had heard, captain Tarran, who apparently never enjoyed the endless propo reels she was cajoled into starring in.

    “Heroes on the front are good, but they can die.” Tarquinius put in as he sat back. Perhaps he was worried that Klemens would take the governor’s comment as a criticism. “Heroes back home can tell stories, and they can train recruits. If anything we need more of them.”

    "You can't deny that, soldiers win wars. Not heroes. Heroes on the front tend to get themselves killed, I completely agree. While a heroic officer could be the best tactician in the galaxy, without men and women to fight for them they'll achieve nothing. Don't worry Tarquinius I understand our situation. We need support, we need men and women with lasguns in hand." Klemens returned, his smile fell away and he turned his head to look out of the motorcade's window. The smog clouds reminded him of his childhood.

    "Governor, what do you plan to do with the materials saved now we no longer need to pay the tithe? If you proposed some of the agri-goods was re-directed to the hive labourers and lower classes we could find ourselves with an influx of fresh recruits. If we show them that their lives will be better after our independence than they were under the Imperium's they'd thank us for it." Klemens stated, his gaze falling to Tierce.

    "Ultimately that's for the oligarchs to decide." Tierce replied, stroking his beard. The sub-governor had a tendency to demur to his subordinates on matters that weren't strictly military.

    "The Imperium always relied on a certain amount of poverty to attract people to the Guard." Tarquinius put in. "They might not have actively engineered it but I'm sure they were happy with the state of affairs."

    Tierce frowned. "Time for a little more carrot, perhaps, and a little less stick."

    "I know Tranch has its issues with mutants and gene purists." Klemens admitted. "To be honest, I'm not sure what we do there. We don't need another uprising to detract us from the war effort. I'm sure our propagandists have something well prepared for that."

    He knew what the Imperium would do but didn't have the heart to say it. The Imperium wasn't well known for its civil rights, even Klemens held some hatred for mutants. Like many citizens it had been drilled into him at an early age.

    "We must hope so." Tierce answered, with a non-committal frown. Announcements and morale tours he could stomach, though his view of the Adrantean propaganda department as more of a necessary evil was well known. Perhaps that was why he kept them at arms length, allowing chancellor Souvage and his ilk to put their own spin on the public discourse. The governor turned his head towards Klemens. "Say your piece, colonel, and we shall see what needs to be done next."

    * * * * *

    Klemens had given speeches before, mainly to soldiers to help put a little fire in their bellies before a major engagement. Talking to civilians was different, it required a certain subtlety. They needed recognition, needed assurance, hope to cling to. The old Colonel waited from behind the proceedings as he listened to the announcer list through Klemens achievements.

    "Iron Aquila recipient, three time Eagle Ordinary recipient, two time Bronze Imperatoris Protectus recipient, five time Infantry Assault Ribbon recipient, the Order of St. Kark recipient, his unit receiving the Ribbon Intrinsic, and double Valoris Imperator holder for his years of service. Please welcome hero of the Republic, "Uncle Ferny" Klemens!" The announcer pulled away from the podium and began clapping with the crowd.

    The announcer looked to Klemens. Fenerentinus quickly brushed his hair with his hands and adjusted his formal uniforms tie. He took a step out towards the podium, his warm smile quickly returning to his face. He waved as he approached the stand, and then wrapped his hands around the podium.

    "You know, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy to be here. Tranch, our first stop on our campaign tour and what a world you live on. Your importance hasn't been forgotten, your recognition of the Adrantis Republic has been recognised.

    Your forges provide weapons, munitions, and tools for our war effort. Your skills, sweat and hearts show in your work. I too, know what it's like working in the manufactorum lines, I was just like you when I was a child. I left my world, joined the PDF and was then drafted into the Guard.

    I still remember where I'm from, I'm proud of my background. The work was hard, the hours gruelling, but I knew I was serving a better purpose. You may think I'm just trying to pull the wool over your eyes, that I'm brushing the real issues of Tranch under the rug, but I guarantee you under the Republics rule your lives will be better. From a manufactorum worker to another, I won't forget the people who are truly responsible for fuelling this revolution. But then, why should you care what I say? Let me tell you why.

    My career spanning decades took me across segmentums. I knew an Imperial Saint, saw him die and be resurrected to fight with us once again. Saint Lehner, that beautiful soul now belongs with the Emperor. Because of him, I and the men I served with are still here today.

    His memory kept me sane after coming so close to seeing the horrors of the warp. Duty kept me going. After being in his company my life changed. I fought with distinction, earned medals and rank. Shortly afterwards my heroics were rewarded with the iron aquila, my first eagle ordinary and the rank of sergeant.

    My next campaign I was pulled out of my unit and reshuffled into another regiment. There I earned my second eagle ordinary, first and second infantry assault ribbon, and my promotion to Lieutenant. For decades the cycle continued, I never stopped fighting. The Imperium used me up, always expecting more and more. There was no right of settlement, no promise of retirement, two valoris Imperators I earned for forty years of service and no end in sight.

    My transfer to Adrantis was no accident, it's a medal I'm not proud of; the Triple Skull for a unit that has suffered at least 66% of casualties. Those brave men and women died fighting for an uncaring Imperium. An Imperium that expected me to raise a regiment of Adranteans, and also perform an audit on your worlds.

    An Imperium that expected me to keep fighting for it for decades more. I'd be earning my third Valoris Imperator shortly, and for what? Nothing.

    That's why I said no.

    I lived my life on Tephaine. I had a modest apartment, a desk job, I made friends, saw how the people of Adrantis lived their lives. I envied you, I had spent so long killing with no end in sight. I wanted to earn my place here, to earn the right for everyone to accept me as one of them.

    That's why I support the people of the Adrantis sector, the people of the Adrantis Republic. We need your support, more than ever. The Imperium wants our blood, wants revenge on our defiance. I ask for anyone to join us in the good fight, fight for freedom, fight for your home. If you can't fight, keep doing your good work in the forges, the fields, the mines. Each of you is doing your part in your own way.

    For that you have my thanks, and my blessing. From a man who served with a saint, from a man who wants to serve for the people. Ave. Ave to the Republic."
    Last edited by Jarms48; 06-10-2021 at 10:37 PM.

  4. #34
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    Perinetus Shipyard Core
    Post Liberation


    Shalter Refinery District spread as a rust red tangle of pipes, bowsers and tanks for as far as her eyes could see.
    “Don’t use your eyes.” The Princeps stern commands rattled in her brain. “You’re eyes are looking through a meter of armourglas on a swaying tower. Trust your feed.”
    Luperca swallowed and nodded. “Glycia, feed and. . . uh ground track, to the Princeps position.”
    Glycia nodded, hands fumbling with the controls of the sensoria station. Luperca’s MIU plug, freshly installed, tingled and bit at her neck. The world resolved itself in her minds eye, and she closed her eyes to better focus on the grid of green lines that sketched out Shalter in amazing detail, a wireframe model that surrounded her in all directions.
    Luperca frowned as she focused on an area to her right. “Glycia, is that heat wash? I’ve lost track on sector 7-18” She tagged the sector, which was just a jumble of garbage data.
    “Its a derrick that’s gone up. Heat wash is fiercer than matrons stick.” There was a pause, and the area resolved into hard lines and clear sight. “Better?”
    “Much.” Luperca settled back into the command throne, wriggling to get comfortable. “Naso, forward half pace.”
    “Forward half pace aye.”
    Around her, Sicut Sanguis Rosa lurched forwards, scuffing on the ferrocrete road surface slick with chemical spill.
    “Where are they. . .” Luperca muttered. “Orks don’t hide, do they? Where can they hide something as big as us?”
    A voice came over the legio comm net, stern, feminine, washed with static. “Rosa this is Flentes. Confirm sector clear?”
    “This is Rosa, sector clear Flentes. Moving to next waypoint.”
    Luperca scanned left. The hulking, brutish warlord titan Septus Viduae Flentes was a kilometer away, cutting a path along an arterial highway, weapon limbs scanning back and forth.
    “Is this it?” Glycia muttered. “Seems pretty boring for a simulation.”
    “Can it.” Luperca snapped, feeling tense. “Lina?”
    “Lively on guns as orded Luperca.” Her moderati for this run out was hunched forwards in the chin seat, watching the targetting scopes. “Dead out there.”
    Whats going on? The briefing abstract was clear. Multiple engine weight ork war-idols, hunt and destroy. Sicut Sanguis Rosa had claimed two kills in two separate duels in the real version of this practice run. Then again, how tough can orks be? The sisters had hammered home that the xenos were weak, cowardly vermin to be purged. But if they were so weak, why had the Legio deployed three maniples to Shalter alone?

    Rosa thumped down the road. Naso had gotten good quickly on the sticks, and Rosa responded smartly, its massive clawed toes gripping the ferrocrete and keeping pace with Flentes on the left, and Amor Vincit Omnia, another pugnacious warlord, on her far right, two kilometers away.
    Something loomed out of the chemical smog and heat spill, and Luperca's heart leaped into her chest as she yelled for a full stop. A platform had collapsed, massive and drunk, across the road. Levels had collapsed, others compacted, and pipelines had ruptured across its surface. Looming out of the smog, it had looked like an orkoid engine.

    "Glycia, is there no way through?" Luperca didn't want to admonish her friend again. She should have flagged that.

    "No Princeps, sorry Princeps." She sounded tired, rattled. Luperca was increasingly in her element. She felt a spike of sadness as she realised that meant Glycia was going to wash out.

    "Well, its wrecked anyway. Lina, let the maniple know we are opening fire on an obstruction."

    "Confirmed." Lina started to speak softly into the vox as Luperca picked up the slack on the weapon limbs. It felt like the silly games she had played as a child, stuffing her stick thin arms into boxes and stomping after the smaller children, pretending to be a dreadnought, or a. . .a titan. But these boxes were not empty ration packs. One was a massive gatling cannon, the other a bundle of lasers. On her back, heavy like a backpack filled with rocks, was the missile launcher. She used the lasers, pumping bars of neon death into the fallen derrick, and a few sprays of the gatler for good measure. The platform disintergrated, several throaty explosions rocking the titan as fuel and chemicals combusted under the assault, further clearing the path.

    "That was fun!" Luperca whooped, and there was a chorus of cheers and laughter from her bridge crew. Even Glycia seemed invigorated. "Half speed forward Naso."

    They stepped through the plume of smoke and falling debris, shields squealing. To their right 17-8 burned hot, throwing out waves of distortion and rolling, thick black smoke.

    Something moved.

    Luperca swung the torso right as the flames distorted, pushed aside by a shield. At first she fought a building was falling through the fires towards her, but it was all wrong. As visuals resolved, she realised they had found the ork war-idol. Or rather, it had found them first. It was a greasy mountain of pig iron, welded steel, cracked paint in a lurid camouflage pattern. A fanged maw the size of a super heavy tank leered at them.

    Glycia screamed.

    It has so many guns.

    The dozens of weapons fired at once, muzzle flash like a cascade of dying stars. Rosa's shields flickered and failed as Luperca screamed at Naso for back pace. They were at knife fight range, and she was trying, working, no, fighting with Lina to get a clear solution. They needed to retreat, because on one of its arms, rigged together from salvaged cranes, was a melee weapon the size of a baneblade. Its rotating teeth spun hungrily as the gargant thumped forwards, seemingly laughing at the school girls that had fallen into its trap.

    Luperca let Lina have the guns and shoved Naso out of the traction systems, and Rosa stepped backwards as the gargant advanced. Wreckage shifted under her feet as Rosa haltingly tried to get back. It was harder than it looked, and she willed Naso to snap out of her shock so she could take back over and Luperca could manage the failing shields.

    Too late, the shields failed with an apocalyptic bang. Glycia was still screaming as a red beam lashed out from the gargants eyes, carving a glowing scar in Rosas carapace. They were all electrocuted in sympathy, bodies locking into spasm as they shared the simulated titans pain.

    Oh god Emperor! Oh throne, save me! Luperca pleaded as she lost control of the titan thanks to the shock. Rosa stopped its retreat, swaying like it was concussed, and the gargant got closer. The visual feed let her see swarming orks on its hull, behind its gunports. Many of them seemed to readying cutting tools and grapple lines. They were a sitting target, trapped in a swaying metal box, waiting for the end.

    The gargants chain weapon swung up, then down, smashing into the upper carapace. They all screamed again in sympathy, before the screens went black, then flipped to a red back ground with simple black text

    ::MISSION FAILED. TITAN SLAIN. CREW SURVIVAL RATE >1% CHANCE::


    Luperca slumped in her chair, and resisted the urge to throw up.

    Eventually, recovered from the experience, the four girls stepped out of the simulation chamber and into the harsh floodlights of the bay. Skitarii stood nearby, but didn't react to the girls as they stumbled towards the briefing room. Another group, escorted by a priestess of the martian faith, practically ran to the simulator for their turn. Luperca wanted to warn them, but that didn't seem fair somehow. No one had warned her, after all.
    "Crew one, report to debrief. Repeat, Crew one to debrief." Speakers crackled. No one seemed to be paying them any attention as skitarii marched back and forth, and techpriests trailing gaggles of servitors went about their mysterious business. There was no one to escort them.

    "Come on." Luperca groaned, and they shuffled across the work bay. Above them the titans, the real titans, loomed like angry metal gods. She risked a glance at Rosa, and whispered a prayer to it. She had let the massive engine down.
    They reached the briefing room. Four of the awful chair and desk combination seats had been hauled in here from the foundling school and bolted down, while a blackboard had been attached to the facing wall, alongside a hololith projector. Each had a name in brass plate bolted to the back of the chair. Princeps, Moderati, Sensori, Steersman. She found her chair, the princeps chair, and sat in it. Once they were all seated, the real Princeps, the liberator of Perinetus, opened the door. They all jumped up and saluted as they had been taught, before standing to attention. For a long moment the real Princeps stared into the distance, at the wall really. For the first time since this had all begun, Luperca got a chance to look at Hange Zoerrin properly. She was kind of ordinary looking, short even, with her blond hair kept punishingly short to her skull. Her frame was mostly athletic muscle, and at this angle, Luperca had an excellent view of the extensive interface jacks that marked her as a fully augmented Princeps. Her eyes were drawn to a sprawl of lightning scars on that side of her face, that seemed to spread from her interface ports. They still looked raw. Had she been electrocuted in the battle to liberate the station?

    "So." The Princeps began. "Who would like to explain what went wrong in there?"

    Her voice was low, controlled. But Luperca could sense the threat there. She began to speak.

    "That wasn't fair! No one said the orks would hide! No one said they would ambush us!" Glycia stepped forwards, cutting over Luperca. "There was no way we could win that!"

    Zoerrin moved in a flash. Her punch laid the girl out on the floor crying in pain. She brought a boot down on the girls chest and Luperca swore she could hear Glycia's ribs creak as she leant her weight on the trainee sensori. Zoerrin peered down at Glycia like she was some particularly disgusting gobbet of shit she was scrapping of those riding boots.

    "Not fair?" The voice was still level. "No one told you?" She didn't look up as Glycia scrabbled at her boot, gasping. "Recruit Luperca! How many engines has the Legio Sirenia lost to ambush over the last millenia?"

    Luperca snapped her gaze to the blackboard and ransacked the memories of the books and inloads they had been studying between physical training, weapon handling, survival training, endless drills. . .

    "Princeps! The Legio has lost several engines to ambush! Two Warhounds to eldar engines on Hydades! One Reaver to an improvised pit dug by slaves on Formalhaut! And at least one Warlord during the inter hive civil war on Mordaxia!"

    Zoerrin nodded. "Well remembered. What does that tell you from inference, Recruit Luperca?"

    "Princeps! That engines are at risk from ambush in close confines! Especially when there is significant data noise!" She willed that Zoerrin would take her boot of Glycia's chest. The poor girls struggles had gotten weaker, her breathing degenerating into a racking cough.

    "Very good recruit! So, why the gakking hell did you walk your engine into an obvious ambush?"

    She lifted her boot of Glycia before delivering a savage kick that made the girl curl up in pain and vomit over the floor. Then she turned her attention completely to Luperca. It was like staring down the gargant again.

    "Princeps! I take full responsibility, I should have realised the gargant would hide in the burning sector. The knocked down platform created a solid place for an ambush. I didn't put that together. The loss of the engine is my responsibility."

    "No, regrettably for your crew Luperca, thats not how things work in the Legio. Each and every person in that cockpit is fully responsible for their station, and must provide the princeps with the best information and support they can, so they can make an informed decision. You did your job. You noticed the hole in your data-net and asked Glycia to patch it." A glance to Glycia who was still crumpled on the floor. "Get up recruit and stand to attention when I'm talking about you!" Unsteadily, Glycia rose to her feet, wiping spittle from her jaw, before standing to attention again. Luperca could see venemous anger burning behind the young girls eyes, but Zoerrin seemed to ignore it. "No, you all failed. You all share the blame."

    They all tensed. What was next? At the foundling school a statement like that was generally followed by a harsh punishment. The switch was a favoured instrument of discipline with the sisters that ran it. Zoerrin looked them all over, and Luperca tried not to flinch.

    "In 24 hours you will run a simulation again. A harder one. I expect you to spend the next day preparing. If you screw this one up, you're all out. Dismissed."

    They filed out. They barely noticed that waiting outside was another of the Princeps, and Sister Syles from the foundling school.

    ++++++

    "I don't think I've ever seen a worse frag-up in my life." There wasn't anywhere for an adult to sit in the briefing room, not much more than a cleared equipment store cupboard off the main hanger, so Zoerrin had put her back to the wall and slumped down to the floor, resting her arms on her knees. "They walked into a textbook ambush and got slaughtered."

    "You're trying to cram five years of combat training into a few months." Historia offered. "We had access to the best facilities, simulation tools and veteran Princeps to learn from. You can't expect them to gel into a combat capable unit in such a short space of time, with such minimal resources." she gestured, taking in the bare classroom, and the hanger beyond with its single old simulation pod. "And its not like we are working with the best candidates, culled from a dozen curated genic programs to produce the best crew possible. These are foundlings, taught in an orphanage, by retired Soritas." She glanced at Sister Syles. "No offence."

    Syles shrugged her shoulders. "No offence can be taken at the Emperors own truth." The sister leaned on one of students chairs, the desk attached to it giving a little creak. Syles looked older than either woman, and was still marked with interface plugs from her time as a front line sister of battle. Some of kind of neural degenerative disease, possibly contracted on some awful toxic battlefield, had left her unable to interface with her power armour, and left her retired and sidelined rather than slain in battle. There was a hard bitterness about her, tempered by a sense of duty to her young charges. "We've traditionally raised our girls for several roles. Either service in the navy, service in the mechanicum as a lower rung priest or technomat, or the exceptional few, who get sent to a true schola on Scintillia or Baraspine. Even so, we are underfunded and under equipped ourselves, and the best most of our girls can hope for is a berth as a cabin girl on a merchant ship or navy frigate, with the promise of advancement to juinor officer if they do well." She waved a hand in the air. "Until you came along."

    "So, was there any particular reason you felt the need to beat the snot out of Glycia when they all fragged up?" Historia interjected when Hange didn't seem to have anything else to say.

    "I need them to gel as a team, a sisterhood. The best way to do that is if they have an outsider they can rally against. The last thing I want is for Glycia to be resented as a weak link. So I had to hand out the punishment myself, before they did."

    "So they would rally against you." Syles nodded. "Classic drill sergeant. Do you think it will work?"

    "I pray so." Hange sighed, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "We need replacement crew. We need Famulous in our cockpits to learn as we fight, to make up the losses."

    "Hange. . ." Historia began.
    "Don't" Hange interrupted. "We all know the omen we saw. You've seen the losses we've taken."

    Historia didn't have a reply to that. She had seen the omen. And one of her best friends was dead.

    Hange pushed herself to her feet as the 'simulation finished' alarm sounded. Both of the Princeps hooked into the noosphere and downloaded the feed. It wasn't any better than the last group of trainees. It was, infact, possibly worse.

    Historia sighed. "My turn to play drill sergeant then?"

    Hange clapped her on the shoulder. "Put the fear of the Deus into them. I need to get meet Lorelei, get her read in."

    Hange left without another word. For a moment Syles stayed, mulling something over, then offered Historia a formal aquilla before leaving herself. Historia watched the woman leave, and watched as the beaten, dejected girls filed into the breifing room, saluted, and stood to attention.

    "Now then." She growled. "Whose fragging brilliant idea was it to plough right into a live fuel line?"

  5. #35
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    [OOC - Laurels to Dakka for his stellar work, and saintly patience with this one.]

    Kally watched Raechel leave their shared quarters with a smirk, before slumping back onto the bed. For a moment she argued with herself about trying to sleep, but she knew that she would end up staring at the ceiling.

    She drew her bolt pistol and accessed a compartment in its grip. Two rings, simple golden bands, fell into her palm, and she ran her index finger, still so new looking, round the inside of one. If her better half was here, what would he do? What would Major Crenshaw spend his time doing, alone, on a vast ship owned by a temporary ally?

    Use your time productively. Prepare, equip, and plan for the next mission. She smiled as she imagined those words in his voice, stern, but with a near undetectable edge of compassion. His way of showing he cared.

    She slipped one ring onto her finger, and the other back into the hidden compartment. With a sigh, she rolled off the overly comfortable bed and set off in search of an armoury.

    +++++

    She hooked into the outer layers of the ships noosphere, found a manifest, and moved through ship corridors and stairwells until she reached an armoury bay, deep in the ship’s guts. The marching squads of skitarii and tech priests that thronged the upper decks paid her less than no attention, forcing her to duck aside and let them pass so they didn't run her over, so it took more time than she would like to reach her objective. Finally, the codes Veiss had given her allowed her access to the bay, with its attached firing range. She ran her hands appreciatively over the racked weapons. Her mission on Perinetus had given her a healthy respect for the Mechanicus built firearms, at least the ones that didn't give you radiation poisoning. She picked up a pair of stubcarbines, loaded and checked them, whispered each gun a brief prayer, and walked onto the range. She burned through multiple magazines, dual firing the heavy, sickle magazine pistols at holographic targets, before turning back to the rack to pick up another weapon.

    “Interrogator Sonder!” Domina Veiss cheerfully exclaimed as she swept into the armory, black and white Mechanicus robes fluttering elegantly as she sashayed through the air like a high-spire couture model.

    Kally resisted the impulse to smirk as Veiss came towards her, leisurely agitating the air with a stylized metal fan. The Domina’s ceremonial robes seemed to pay less homage to the Cult than they did her lithe figure, and showcase her sculpted legs – emphasized by silver, high arched heels which made her own feet pang at the thought of being forced into those heinous torture devices masquerading as shoes.

    “I suspected I would find you here.” Veiss mildly commented. There was a slight frown from beneath her fitted, gleaming silver Baraspini mask as she appraised the chamber. It seemed that the belligerently feminine Genetor did not regularly frequent her vessel’s Skitarii armories. What a surprise…

    “Domina.” Kally responded with a slight incline of the head. She had heard Veiss enter the armoury, of course, and had guessed that she was under observation, but she let Veiss have her moment of grand-standing. Or perhaps Kally had let her wait, hovering in the arched entryway until she was ready. She was, after all, an Interrogator, so the gulf of power between them was not so vast, and it helped to remind the Domina of that. The blank hefted a heavy, long barrelled, archaic looking weapon. “My thanks for the facilities and the ride.”

    “Think nothing of it, darling.” Veiss dismissed with an airy wave and an easy smile. Kally was reminded of another Veiss with a similar smile as the Domina regarded the baroque rifle she was holding. “That would be a Transuranic Arquebus, in case you had not encountered one yet. Our Rangers use these as an anti-material sniper rifle - and as a weapon worthy of the Deus’ blessed legions, they are known for their range, precision, and efficiency.” The smile became a rather self-satisfied smirk. “Naturally.”

    “Naturally.” Kally echoed with a brief, tolerant smile, as she returned her attention to the Arquebus. She thoughtfully tested the rifle’s weight. “So, when you say anti-material rifle, what should I expect?”

    “You should expect it to make a splendid mess.” Veiss answered with a languid, offhanded shrug.

    Splendid mess.” Kally snorted, amused by the unexpectedly blasé and colorful response from a Tech-Priestess in describing the effects of holy technology. “Would that be a technical term, Magos?”

    “Perhaps not.” Veiss conceded with a mischievous grin, as she gestured towards the rifle. “Although I dare say appropriate, when the pressure wave of a depleted transuranium round puncturing through armor – and that’s vehicle armor, mind you – pulps any offending biological matter within.”

    “Huh. Neat.” Kally responded as she slowly inclined her head. She rolled the Arquebus in her hands, and envisioned that bitch Alicia being liquefied and ejected from her Nebula suit in a splendid mess. That bloody vision pleased her. She exhaled slowly and looked over at Veiss. “Okay, I think this’ll do.”

    “It would.” The Domina assured as she trailed her well-manicured nails across the rifle’s handsome; amber stained and lacquer finished woodgrain. “This rifle is of ancient Mechanicus design and crafted by my Vostroyan gunsmiths who continue a proud lineage of artisanship over ten thousand years old.”

    Brenner would’ve appreciated the rifle’s craftsmanship, but not the ammunition. Not sporting, and no trophy to collect. Kally pursed her lips as she errant thought brought on the unwelcome memory of Walt’s primal roar of despair on Saros at the loss of his family on Mooncalf, terminated by the thunder of Astartes bolters. There had been nothing splendid about his death, or what had been left of...

    “Thank you…for caring.”

    Kally exhaled and forced another smile. “No need to keep selling, Domina. You’ve convinced me.”

    “Of course I have.” Veiss blithely answered, as she effortlessly plucked the heavy rifle from her hands. The Domina continued to idly fan herself as she gently slotted the weapon back into its alcove. “While a lovely example of devotion and skill as this Arquebus may be, as your hostess and partner in this enterprise, I will have to insist you use something a little less off the rack for your next mission.”

    Kally cocked an eyebrow as the Domina turned back towards her with another self-indulgent grin, but said nothing. Veiss was as conceited as the Emperor’s entombment on the Golden Throne was long, and she was hardly being subtle about hinting at her subtle augmentations – and how dangerous she was. Kally hardly needed the reminder. She knew how fiendishly clever and devious the Mechanicus were.

    “And you’ve come here to show me what that something is.” Kally prompted, deliberately not rising to the bait and inquiring about the Domina. She crossed her arms and nodded pointedly to the door.

    “Clever girl.” Veiss mildly commented as she twirled halfway towards the hatchway.

    "Hello, clever girl." Kally remembered that bastard Arcolin’s delight at seeing her on Baraspine. She bristled at the Domina’s enigmatic smile as she double snapped her fingers to summon the help inside. This haughty bitch is an ally of that grim bastard Lucullis. She has to know about our mission history.

    The armoury door hissed open to allow a tracked, ornate servitor enter carrying a long, slim, black case.

    “Go on.” Veiss directed as she gestured for Kally to open the case. She looked insufferably pleased with herself, as if she expected the awed affirmation of a perfectly selected Emperor’s Day gift.

    Her curiosity genuinely piqued, Kally stepped up to the servitor, relieving it of its burden and placing the case on a nearby bench, before opening it. For a long moment she simply stared at the long, elegant rifle, embossed with a simple silver skull.

    “Holy Throne.” Kally breathed. “Is that?”

    “It is.” Veiss confirmed, all but purring with desire as she sauntered over to the bench. The Domina’s fanning had subtly shifted from genteel affect to deliberate effect as she admired the singular rifle.

    Kally traced her fingers down the weapons barrel. Standing slightly proud of the matte black plastek shroud were the words 'Exitus Actus Probati'.

    The ends justified the means.

    “I always wondered how he got hold of one of these damn things.”

    “You and me both, darling…” Veiss wistfully murmured as she caressed the stock as fondly as a lover’s cheek. She sighed regretfully. “That will remain a mystery, as regrettably there is nothing distinctive about the manufacture. I examined this exquisite beauty personally and thoroughly, but my own attempts to identify its forge of origin have been fruitless. No hints as to which forge is blessed with the Knowledge of its schematic. Not even the sigil of the worthy artisan privileged to craft an Exitus…”

    “And that’s not surprising, when we’re talking about the Vindicare Temple’s signature weapon.” Kally counter-pointed as her gaze settled on the humble silver skull. “Questing for that sort of Knowledge would have you on the wrong end of one of these rifles, Domina. Sooner rather than later, I’d bet.”

    Veiss hmm’d glumly as she conceded the point with a resigned tilt of the head, which came as somewhat of a surprise to Kally. In her dubious experience with the likes of Brunswick and Ghast, most Tech-Priests didn’t have the good sense to know when to show restraint – and neither did Veiss, if her wardrobe and shoes were any indication. That suspicion raised another very important question…

    “The last I knew, Arcolin’s rifle was with my friends and Lady Machairi. Secured with the rest of our evidence. Inside a Hospitaller’s convent. On Scintilla.” Kally pointedly noted as she turned towards Veiss. She raised a critical, doubtful eyebrow worthy of her Major. “How and why exactly do you have it, Domina?”

    “My, but you are a suspicious one.” Veiss chuckled lightly. She raised an archly questioning brow in response. “Is it really so difficult to envision me in a Sororita convent, Interrogator Sonder?”

    She allowed her skeptical expression and silence to speak for her. Veiss relented with an airy sigh.

    “I did not pay a social call to your mistress. It seemed imprudent, on account of dearest Natalia.” The Domina’s voice dropped a single, dangerous octave at the mention of her erstwhile relation. She touched the ball of her thumb to her fingertips with a metronomic click of elegantly manicured nails. “And assuredly the Hospitallers would disapprove of a convert from Creed to Cult in their convent.”

    “They’d be more concerned you’d try and corrupt their morals with your worldly ways.” Kally deadpanned. “And probably some of the younger sisters.”

    “As well they should.” Veiss affirmed with a devious, vulpine grin.

    Kally snorted - and then laughed as she remembered what she could remember from her night out with Kelly and Saph after Hercynia. She promised herself they would do that again, once this old business was settled, and drag Raech – and maybe a recovered Lady Machairi, out with them. “It is rather fun, I’ll give you that.”

    “I intend to find out.” Veiss confidently answered. The Domina did not acknowledge her reflexive what exactly do you mean by that glance, merely smirking enigmatically as she covetously regarded the Exitus. “When I learned of this magnificent specimen’s existence…an instrument of divine retribution…well, I could hardly leave it languishing in your mistress’ evidence locker.”

    “Lucullis acquired it for you.” Kally reasoned, and wondered what the deal was between them.

    “I was quite insistent…and Feyd was quite intractable, as is his way.” Veiss huffed, exasperated by the memory as she turned to Kally. “Persistent woman that I am, the dear boy relented - albeit only on the condition that you would have the opportunity to use the Exitus, if you so choose.”

    “Why work against your own interests and actually make the offer?” Kally asked, with another Crenshaw-grade skeptically raised eyebrow. “No offense, Domina Veiss, but I barely know you and know enough to know that doesn’t sound like a you move.”

    “I make exceptions for Feyd Lucullus.” Veiss opaquely responded. She paused, and thoughtfully chewed on the corner of her bottom lip as she regarded the peerless rifle. “And I will admit…it would be the very height of divine comedy if the heretic’s weapon was used to put his heretic sister in the ground.”

    For a moment, Kally was tempted to demand the opposite. Toss the hateful thing in a crucible, melt it down, and destroy its taint forever. How many innocents, how many friends, had Arcolin killed with this rifle?

    Too many.

    Instead she picked up the gun, balanced it in one hand. She tested the trigger, and the grip, pulled the sight up to her eye. Quested towards it with her new bionics and found it waiting, eager to begin.

    “I'll need it calibrated.” She finally said, severing the connection to Arcolin’s erstwhile weapon as she set it into its case. She glanced askance at Veiss. “I'm guessing you already have my biometrics on file.”

    The Domina wryly batted her eyelashes as she leisurely fanned herself.

    Kally grunted impassively, unsurprised in the slightest. Her eyes flicked back to the rifle, the Exitus rifle. Her hands traced across the words pressed into the barrel shroud.

    “These words are wrong. The ends don't always justify the means. Not here, not in this war. The Patriot’s ends will not justify anything they have done or will do. I doubt, in the final adding up, ours will either. Can you change them?”

    “What did you have in mind?”

    Kally thought for a moment.

    “Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum.”

    “Let justice be done. . .” Veiss began.

    “Even if the heavens fall.” Kally finished.

    The Domina traced her tongue along her lips, savoring the vengeful words as if they were a fine wine. She thoughtfully regarded the Exitus for a moment, and smiled. “Yes, I think we can manage that.”

    Veiss flicked a slender wrist and her elegantly backswept fan closed with the breathy, modulated hiss of monomolecular blades sliding seamlessly across one another. The Domina set the intricately engraved trinket on the table, and Kally could faintly hear her offer a binharic blessing while she slowly circled the skull embossment with the sacred cogwheel of her order. She finished her prayer and slowly closed the anonymous case – albeit after soothing the foam which enveloped the Exitus with maternal fussiness.

    Kally fleetingly wondered how motherly the Domina was towards her stupidly gorgeous son, and whether that would cause a problem for Raech – assuming she could convince her new friend to embrace her inner baseline and pursue his (probably mathematically) perfectly sculpted arse. Throne knows she was going to try. Raech deserved something for herself in all this.

    If only Kelly and Saph were here to assist…

    “I will admit, I am actually rather pleased you decided to use this marvelous instrument.” Veiss confided as she reverently lifted the Exitus case from the table. She gently placed it in her attendant servitor’s outstretched arms. It had awaited its mistress with the patience reserved for the lobotomized. “In your eminently capable hands, I have no doubt this weapon’s abused machine spirit will be redeemed.”

    “Very generous of you to say, Domina.”

    “Quite.” Veiss distractedly agreed, as she examined her reflection in the mechanical slave’s polished silver mask. She nodded to herself, and almost affectionately brushed the back of her fingertips across its jawline. “After all, I am a firm believer in second chances. Penitence is a blessed virtue of our faiths.”

    Bitch.

    “Now, I will next ask you to report to a biologis lab.” Veiss continued, dismissing her servitor with an imperious nudge of its cheek with the back of her hand. The Domina turned to regard the Interrogator once more, and crinkled her delicate nose. “Where we shall also need to give you a proper rad scrub, young lady, after all your playing around with radium weapons down in that heretek’s hidey-hole.”

    “Playing around isn’t how I’d describe Perinetus…” Kally muttered, idly checking herself to ensure she wasn’t any more mutated than usual. Lacking any pseudopods, she raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

    “Darling, you are positively glowing.” The Domina confided and then raised her hand to forestall any further questions. “You are within acceptable parameters of radium exposure for militant disagreements between us of the Cult, and by the time your body has been cleansed you will also have a freshly synthesized batch of Cortizokal II.”

    Kally briefly thought to enquire about acceptable parameters of radium exposure, and then didn’t. “I have a supply. . .”

    Veiss cocked an immaculate eyebrow behind the geometric lattice of her faith mask. “In pill form.”

    Kally let herself smile. “I'd appreciate that.” She tore her eyes away from the rifles case, and met Veiss even gaze. “You've seen work like this before?”

    “Three times. You, those lovely cyborgs the Sirena use as Titan guards, and on the world of its birth, distant Macarro. As you have recently come to appreciate, Macarro is a unique forge amongst the Mechanicus. She is constantly seeking to balance the aesthetic against the needs of the flesh and the demands of the metal, and when I was there - a few years ago, of course - a very young, naive priestess was assigned to show me their fleshworks.” Veiss hummed appreciatively, and Kally felt her augments buzz as Veiss interrogated them. “And you have got her stamp all over you.”

    “She's lived an interesting life since then.” Kally felt . . .naked. More naked than when she was actually naked. She fought down her outrage. She didn't have much room to complain about her generous host, and couldn't afford to piss her off. “But she's doing well for herself.”

    “I would be surprised if you said she were not - and may she enjoy what she has, while she has it.” Veiss responded, with a studious evenness on the implicit subject of Zerlinda Ghast. The Domina exhaled, and smiled as she drifted forwards, placing a hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “Now, is there anything else you need? I believe we have the present needs of Interrogator Sonder well taken care of…but what about those of Kally the woman? You surely must be in dire need of distraction.”

    “I wouldn't be adverse to a good hard massage, and a bottle of something you could clean silver ware with. Good alcohol is wasted on me.”

    “Wonderful. I never abhor a heathen…at least when it comes to my guest’s taste in alcohol.” Veiss mused, and favored her with a surprisingly warm smile. “I have just the thing for you, my dear. Once you have been set to rights, I shall have a quartet of my finest work awaiting you - all handsome, athletic and well-endowed men who will cater to your every whim and desire until you are thoroughly contented.”

    “Oh, um. . . .” Kally nervously laughed. “I don’t -”

    “Of course, of course. How presumptuous of me.” Veiss exhaled and nodded with sage understanding. “Let us make that a quartet of beautiful, athletic and voluptuous women to attend to your pleasure.”

    “Uh, that’s not -” Kally stammered, dumbfounded.

    “Not enough?” Veiss queried. She affectionately pinched her cheek with an indulgent chuckle. “Very well, conquering heroine - you shall have free reign of my harem.” The Domina smiled brightly. “You have my personal assurance that my concubines are most satisfactory in their performance.”

    Domina Veiss!” Kally firmly interrupted as she gently removed Veiss hand with her own, her right, the one with her ring. “I'm very happily married.”

    “Well, that is certainly not a problem.” Veiss chuckled and reassuringly, if slightly patronizingly, patted her hand as she swished past. The Domina intertwined her delicate fingers in emulation of the cog, and unfurled them towards the idled holographic projector that she had been using. “Behold.”

    The digitized, humanoid target sharpened in definition, and seemed to solidify as it advanced towards them. Kally narrowed her eyes suspiciously as the stilted gait shifted into a fluid, purposeful stalk. She felt a tightness in her chest as the generic silhouette became undeniably masculine, clad in the beginnings of an officer’s formal dress uniform and coat. She stifled a gasp as the target’s blank visage formed into the achingly familiar broad, hard angled features and impatient scowl of her blank.

    Kally shot a hard glare which Veiss declined to acknowledge. She merely hummed another antique melodies as she conjured the facsimile of her husband. Her slight smirk as she worked told Kally all she needed to know, as the tempo of the priestess’ arcane gestures increased into a dramatic flourish and a clap of her hands.

    Voila!” The Domina crowed, as the cogitator-generated Crenshaw burst into color and came to attention before her with a silent click of his heels. Veiss elegantly quarter turned towards Kally, hands clasped against her bosom. Her smile was perfect, gleaming and devastatingly pleased with herself.

    Kally ignored the other woman as she wordlessly stared at the lifelike projected image of Crenshaw. It stared back at her. It was uncanny, almost disturbingly so, in its accuracy...and the way it seemed to be actually regarding her. She was reminded of the last time she saw him, on their wedding night…waiting for her at the altar…receding in the mirror as he watched her be whisked away by Ghast’s grav-limo...

    “You knew I was married to Crenshaw.” Kally stated, quietly, when she found the will to speak.

    “I am familiar with the concept and traditions of marriage, yes.” Veiss acknowledged, with an arch tilt of her head. “Major Crenshaw was an extrapolation, but hardly a deductive leap of faith. The statistical probability of your spouse having been anyone other than him was breathtakingly miniscule.”

    Kally briefly considered asking who else she had calculated as her spouse, and then promptly thought better of heading down that Ambull warren with Veiss. She didn’t need to know that sort of sanity sizzling speculation, so instead promptingly cleared her throat. “So…why the projection?”

    “You are supposed to be an Interrogator.” Veiss chided playfully, as she gestured grandly towards the hologram. “I am offering to modify one of my boys to look, and feel, just like your distant husband.”

    Kally lost her train of thought for a second, and then realised her jaw was hanging open. The Domina seemed oblivious to her shock, as she thoughtfully tapped a manicured fingertip against her bottom lip.

    “Octavius Epsilon, I should think.” Veiss concluded, after the evidently required moment to inventory and review her stable. “He would be the closest match of complexion and physique – quite prodigious, naturally,” The Domina regarded her with an appraising side-glance as she spoke, “robust enough to take a determined womanhandling, and vigorous enough to give a decisive manhandling in turn.”

    Oh Emperor, protect me from temptation, and meddling priests.

    “No shame or judgment from me, darling.” Veiss assured with a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder. “I will need your insight before I begin the work - so as to assure authenticity, of course - but when I am finished?” The Domina smiled winningly at her. “I promise that you will not know the difference.”

    Kally stared at the artificial Crenshaw as she bit back her first, reflexive response. She focused on its eyes, and how they vacantly stared through her. Only once, before she introduced herself and her blankness to Crenshaw, had he ever looked at her without something in his eyes. Anger, concern, desire, frustration…heartbreak…love. Domina Veiss’ work would never be that good.

    “I would.” Kally responded, as firmly as she dared.

    “I can reduce his endowment as much as is necessary.” Veiss retorted with an innocent expression.

    Bitch. Kally narrowed her eyes at the Domina, who grinned. She took a slow, deep breath, and suppressed the urge to draw one of her holstered weapons.

    “It’s not about the physical. It’s about the spiritual. We swore oaths of loyalty, and I would know, even if he never would, that I wasn't faithful to him. I couldn't betray him like that. I couldn't betray myself.”

    “Ah, the preciousness of young love.” Veiss cooed, with enough hint of cynicism that Kally could feel her hackles raise. The Domina must have noticed, as she smiled mollifyingly. “While I believe you do believe in your marriage, and your man, dear girl…I cannot help but conclude that you are being a trifle naïve.”

    “Oh, and how to do you figure that?” Kally challenged, purely on reflex.

    “Your husband has returned to the cold, unsentimental and utilitarian embrace of the Telepathica.” The Domina said with the assurance of fact. “I have consulted for them in the past. Dreadful, dreary bunch, in all honesty - although not without a commendable, if bureaucratic, instinct towards efficiency.” Veiss paused, and quirked a questioning brow. “You are aware they have a blank breeding programme, yes?”

    “I am aware.” Kally kept her tone even.

    “Major Crenshaw has precisely the attributes the Telepathica seeks to cultivate, and he has been under their chain of command for months now.” Veiss calculated with a thoughtful frown. “It would be a near certainty that he would have been assigned, and obliged to fulfil, that duty for his Telepathica masters.”

    “I trust that my husband would make the correct decision, whatever the circumstances. That's why I'm his wife.”

    “What a loyal wife you are, Kally Sonder.” The Domina responded, with an almost pitying expression behind her intricate faith mask. “However, my dear, we are talking the basics of mammalian biology. Your husband may be as loyal as you are to him…but what is a fragile, fallible and irrational construct such as marriage against hardwired instinct, when a stud stallion is presented with a fertile filly?”

    “With all due respect, Domina.” Kally ground out through nearly gritted teeth. “You don't know him like I do.” She nearly said something else, but she felt that the Domina would mock her for it.

    There is a difference between love, and being a sperm donor.

    “Of course, darling. Of course…” Veiss placatingly soothed, although Kally noticed the tech-priestess’ eyes as they unsubtly studied nullifying collar around her neck. “Although, by that same coin, you do not have my experience with men.”

    Few do, Domina. Kally thought, with a twitch of her eye as she resisted the impulse to say it. The Domina intuited the nature of her wordless barb, and shrugged unashamedly in response to the blank’s critique of the breadth and depth of her unconventional Knowledge.

    “You do know how likely your husband is to step out on you, the moment he is given the excuse to do so?” Veiss rhetorically asked, and dismissively flicked her hand as she answered. “That is just how the other half of the species are, dear.”

    “In your experience, sure.” Kally calmly, and challengingly retorted.

    The Domina momentarily seemed to go completely still in the air, and Kally saw the other woman’s cloyingly sympathetic expression twist viciously beneath the geometric lattice of her mask. Veiss took a slow, deep breath and touched her thumbs to fingertips with a metronomic click-click of well-manicured nails. She composed herself into a tight-lipped scowl, and then an impassive mask as she turned. Kally could see in the Domina’s hardened eyes that she had touched a raw – and probably ancient – nerve.

    In my experience,” Veiss echoed, and Kally could almost hear the flaying silica on the incoming wind as her Baraspini accent became more pronounced, “I have noticed the reactions men have to a woman augmented and rejuvenated to her idealized beauty. Some, usually those who are edging towards the twilight of their lives, are invigorated to have a gorgeous, younger woman hanging adoringly on their arm – a living, breathing feminine trophy to fortify their failing, fragile masculinity.”

    The Domina exhaled a derisive, ugly chuckle as she hitched a tight, venomous smile.

    “Others, typically those men who have matured into their biological prime…or have begun their natural, inevitable decline,” Veiss continued, as she deliberately examined the hologram of Crenshaw and then met Kally’s eyes, “I have noticed that the perfected, youthful female can make them feel…old.”

    Kally tilted her head back, a sneer crossing her face.

    “Is that experience talking again, or just how you feel around your harem?”

    The Domina’s eyes widened as she inhaled sharply at Kally’s accusation, before she began to laugh. She floated higher as her mocking, mellifluous laughter continued to peal through the armory, until she trailed off with a breathy and calculatedly, condescendingly high-noted sigh of amusement.

    “Experience, my dear girl.” The Domina responded haughtily, as she returned Kally’s sneer from above and grandly held out her arms with palms raised to showcase her splendor. “Do I appear to be in the twilight of my life?” The question was again rhetorical, as the tech-priestess scoffed. “By the standards of the Mechanicus, and the Genetors, I am barely coming into the prime of my existence.”

    “Hard to tell, with all that work you’ve done on yourself over the years.”

    “Vanity is a foundational trait of the species.” Veiss countered, with another apathetic shrug. She smiled, slowly and knowingly down at the blank. “And you are one to talk on that front, young lady.”

    “I did it for Crenshaw.” Kally countered, defiantly crossing her arms. There was the twinge of a lie behind it though. She hated to admit that Veiss was even a little bit right. It felt good to have all the old scars and pains washed away.

    “You may tell yourself that the refined, sleek and sexy new you was for your husband’s benefit…but that would be same husband you must have all but left at the altar, after you exchanged your rings and vows, to have your business work done - and be recovered and acclimated enough to their function, and have the time to infiltrate Perinetus and complete your mission. If my estimates are correct, of course.”

    The Domina raised a challenging eyebrow, and smirked as Kally wordlessly ground her teeth.

    “Hardly a strictly for your husband’s benefit decision, after all.” Veiss continued, with a rich chuckle and a self-congratulatory clap of her hands. She smiled understandingly at Kally, and dismissively flicked her wrist. “Again, no shame or judgment. Why should you not have treated yourself to a fabulous, refreshed body when you had the opportunity to do so? Your husband should consider himself fortunate, to enjoy the fringe benefits of your augmentation.” The Domina shot her a conspiratorial, suggestive look. “Although that is also to your benefit – as well it should always be, darling.”

    “I did it for our future together, after all this grox-shit is finally finished.” Kally answered determinedly, and almost pityingly shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand, Domina Veiss, because for all your intellect and wealth, you can’t comprehend being selfless or tolerate having an equal partner. Maybe that’s why nobody worthwhile has wanted to share their life, let alone lifetimes, with you?”

    There was another twitch under the mask, and Kally felt a little surge of pride at having stung the Domina a little. And a little surge of fear over what she might decide to do about that as Veiss descended with stately dignity, belied by the subtly ominous rhythmic clicking of her nails.

    “I would tell you how slim the odds are of you surviving - at least with some measure of functionality, that is – your personal quest for vengeance.” Veiss calmly stated, before she exhaled a light breath which verged on being a chuckle. She smiled faintly. “However, I expect that you would confidently declare - against all evidence to the contrary - that you will survive and live happily ever after.”

    “You’re damn right.”

    “If anyone were to defy the odds, Kally Sonder, I would not be surprised in the least if it were you.” Veiss complimented, with a conceding nod towards the Interrogator. Her almost beatific smile became a sad, commiserating frown as her eyes purposefully flicked over towards the digitized Crenshaw. “However, have you considered how the death of your husband would impact your happily ever after life?”

    Kally’s glimmer of pride fell away as she glanced back to the hologram of her husband. The arm was the wrong colour, the hand protruding out of the uniform sleeve a matt black rather than a pale grey. There were bags under his eyes, and a subtle tension his familiar scowl. She noticed an obvious slump to his shoulders, once she mentally compared the hologram against her memory. This wasn't a simulation built from archived data or Nebula propaganda. . .

    “Wait, this is from the Imperium. Its local pict capture data?”

    “Your husband’s notoriety is not reserved to the Nebula.” The Domina hummed thoughtfully. “Nor are his enemies."

    “When, and where, was this taken?”

    <I believe you have the capability to answer your own questions, darling.>

    She reached out with her bionics and interrogated the files. The time stamps were clear and easy to read, standard administratum data marks telling her time, location and. . .purpose.

    “A tribunal, presided by Adept Primus Myondo Dee.”

    “Yes, there were quite a number of tribunals - and accordingly, quite a number of executions – since the Nebula’s secession. The usual charges, making political points, and no doubt some score settling under the color of authority.” Veiss commented offhandedly, before she seemingly casually glanced over and noticed Kally’s tension. “Oh, fret not, dear. I can assure you that your loving husband is quite alive.”

    Kally let out a breath in relief. The whole idea had brought her own trial back on Terra back into sharp relief. She narrowed her eyes at Veiss, getting tired of the Domina's games.

    “You know where he is. Tell me.” Her tone brooked absolutely no argument.

    The Domina exhaled a soft, almost petulant huff as she relented and answered. “Major Crenshaw is presently on Baraspine. Naturally, he was deployed with the first wave to secure Hive Alda.”

    "Frontline on a hive assault? Holy Throne."

    “Where else did you expect your man to be, dear girl?” Veiss saccharinely crooned, with a reinvigorated glimmer of mirth in her eyes that Kally had come to despise. “Did you envision him in some intelligencer’s office on Scintilla, where his greatest threats were from papercuts and hot recaff, and his hardships limited to enduring an unergonomic chair for hours upon hours in tedious meetings?”

    “Crenshaw was as likely to be behind the lines as on them.” Kally muttered defensively, with a pulse of guilt as she looked at the deep shadows of sleep deprivation around Crenshaw’s eyes. She knew as well as Veiss that her argument was weak against the obvious counterpoint, but for her part the Domina merely acknowledged it with lingering glance between her and the hologram – and an indistinct hum.

    “He was involved in the capture of Kephistron Altis starport, although was not involved in direct action – undoubtedly to your relief.” Veiss elaborated, with a dry deadpan as she allowed Kally to catch her breath. “My little birds confirmed that your husband was a firm advocate for minimizing civilian casualties in the assault, and managed to negotiate the surrender of the last Divinatory Guard holdouts. He also orchestrated a dignified, orderly processing of the combatants and non-combatants taken as prisoners by the Imperial Guard – which would have gone some way in rehabilitating his terrible reputation…if the Patriot propagandists were not all but guaranteed to twist those facts, of course.”

    Kally agreed with the Domina’s assessment of the traitor’s troll farmers with a flat, displeased grunt. I will make the Nebula burn. That's what the Nebula propaganda mill had latched on to in most of their anti-Imperial screeds she had seen featuring Crenshaw. They had neatly edited out the first part, If Kally dies, which she thought was actually rather gallant.

    “Far be it from me, Domina, to presume much about the intricacies of interstellar travel, but we are actually going to Baraspine right now. Have you really been trying to fob me off with vat-grown when real meat is on the menu?”

    “My meat is the genuine article, dear – merely elevated to its full, potent potential.” Veiss countered quickly, even as she louchely shrugged off Kally’s accusation with an unsubtle, wickedly indulgent grin. “But why not savor a little of both? You know what they say about cake, after all.”

    It goes right to my hips? Kally resisted the urge to roll her eyes, as an idea suddenly bubbled up from her brain.

    “Well, I suppose Hive Alda will be a good place for a honeymoon.” She turned from the Domina and returned her attention to the static, digitized copy of her husband, noting that the servitor had trundled away at some point during their argument, rifle in tow. “We'll get a nice little midhive hotel, have plenty of alone time, reconnect over good food. . .”

    “You would choose to honeymoon in Alda - and mid-hive, at that?” Veiss queried with an effusive scoff, as if the notion were truly the most preposterous thing she ever heard. “Surely you cannot be serious, darling.”

    Kally wasn't looking at the Domina, but could imagine her face under the mask. She decided not to answer the question, turning instead to look at the racked weapons as if the conversation was now over, and allowed a laden pause to fill the armory. She detected an edge of trepidation in Veiss’ voice, when the tech-priestess spoke again. “Are you being serious?”

    “I blew most of my money on bracing my bones in carbon polymer and Crenshaw’s never been on the take from the likes of your late relation, Natalia.” Kally stated, more or less truthfully.

    She smirked to herself as she heard the telltale click of Domina’s nails striking together again, and the hiss of disgust at the mere mention of dearest Natalia. Kally shrugged with studied obliviousness. She wasn’t interested in discovering what had so badly dented Mariyana Veiss. She was going to exploit that damage, to her and Crenshaw’s advantage, as compensation for her digs at their marriage, and her husband’s manhood.

    “Mid hive is about all either of us can afford.”

    “The lamentable truth is Baraspine woefully lacks in charm and style, Alda especially so – and that was before being extensively damaged by the invasion and during the resistance. I have seen the so-called ‘reconstruction efforts’ which the Patriots undoubtedly had their traitorous hands in.” Veiss sighed as she continued her critique. “Mid-hive is even more a disenchanting, brutalist eyesore than it was before. I can assure you, darling, you would see nothing but monolithic, monotone monuments to mediocrity rendered in reinforced ferrocrete – all, no doubt, built to serve as redoubts.”

    “We won’t keep the curtains open long enough to admire the view, Domina.” Kally asserted with a confident grin, and smiled genuinely as she remembered Hercynia – and imagined how her younger self would react, if told she’d fall in love with and propose to her conveniently impulsive, soulless fling. “Why knock a fortress-like hotel? Our first time together was on a Telepathica firebase, after all…”

    …of course, it would have been…” The Domina mildly commented in the lull.

    “Crenshaw will be reminded as well, and aren’t I going to be one very lucky girl.” Kally answered, almost purring to defend her husband’s honor. She chuckled to herself, actually enjoying the processes of positioning the Domina more than she expected. “So far, I’m not hearing any downside to my plan.”

    “You are presuming, dear girl, that you will actually find an intact – or at least structurally sound – hotel, after the reclamation. There are few genuine military targets within the spires – cannot have the nobility being endangered by orbital strikes, after all – so, naturally, that leaves the lower sections to have been bombarded by the Navy, and the rubble ground to dust underneath the Guard’s armored regiments.”

    Veiss counter-pointed, with an airy sense of dismissal. Kally bristled as she noticed the Domina’s absent sense of concern for – or even thought about - the millions of civilians who had endured the Imperial invasion alongside the traitorous PDF, and Throne knew how many thousands who hadn’t survived.

    “Let us presume you do find some homely hostel in which to commemorate and consummate your marriage…we are talking about mid-hive Alda.” She belabored her point, as if Kally were considering taking a carnodon cub as a hab-pet rather than where to honeymoon. “The hotels in the commercia districts are so…gauche.” She sighed exasperatedly, after struggling to find the right insult. “Cheap, pale imitations of the establishments of their social betters -”

    “We’ve never had much time for the airs and graces of high society.” Kally bluntly dismissed.

    “Obviously.” Veiss huffed. “Deus, the commercia districts…they are the greatest sin – aside from the usual ones, of course - made manifest. Boring. One could be forgiven for presuming that Baraspine were some benighted, uncultured frontier world where everything was prefabricated and airdropped into position – and honestly, how could you have a honeymoon worth remembering in a place like that?"

    “We only need each other to make it memorable.” Kally riposted, certain she could hear the Domina’s caustic, sarcastic eyeroll at her romantic declaration.

    “What would be memorable is how horrid your dinner would be.” Veiss countered, persistent in her excoriation. “The menu would be lackluster in the extreme, as one must expect that any epicurean delights – foreign sourced, naturally – worthy of such an august occasion are well off the market. No doubt purchased by Patriots of taste – if only in dining – with the means and foresight to acquire before their little rebellion, which is now undoubtedly being confiscated for use by the Imperial military - high command, of course.”

    “What we have for dinner isn’t going to be the highlight of our honeymoon.” Kally lightly commented, as she continued to naysay. “After all, it only needs to be a breather and intake of calories and electrolytes to burn between rounds. You surely couldn’t argue against the efficiency of an MRE for that, Domina.”

    Veiss made a quiet, strangled noise as Kally’s logical argument preempted an argument.

    “It’ll work for us.” Kally affirmed, and figured she had Veiss almost on the hook. She pulled a carbine from the wall, still not looking at Mari, and checked it over. “When we got married, on Scintilla, it was downhive.”

    The Domina’s instinctive, mortified gasp nearly had Kally burst out laughing as it echoed loudly through the chamber.

    “You poor dear, that must have been - ”

    “Perfect.” Kally interrupted, definitively. “It was absolutely perfect.”

    "I cannot imagine it could have been, surrounded in all that filth – ”

    Perfect.” Kally reiterated, with a searingly cold glance over her shoulder as she set the carbine down with a deliberate clunk.

    “I suppose that makes mid-hive Alda a comparative upgrade.” The Domina responded disdainfully, with an honest-to-the-Emperor judgmental sniff. She shrugged, and began to turn away. “Your honeymoon, darling.”

    “Well, unless you can do better, Domina?” Kally turned and leaned against the table, nonchalant again.

    “Without question.” Veiss countered, clearly annoyed by the question. “Very well. I shall secure you a suite in one of the grand hotels up-hive, and provide an actually worthy meal from the Triumph’s stores. Regrettably, that is about the best you should expect on Baraspine.”

    “You know, Domina, it really sounds like you can't provide a better honeymoon than one I can cook up myself.”

    “You would turn down at least a modicum of culture and taste for a tacky, low rent honeymoon?” The Domina snidely questioned, and disbelievingly shook her head. “Was being surrounded by blight, crime and disgusting poor people on your wedding day not misery enough?”

    “Suite in a grand hotel and a fixation on some fancy meal?” Kally hmm’d with a scrunched, dubious expression. “That’s not us. That’s the generic, off the rack honeymoon I’d expect to hear from an inexperienced spire heiress.” She steadily met and held the other woman’s eyes. “Boring.”

    The Domina inhaled deeply in shock at Kally’s grievous accusation, her eyes burning as the flawless skin underneath her faith mask flushed with her outrage in shades of distinctly un-Martian red. The priestess actually descended to the deck, and stalked forward with menacing clicks of her heels.

    “Okay, you little bitch, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Veiss spat, her haughty spire-born diction and propriety vanishing with her viscerally emotional reaction. Her eyes were alight with outraged fury as she came face to face with Kally. “I’m going to provide you and your husband with such a honeymoon, that your lowbred ancestors will weep tears of jealousy from their place at the Emperor’s table.”

    “I sure hope there’s some steak with all that sizzle.”

    The Domina chuckled low in her throat at Kally’s persistent audacity.

    “Your descendants will sing songs of my generosity - and there will be a plethora of them, make no mistake - because after that night, you will completely own your loving husband – mind, body, and soullessness. It’ll only take one meaningful glance, one intense look – by the Deus, even the slightest memory of that night - and he’ll be hard and ready to have you, any way he can take you.”

    “Bold words.”

    “Adamantium-clad fact.” Veiss all but hissed, as she starkly regarded the Interrogator. “Once I'm done pampering and dressing you, no man, not even a highly sensitive telepath with his eyes plucked out, would be able to resist you. There will never be another honeymoon like it, my dear – and you’ll both always remember it as the best night of your soulless lives, or my name isn’t Mariyana Augustina Macharia Helena Petronella Veiss.”

    Kally resisted the urge to laugh. Veiss had laid it on thick. “That's more like it. I'm eager to hear what you have planned, Domina.”

    “Of course you are, darling.” She responded with another devious, vulpine grin.
    Last edited by PaintSerf; 10-18-2021 at 03:40 AM.

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    112th Krieg Mechanized Regiment – Live Fire Training Drills

    An abandoned cityscape was the perfect place to set the regiments drills after their operation, Commissar Valkyr thought. She was standing on the roof of one of the more intact buildings with other higher officers and observing the troops and chimeras below going through movement drills, room clearing drills, and street fighting with improvised targets. The snap of Lucuis-pattern rifles was a familiar and comforting noise to the woman and served to ease the beating of her heavy heart and the weight upon her mind. Their losses in the operation of retake the starport had been within acceptable parameters but it still got to her at times. She thought of the point in her future where she would be able to let down her arms, allow them to collect dust while she left the battlefield behind and knowing that none of these men and women would ever get that. Peace and war were one in the same for them and such thoughts reminded her that no matter how she took to heart their view on sacrifice she would never be one of them.

    Even if she died alongside them.

    Hidden among the ruins of upper floors were figures in metallic masks moving in desperate silence so as not to alert the auspex of the Imperials below. This detachment of Divinatory Guard had retreated to his location hoping to regroup with others and perhaps plan something of a counterattack or at least some sabotage. But now they were trapped with a full regiment of those gasmask-wearing monsters rumbling through the streets. At first the idea of them training had gotten the hopes up of their greatcoat clad leader but that hope was shattered upon hearing live lasfire cracking. Of course these faceless freaks would train with live ammunition which meant those Chimeras were fully armed as well.
    “We don't have the ordinance to deal with those machines,” the Div leader said quietly to his gathered troops. “But we aren't trapped. Together we know the layout of these streets better than these invaders. Attack and move is our game. Pick our shots for officers of any kind and maybe we can disrupt them enough to find an opening to get the hell out of here.”

    “And if we can't?” asked one of the masked troops.

    “Then we die like true Patriots, brother.”

    They split up and moved as fast as they dared, tracking the Chimeras movements and picking out decent positions for their designated marksmen to hold. It was a desperate move but desperation was all they had left. The Patriots just hoped desperation would not fully take hold and cause their will to crumble. Especially in the face of such a foe.

    One young man had his eye fixed through the scope of his longlas, following a command Chimera whose officer was poked out of. His hands were sweating in his gloves and his mouth kept going dry. His nerves were keeping him from shooting at the moving target but then the column stopped! He would not get a better chance...

    Down below in the streets, Watchmaster Alpha stood with his upper body from the access port of his command Chimera to better direct his troops and assess the field. These drills had been done thousands of times but there was something about this one that had Alpha on edge. There was something tugging at his senses as a soldier.

    “Company hold,” he said into the vox. “Defensive stances and eyes up.”

    “Did you see something?” asked one of the troopers riding along the Chimera's hull.

    “Not exactly. Just a strange feeling...”

    The trooper stood up to get down just as the CRACK of a longlas filled the air. Perhaps it was some awful twist of fate but he stood up just in time to take the lasbolt through his head in place of Alpha. The Watchmaster immediately ducked into the Chimera and slammed the hatch shut. “Sniper!” he barked into the vox. “All companies be advised we have hostiles in the ruins!”

    “Did he just say hostiles?” Valkyr asked as the command vox crackled as well.

    “So much for just shooting dummies,” quipped a Major designated Five before he picked up the vox. “Roger that, Alpha. All units we are now in a combat situation. Unknown number of hostiles. Sweep all areas and exterminate these rats.”

    The turret of Alpha's Storm Chimera spun around and ripped a volley of autocannon fire through the building the shot came from. The young sniper never stood a chance as his body was crushed to paste under the rubble of the collapsing floors as a whole section of the former tenement building fell upon itself.

    Commissar Valkyr dashed to the stairwell heading down from the roof. The exercise had just become real and her boys and girls needed her with them rather than separated with command. Traitors now invested their target ground and it caused a strange...thrill...to run through her body that she would never have experienced before joining the Death Korp.

    She was changing even more now. Would she be able to keep hold of herself...
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    Spoiler: Coseflame, Part 1 


    Spoiler: Coseflame, Part 2 
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    [*Sarusian Reclamation Force;*]
    [*7th Regiment, 4nd Artillery Company*]
    [*Colonel, Willibrood *]

    +++Immediately Prior to Starport Assault+++

    The artillerymen of the Sarusian 7th Royal Artillery Regiment, 4th company, sat around on munition boxes and sandbags. The were smoking, eating, bickering, and waiting for new orders. The unlucky ones stood around their machines, looking the instruments over and checking their barrels for wear and tear. The majority of them we’re shirtless, their work required hard labour and heavy lifting, despite the abysmal weather on this world. Several medics and combat first aiders ran to and forth, demanding the troops to put back on their kit. Extreme exposure could increase their infirmary rates. None of them cared, covered in sweat and detesting this god-awful war.

    Their way of life was different, it was peaceful... Fair. The world of Sarus had managed to maintain their own autonomy at a cost, forced to pay triple tithes for men and materials. With a figurative gun pointed at their head, they had no other choice, it was freedom at a cost or devastation. The spin doctors had tried to frame their independence as a reward for beating back an Ork horde, an enemy never faced before in Sarusian history. The upper echelons of the Imperium even had the gall to even frame it as their idea, stating how the planet was run was purely in the hands of its planetary governor. That they could be as free as they liked, as long as they paid their dues and recognised their planet as part of the Imperium.

    The truth was different. The Imperium, whilst reluctant to leave did so after massive religious purges. Book burnings, reconditioning, and disappearances had become come place before their departure. What was left of the local Sarusian religions and pantheons was less than a single percentage of the population. Their gods and deities replaced with the Emperor and His honoured servants. Cultures were lost, and its populace afraid. The politicians did what they could, wresting control back into the hands of the Sarusian people and industry. It was a rare occurrence across the Imperium where the pen was mightier than sword. Giacomenni, the planetary labour union representative, had a hard task at reforming the Sarusian labour laws. The introduction of servitors had seen a huge productivity boost for local industry but the workers had been made worse off because of it. In the immediate aftermath of the wet-wares introduction many went to the PDF, it was better to fight than starve.

    Willibrood himself had been a victim of it. His father spirited away, his own job prospects amounting to nothing. At the detest of his wife he joined the PDF. Years of train and exercises. Proving himself worthy. Living up to his fathers image. Rising through the ranks to bring a better life for his family. He shook away the thought. Willibrood sat at his desk studying the maps in his temporary tarp office hastily erected at their staging ground. After their last barrage they had the luxury of a 30 minute lull in the fighting. He had seized this time to have his men change their barrels, check their ammo and relax until their next orders arrived.

    He sighed. Willibrood had never expected to fight his fellow man. Whilst Sarus was no stranger to wars of politics, land and resources it hadn’t had a major war in over 200 years. It also wasn’t what they were promised. During transit they were shown many of the enemies of the Imperium, aliens, monsters. He couldn’t believe it. Was the whole universe at war with humanity?

    The Lieutenant Colonel ran into Willibroods office with a box operator in tow. The Colonel could read the mans face, orders had arrived.

    “What’s the situation?” The Colonel asked.

    “We’re supporting the Imperial advance into the Kephistron Altis starport. I hear that place is a fortress, they need our expertise.” The Lt Col returned.

    “Hear my orders.” Willibrood stood up from his desk. Grabbed his cup of recaf and headed out of the tent. “Get everyone on alert. We need coordinates for immediate barrage.”

    Willibrood motioned over to his command staff, the vox operator was already signalling him over.

    “This is Captain Antheia of the Cadian 2451st RTR, 2nd Company. Do you copy, over?”

    The Colonel grasped at the comm piece. The Lt Col and Willibrood's command staff looked at him while listening into the communique.

    “We copy. Sarusian 7th RAR. You have 4th Company on station. Colonel Willibrood making initial contact. Do you want complete target saturation?”

    “Negative, Colonel. Command wants the starport intact. We need cover and for you to dislodge enemy."

    “Alba phosphoro and HE, rodger. None of the big stuff. We’ll keep you safe. 4th Company is your attaché, give them coordinates and they’ll begin bombardment. Over.”

    “Thanks Colonel, put me through to the Captain and I’ll give him targets.”

    Willibrood handed the receiver back to the vox operator.

    "You heard her. I want Captain Copenhagen to have his men ready in the next 5 minutes. Time on target barrage. Coordinated fire. High X and Alba mix. Copy?"

    "Yes sir, it will be done."

    * * * * *

    "Orders and coordinates received, copy." Copenhagen said over the comms.

    Captain Leon sat seated in his command chimera, vehicle regimental vox in hand. His own command staff waiting outside. The Captain changed the dials to his wireless set to company frequency.

    "Captain to all batteries, Captain to all batteries. Orders have been received, coordinates being sent to your dataslates. Saturation wide, we're blowing apart a minefield to clear a way for the starport assault. HE initial, Abla secondary, then creeping barrage leading forward elements. Fire mission is a go. Repeat fire mission is a go." Leon ordered.

    Leon hung up the vox and walked down the rear ramp of his vehicle. His command squad falling behind him. Around them the men of 4th company were already springing into action. Basilisk drivers and hull gunners hauled ammo from the stores to their vehicles, passing shells to their gun crews. Loaders slammed breaches and gunners hassled with their firing controls. Banter and jokes fell away, a tone of seriousness washed over everyone.

    Guns raised in elevation. NCO's waiting for the command to fire from their lieutenants. Leon instinctively brought his hands to the sides of his helmet, an additional layer of ear protection. It was about to get loud. Lieutenants barked their orders. The guns roared. Huge blooms of smoke bellowed from barrels. Guns recoiled and Basilisks jolted against the force. Plumes of dust kicked off the ground in front of them.

    Immediately the loaders set to work preparing for their guns to fire again. Clearing the breach of the empty casing then grabbing a fresh shell from their peers. They rammed it home, the company only a couple of seconds from unison. The gunners readjusted their fire. Spamming their boots on the foot triggers. Their guns thudding again.

    Leon brought his hands from his ears. That instinctive nature fallen away to training. He walked through the batteries, glancing to each of his vehicles continually shutter after every shot. His vox operator keeping close to him in case of new orders. After this fire mission was over typical operation was to shoot and scoot, the Sarusians still had no updates as to whether enemy counter battery assets were still in operation.

    “Get regimental on the horn and see if we have new positions to move to after this attack.” Leon commanded.

    “Yes sir.” The vox operator returned, before following out his orders.
    Last edited by Jarms48; 05-15-2023 at 11:27 AM.

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