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Thread: [M] War in the Dirt - Imperials IC

  1. #71
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    Spoiler: Haven kill team - Starport assault 
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  2. #72
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    "Hold steady men. Two of you watch the door, the rest of us let's remove these explosives, and turn them to a more... appropriate task. Also Hans see if you can't un wire any of these for later, never know when we might need an extra bit of kick. "
    Jens and his men set to their work. Their first task being to ensure no charges could be set off before the could 'collect' the explosives for later.

    "Jens what are you thinking we do with these? There's no way we could get this much past the others." One of the guardsmen asked. Harper was his name. Younger man, probably of Cadian descent.
    Jens turned from his work.
    "Well trooper we're going to bundle as much of this up as we can. Move it somewhere more to our liking. And give those bastards out there a nasty shock. And if we have the Emperor's own golden luck with us, we'll actually survive."
    This seemed to placate the younger guardsman for now. And the group turned back to their delicate task. Each man holding his breath and working through the nest of wires and explosives.




    "Life before death,
    Strength before weakness,
    Journey before destination."
    -The First Ideal

  3. #73
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    WIP – Gerry POV

    In regards to his PTSD, as well as Schenke and Janie.

    + + + + +

    “Come on, into cover!” Captain Quintana called out; half turned as he shouted over his shoulder for all his worth to his assault group. He emphatically gestured towards another improvised barricade of armored containers, barrels, crates as he followed his own order. “Come on! Move, move, move!”

    Quintana whirled back around and brought his borrowed assault las to his shoulder, and fired a tight burst into the back of a sprawled-out traitor. The body was faceplanted in-between a deactivated servohauler and its trailer train of armored containers, one ankle hooked over the towing spar which hitched them together. The body shuddered at the impacts, but otherwise remained still and soundless – unlike everything else at Kephistron Altis, as the Imperial and Divinatory Guards tore into one another.

    Enrique exhaled as he surged into cover behind the blocky machine. Granger had cautioned about Divs playing dead for ambushes, and Alpha had advised of a suicide bomber leaping from a building onto a Chimera. In the latter case, for the sake of his sanity, he had decided not to try and determine if the Kriegan had considered that a challenge to be bested. He was merely relieved to have avoided his own personal demonstration of the Baraspini’s fanaticism and proclivity for improvised explosives.

    So far. Quintana quickly checked himself as he watched his section of the mixed-regimental assault group pile into the ad-hoc cover. He tried not imagine some antsy Patsy, sweat stippling their brow behind an expressionless faith mask, hunkered down in the grim ferrocrete structure ahead, nervously licking their lip as the Imperial Guard viced down on their position, with a trembling finger on the detonator to enough hi-ex to have his entire assault force standing in formation before the Throne in the blink of an eye – awaiting a mere, curt order to do it - but failed spectacularly. He sighed.

    The Guard began to exchange fire with the Patriots occupying the terminal outworks. Aside from the heavy weapons, it was long range, speculative shots with the rifles of either side. The Baraspini had deliberately left a coverless kill zone between this last redoubt and the fortified terminal. Quintana considered its effectiveness well proven by the number of dead Divs in the open, the unlucky stragglers cut down by his men - and women, he promptly reminded himself – as the combined Imperial infantry and armor assault hounded their withdrawal from the northern district into a harried flight.

    We can’t stay here. Quintana determined with another leery eye at along the barricade. Even if the Addies – the bad Addies…traitorous Adranteans, he caught and corrected himself with a mental sigh and another yearning pang to have his humble sergeant’s stripes back – hadn’t packed any explosives into their defensive line, they had undoubtedly pre-ranged their mortars to land behind the Imperial invaders who took the position. Cut us off, and force us to flee into their guns. Big, fat kill.

    “Need a minute?” Quintana offhandedly asked his vox-operator. He already knew the answer.

    Schmitt interrupted her blasphemous benedictions to the machine spirit to give him an affirmative sounding grunt, while she persisted in her percussive maintenance of her temperamental vox-rig.

    “Take all the time you need.” He magnanimously deadpanned back. Frak the Munitorum.

    Quintana gritted his teeth, gritty with the damned silica of the mounting storm – to say nothing of what was being kicked up by the storm of the Emperor’s vengeance the crusade had brought with them – as the hauler rocked by the staggered impacts of an autocannon. He frowned as the agitation revealed that the dead Div’s hooked leg was detached from the rest of the body at the knee. At least the frakker was dead when I killed him. Quintana consoled himself, as he stopped agitatedly bouncing his own knee.

    “It’s alive!” Schmitt called out, after her coarsest curse and most vigorous smack with the heel of her hand to the vox’s case. There was a brief, disenchanted cheer from the nearby legionaries.

    “Thank you, Adept Schmitt.” Quintana quipped, which his vox-operator brushed off with a dismissive waive as she listened with scrunched brow concentration to the Imperial band. “What’s the situation?”

    “Kriegan CO reports they’ve cleared the ATC tower,” Schmitt answered, and as was tradition, her muttered editorial commentary - ‘Literally, if those Div’s being defenestrated was anything to go by’ – which, as was tradition, Quintana did not acknowledge as he waited for the full rundown. “Tresnjak reports the Corrisul have breached the Div’s defenses at the landing pads. His mob and the dismounted Kriegan infantry are on sweep and clear while their Chimeras overrun the traitor arty.”

    “You sure that weren’t run over the traitor arty?” The question, with what sounded like a Siculite accent to Quintana’s still-learning ears, came from one of the legionaries in the section hunkered down behind the adjoining container as he ducked back into cover and reloaded his rifle. Quintana tried, and failed, not to sigh as he considered how half the infantry weapons in his assault force were all but idle.

    “If you have to ask, you haven’t been paying attention!” The answer came from a fellow Prosperan, Quintana could immediately tell, as she leaned out of cover to take over for her Adrantean colleague.

    “Less talk, more shoot!” Their sergeant concluded with a clinical bluntness that Quintana appreciated. He acknowledged the NCO with a thumb’s up - but if the expression on his face was anything to go by, the affirmative gesture only confused the Tranchite. If they’re soldiering well together, the rest will all sort itself out in time. I hope. He sighed, again, and turned to Schmitt. Less think, more do.

    “Any word from the Havenites in the terminal?”

    No sooner had Quintana asked, and Quintana was answered by a flash of light and ferocious roar which had him convinced for one equal parts fleeting and eternal moment of all consuming, existential horror that the antsy Patsy had not, in actuality, been a figment of his overactive imagination. He and his assault force had just been blinked out of existence, and were imminently about to be standing in formation before the Throne – until the moment afterwards, when the earth was actually shaking beneath him, that he registered the explosion had come from behind the Div’s outworks.

    “Frak!” Quintana shouted, unheard even by himself over the deafening aftermath of the detonation.

    The first sound Quintana could hear, when he could hear again, was cheering. Unlike the umpteenth time Schmitt was obliged to beat her vox back to life, there was much rejoicing from the Loyal Legion. Their shouts and whoops were echoed by their Callistian and Casterian comrades on the line, in time with the overlapping cascade secondary explosions as Baraspini munitions cooked off spectacularly.

    Explosions aplenty like it’s frakking Foundation Day… Quintana found himself laughing and smiling at the thought of his home hive’s annual fireworks display. His eyes scrunched slightly with the bright flashes as he heard the explosions become a more synchronized, rolling drumbeat. The Havenites were evidently avid practitioners of the ancient Guard proverb of ‘There’s no such thing as overkill’.

    “The word is pyrotechnic, sir.” Schmitt quipped, like the smartass she was.

    “Well...it beats the shit out of impasse.” Quintana exhaled dryly, and reached for the vox-mic.

    + + + + +

    WIP – Crenshaw POV

    In regards to calling for the starport garrison’s surrender.

  4. #74
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    Spoiler: 100th Adrantean infantry, 112th Kriegan mechanised, 2451st Cadian armoured 


    Spoiler: Aftermath 1 - The Casterian Objective 


    Spoiler: Aftermath 2 - Auto da Fe 
    Spoiler: My RP links 

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


  5. #75
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    Spoiler: The Marksman’s Point of View 


    Spoiler: Front Towards Enemy 
    Last edited by PaintSerf; 08-30-2022 at 05:30 AM.

  6. #76
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    Spoiler: Auto-da-fe aftermath 


    Spoiler: Campaign 2 preview 
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 10-26-2021 at 02:06 PM.
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  7. #77
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    “And where, pray, have you been during this ‘debacle,’ Colonel Dunov?”

    Colonel Reichenbach stank of death and ash. His uniform was still singed from glancing lasfire and spattered with dust, dirt, and dried blood. His face was unseen behind his standard-issue Kriegan gasmask but his cold anger could be heard through the mask all the same. He had taken his measure of Dunov rather quickly and found it distasteful to him. The man’s uniform was far too fresh and clean unlike the rest of his fellow commanders in attendance

    “To a degree, all of us here can account for one another’s presence during the battle. But I cannot recall where you were, Colonel. From my view, you have yet to shed blood on the field with us so I will ask you to keep your unwanted opinions about this successful operation to yourself. And if you have nothing constructive to add to this meeting, excuse yourself to do…whatever it was that kept you away until now.”

    To cap it off, Colonel Reichenbach gave a small dismissive wave to the newly arrived Colonel. Under normal circumstances, Comissar Valkyr would be around to keep the large man’s temper in check but she had her own post-battle duties to attend to. Plus, he and Dunov were of equal ranking, so he had no reservations speaking to the man as an equal. Well, as much as a Kriegan would consider any other soldier an equal.
    Hit me up on discord: Mags#3126
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  8. #78
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    Spoiler: Aftermath 1 - The Casterian objective 
    Spoiler: My RP links 

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


  9. #79
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    Colonel Worthington-Jones had allowed herself a slight, restrained frown as the Colonel of the Casterian Eighty-Fifth disparaged their regiments efforts in securing Kephistron Altis. Her frown only deepened as Dunov made his true grievance with their operation known, when he insisted the starport had been exclusively the Casterian objective. So, he was one of those officers. How wonderful.

    Grace made no effort to intercede as her Kriegan colleague directly and unsparingly responded to the insult. She could not help but wonder, as she regarded the neatly arrayed combat ribbons on the Casterian aristocrat’s immaculate dress uniform, where Dunov would have placed the medal he had obviously convinced himself they had deprived him of by securing the Casterian objective.

    The frown etched onto Grace’s face reached its steepest point as Dunov insulted Reichenbach and the Kriegan method of warfare. Whatever one’s perspective on the Kriegan’s Cult of Sacrifice, it seemed to Grace a touch suicidal of the Casterian – and ironic, given his slander of delusional martyrdom – to be so intemperate with his words to a senior officer of the Death Korps without their Commissar present.

    “I’m not your Commissar.” Colonel Worthington-Jones’ brow knitted as the thought of Bridgette Valkyr reminded her of their conversation on those secluded stairs at the railhead. She shivered slightly as she could smell the sweetness of the fruit Bridgette had been eating, and the feel the warmth of the other woman’s breath on her skin, her lush lips provocatively close to her ear. “But I could be.”

    Grace sniffed sharply as the clamor of Dunov petulant outburst brought her out of the torturously, tempting and completely forbidden memory. She almost felt obliged to thank the Casterian for the timely distraction, while she once again guiltily fidgeted with her marriage band behind her back.

    Then a competent Guard regiment would have secured this starport without destroying half of it!” Dunov thundered. “I tell you now, sir, I will not be lectured by some Kriegan who thinks the only way to lead is to shoot every Patriot himself, and who clearly has no regard for the warmaster’s plan - for my plan!”

    “And we, sir, will not be lectured by an officer who has taken leave of his composure and objectivity.” Grace responded, coolly and firmly, as she laid down the aristocratic gauntlet against the irate Casterian. She was quite done with this insufferable man’s belligerent airing of grievances. “The fact of the matter is that no plan – even those of Warmaster Caiser – ever survives hostile contact.”

    “You are welcome to join us as Colonel Reichenbach has offered, Colonel Dunov.” Grace continued, with the faintest edge of dryness to her tone, as she offered an open-handed invitation towards the briefing table. “We can discuss the Kephistron Altis operation, frankly and forthrightly, and address any of the professional concerns you have raised. We will not, however, indulge any further discussion of your personal complaints. We all have disappointments, and must all shoulder our burdens accordingly.”

    She held the gesture, and marginally raised an eyebrow.

    “If those terms are unacceptable to you, Colonel Dunov?” Grace queried rhetorically, as she smoothly swept her hand towards the Casterian and his idling Chimera outside. “Then I bid you a good day, sir.”

  10. #80
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    Spoiler: Aftermath 1 - The Casterian objective 
    Spoiler: My RP links 

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


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