Cormaeg merely harrumphs at Jankins cheek, more than willing to allow a little banter now that the conflict seems to be on a low burn.
Instead he marches in step with the Lt.
As he walks, he makes sure to slot in a fresh charge pack into his rifle, replacing the one that was down to nearly one third charge.
Never hurts to be ready...
"If your current pack is down to less than 50%, replace them now troopers, I don't want to find anyone running dry if we meet another group of stragglers."
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The other Longknives trooper shoots Jankins a skeptical look. "It's Collis actually, no "n". And the fight has been..." he glances as Lt. Shulbut, who has yet to glance left or right, or slacken his determined stride. Collis looks back at Jankins and shrugs. "...messy. The front isn't a line so much as a string of fortified bases, we mount regular patrols into the forests but the xenos have been pushing us hard lately. The depot's got a battalion's worth of us here, plus the natives and few of them pretty flyboys, but after a couple of months of regular raids I doubt there's more than three platoons' worth of unwounded here. You lot showing up means we get a break."
On the other side of you, Berk chuckles wickedly. "They've had a big numbers advantage o'er us in troops, in vehicles, air power, everything except orbital support. Now that you bunch are here, we can whip 'em for sure!"
Axel folows to where the initial 'landing' took place. He was not really equiped or trained to do all this walking about and shooting things. But he was here. He best do the best he could under the current cercmstances
-Posted with Wayfinder
Cormaeg harrumphs again.
"You held the line, against superior numbers.
That in itself is commendable.
It may not be much of R&R at the front line, but you've earned a brief reprieve."
Motivating people was somewhat new for Sergeant MacCammon, so he attempted to use the blunt method.
Movano mimes vomiting at Jankins nurse comment, but otherwise listens to the sergeant talk.
Locke keeps point as instructed, he can be heard murmuring to himself sometimes, a few laughs to himself that no one else seems to get. Still carrying his trusted Hellgun, he always prefers it to the standard issue, especially after the poor showing at the LZ encounter.
Cormaeg sighs a little to himself.
What a squad, Carno wasn't enough, I have to have another joker in my squad.
Black is an unknown quality, that could be a problem...
Locke seems to be a typical Stormtrooper...
At least Morvano is a steady sort.
Well, to be fair, Jankins and Locke does follow orders, and fight well.
Black seems to have potential as well.
Deciding that perhaps the officers might like to be forewarned, Cormaeg attempts to hail Lt. Bremmen on the microbead.
"Lieutenant Bremmen sir, are you there sir?"
"Sir, we rendezvoused with the garrison at flak tower seven.
On the way there we had an altercation with a small band of xenos, no survivors for them and no causalities for our side.
The tower is secure, and we are currently escorting the officer in charge, a Lieutenant Shulbut of the 44th Brontian Longknives.
He wishes to meet with you or the captain if available."
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"Noted, bring him to me at the lander. Situation seems to be in hand, your squad can make themselves useful by helping to unload the platoon's supplies and clean-up. I'll expect an after-action report from you tomorrow."
As you arrive back at the LZ the place is abuzz with activity. Dozens of human & servitor service-crew members are visible--some are already picking over the damaged lander, under the direction of a pair of red-robed Engineseers. Others are busily gathering up shards of shattered plascrete from your lander's rough landing, and another crew can be seen hastily attempting to repair the damaged wall section, the flash of las-cutters visible even at this distance.
Lieutenant Bremen is seated on a metal footlocker next to the lander's off-ramp, his splinted leg sticking out awkwardly. Lt. Shulblut immediately heads his way and two converse in low voices.
All around the lander off-ramp are stacks of crates; every few seconds two members of your platoon exit the lander carrying a crate between them, then head back up only to be replaced by a another pair a few seconds later. A pair of trucks identical to the ones you fought the orks by idle by the stack of crates, while an impatient-looking woman waves you over. This is Sergeant Doria Shultz of Lt. Bremen's command squad.
"Sgt. MacCammon, nice to see your team in good form. Medi-truck picked up our wounded about ten minutes ago so I need more hands. Sooner you help us get these loaded up the sooner we can all get to our billets."
Movano shrugs and gets to work.
Cormaeg comes to attention as he is addressed.
Normally not someone given to self-aggrandisements, he feels that this is a good chance to maybe start a trend that might give his squad some small amount of respect.
"First in the field and last out of it Sgt. Shultz, that's the motto of Cormaegs Carnivs."
Giving Sgt. Shultz a salute, he turns to the others in the squad.
"You heard, we have new orders, no time to rest until the job is finished.
Let's see those rifles slung and those crates loaded."
Sam sets down the heavy rocket launcher, and takes up two crates instead while sniggering at Cormaegs self-appraisal all the way in and out of the lander.
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You get the impression that Sgt. Schultz is fighting down laughter as she waves you towards the trucks. The next several hours are filled with manual labor, and as the sun sets and the last truckload of of crates rolls away your platoon is lined up and marched off down the street.
The feeble shine of primitive gas lights show you a base that has seen a lot of wear and tear. Many of the buildings have mismatched paint or sections built of differing materials--a clear sign of hasty repairs made many times. The bulk of the non-military staff you see are servitors, and the Brontian Longknives you pass are easy to identify with their elaborate scarring and expressions of grim determination.
More alarming are the soldiers you take to be native Skrynnes. They wear clunky-looking armor consisting of scraps of flak-plate reinforced by what looks like bone and reptilian hide, and almost to a man they bear the lost, haunted expression of one who has seen their world torn apart.
Your billets are another series of large warehouse-looking building, where three floors of bunks sit a few blocks down from the mess-hall. Your company is assigned to the second floor, with a metal footlocker that fits beneath each bed.
Seeing as there is no more tasks at hand, Cormaeg order his troops to take it easy.
He himself has things left to do, first to find the armoury, so he can replace the used items from his standard kit, secondly to write a decent after action report for Lt. Bremmen.
After they finally are released of their duties, "Heavy" falls unto his bed with crushing force and a long and soundy "Ahhhhhh. Sack time!" which is nearly immediately followed by resounding snoring.
Zora stands by watching amazed as the big man falls asleep in mere seconds, then kicks him awake again, pointing at the still loaded rocket launcher and his bloodied uniform with several holes in them.
"Ehh, whatisitzora ... bed sharing 'gain?"
This results in another kick and finally Sam rises again, grumpily secures the heavy weapon in the locker under his bed, removes his bloody uniform - letting it drop to the floor beside his bed - then falls back to the bed in his underwear. The whole process had taken no more than a minute and causes Zora to shake her head in disbelieve but shortly after the too falls asleep after stowing the last of her equip neatly in the locker and cleanup up herself.
Adahlia is clearly flagging after hours of labour, she doesn't like to show weakness in front of the men, but she's smaller and weaker than most of the men, and she's feeling the hard work.
Forcing herself to properly stow her gear and check with the sergeant before hitting her bunk, she feels like she's running on willpower alone.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Locke doesn't waste much time finding a place to rest. While it seems everyone else has a companion, Thomas prefers the solitude. He hates when people interrupt him when he's talking to himself. Before sleep he takes meticulous care of his weapons and makes sure his charge back pack is full. He doesn't even bother pulling off his armor, just ends up crashing in the most comfortable looking place that he finds.
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Supply Depot Gamma-29
The depot consist about about forty building, mostly warehouses for supplies and barracks for the soldiers and employees. As mentioned before, most of these buildings have visible minor battle damage or sport obvious & hurried repairs. Key sites include:
1. Administrative Offices. These buildings are the headquarters of the Munitorium bigwigs and as such are strictly off-limits to the rank-and-file. The command and control center for the depot's servitor-slaved Hydra turrets, long-range auspex recievers, and other defenses are hear as well, so the Longknives' ranking officers spend a good deal of time here.
2. Barracks. These three-story buildings appear to built mainly from local woods, with the exteriors then covered by a layer of plasteel--especially on the rooftops. The barracks have the luxury of running water in each building--with a full shower facility in a smaller building off to the side. There's also a five small private rooms for each platoon commander, and a meeting room that can house up to twenty individuals if they squeeze.
3. "The Hole." This rough square canvass tent--measuring 25 meters to a side--hears a crudely painted sign out front proclaiming its name. This is the recreation tent for enlisted guardsmen, and is only open from one hour sunset to four hours past. Once a week soldiers are given a chit that entitles them to one drink a night. Enlisted officers are never found there, and the Longknives' Commissar keeps his cadet busy by posting her outside the tent while its open to break up any altercations before they can get ugly. The atmosphere is generally friendly--the drinkers are watered, and there's usually a couple of amateur local musicians busking in the corner. Naturally, there's a thriving market in chits that ebbs and flows as the guard- and patrol-shifts come up.
4. The Chapel. The Ecclesiarchy's lone outpost in Gamma-29, this standalone wooden building is maintained by two missionaries and a priest, and services are held twice daily--just after sunrise and just before sunset--which are almost always well-attended. The interior is clean and well-kept, with dozens of devotional painting and quotes in flowing script upon the walls. One of the chapel's minders is on duty at all times to tend to any soldiers' religious needs.
5. The Medicium. Consisting of two link barracks buildings, this facility includes six hundred beds for injured soldiers, whose pained groans nearly drown out the beeping and whirring of life-support devices keeping them from receiving the Emperor's final blessing. The site also includes a surgical area and a small pharmacium, though the attendant medicae take a dim view of "field butchers" trying to pilfer their stocks.
6. Mess Hall. This building would look just like the other barracks' structures--if it had any walls besides the makeshift panelling shielding the actual kitchen. Hundreds of tables are lined up in orderly rows and the place is always open to accommodate the constantly rotating shifts of soldiers. The open structure provides little to nothing in the way of protection from the elements, and the local soldiers readily explain that the previous mess hall took several direct hits from an Ork field gun of some sort, and there has never been time or resources to build an adequate replacement.
7. Motor Pool. A series of corrugated steel structures situated near the landing strip, the motor pool stores & services all of the depot's vehicles, including aircraft. Most of these are unarmored supply trucks converted from civilian models, but the depot can also field a number of Chimera APCs, unarmred Aquila landers, and even has a few mothballed local-system vehicle marks dubbed "Wolfhounds"--armored cars brandishing either an autocannon or twin-linked heavy stubbers.
8. Quartermaster. A ceramite bunker with a reinforced, double-width hatch serves as the depots' depot. Gun-servitors, veteran guardsmen, and auto-turrets guard this bunker at all times. Upon entry, a hydraulic lift carries soldiers down over 25 meters into the main bunker complex. This area is a sprawling complex almost certainly larger than the depot above by a good margin--though exactly how big is a secret. Unless given a special dispensation Guardsmen are limited to the Quartermaster's offices, though the hum of air circulators and the clank or forklifts and servitors are audible even here. Black-and-yellow lines demarcate the off-limits areas, and servo-skulls carefully monitor the facility at all hours.
Prior to your arrival, the backbone of the garrison was a full battalion of Brontian Longknives--four hundred fighting troops, at least on paper. In reality, you learn from conversations with the other grunts that repeated assaults by xenos have left just over a third of the battalion KIA or requiring intensive care, and most of the rest are walking wounded. You spot quite a few bandages, casts, and even clunky cybernetic limbs amongst these soldiers.
Supporting the Longknives are the local PDF & militia forces, about 250 combatants in total. These troops wear a mishmash of flak-plates that appear to have been scavenged and breastplates made from the hide and bones that you surmise belong to notorious local beasts.
Next come the infamous "flyboys," as they are derisively known by the Brontian regulars. These men and women are retainers of the Rouge Trader dynasty of House Gibrahim, on loan to local theater commanders. Here in the supply depot they number only sixty, but with ten Valkyries they're an indispensable part of the base's defense and they know it. To hear the Longknives grumble, their ties to a Rogue Trader household means they get the best food, the best lodging, the best equipment, and a sneering superiority complex.
The rest of the base consists of an indeterminate number of local & Munitorium personnel in addition to the ubiquitous servitors. Discounting the latter you'd guess that there's about half thousand noncombatant personnel servicing the vehicles, managing the supply warehouses, and doing other necessary work for any military force.
While you weren't able to see anything during your approach by bulk lander, the jungle has been cut and burned back to a distance of about 1km by regular sweeps of infantry. This is, in fact, the most common job that takes a guardsman outside the compound walls. The "roads" leading to and from Gamma-29 to the other nearby bases are little more that torn-up muddy paths, as the ork raids are too frequent for a more permanent construction.
Regular longer-range patrols are also mounted to try and prevent larger ork bands from getting the drop on the depot. Search-and-destroy missions are not uncommon, but usually given to the glory-hound flyboys. There's a couple of nasty beasts out there, but it seems like the orks have been hunting the nastiest to near-extinction.
Shortly after breakfast, Cormaeg will head to the quartermasters office to refill his kit.
Assuming all goes well, he will then go and track Lt. Bremmen to give his after action report.
He will make a special note of any Storm troopers (to avoid) and any commissars (to avoid like the plague).
-Posted with Wayfinder
Sam will keep thing calm (mostly to qualify for a bar-ticket quickly), going to the church at the evening hours, doing PE and cleaning up his weapons.
The next morning he will go to the quartermaster asking for a replacement rocket and tries to get at least one or two krak missiles to use against Ork vehicles should they ever encounter one.
If given time he will talk to the natives about the big game creatures in the jungle, hoping for a good story to retell (grossly exaggerated) to his buddies in the regiment at a later time.
Despite or maybe because of his boisterous nature, the locals seem to keep the secrets of their wilds to themselves, as Sam tries to talk to them about the (dangerous) wildlife on this planet.
After some minutes of fruitless conversation, Sam return to the garrison, taking up the unloaded rocket launcher and uses it as a barbell to steam away some of his unused energy.
Sounds like the medical supplies have a tight rein on them, so Adahlia will stick with the sergeant as he makes his rounds.
Seeing as how he may need an aide-de-camp of some sort in the future, Sergeant MacCommon decides that the one who seems at least marginaly interesting might do with some light lessons.
Might make corporal at the very least...
So as he makes his rounds in the company of Adahlia, he passes on a few nuggets of wisdom to her.
"Something that's true for all non-coms as well as all soldiers is that if you have nothing to do, make sure to do something that MAKES you look busy.
If you are a trooper, polish something, if you are a non-com, take inventory, organize a drill, oversee something."
"The higher you climb up the ranks of command, the fewer people there are above you, BUT that also means there are fewer of YOUR rank for them to notice.
You should never try to seek the attention of someone above two ranks higher than you."
Black will take inventory of the explosives. He used quite a lot against the orks. And out in the field they arent as plentiful as he would have hoped
-Posted with Wayfinder
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As your platoon arises at 0600 sharp five days after your dramatic arrival, Gunnery Sergeatn Schultz calls your squad out by name for a patrol briefing. "Seems your heroics during the landing has drawn some attention from the commissioned officers, and now they're doing something about it. You know how I feel about that. Word is you're being given an extended assignment, day or more out from base, but you'll learn more than me soon enough. Remember who you represent, soldiers. Dismissed."
Twenty quiet minutes pass in the briefing room of your barracks before the door opens and several men and women walk in. One is Lt. Bremen, two others wear the robes and sashes of low-ranking Administratum officials.
The last to enter is a woman with the bearing of a veteran soldier, and dressed in the armor of the notorious "flyboys" of House Gibrahim. Her dark brown hair is close-cropped except for her left side, where it is shaved down to reveal a pattern of blue tattoos on that side of her scalp. She and Lt. Bremen have laspistols strapped to their thighs but no other weapons are visible.
"Alright, I'm Captain Kyrie Lasserich and I'll be handling the details of your briefing today."
As the captain begins her address one of the Administratum clerks unrolls a large grip-map of what you assume to be the region. There are several positions marked out in blues and reds across its surface.
"Here's the short version: a local promethium extraction facility went dark two days ago, and you're going to find out why. We've managed to secure you a Chimera for the trip along with a few supplies, but you'll be operating without support from anyone other than the garrison--if they're still alive. The mission's simple: find out why the garrison's gone silent, give any hostiles a lasbolt between the eyes, and hold the facility until your relief arrives."
"I cannot stress this part enough: drive straight to the facility. You lot are new here and I'm only sending you because Lt. Shulbut thinks you've got steel in you, but that jungle will kill you if you give it half a chance, or no chance at all. Assume every plant is poisonous, every shadow hides a predator, and if the way seems clear it's a trap. So. Any questions?"
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"There's all kinds of nasty s*~~ out there," a heavily scarred older soldier with a clumsy mechanical left arm lights up an iho stick. "The one everybody likes to talk about is the Treebreaker, herd beasts big as a Chimera and at least as tough. They have this thick bone spurs on the sides o' their heads, when they get angry they charge things and smash 'em around. Don' take much to get 'em angry either, but you don't see 'em much anymore--the damned Orks looove huntin' 'em and buildin' those damn creepy towers from their bones."
Taking a long drag, he turns a grim look on you. "Lot more common is your Stalkers and Terrorcats. The Stalkers, they're quick-like and got a poisonous bite, and a sharp little blade o' bone on their tails, but worst bit is that their skin can change colors, blend into the jungle. Best to travel in threes out there, if Stalkers catch you y' can make your escape while they're eatin' your buddies, heh! Terrorcats are pack hunters, they climb an' jump like you wouldn't believe, and they're smarter than they look. Got an ability to mimic voices, lure ya away from your pals, then shlick! he makes a claw with his fingers and drags it across his throat, out of the trees and you're a goner."
"Lotta you off-worlders ask about plants that eat people--been living in this area my whole life and ain't never heard of plant-monsters. Most of 'em are poisonous o' course, but I don't reckon you've got much to fear from them crawling into your tent and swallowin' you whole or whatever tripe." Another long drag. "Hope that helps."
As the squad approach the officers, Cormaeg give the command to salute and then stand to attention.
He gives Lt. Bremen an extra nod, glancing briefly over his leg to see how it looks.
After the captain opens the "floor" to questions, Cormaeg clears his throat.
"Yes Captain, how large was the garrison holding the refinery? What kind of defences are present? Is there an ETA on when reinforcements might arrive?"
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She gives MacCammon a nod of acknowledgement. "Previous garrison was fifteen PDF infantry personnel, roughly twenty workers and an equal number of servitors. Defenses were basic, five-meter rockcrete wall around the compound with eight guard towers, each with an autocannon.
Reinforcement is unknown currently, depends ultimately on how many dead workers we have to replace. Forward elements should be able to reach you within two, maybe three days. Note, Sergeant, that abandoning the facility is not an option."
Stroking his bear slowly, Cormaeg mulls over the information.
So at least fifteen fighting bodies, and that is when the defences were pristine.
Now we have to retake it and hold it with just one squad.
"What resources has been assigned to the squad for this mission Captain? Were there any enemy movements in the area at the time the facility went dark?"
"Understood Captain.
Squad, any further questions? And remember, you are addressing a superior officer, that means you Jankins!"
The big man grins widely after the reminder of his NCO, but then takes on a militaristic, sincere voice that borders on irony but still manages to make him sound sincere.
"Sir, understood, Sir. May I recommend two essential additions to our gear, Sir? I spoke with the locals, Sir, and they mentioned two sources of lethal danger I can think of an counter measure. The first is the seeming omnipresence of various poisons in the wilds, so Pvt. Adahlia should be equipped with a good amount of de-tox to save any workers or wounded guardsmen from the poisons used by flora or fauna. Also I got reports about predators named Stalkers. They have some kind of natural camouflage, Sir, so at least one preysense scope or goggles would be extremely helpful to detect them early. That's it, Sir!"
Sam ends his talk with a smug grin to the Sergeant, as if saying Like this?.
Adahlia smirks slightly at Jankin's response.
Locke doesn't have anything to add and worries less about the details than others, just content to follow orders and let others make the decisions. He knows where to aim and what he can shoot. He was ready to go.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"If there are no further questions report to the motor pool to pick up your ride, your mission gear as already been loaded up. Good hunting, dismissed."
As the meeting wraps up, the Captain dismisses you and you are led to the motor pool, where one of the Munitorium mechanics showing you to your Chimera Infantry Fighting Vehicle--a battered, scarred old hulk with a dark grey hull and 0493 painted on each side. She boasts a multilaser turret and heavy flamer as her hull-mount.
The Sergeant walks over to the Chimera and inspects it a bit.
Tapping the side he frowns and then nods.
"Old and scarred but tougher than she looks.
Oh, and Jankins? You voice that comment you just thought and you are on latrine duty for a month, same for you Carno."
"Well, Trooper Black, start her up and the rest of us will check that we got the mission gear and not a load of dirty uniforms meant to be laundered."
After a stab-like gaze from Zora, Sam shuts his half opened mouth. Then opens it again, but with his sincere voice again, totally ignoring the 'advice' from his NCO.
"Another thing I found out while talking to the locals. There are pack hunters out there that can mimic voices and sounds. Trying to separate groups with that trick. We probably should keep visual and vox contact at any time, not believing our ears out there."
"As far as I'm concerned we stay in the vehicle until we have eyes on the Refinery. We're not going out to look at the scenery."
Sam will accompany the Sergeant on his way to the munitorum to fetch the few pieces of gear they were assigned, hoping that they do not run into the same old grumpy scribe he did, when he tried to fetch some additional rockets for Bertha.
"My place is in the vehicle, I do better work from here than on foot outside. And this thing about voice mimicing is quite disturbing i have to agree"
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Private Black clambers into the cramped driver's seat of the squat while his quiet teammate clambers into the turret-rig. Waving impatiently at the rest of the squat to stow their gear, the operator murmurs under his breath for a minute before solumnly pressing the Rune of Activation--and the armored beast comes rumbling to life, drawing a chuckle from both.
After a thorough systems check he twists around in his seat to give Sgt. MacCammon a thumbs-up, and then throws the Chimera into gear. The rest of you are able to see the base go by through the tiny firing ports as your ride rumbles out the eastern gate into the torn-up earth and shattered trees that surround the base. It occurs to you all that the Chimera is loud--whatever the merits it might possess in armor or weapons, it is thoroughly lacking in stealth.
The forest is thick and wild, even a mere two kilometers out from base, and the going is slow, requiring numerous stops and reversals to get around obstacles--it seems Pvt. Black doesn't quite have an eye for space between trees yet!
Four hours into what was estimated by the Captain to be a twelve-hour drive, and the Chimera has been idling for a few minutes while Pvt. Black pores over the map. After several minutes of this, he waves his Sergeant over. "Uh, Sarge, looks like there's an overgrown ravine here that I didn't notice. We're going to have to either backtrack the way we came or find a way around."
"Anything on Auspex to indicate we can find a way around? I would hate to waste time trying and failing to find a way around and then waste even more time going back afterwards."