One of the guardsmen hurries forward, stowing his ladgun after a quick look around and produces a small medikit from a pouch.
Not a full-fledged one like you have seen Sgt. Leni carrying around, but a smaller one, capable of holding only a handful of bandages, an injector and a few injection vials.
"Don't call me a medic, crispy, but me've got a kit and was shown how to hit you with the injector.
Twice.
Who wants to be number three?"
Bolus isn't not volunteering.
The orderly medic looks at Bolus with wide eyes, a moment of shock and doubt flashing by.
"By the Throne, father, how're you even alive with that wound?!"
He quickly grabs an injector vile and slams it into the injector, then turns to Bolus with a rueful expression.
"You may want to lean against someone, this is Blotclot.
Will stop your bleeding in a hurry but it pains like a bi...
Ahem, it really hurts.
Ready?"
Once Bolus gives his consent, he presses the injector against the priests bare chest and presses the activation rune of the simple device. With a barely audible *hiss-clanck-zipp* it injects the medicine into the bloodstream.
The trooper didn't lie, it really does hurt like hell but the bleeding ebbs then stops within moments.
"Better. You better move to the medic bay...
Or search for moth.... Sgt. Leni for some actual stitching and a good'ol synthskin treatment though.
Anyone else dying?"
We got some burns over here, but not dying. Sizzle reports.
The orderly hurries over but shakes his head at the plasma burn.
"Feth, are those guns really worth the trouble?
Not much I can do for you with my stuff.
Link up with the father and pay a visit to a real doc.
Oh, and you should drink.
Water. Nothing else for a few days.
And a lot of it."
A moan escapes the aged man's body as the untrained 'medic' keeps him from dying. He hates this sign of weakness but knows how fallible mortals are so shrugs it off.
Emperor... be... praised... he grants me life so I may burn more of his enemies to ash. Permission to retreat to the medbay... Commisar.
Yeah he passes out right after saying that. Slumps right over.
The Commissar actually personally moves over to pick up the Priest.
"Leave Granted. You and you! Take the Priest to the medicae."
He then returns to the Xenos contraption and asks - with raised and activated power fist.
"Greetings Enginseer Prime. This device was used to transport vile Xenos in and out of the ship. Can you disable it in a very timely manner or will I have to disable it the manual way?"
The half-half tech priest steps towards the altar with clear interest written on the still-human side of her face.
"Theorem: A teleportarium of such small dimensions?
Theorem probability rating: 43.9341%.
Theorem: Something like a beacon projector, with the major enginarium on the other end?
Theorem probability rating: 69.2703%."
Several mechadendrites unfolg from her mechanical side, waving over the "altar" and performing various scans.
"It is inactive.
Energy readings: 0.0000001 nanowott.
Below background radition levels.
Theorem: one-time, one-way gateway projector?
Theorem probability rating: 95.68%."
She turns to the Commissar.
"I estimate it is safe to let it remain intact for further examination.
Of course it is abomniable Xeno technology, so there cannot be an absolute guarantee for my estimate.
May I propose a compromise?
Have your demolition experts install charges to the device.
I shall provide them with an energy spike trigger.
Should the Xeno attempt to reuse it, the spike trigger will engage and trigger the charges destroying the device."
Once it is decided of how to handle it, Decimus Vi will hand the Commissar a small hand-held vox.
"Ah, right, the Shipmaster wanted to speak to you asap.
That technically was before the emergency translation, so maybe he is busy as of now, but that is not my concern.
You can reach the bridge with this.
It is linked to my internal booster arrays.
Easily strong enough to link into the ships main intercom network."
As he is the uninjured one, Sizzle takes the lead in setting the charges.
There is a tense moment when he accidently crosses some wires, but his steady hands prevent a detonation.
A couple deft adjustments later the charges are good to go.
"Good work short stuff, a little orthodox perhaps, but maybe not the time for anything more fancy.
You know me, I like a little flair, like the triple combo with the "mate sensitive slide"."
Anatoly moves to Decimus Vi's side as soon as she arrives on the scene with a short burst of welcome in binaric cant. Observing the much more experienced Engineseer as she goes about the business of the Machine God, he makes himself available should she require or desire his assistance.
Well, we just did just drop out of the warp without warning. I thought I'd err on the side of brevity.
"Heh, "brevity"...You remember who else was famous back home for his "Brevity" don't you?"
Sizzle snorts in his attempt to hold in a sudden laugh. Robert Trigger. Quite possibly the man with the least fortunate name on the entire planet.
"Not that most people called him that of course, poor bastard. It's not exactly nice to be known as "Three seconds Bob" eh?"
Heh, to his face maybe. I heard "Trigger D... ahem.." he glances down.
Asbjörn makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a cough.
"Ah yes, that one too of course. Let's not forget "The pleaser" either, said with sarcasm so heavy it could cut the air itself."
The Commissar nods at the idea of rigging the damned xenos device with explosives - except his explosives expert is just going away to have his arm un-grilled. So he makes a mental note to order them back to do it when they are out of the infirmery
Going back to the problem at hand he raises the vox set and raises it to speak into it.
"This is Commissar Yeta, responding to a call from the Shipmaster. Communication officers convey my appologies for being tardy. I was held punishing both xenos and vile warpspawn that had infected the ship."
Once the immediate danger has passed and the reinforcement having thoroughly secured the area (and found the little remaining bits of Enginseers and Navy personnel piled behind one of the large pumps) your impromptu squad disperses.
Yeta is having a talk with the shipmaster.
Anatoly is chirping away in binary with Decimus Vi.
Sizzle is triple-checking his explosive before following his brother Asbjörn to the closest medbay, two guardsmen in tow carrying the stable but out-cold Bolus between them.
On your way, you pass groups of frightened looking crew hurried that way or this, most lugging some kind of repair gear or other heavy duty tools with them - clearly the ship has taken a beating during the emergency exit.
There is also at least one (now quite heavily fortified) intersection you pass by that clearly has seen recent battle. Half-dried arterial blood covers the floor, walls and ceiling and the corridor is pockmarked with lasburns, solid projectile impact craters and broad, blackened areas, telling a tale of plentiful flamer usage.
The medbay is a chaotic mess as you reach it, the screaming of the wounded echoes through the packed wing like the wails of the damned. The smell of antiseptic and synthskin mixes with those of burned hair, cloths and meat and the coppery taste of blood.
A worried looking old orderly notices your entry and hurries over, a battered looking diagnostic scanner in hand. Without a word to Sizzle or the two guard, she waves the scanner over Bolus chest wound and grimaces, before shouting a three digit code over her shoulder, causing a trio of men to appear and take the father away, deeper into the wing, supposedly for immediate surgery. As for Asbjörn, the elderly woman shakes her head and just hands out a small box of pills and tells you to take a moderately temperature shower (no soap!), have three pills with at least one litre of water and a good long sleep, then come again tomorrow.
Getting back to the 'barracks' you find your company in uproar and wild speculation running amok between the troopers. Some say that the ship has emerged in deep space, far off any civilized system and without a clue where you are, essentially lost for good. Others tell that the Navigator has pulled out late and that you nearly crashed into the planet you were sent to. Others rumour that the Navigator in fact died from the strain of the emergency translation and the ship is sitting ducks wherever it emerged. Several groups of soldiers have clearly seen combat and you pass by a few blank-faced, void-eyed guys who clearly have seen things they'd rather not and struggle to get over the experience.
As you come to, you feel very weak, sleepy and disoriented.
You look up to a white painted ceiling with dimmed, indirect light shining from somewhere outside your field of vision.
After a bit you manage to lift your right arm and scratch your itching nose - what a relief!
After a bit more time has passed you actually start to feel quite a bit better but for a distant thrumming pain in your chest, which abruptly reminds you of the fight with the revolting creature from the warp...
Eventually a white-clad man enters your field of vision and gratulated you to your luck.
"Half an inch to the right and that would have clipped your heart.
The Emperor does indeed protects - from time to time.
I did patch you up - but it wasn't a pretty job, too many other patients in critical conditions for neat procedures.
That scar on your chest and back will stay forever and you will need to go slow for a few days - doctors orders - or my stitchwork will rip and tear and you'll bleed to death in minutes without even noticing.
You may stand and leave in a few hours, as soon as the drugs have worn off."
What in the Emperor's name happened while we were below decks! Sizzle says under his breath. He tries to move through the men and piece together what happened, after double checking that his space is undistirbed, that is.
"You know what happened little bro, same thing that happened to us no doubt.
Funny how the xeno claimed to want to guard one of the yellow and black, and their interference caused this..."
Uncharacteristically lacking in cheer, Asbjörn spits on the floor in disgust.
Typical xenos grox crap. Throwing the baby out with the bath water because one of their uppity psykers had a bad dream. Let's see if we can't do some good while the others recover. Find Mama Leni. She should have a good bead on what's happening. I'll see what I can sniff out. Meet you at the bunks in a hour?
After returning from checking his things, Sizzle joins up with each member of the squad and says, Hey, I overheard a Gunny while packing up. Aparently we're getting deployed soon, so the warp exit didn't put us into the middle of nowhere! I heard we're only a day or two out! So get ready. I think we'll be out of this death-bucket soon.
After he's spread the word Sizzle sees about getting restocked on rockets and 'nades.
A couple of hours later, regimental commands filter down the chain of command to gear up and assemble in hangar #34-B in 20 hours shipboard time.
This causes a LOT of hasty packing - it is crazy how ones stuff suffers from entropy if you are locked up in a huge room for a month.
It also causes a LOT of speculation and rumours to circulate - to the point where no one is sure of anything anymore.
Scars earned in the service of the Emperor are the most worthy badges of honour. Is his holy vessel safe and secure? Bolus wants to know. He also requests a meeting with the Commissar.
Commissar, I apologize for the weakness of my flesh in serving The Master of Mankind, My only solace is seeing the foul chaos spawn banished back from whence it came... another matter though... on our way there I saw altars of worship to the... Omnissiah... that did not pay proper veneration to the Emperor as well. It will not do to be lax in our devotion to him, even for the adherants of Mars!
Sizzle strides into the hangar in full pack and gear. One of the benefits of obsessively tinkering with explosives and not blowing off your hands is you tend to be very organized.
He wanders around a little at first, disoriented by the chaotic nature of deployment. It's been a month since anything approaching this kind of activity was seen. The change of pace was a welcome relief. There's only so many times you can tinker with the same gear.
He finds the group eventually and approaches with a spring in his step. He slides into his position in the line-up and doesn't speak as the Red Hat was talking to the Father not too far away and he didn't want to get yelled at. Not today. Deployment! Finally!
Then he remembers who, or rather WHAT, they are deploying against and his enthusiasm is sufficiently quelled. I hope we brought enough ammo...
The hangar bay fills with your fellow black-and-yellow uniformed comrades and there is barely enough room for everyone to stand comfortably, with everyone being packed up and ready.
The few remaining Ogryns, less than a third of your original contingent, makes matters even worse of course.
After a twenty minute wait, Col. Daan steps onto the atmospheric stabilization fins of one of the eight atmospheric landers and raises his vox amplified voice.
"Hrmhm."
One of the deathworlder Captains - you still struggle to discern them from a distance - shouts for everyone to come to attention and the sound of several thousand boots snapping together fills the bay for a second.
"At ease, men.
I see you're all eager to get dirtside, so I shall keep myself brief but there is something that needs clarification to prevent confusion.
This isn't Atria, our original destination.
And we aren't going to shoot some bugs either down there."
Despite the good discipline of the regiment, this announcement causes quite a bit of ruckus and the Colonel struggles a bit to make himself heard over it.
"Yah, yah, that sucks, but that's life in the guard.
The thing is, this pod is damaged and the crew isn't certain it can repair it all by themselves - so if we don't want to risk getting lost en route, we need outside help to fix our ride.
The Emperor is with us though, as we dropped out in system with a decent-sized Mechanicus installation in it which should be more than able to fix the ship up.
The problem is, they are currently besieged by traitor forces and are thus not quite able to lend us technical support.
Lucky for the most esteemed shipmaster then, that he isn't carrying cattle or ore but the Serenus 1st, ey?
So, let's go down there in force and show the traitor scum what is the reward of forsaking the holy Emperor and defiling his domain, shall we?"
Traitors hey? Well now, that might mean we run into more of those...things. Whomever complained about going for a bug stomp is sure to be oh soooo happy about this.
Traitors, hey? Well at least I'll know where to shoot them. I bet those guys who were stuck studying bugs feel really good about the use their time now!
One of the Ogryn standing in the line is draped in the blue-trimmed red robes of the Incinerants and stands ready. His cranium is heavily augmented and the others of his kind are showing him deference. In responce to the Colonel's question, he is the first to speak up. His voice rumbles through the assembly, almost matching the augmetic voice of his superior,
The Ogryns, following his lead, pound their carapace chest plates as one and bark their agreement.
The Commissar raises an eyebrow at that Bolus' take on the shrines.
"You live on to serve after completing your mission, Priest. It is said that even the venerable Astartes eventually loose limb and life in his majesties service. It is the absolute certainty of their duties being fulfilled even in wounding and death that makes them truly invincible. And you have yet to fail in this regard yourself."
He pauses here for a moment to give Bolus a chance to refute him.
"The shrines however... They do not venerate his Majesty you say? But how is that possible? I was taught that the Omnissiah is an aspect of his Majesty himself. Worshipping the Omnissiah is worshipping the Emperror is it not? So how can they not worship him at the shrines?"
"The warp has interferred with our journey but his majesty protects! And not just that he has provided us with a duty to fulfill in this place! Rejoice Troopers for this is a mission given by him on earth!"
Bolus grunts in response to the Commissar's understandable confusion. The Omnissiah IS nothing more than an aspect of the Master of Mankind, but, if the right and proper worship of the Omnissiah starts to ignore this truth and instead start to treat it as some entity of its own then that is a known path to Heritical thoughts. Heresy is an ever present threat and manifests itself in ways most subtle sometimes. I fear we do not have time to pull out this bud of depravity by its root as we have other more pressing concerns but I see it fit to warn you. The Mechanicus prattle of the flesh being weak is true enough, but fails to realize that metal rusts, grows brittle, and... warps... also.
Under several thousand voices calling their assent, the Colonel grins and waves to the landers all around the hangar.
"That's what I thought.
Now get aboard your designated landers, weapons armed and at the ready.
We will drop right into the thick of the warzone.
Prepare your gear for the fight and your souls for the meeting with our Lord.
Your orders are simple:
After exiting the transports, you are to secure any enemy stronghold within a one mile radius of touchdown and hold them until receiving further orders.
Dismissed."
"Huh...wonder which gun I should use first? Got to be pretty packed when we exit, so flamers and plasma might not be the best idea...."
Sizzle's missile launcher sits on his shoulder, a frag round already in the tube, but not armed for safety reasons. If we're landing hot, my guess is that there's going to be something heavy pointed at us right off the bat. I plan to make that problem go away.
The lander is a heavily armored shuttle the size of a small hab block with a single humongous troop bay and a massive frontward boarding ramp.
Each of the half a dozen landers is able to hold a dozen plus squads complete with their Chimeras, gear, extra supplies and some support vehicles.
Despite the losses suffered at Junathan III, the regiment still could not be dropped in one go but a total of three round trips would be required to deploy the full force of the Serenus 1st.
You, of course, have the honour of being part of the first wave - benefit of being one of the three combat engineer squads in the entire regiment.
Boarding your lander as one of the first squads, you find folding seats with drop harnesses and overhead gear lockers in long rows along the inside of the hull. The inside quickly fills with troopers and finally, the vehicles drive in backwards - so that they will be able to quickly drive out first, providing cover and fire support for the infantry as they disembark. At last, the massive ramp is rising to the sound of powerful pneumatics at work until they deal shut with a reassuring clang-wirr-chunk.
The inside quickly gets warm and moist from all the tightly packed bodies and the smell of promethium exhaust from cooling down vehicle engines is everywhere.
After several minutes, the hull starts to vibrate, then rumble and shake under the power of its massive rearward mounted engine block.
With a sudden jerk, you feel the lander lift from the deck and accelerate to be replaced by weightlessness a few seconds later. But only for half a minute until the grav plates come online and reinforce a sense of 'down' as well as the body weight you are used to.
You are under way.
Time for a last look around.
Beside the two demo troopers (of which one is still slightly crispy along the edge), the Commissar and the Priest, Anatoly has rejoined the squad as well as Sgt. Anderson and his vox operator simply known as "John". The squad is completed by Hella (a striking blonde heavy gunner lugging a heavy stubber around) and Sergey and Gustav - both carrying standard regimental kit and a small field medikit.
This part of the job always made Sizzle nervous. The chances of getting shot out of the sky or dying horribly because some tech adept chanted the wrong chant were just unknown, and that made him more nervous than anything some filthy heretic rebels could throw at him. At least on the ground he would probably see his death coming.
As Asbjörn looks around, some things becomes clear to him.
Lovely, one zealot wasn't enough, but it looks like we're stuck with two of them for the long haul...
He then notices Sergey and Gustav, raising an eyebrow at the fact they THEY were apparently supplied with medikits.
Still, I got a plasma gun AND a flamer, score!
Hella is more interesting, and he finds himself nudging Sizzle and nodding in her direction.
"Say, she looks like your type short stuff! Both your last two girlfriends were tall, strong blonds eh? Nadya and Selma."
"That... I confess I do not understand the detail here father but my trust in his majesty and in his proxy, that is of course you father, is absolute. I will make an annotation of this situation in the regimental files with hq level codes. Even should we not make it in person someone WILL look into this matter. Rest assured father."
The Commissar broods in his little corner of the lander. Flexing and unflexing his deactivated powerfist. Before stirring to make an announcement.
"Listen men! We are going to fight heretics. Traitors to the human race and him on earth! That means we will no longer deal with mindless greenskins or cowardly longears. It is the most holy human form and intellect turned into something vile. Do not underestimate your enemy! For neglect is also dereliction of duty! But even more so do not be cowed! They have turned from what is holy and good about the human race and even in death shall you spit in their undeserving face!
Know this: to turn your back to a traitor willingly is to turn traitor yourself.
And a such a degenerate in our ranks will answer to me!"
Sizzle glances toward the heavy gunner, but his thoughts are immediately re-routed by the good Commissar. I think the universe just gave me a sign about my love life. Brother. It's dead.
Between the roaring engines, the chatter of excited troopers and Yetas "motivation" speech the ten minute travel from high orbit to the outer layers of the planets atmosphere rush by quickly.
All chatter is drowned out by the apocalyptic noise of reentry and despite the thick heat shielding and armor plating, everyone will feel the temperature rising sharply, from near frosty to blazing in a mere minute.
The entire craft shakes from turbulence.
Each sudden unforeseen jerk sends your stomach lurching around your belly and many troopers start to doubt the wisdom of taking a proper meal before takeoff...
Thankfully, the sound of ex-luch hitting the deck is not able to pierce through the cacophony of high velocity atmospheric passage - but the smell is not entirely glorious.
Soon enough, just as the sounds of reentry starts to recede, there is much more pressing matter to worry though.
*ping*
*clank*
At first you have a hard time to match the sounds, then realization hits home:
The lander takes ever more frequent hits from AA fire.
A massive jerk later and a trooper three row in front of you and sitting directly at the hull is cursing in surprise as a visible dent appeared right beside his head.
Another few moments later and Asbjörn suddenly feels a strong, cold breeze jetting up from between his legs following another jerk.
Looking down, there is a (rather new) tiny rent in the hull plating from which cold air rushes into the cargo hold.
There is also a thumbnail-sized ragged metal piece embedded into the underside of his seat.
A series of red lights suddenly spring to life all along the bay.
Thirty seconds to groundfall!
This is, of course, not Sizzle's first landing, but it is the first opposed one. He grips his harness so hard it hurts and he finds that all he can think is OhCrapohcrapohcrap. Then he feels fresh air and hears the whistle of the hull breach and he can't help but look st his brother to make sure he's ok. The thought of losing him now so soon after finding him knots Sizzle's gut more effectively than even their landing.
The impacts are coming in quick succession now and the temperature drops sharply as several more shrapnel holes puncture the sealed hull of the lander.
Thankfully you are already within the atmosphere, so the drop in pressure is not as catastrophic as it would have been in the void.
ZAAAAP
A spear of blinding light pierces the orange-hued darkness of the compartment for a split second and the sound of screaming air quadruples in volume.
Blinking away the afterimage from your retinas, you can suddenly see the outside - through a ten meter long, half a meter high, molten scar in the left hull of the lander.
You are already very low, maybe a few hundred meters top.
Below and as far as you can see through the rent, there is nothing but a dark grey wasteland covered in plumes of smoke from burning vehicles, bunkers and trenches.
The wasteland is criss-crossed with lasfire and sudden lights from explosions.
In the distance several mushroom clouds billow over the horizon, depicting heavy ordnance usage.
And you are dropping towards all of this with neck breaking speed.
Were it not for the incredibly noise of rushing air and engines roaring, you would probably also hear the screams of wounded and dying troopers who got their right sides scorched or simply melted away by the glancing hit.
You got losses even before touching the ground.
The lights turn orange.
Ten seconds!
Sizzle suprises himself a little that he's not among those loosing their breakfast.
Despite the humor, there is just a slight edge to Asbjörns voice, possibly a sign of just how stressful the situation really is.
Though weakened by not having had time to fully recover Bolus manages to keep from throwing up as they enter the atmosphere.
Heretics! They dare to fire at the Emperor's right hand. They will be repaid a HUNDRED fold!
With a final massive deceleration burst from the engines drowns out anything.
It feels like someone is fly-kicking you in the lungs from the front.
Your constraints pull your bodies into a brutal embrace, preventing you from so much as sucking air into your lungs.
Before panic has time to establish itself, a bone shaking impact rattles the entire lander, causing over tasked metal plating to give way in a few places, causing attached seats (and strapped in troopers) to be hauled around.
The lights turn green.
You are groundside.
*Clank* *Clank*
*SLAM*
The massive forward boarding ramp disengages and slams to the ground, spraying dirt to all sides.
With an angry roar, the Chimera drivers kick their engines into gear and thick plumes of exhaust fill the air as they start accelerating outwards.
Solid projectiles fire rain against the grounded lander as well as the chimeras up front.
Some ricocheting bullets zip around the inside of the compartment and find targets within the tightly packed group of troopers.
All around, troopers hastily disengage their harnesses, scramble for their gear and try to get out of the lander who by now is nothing more than one fat unmoving target.
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Incensed by the confusion Bolus stands up hefting the flamer nozzle like an accusing finger and shouts in a voice far louder than should be coming out of the frail priest.
This CHAOS, is an AFFRONT to the EMPRAH! You will all FALL in LINE and MOVE in ORDAH or you will FACE THE WRATH of His Appointed LEADERS Before being sent to HIM in DISGRACE. You are HIS RIGHT HAND and BY THE GOLDEN THRONE YOU WILL ACT LIKE IT! WE ARE UNDER FIRE AND BY THE MASTER OF MANKIND WE WILL MOVE IN FORMATION TO BRING HIS WRATH ONTO THOSE WHO WOULD DARE FIRE ON HIS GUARDS!
FACIEM DEDECUS! ORDO USQUE AD MORTEM!
Even Asbjörn is impressed with the fathers sudden explosion of pious authority.
Pretty much subconsciously he falls in line and prepares to disembark in order.
Sodding 'ell, I'm not going to argue with THAT.
Asbjörn elects to shoulder his flamer for the time being.
Sizzle looks longingly at the gash in the side of the Lander and is really of the opinion that he should be exiting that way, but the father's Holy admonition puts the kibosh on his idea and he finds himself in his proper place within a few seconds of the green light.
Sizzle has his lasgun in hand and his loaded launcher loose on its strap. It was almost a given that every gun opposing them was pointed at the mouth of this thing and he planned it be into cover as fast as humanly possible.