The Emperor protects, she did the right thing and is in his light. We did the right thing, we are in his light Simmins says, trying to convince himself more than anything else. We disabled a Knight instead of it killing us all and scuppering the mission...
Kenneth can't stand the thought of leaving the demonic filth alive to wobble around happily. Yet the more logical part of his mind remembers that everything here will explode sooner rather than later... What to do until then?
Inspiration flashes and he draws out two grenades - one kraks and one frak - and takes his time to active them and roll them over the ground towards the nurgling... tower.
Only then does he turn away to run after the others - going to help the Sergeant if still necessary
Before the group makes good their escape, Liam sets the heavy bolter aside momentarily and lunges over to the Sergeant.
Massive hamhock hands snakes out and closes around the annoying mechanical pest trying to gouge the Sergeants eyes out.
With a mighty tug the creature comes free, and Liam wastes no time on quite literally "disarming" the critter to prevent a repeat of it's sneaky attack.
"Take it Sergeant, I need to retrieve the bolter!"
Liam then hurries to his weapon before making it to the exit.
** Back in the Memcore Room **
As Liam rips the mechanical, stabbing legs from the little device, black fluid erupts from the sockets. To everyone's horror, white larvae wiggle within what surely once was anointed oil and fall to the ground with wet smacks.
Unable to continue its assault, the BUG just stares menacingly up at the disgusted soldiers with its many red eye lenses.
The remaining troopers quickly gather and leave the room under the cover of a double-detonation caused by Kenneth's grenades, blasting parts of the two, stacked daemons across the room.
More of the small, fat creatures continue to pop out of the poison fog amalgam, more of the clouds merging as Liam leaves the room last, heaving his precious heavy bolter along.
One last view back shows that something bigger is stepping from the now fully merged clouds.
He does not remain to see what is coming - nothing good for health or sanity for sure...
** NOW **
After what feels way to long, the attack team waiting at the meeting junction of a service tunnel finally hear footsteps approaching.
A quick vox call ensures everyone that the risky plan indeed worked out and (mostly) eveyone made it out alive.
The ratlings are hit hard by the loss of their apparent leader and stick together and separate, quietly chittering among them.
We need to move, Sir. MacGuyver comments to the Sarge. The dinner sooner we're back behind our lines the better.
Think we can ignore the rockcrete sir, the whole corridor's clear. It'd just give away the route we're taking. Simmins says.
"We've stirred up a right hornets nest here, and no mistake.
But that also means staying put very long would be very dangerous..."
After catching your breath following the emperor-guided link-up, you quickly hurry down the many, many twists and ladders of the maintenance shafts, seeking to return to the lower levels from where your mission started.
It is an exhausting route, yet one that spared you metric ton of trouble - from what the survivors of the other Probe teams tell you.
As you progress, your guides grow ever more skiddy and jumpy. They continue to rattle away with each other in a speed an accent they could as well talk an alien language altogether, rather than low Gothic. Several times, throughout the strenuous walk-climb, you hear distant detonations and the heat and roar of fire. Every time you do, the chattering of the ratlings grow in urgency and length.
At last, you reach a familiar hatch and through it a familiar room full of brooms and other cleaning tools. From somewhere nearby, you can hear gunfire. The ratlings seems to be on yhe edge of just leaving you all behind and make a run - whether towards the gunfire or away from it is hard to tell...
MacGuyver doesn't want to strain the generosity of their guides any more, especially as their leader was gone. He whispers to Sarge: I know the way from here, sir. Best not be seen with them and let them go back to wherever it is they came from. I think they've done more than enough.
Liam doesn't say anything, but he does move up behind MacGyver, in a show of silent support (or just being ready to brain MacGyver if ordered to).
He wasn't sure how he felt about the Ratlings, on one hand, tehy were probably tainted, but they had proven themselves true to the emperor in his eyes.
Twisted in body but not in spirit?
He idly wondered if the others had a similar wish to die in battle as their former leader figure?
Kenneth loadly preaches all the way, praising their victory for the emperor this day and the parts they have played in it, when it comes to the acts of the attack team he asks the others to fill in the story. Surely they don't have his training in making the story into a prayer but the story is a necessary part of the whole composition.
as Kenneth is busy preaching loadly he does not hear the whispered conversation between the others.
Sgt. Scorch (or "Seth", as you overheard one of the survivors call him during the trip) nods.
He steps over to one of the ratlings and actually has to clear his throat to gain their attention.
"You have our and the Emperor's thanks, ... citizen.
No one can say that you and your kindred did not fulfill your duties.
Now, go to your kin and see to them."
As if in afterthought, he adds:
"If you know of any secret ways out of this city, leave with all due haste.
I cannot tell you were to go after you left, but the Emperor protects and guides the faithful, as you heard repeatedly from our priest.
Heed his words."
The ratlings look surprised at the words, then exchange quick looks among each other, then shale their heads in unison.
With a squeaky, high-pitched voice, the spoken-to one replies quickly.
"No-no, we stay-guide.
Kira told us to guide you out savely.
Its what Emperor-god wants, she told-said.
We're worried-troubled.
This area should be in our hands.
But fighting's raging-roaring.
We're not sure which way is safest-best!"
Liam grunts and racks the slide of the heavy bolter with a loud, distinctive and very satisfying clunk.
"Pick a way, if there is fighting, we'll just have to go through it.
The emperor guides the faithful after all."
Agreed. One of you, on me. We'll go see what that ruckus is about. I'll be right back. MacGuyver waits for one of the rats to join him, then disappears to go do some scouting (with "Seth"'s permission, of course)
- 1 or 2 DoS depending on situational mods
- 5 DoS
He moves quietly but quickly and constantly checks his Auspex on his gun for contacts. From the sounds of things the combatants wouldn't be looking for a pair of sneaks peeking in on them.
Simmins is pretty quiet on the way back but he seems to be coming out of his morose mood. If this is the only way between us and a long nap then let's go take care of it. I need a bunk real bad. He hefts the Stubber.
One of the ratlings jump nearly out of his skin (they still have skin, not fur, right?!) as Liam racks his Bolter but starts snickering about himself a moment later.
His two remaining comrades throw him reproachful gazes but he needs another half a minute to cool down again.
Enough time for the smallest ratling to nod at MacGyver and quickly vanish with him into the network of shady, red-lit corridors.
Sgt. Scorch (or Seth, is that his first- or surname?) calls a short, combat-ready rest.
"That climb wasn't pleasant. Get your canteens out and drink.
Half a liter each at least.
Eat a salt tablet and ration pack as well.
Arms in grasp's reach.
I take first watch with our Enginseer."
One of the few things that was truly worthwhile advice in the uplifting primer that, "A wise army eats when it can eat, and rest when it can rest".
Clearly the Sergeant had read that bit and taken it to heart.
As he digs into a ration bar, Liam glances from the (so far) competent sergeant to the...less so.
Was he holding up at all? He had not made any move to re-establish his presence and authority since Scorch had arrived.
That left Liam in a bit of a pickle.
On the one hand, reporting the sergeant for "battle fatigue" might have nasty repercussions, but NOT doing it might get him sent back into the field and possibly risking another group if he cracks again...
He HAD reported the use of drug before, most likely this had to be reported as well.
A couple minutes into the rest, both Sergeants suddenly raise their heads, obviously listening closely to their vox beads.
Sgt. Scorch-Seth taps his bead and sends a clipped "Stand-by, evaluating disposition."
He turns around to Anatoly and the two quickly engage a data slate and seem to discuss something.
After a few moments of discussion, Sgt. Scorch-Seth taps his bead again.
"Probe to Salvation. Disposition is zero-four levels up. Re-route to coordinates alpha-four-three-zero dot five, beta-one-one-nine dot two.
We will try to link up or assist.
Probe out."
He turns round to face the mix-matched squad with a grim face.
"Well, finish up lads.
We just got a Ultima level request-for-assistance for the Salvation team.
They managed to free some really, really important people.
Someone with Ultima level clearing, general or higher.
They are hunted by serious forces trying to prevent their escape.
Their own escape route is cut off by some kind of cave-in.
I just re-routed them to our own escape route.
We will link up and get out of here together.
Up now!"
You have barely risen, when a blush-red-faced MacGyver and assorted ratling returns at a sprint.
Kenneth slowly rises. As a priest in support of the emperors hammer he was trained to be physically fit but the close calls and the standoffs with half machine half daemon beings and daemonlings alike were mentally draining as well as physically. He murmers a prayer under his breath before taking a deep breath and loadly stating
"Only in death does duty end. Let his majesties light shine on this new endevour so that we may complete it successfully as well."
Liam can't help himself, but he snickers when the Sergeant uses the word "request" to describe what they are about to do.
Fortunately he quickly covers his mouth and pretends to cough instead.
"Sorry, little water went down the wrong way..."
Thinking quickly, Liam taps his bolter and nods towards Sergeant Scorch.
"Suggest everyone slots a fresh mag for maximum preparedness sergeant?"
Scorch-Seth nods approvingly.
"Indeed.
Retreating men count every enemy twice, but it sounds like we will head into a target rich environment."
Cecil splashes a bit of water from her canteen into her sweaty face then redoes her tight-wrapped hair before slaming home a new pack into her lasgun.
"Last fresh one, Sir.
One half empty, the other with only a few shots left in it.
Let's hope there are not that many targets, eh?"
Thumping the side of his weapon, Liam grunts a little and actually comes up with something...hopeful to say.
"Well, we've got two heavy weapons, and two flamers as well. That'll cut down a horde of targets fairly quick.
All in all, we're not as bad off as all that.
Besides, we pull this off and we'll probably earn us a few extra rations and such for being so vital."
MacGuyver and his ratling companion soon materialize from nowhere and report, Our way back is cut off, sir. Or, rather, blown away. There was some kind of massive detonation that took out a huge section of this place including our route. The fighting is a group of these guys engaged with a group of what looks to be PDF, not ours for sure. We'll have to find another way back, and relieving those ones under attack would probably be beneficial.
Well our Kira friends here are good at finding other routes. Let's kill these bastards in our way and get out of here Simmins says, his tone is maybe a bit more aggressive then he usually was?
"The emperor provides.
In this case seems he provided a clear sign of his will, what do you say father?"
What's the makeup of the attackes? Simmins wants to know, wondering if the Stubber or the Melta would be used more.
Infantry with Servitor support. I wasn't able to get exact numbers, but I wouldn't say more than a few squads were actively engaged.
The decision is quick and dedicated.
Some exhausted groans can be heard in the get-going but the fiery sermons of the priest, Liam and Sgt. Scorch-Seth keep the morale up.
Probably.
The prospect of one last effort to reach safety is a good motivation in and off itself too...
Once again, you hurry through empty, eerily red-lit corridors towards the sound of gunfire.
MacGyver warns you in time off the dangerous and sudden rift opening up in the middle of the corridor, where the floor and ceiling drop away into a blast-created cave-in.
A major firefight is raging across the newly created rift, vertically as well as horizontally, with gunners on several levels cross-firing through the vast open space.
You can see at least twenty ratlings spread out across the ruin and debris field trying to hold back a larger number of humans in uniform grey flag armor assisted by gun servitors.
The blast and collapsing levels of the hive has created a nightmarish labyrinth of fallen walls and ceilings, making for plenty cover and hideouts, foxholes and walkarounds.
You have an elevated position, but only for three abreast.
Climbing down (or up) to get closer to the fight or into spread out firing positions is certainly possible.
"Sarge, I'm going topside, if I set up my gun up there, I can take out their top fire team and give us an edge when I rain down the emperors fury from above. Permission granted?"
(str +10 -25) (
Once in a better position, Liam will set up in the best cover he can find and wait for the signal to start the "fun"
I'll go make contact with the other ratling forces. They need to know we're on their side.
Sgt. Scorch-Seth is taking in the battle with a practiced eye, then quickly issues orders.
"Good thinking, Trooper McGregor, MacGyver.
No one goes alone.
Teams of two - disperse and find cover.
Standing orders are to stall the ground attack then pick of the snipers.
You'll thank me when you get shot.
Zulu, with MacGyver.
Cecil, with Liam.
Enginseer, do something against this jamming.
We cannot fight a battle this big without working comms!
Simmins we could use both your weapons: either suppress the infantry push or get groundside and be ready to pick off these servitors.
Take Ulric with you.
Madland, we could use some moral boosting for the locals.
I wouldn't wager on them without some divine intervention.
I'll go with you."
Cecil squeezes past the bulky Anatoly to follow Liam up.
She slings her lasgun back around and tries to haul herself up after Liam.
But clearly the day has taken its toll on her strength reserves and she does not have enough left to do a free dangling uplift.
Through clenched teeth and annoyance in her voice, she calls out after Liam.
"C..Could r..really need a h..hand, here, Li"
"Lucky for you, my hands are big enough for two.
Come on, up you get!
Let's get into position before we're spotted."
With a quick haul, Liam pulls Cecil up after himself.
Rolling over the ledge and onto her back with a groan, the female trooper grins at Liam nevertheless.
She winks and purrs before getting back up.
"I like strong men.
And you have more muscle in your pinky than most other in their arms."
Looking around you find yourself in what must have once been a ratling hab unit.
Low ceiling, cramped with worn-down, shabby (and now dusted) bunks made from some kind of metal and covered by thin sheets of linen and a few low pieces of furniture, half-open with scraps of clothes dangling out.
"As you say sergeant Seth. Then I believe we should climb down to stand alongside them. It would be quite the sight to preach from up here but I giving a clear target for sharpshooters would probably cut that sermon rather short."
"Strong enough to keep you alive it seems at least. As for the muscle, no idea where it all came from, didn't use to look like this, must be all the lugging around this big gun of mine."
Glancing around for a bit, Liam points to the beds, stones and other loose things.
"We move this around a bit, we can set up here.
Probably best we do, the higher we climb the longer it'll take to get into position, and sooner or later the Sergeant will give us orders to fire.
C'mon, let's get dug in and set up!"
Simmins sighs, there weren't many options against the servitors other than him. Well, provide us cover yeah. I'll try and get close and melt those servitors into slag... for the emperor
The squad quickly starts dispersing following the sergeants orders, most heading downwards, while Liam and Cecil vanish upwards.
Climbing around the ruined hab levels with a firefight roaring is an unnerving experience, as it requires you to turn your back towards the fighting, flinching upon every gun shot - expecting pain and death to hit you in the back every moment...
But for now, the gunfire is not yet directed at you and the fighting is continuing as before.
Seems like you have not been spotted.
It takes around a minute or everyone to get down to slope-level (and set up a decent gun-nest respectively).
The slope is a treacherous pile of fallen wall parts, furniture, wall-ceiling plating, pipes and chunks of rockrete.
Bigger pieces of debris provide ready cover every five meter or so and the entire area is sloping down at roughly 45 degree.
The firefight is raging back and forth, with only the servitors making any notable progress.
A fusillade of projectiles bounce off their heavily armored front armor, or striking thickly muscled, fat-grown tissue oblivious to pain and suffered damage.
Three of the towering things slowly traverse the open battlefield at the bottom of the blast hole.
They have crossed around half the area by now.
Their infantry support has fallen slightly back, clearly unwilling to cross the mostly open ground if he servitors can do the job instead.
From behind cover, they snap of shots at the similarly covered ratlings.
Another servitor to the left provides heavy ranged fire support with two set of heavy stubbers, spraying the positions of the ratlings with intermittent salvos of solid rounds.
After the drop to the next floor, you find yourself at the upper end of the slope and a good view over the battleground.
There is a trio of ratlings close-by, only a few steps down the slope, behind the cover a piece of wall sticking up out of the slope like a broken-off teeth.
They take turns firing their blocky pistols around the cover at the approaching enemy.
They have to reload often and manually from a cleaning bucket on the ground between them, apparently filled with loose single rounds.
While doing so, one is looking around and spots the nearly squad strength group of imperials and squeals out in surprise and raises his (probably empty) gun, making the other two startle.
Having moved two of the steel beds together in a v-shape and piling up two pieces of furniture on top, you managed to create some improvised cover to crouch behind.
Its not a reinforced bunker and not even a proper sandbagged gun-nest, but it provides basic bracing for the heavy weapon and some cover good enough against basic small arms fire.
Cecil quickly flops down behind it and rests her lasgun upon a small, half-filled sandbag for better bracing.
"Frigg, what I'd give for a longlas right now..."
Liam winces a little, clearly he was beginning to feel the pain of his wounds.
"I might have the time for a little first aid here, keep a lookout for me Cecil, while I put some bandages and ointment on myself.
Should take a few minutes for the rest to get into position."
Liam works quickly but with the sort of methodical care that's born out of experience as well as raw talent.
Biting down on a piece of leather, he cuts away fused skin, sprays disinfectant, apply a little synthskin and pain relief before finally applying the bandages.
As he rises to get back to the gun he nearly stumbles and have to catch himself, putting his face into one of his hands for a moment as he regains his balance.
"Whoa, a little lightheaded there, adrenaline and painkillers can be a dangerous mix."
"Sheeth, that looks nasty, Li.
I ... thanks again for earlier.
I'd be sticky goo on the floor if not for you."
She lashes a quite likeable smile before turning her attention back on the battle below them.
After a quick look-around, she taps her com-bead.
Trooper Cecil's voice pop up in your com-bead.
<< Cecil to Probe-One.
In position.
Waiting for the word. >>
He turns to Cecil and wiggles one of his pinkies at her.
"You *Snort* You said I had *giggle* more muscle in my pinky than *snort* most have in their entire bodies.
But...but...*giggle* I would pity them then, because...*snort* there ARE no muscles in the fingers, just sinew!"
Finally he manages to contain himself, shake his head to clear it and put his game face back on.
"I...I think I might be having an allergic reaction to the painkillers or something.
Either that or battlefield fatigue. Let's hope this is the last action we see before we get back."
Cecil looks incredulous at first, then snorts and giggles.
"I *gig*, I mean, have you looked at *snort* that priest?
He looks high and mighty in his *snort* dress, but after it got shredded earlier I mean?
*Giggle* he sure is all sinew and bone wrapped in holy words and old skin!"
MacGuyver holds out an open hand toward the rats. Blessed be the Emperor! We are here to help!
Kenneth moves past the others in the squad to face the ratlings and so he is seen by them in full.
He shows his empty hands, his flamer still dangling from his hip since he needed both hands to climb anyway. He greets them by making the sign of the aquila, then gestures a blessing to them.
The startled ratling fires from the motion, even as his eyes widen in recognition...
BLAM!
For a very short moment, everyone present sees a friendly fire incident unfolding, with either MacGyver (who spoke first) or, probably even worse, Kenneth falling to their knees, an ugly red hole in their chest...
But as most such hastily fired shots, this one too misses its mark and creates just another bullet hole behind the arrived imperials.
The ratling lets go of his weapon as if it had stung him (or her?) and the sturdy stub gun falls to the ground with a resounding clatter of metal on stone.
It does not discharge, testimony to its robust, fool proof construction as Anatoly would have undoubtedly added.
With a sob, the ratling falls to his-her knees and spreads his arms wide in a gesture commonly seen by flagellants and low-ranking priests: the spread-eagle.
Its meaning is total and unquestioning obedience to any and all demands of the God Emperor.
The ratling's comrades all make sure that their guns are lowered and all return the aquilla one-handededly.
Yeah, yeah Simmins grumbles. Hey you guys know any sneaky way to get around this and get the jump on 'em from behind?
One of the ratling replies quickly, while ducking low under a sweeping salvo.
"There be collapsed elevator shaft down there, yesyes."
He points down the slope at a circular, roughly five meter thick, abruptly ending pipe of metal jutting out from the heap of debris.
"You strong. You climb down one level. Or two. Then step on traitor's tails, oh-yesyes!"
Do you know where the jamming signal is coming from? We have friends on the way with some very important prisoners and we need to get word to them!