Virgil immediately calls up every single supply requisition he's drafting and quintuples the numbers.
Twenty kilometers on a front as heavily entrenched as this is going to be no small feat. I hope they're planning on a rather large local build-up and the transfer of some heavier units. We have a few tanks, but nowhere near enough to break this line.
"Open your noospheric inloads wide, Adept and you will know they certainly do.
Whatever strategic reserves B-45 has are about to be brought to bear.
Eleven squadrons of mechanicus pattern combat walkers, each accompanied by two squads of Skitarii.
Lead by two Knight lances and a single recently repaired God-Machine: the Warhound-pattern 'Grim Hunter'.", at which point she folds several mechandendrites and her arms into the folded sign of the Omnissiah before her chest.
"At this point, it sounds like we would have a chance to strike one or more telling blows against our ancient foe, and potentially break a deadlock on this planet that has existed for a very long time indeed."
"However, this does make the idea of using military authority to recruit a number of the local abhumans to help us strike at these points all the more vital."
"Furthermore, as a moral officer, I can categorically state that our troopers are ill suited to this kind of environment, and a prolonged stay here will cause more and more serious infractions to occur.
I am talking about the sort of infractions that may cause loss of personell, possibly doubly so as both victim and perpetrator will end up dead."
Virgil does so and reflexively makes the sign of the Aquilla. Numbers start to fly like a flurry of snow around his noospheric junctions
Soldiers need to eat ration items at regular intervals, every four-six hours they’re awake. They should eat 0.7 grams protein/day/.45kg of body weight and take in up to 200 mg of caffeine, redosing every three to four hours (not to exceed 800 mg).
Troops should eat one to four hours before a field operation begins and dose caffeine 30 to 60 minutes before an activity.
During the field op they should snack each hour if possible and drink one half to one liter of fluid each hour.
After the operation, troops should have a combination of 80 to 120g of carbohydrates and 15 to 25g of protein after heavy activity and hydrate to relieve thirst.
calculating....
61,560 kg nutrition for a three day operation
90,000 liters of potable water/day
6000 sets of trench appropriate camouflaged ponchos
5,000 replacement ballistic plates for standard grade flak armor
20,000 replacement lasgun power packs
200,000 liters of promethium/day
4000 pairs of combat footwear, various sizes.
2,500 replacement sets of Preysense visors.
And a million other minutia floods from him to Vi.
The task of acquiring the necessary supply reserve in the midst of a redeployment of this scale will be substantial. he drones, his voice loosing most of it's light, confident tone in the depths of Noosphereic calculations and requisition schedules.
Sister Viola is as thrilled as ever to hear about large scale operations.
"Medical supplies are looking good. We're getting a surplus from the forge in exchange for being absolutely swamped by casualties from the frontlines. The magi have an intricate understanding of human anatomy no doubt but applying it to 'soldiers' instead of servitors seems to be challenging to them. Especially regarding psychological effects of wounds and what needs to be done to get them combat ready again. Not just healed.
Anyway the usual problem on a large scale offensive of this kind is that the field hospitals get further away the further you push forward. Can we get the forge to do something about that? Mobile Field Hospital Vehicles should not be hard to build in time for the offensive considering the resources of the forge."
Colonel Daan nods in turn at the Commissar, Logisticae and Hospitaler but does not speak up but rather gives a tiny nod towards Paleman.
He needs one of his advisors poking him quite obviously into the ribs before noticing the prompt and starting his rambling in a voice that is immediately grinding, like a fork scratching over expensive porcelain.
"Oh, yes, empyrical indeed, mhhh wha-oh. Yes, it might very well be true. My office has received well veiled requests for review and interpretation of some recorded psy-readings.
If they are real and taken from the position in question then...
yes, we are talking about a huge ritual sight with resulting unholy power I can't even begin to guess let alone describe to any of you.
How huge am I talking?
Cathedral size at the very least.
Thousands of cultists, heretics and dark priests accursed be their souls.
Witches, of course.
Neverborn, more than likely at a place where the barrier has been torn as completely as there.
And sacrifices. For a continued ritual of such scale?
Hundreds.
Every.
Day."
"It goes without saying that such a thing cannot be allowed to continue.
Not only would annihilating such a thing be a victory for us, it would most likely disrupt the enemy's plans, as well as inflict a possibly devastating blow to their morale."
Numbers and forms being filled out automatically still swirl around Virgil as he chimes in. Such a location will also, as a matter of neccecity, likely serve as a supply dump for local forces. This location is an excellent target for any offensive actions.
"Naturally, while the enemy is heretical, delusional and at times ephemeral, we cannot base our tactics on them being stupid.
A place like that is going to be absolutely well guarded.
We would need to distract the enemy, draw them away.
Perhaps employing multiple simultaneous strikes at other targets?
Potentially we could weaken the main target AND make significant strikes elsewhere at the same time.
Naturally, if we are too obvious, such a tactic would become obvious to the enemy."
The Colonel nods.
"Either the local Strategos had the same idea - or they are not willing to bet anything on this new information and attempts t kill two birds with one stone.
It seems that after the initial, main thrust focusing on Rockworks, a minor mining outpost, the expected advance is scheduled to aim for Trackworks: the closest mid-sized manufactorium complex, apparently manufactring tracks, engines and other vehicle motion systems.
Which should draw a lot of attention off the target location which is considerably further to the east.
The smaller part of the attack force is scheduled to split off the main advance after capturing Rockworks and head to the new target with all haste - which means mechanized forces."
Which leaves out the Kriegers and thus means you, the Astartes and probably some Skitarii forces.
Yo note that the target location is pretty close (still a few kilometers off, but still) to that green-putrid blob labelled "Toxdump 54-B" on the map, which does not sound very healthy and you recall a double-fatality of a scouting party you had to deliver the Emperor's peace to a day back.
The two troopers inhaled a pretty horrific mix of chemicals which rapidly turned first their lungs and then most other nearby organs and systems into a melting mess.
From what you gathered, they were sent on a scouting mission into the eastern no-man's land, to get a lay of the land.
Seeing the map now, you'd hazard a guess that they went to close to whatever that Toxdump 54-B thing is...
Ludicus slowly strokes his chin, noting with some concern the feel of a hint of stubble against his fingertips.
Water rations have been cut back somewhat, but I cannot allow myself to set a poor example.
I may have to go thirsty tomorrow...
"Mechanised forces..."
The Colonel's lips curl for a moment at the muttered words of the Commissar.
"Mechanized, indeed. And that means us. And probably some Skitarii and maybe, maybe Astartes.
But that since we don't have any hard Intel on that target, let us focus on Rockworks. Mr. Samin, brief us."
A small subset of the data whirlwind surrounding Virgil breaks off as he reports, The Rockworks is a venerable mining outpost and is still operational in spite of its advanced age. The surface area of the mining complex is small compared to open air strip mining operations consisting of a central loading/unloading bay for cargo trucks, a single comparatively small manufactorum doubling as chapel to the Omnissiah, a small watch station and an Administratum enclave complete with three hab blocks for its scribes.
It has an active mining population of 12,000 plus dependants, all of which live underground. This large population has developed into a kind of nomadic tribal society with groups of miners moving from mining tunnel to tunnel searching for ores to harvest.
The area, being as heavily undermined as it is, is steadily sinking into the crust as the weight of the support structures collapses old, defunct tunnels. At last measurement the town center is 238 meters below nominal ground level for the area and creates a depression approximately 2km wide.
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You wonder how up-to-date the scribe's Data are, considering this mining town was a central element in the line for probably a long time.
Which means artillery duels, tanks, trencheworks and all the destruction that comes with that.
Ludicus frowns for a moment, thinking about what Virgil said.
Then he raises a hand and speaks, doing his best to not sound accusatory in any way.
"How recent is this information? This mining town has been a central element of the line for quite some time.
Artillery, tanks, trenches...
There should be a considerable amount of damage done to that area, meaning that any reports we have would be less than reliable"
Virgil nods. This is true. My latest data is from before the data-sequestration of the hives was initiated, so 10 years, approximately.
"Good point. That means the general layout will be even more instable now than it already was.", the Colonel continues the thought.
Major MacKenzy nods with an unhappy expression on her scarred face:
"That means no Titan or Knight support during the last two to three kilometers. They will not risk getting onto such treacherous terrain. But they should have a nice, open, elevated firing position from the ledge at least."
Decimus Vi's left, augmented eye briefly glows blue before she adds:
"You are quite right, Major. And neither should your armored vehicles approach in close formation. I suggest a dispersal pattern of at least twenty meters between the Russ and twelve between chimeras."
"I believe there was a report of one of our squads managing to delay a smaller class Titan by using strategic explosives to weaken the fundaments and causing it to crash through the floor.
I suspect our foes would have prepared to use such tactics as well.
Walking into a trap willingly can be a viable strategy, but not in this case I suspect."
We also need some intel on the resident miners. If they are resisting the foe in their underground networks, then they may be an asset. If they have joined the foe then having that number of underground specialist beneath the feet of any advance could render the entire advance wasted.
Gnutr looks a bit dubious at that.
"Do we really reckon a bunch of civvies to stay loyal and alive without support and supplies for years on end? Against the arch enemy no less ...
And even if... I do not see how we could establish contact with them without potentially giving our plans away."
"Sounds like a lot of mumbled gibberish in here today, but I get the gist we are pushing multiple attacks to distract from the main push on this ritual. If you are happy to have reduced fire support later on, I could have my crews ready to lay on an initial barrage prior to the first attack and then be ready to follow up the push. If you can get us close enough, maybe we can pound the ritual with enough HE. It will however mean our artillery is at risk in the salient and will take a while to reset after. I'm not taking my guns near that mine riddled ground, paperwork for a beached gun isn'tworth it, but I can probably force it to collapse a little more if you want me to though.
Now coordinating with the Magos Logisticae of Hive Central Supply. I am attempting to request an increase per trooper of heavy ordinance. Each trooper should be carrying several det packs, smoke grenades, and krak grenades to break remaining hard points in the outer lines. Any missile or other demo-trained trooper should have double the ordinance. Any Artillery should be at least similarly equipped, if not more. Ogryn mortar troops should have plentiful ammo. Coordinating requests...
"Hmm, we can draw some conclusions based on how much of that request is granted.
The more of it that is, the more the Magi in charge believe that this mission is likely to succeed, and that it is vital.
If they are reluctant, and it is not based on a lack of resources..."
Indeed. We are being given the support of a God Engine, Praise Him, but it is not one Warhound that will win this fight. I wonder if they will see that and have faith that we can succeed if we are properly equipped to deal with a very much hardened enemy.
Inloading response to requests...
Additional artillery shells have been made available. Deaf Joe He turns to look directly at the 5/6 deaf man. You have double your normal compliment of shells available, but transport is up to you. No additional transport capacity is available.
My request for increased squad explosives has been denied, but a total of 80 additional rocket launchers and ammo have been made available. I recommend immediate distribution and training.
This amount of launchers should mean one for each squad with standard ammo pack including 6 Frag, 4 Krak, 1 Incendiary, 1 Smoke.
Madam Viola, as per your request: while no dedicated mobile Medicae Transports are available, there is a total of 24 old cargo-eight trucks that have not been not used since the closed-gate policy was enacted.
A junior Enginseer has been dispatched to review their state of maintenance and get at least a handful of them cleaned up and going.
As an aferthought, Virgil puts in a request to the Hive scrap yards. He interfaces with the Logisticae there and requests reinforced shields for the Ogryn so they can better weather the small-medium arms fire the squads were about to storm into. He also asks about outfitting each and every chimera with a nice, thick dozer blade for clearing wire, obstacles, and as extra ablative armor for the front of the APC's.
"Roger that, much obliged, although without transportation we'll have to strap additional shells to the outsides to get them to the firing positions, the boys won't like it as we'll more vulnerable to incoming fire, but they'll enjoy the extra boom eh! Would there be a possibility of reserve mechanised infantry bringing up some of the extra shells on their chimeras? Again extra risk from incoming fire, but with a spaced out movement, it should limit overall damage and get the shells there quicker.
We could hit the frontline and rockworks to start you all off at extended range and then if you can take and hold the rockworks we can probably hit the ritual site from there with mixed effectiveness. It won't be pretty, but I would imagine it's hard to chant with HE landing close by eh what!"
You are surprised to note that there are no scrap yards in B-53.
There is a "Redistribution and Recycling Hall" - which probably is the closest you get, but your request is simply rediirected to the usual requision channels without comment.
It takes all of a minute before a reponse comes back.
An affirmative on the additional frontal armor plating for roughly a third of the regiment's chimeras.
Dozerblades for the few remaining Russ.
And three boarding shields for each unit of Ogryns - they seem to assume Ogryns being deployed in teams of 5.
The Deacon frowns at the artilleryman's words.
"I had never an issue with that, but filthy heretics as they might indeed find the blessed steel rain distracting."
Maj. MacKenzie nods along.
"I like it. Stay put during the initial assault phase and provide fire suport from your current, well supplied position.
Once we reach Rockworks prper, pack up with all haste and follow us, so that you are settled in as the second phase begins.
As for the extra ammo ... maybe we can detail any damaged but not fully disabled vehicles of the initial assault phase for transportation duty? So they can contribute to the second phase indirectly before filtering back here for repairs."
After a few more exchanges of little importance, Colonel Daan's chrono chirps and he rises.
"Thank you all for your input and remarks.
Return to your duties and prepare the regiment for imminent assault.
Tell them it is going to be big and that speed is of utmost importance.
Troop dispositions and specific orders will be issued in an hour.
Dismissed."
For Virgil, the calm before the storm of battle is his most trying time. Immediately after the meeting, before specific orders are even given, he schedules seventeen different meetings with various regimental quartermasters and Forge Logisticae. The gears of industry and logistics start turning even faster than they were before.
Using his trading experience, Virgil sets up an entirely rote and not entirely clever, but effective, method of transporting goods to one, sometimes two, intermediary sorting stations before delivery to the troops. This process is about as elementary as you can get, but the supply corps of the regiment is well trained and the system runs with admirable precision that makes the whole thing work with minimal deviation.
He then leaves the machine to do its work, only intervening when something goes truly (and in one instance literally) off the rails.
Once again he has so time for fancy maneuvers and it's his precise control and management that save the day. He also commandeers a couple Krieg transports temporarily, but that nothing he can't smooth over with the up-tight attrition specialists. They'd probably end up thanking him for making their lives harder for 30 minutes or something.
The derailed train is quickly offloaded and the supplies sent forward on a hastily assembled truck column. The Mechanicus rail cranes have arrived by that point and right the train. Normally a train derailed like that would be abandoned as a problem for later, but Virgil won't hear of it. He needs every rail car he has to get this volume moved in time.
"Excellent idea Mack, I'll get the boys working on a plan as soon as I get back. We'll see if we can find some space for some of those extra shells too."
On returning to the artillery lines, Joe is quick to call his officers in.
"Right lads, got some plans to make for a big push and for us to follow up to a new location. We're gonna have lots of extra shells, so Staff sergeant Blackmore, see if you can squeeze a few extra in, we may also need to pack a few on the outside and rig up some slings for damaged chimeras to carry a few as well. Company Sgt Major, can you get the boys ready to move at short notice, if all goes to plan, we won't be back. Lieutenant Romero, you and I are going to take a look at the maps and come up with a bombing schedule. Lieutenant Powell, the big lads, get them to keep up local mortar support where they can for now, keep the natives heads down, but have them ready to move as well. I'll show you the rough targets, but there will be proper orders to follow shortly. In short, we'll have to drag our sorry backsides out of this cosy trench, but where's the glory in pounding heretics from here, we're going to put the pressure on. Please pass on my belief in the boys to them and I'll be round later to gee them up a bit"
General orders in place Joe took Lieutenant Romero to the planning table, cranking up the lumen to see the map better.
"Right Ronnie, We are putting as big a barrage as we can on this location here, use all we can't take with us and see if we can shake the very ground apart. We'll creep that forward, to allow the troops to get in close and then load up ready to move, so where are the dividers and the range tables... Ah good, right, so let's say 25 rounds per gun, that's 100 a squadron,...OK. Great, thanks Ronnie, draw that up neatly and run it by me, then we'll pass it round.
Ludicus had withdrawn to his quarters to contemplate his next step.
To keep himself occupied, he had dismantled his Commissariat weapons and were performing a meticulous maintenance rite.
He had always found that his thoughts were more ordered when his hands were occupied.
right now, orders were beginning to be handed out to individual squads, and no doubt junior officers and veteran NCOs were in the process of giving speeches to boost moral.
It might be a good idea to go out there and be seen.
Standing up, Ludicus slowly checked himself in the mirror.
He wasn't a vain man, but taking care of his appearance was important for a Commissar.
No fool, Ludicus was well aware he had made Commissar in part due to his classic good looks.
He had the appearance of an Imperial hero, and normally, hi red uniform made him stand out, even amongst his peers.
Chuckling softly, he was reminded of the question one ignorant trooper had asked when he just happened to pass by.
"Do the mekboys have their own Commissars too?"
it was a...forgivable question, after all, his red uniform meshed well with the robes of the Adeptis Mechanicus and the Skitari present.
Eventually, having shaved, strapped on his "badges of office", Ludicus ventured forth, making sure to be seen, stopping on occasion to give advice, cheer up a trooper, and generally just bolstering morale.
But, a Commissar, even one who tries to lead by example and by charisma, sometimes have to remind others that while one hand might be open and ready to help you stand, the other was a fist, ready to strike you down if you truly deserved it.
As such, he made sure to come down, hard, on anyone slacking off before such a big push, especially a group of solders that had found themselves a stash of illicit drugs.
It's a well known fact that officers of the guard are as bored as the men they command when they have little to do.
And many officers, especially those of higher command level, tend to have more time, since they usually fob many tasks off on their juniors.
Technically, Cormaeg WAS a junior officer, but he was something of a special case. Not only promoted from a professional sgt, so with plenty of experience under his belt already, but also a man who had caught the eyes of the higher up.
As such, he was not exactly the person you'd fob off a stupid task to.
As such, he was invited to more than one officer get together, treated as one of the "boys" rather than a young whippersnapper forced to fetch recaff and Amasec while the older men laughed and joked with eachother.
At the moment, he was playing Regicide with the Captains, and being quite pleased about the fact that they looked a lot different than their names sounded.
Made it a lot easier to NOT balls things up.
"So, it looks like I might just be taking that pot as well.
Tell you what though, I'm apparently being sent on another mission during our next push, and odds are not the best, so why don't you all hold on to it for now.
If I get back, I can have it then, and if not...well, you can't take anything with you to the Golden Throne except your accomplishments after all."
"You know, I think there is something that could help my squad survive though...
I've heard that there are a lot of extra launchers and munitions for them available?
Maybe if we could get some aux launchers for my squad, and some ammo for them.
Any chance one of you stout fellows could help me out a bit?"
Sister Viola staggers out of the the meeting and for the first time notices how sleeply she actually feels. Still her brain is nagging her that she forgot something... then it hits her - The scouts _breathed in_ a deadly _liquid_
Sleepyness getting pushed aside by adrenaline she looks arounds and then sprints after Virgil and grabs him by the arm: "I have dead scouts from that region who _breathed_ a fast killing toxic _liquid_. How many suits of hazmat combat gear can you get us by the time of the attack? Can we at least supply them with respirators?"
Virgil nods. I shall do my best. When me loose men, I want it to be because of the enemy, not because of us. He immidiately files an emergency addendum to his other requests to add chem and biotox resistant clothing and either full hazmat suits (added as critical for the scouts) or rebreather masks (for everyone else) to their kit.
With entire companies of Kriegers on planet there should be plenty of that kind of thing floating around.
+++ Officer's Club +++
A (very) young looking lad in a very clean and fresh looking uniform with a gleaming Captain badge is looking ready to speak up at your question. He has kept a bit to the back for the entire evening. Never out of sight but never in the center. You get the feeling that he, a Cpt. O'Really by the name tag, is not new to this kind of get together - but is very new to being one of the officers rather than just company for one.
He looks about, as if to check that no other is about to speak, then he finally dares to answer in a rather small voice.
"If manufactory 54 on level minus 34 can keep their schedule, another batch of 75 rifle-attached auxillary grenade launchers mark XI should be ready in seven hours and four minutes. The batch is scheduled to refill the recently emptied supply depot of the Skitarii forces. But an requisition request from a Frontline unit should trump regular restocking operations as by General Tacticae Primus Degree 635-k of this morning."
Cormaeg, lokking over the lad, quickly decides that this young 'un might just be someone to cultivate as a contact.
Clearly he was young and a bit nervous, and while he did outrank the old man himself, that wasn't necessarily going to be an issue?
"Well, that is very good news indeed captain.
Come on, why don't you join us? There is a spot open right here.
Trust me on this, learning the ins and outs of a good game of regicide is almost essential to an officer."
Pulling out the chair net to his own, Cormaeg does his best "Genial grandfather" impression.
I bet he hasn't got a lot of respect yet, showing him some, or better yet, showing him how to get some off his own is probably going to be a thing he'll appreciate.
+++ Officer's Club +++
The young Captain looks somewhat bewildered then quickly takes a seat at your side and gazes at the board between Cormaeg and a Yunathan' Major by the name of Gregory - a bulky man with a double chin that does not look like he would get through even the most lenient and hard-pressed recruiting officer's physical examination.
O'Really points at one of the Major's archbishops which is thoroughly covered by a trio of Cormaegs paws but in turn blocks his advance into the Major's main line.
"If only you could get rid of this piece, you could advance fast and probably catch his Warmaster before he can escape."
While plain to see for any casual observer, now that the young Captain has highlighted the issue and potential decisiveness, you DO note that your Primarch could take out the Archbishop - only to face his demise soon after.
BUT in doing so, the blockade would be open for your pawns to charge in and surround the Warmaster within five turns...
Huh, good eyes, and a good mind as well.
Do I take the chance?
Hmmm, yes, I think I will.
If it works, it will give me an excuse to give some credit to the lad, and if it doesn't work, I'll learn a new trick from the Major I can use myself later.
"Good eyes, and it gives me an idea.
One that is very typical for the mentality of the guards in either case."
Sacrificing a Primarch wasn't a common move, but it WAS perfectly allowable if it could secure ones victory after all.
Cormaeg goes all in with the fateful move.
+++ Officer's Club +++
The Major's chin wobble in astonishment as he witnesses Cormaegs move. The surprise turns into ill-hidden triumph as he beats Cormaeg's Primarch with a mere Sentinel.
"I really,", he stresses that last word while looking at O'Really, "cannot fathom what you mean, Lieutenant. If this ... wastefulness is what you think of the guard, I think your career best be short and unremarkable. For the good of the guard and the Imperium." He announces with a thick, huffing and very smug voice.
Clearly, he has not noticed the threat, which Cormaeg and, presumably, the Captain have.
The game is over after three more turns - and only in the second, did it dawn on the Major what just happened. His face is quite flushed (not that there was much room to increase the red, puffy face) as his Warmaster is cornered and he has to admit defeat to Cormaeg.
A few watchers applaud the winner and some coins and wavers are switching owners discretely. Out of his peripheral vision, Cormaeg thinks he catches a glitter of reflecting light from what might have been a credit waver wandering from a small lady-officer's hand into the pocket of O'Really. Or it was just a chance reflection from his fresh and spotless Chrono.
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Cormaeg leans back in his chair, and takes out a piece of cheeroot that he begins to slowly chew.
"My point, major, is that at the end of the day, we are all expendable.
We are one of the organisations that carry the weight of the empire on our shoulders.
We are meant to stand in line and die defending the empire.
Our lives are ones of sacrifice, because we are ever sent into the fray, to guard the empire against those that would stand against us."
"No matter what colour uniform we wear, when we put it on, we become a potential sacrifice for the future of the empire.
Medals will not protect you, nor rank.
And I pray only for one thing, that when I stand before the golden throne to be judged, I shall be able to say that when my time came to be sacrificed, I did not hesitate and went willingly."
Even before the actual orders have been given, everyone knew what was coming by the fact that the regular and quite hard drills were suddenly much easier: less weights in the backpacks, less running and marching in difficult terrain, less close quarter drills, instead a quick round of training with regional favored launcher weapons and an improved appearance of confessors, medics and commissars in the assigned quarts, seeing after the mental, physical and disciplinary needs of the troopers respectively.
Another give-away was the very recent reassignment into full-strength squads, after the heavy losses the regiment took during the initial landing, not to mention the special operation that took place afterwards.
You are now: Serenus First, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Platoon, 1st Squad.
Your Squadleader is a Sgt. Leni Tivnan - you probably know her as "Mother Leni", not due to her age but due her medic specialty - and also because the Squad's Ogryn keeps calling her that.
Leader of your Platoon is Lt. Cormaeg MacCommon, a grizzled man with quite a sharp tongue.
In short: something big was coming and the higher ups did not want to risk any training injuries disabling able troopers.
Last night, you went to sleep wondering where you would sleep tomorrow and whether you would life long enough to find out...
You just got your orders, early in the morning, signed by the Colonel himself:
General, all-out mechanized assault with a massive wave of infantry following after.
The 2nd Battalion is right in the front of it all, just behind the spearhead formed by local Skitarii Armor and a Lance of Knights, plus the few remaining tanks under Maj. MacKenzie.
The accompanying Titan is walking right behind the Knights and thus will be very close by you.
There is a small amendment to your orders, stating that your units must stay mounted aboard your Chimera's while in "close proximity" to the Titan.
A list of mission assignment gear is appended at the end, to collect from the regimental makeshift depot on sector 45:
Per Squad: 1 local-pattern Missile Launcher + assorted missiles
Per Squad: 3 Hazmat Suits
Per Squad: 5 Aux. Grenade Lanchers (guaranteed)
Per Trooper: 1 Rebreather
Per Trooper: 4 combat rations & water (guaranteed)
Cormaeg, being a former hunter and an old man, was up early to make his own final preparations.
One of the advantages of rank was that you got a lot more space for yourself, which meant you didn't risk waking up a lot of grumpy soldiers just because you were a morning person.
Reaching for his locker, Cormaeg reached into it and withdrew his most prized possession.
A power sword.
Over the last few months he had been training quite diligently with it, and now he was no longer limited to the simple "Standard pattern eight" in a fight.
Getting dressed, Cormaeg went down to the motor pool, finding a comfortable place, he sat down to wait for the rest of his squad to arrive.
Taking a moment to look over the assigned transport, Cormaeg raises an eyebrow.
Sure, it certainly looked to be in excellent condition, but a medivac?
Less armour and no main gun...
If it came to combat, it wouldn't be the safest option.
At least it had one weapon to use.
Thud makes a wake in the mass of soldiers rushing to and fro in the main access corridor near the Quartermaster's station. He is cleaned and polished, the red of his robes just a few shades off the Mechancus' favored hue. He doesn't mean to force everyone to the side, but when you're nearing 2.75 meters tall, have a gleaming roasarius around your neck and weigh as much as some vehicles it just happens.
Thud's bald, immensely ugly head looks carefully at the navigation symbols over the doors, then squints at a full sheet of paper that looks very much like a scrap in his meaty, scarred hands. Then back to the door symbols. His eyes squint.
Suddenly a little light flickers on the side of his head. The side that's all metal. His Bon'ead implant kicks the right synapses just in time and Thud correctly makes his way to the appropriate bay. Barely.
His foot falls on the metal plating sound like a Sentinel is approaching the loading docks. He spots Cormaeg by looking over the parked vehicles and weaves his way around the crowds of soldiers and tech priests preparing their machines for the coming battle. His movements are still clumsy, but he is much more agile than any of his unaugmented kindred. His Ripper hangs off to his left side on a thick leather strap and his signature Evicerator hangs across his back under his thick Ogryn shield.
He stops in front of Cormaed and salutes, only barely remembering not to hit his own head.
Thud be here, Eltee! Re porting for doodee. Not sure why Doodee needs Protin' or why it got un-ported in the first place, but Mamma Leni says come, so here I be. She also says to give you dis!
He hands Cormaeg the paper in his hand. She says it be leadin' me to you and it'll lead you to what I needs... or somethin'. Says she heard about a big'ol gun that helps us later.
On the back of the sheet of paper, opposite the hanger's designation in huge print, is a short requisition request for a few items to augment Thud's firepower for the upcoming offensive.
Letter delivered, Thud nods to himself and then promptly sits, using the bulk of the Chimera for a back rest.
While he wasn't about to show it too openly, Cormaeg was quite pleased to see Thud.
Ogryns were for the most part pretty useful, and he had already come to understand Thud well enough to appreciate his reliability.
Besides, he was a survivor, and that was useful in the extreme.
...
Alright, alright, maybe he had come to like the Ogryn just a bit.
Certainly, he rated a return salute at the very least.
"Bone 'ead Thud'dr.
Welcome to the squad, glad to have you again."
Taking the paper and giving it a glance, Cormaeg realised with just a little bit of surprise that it was in fact a requisitioning order.
"Did you fill out this form yourself Thud?
You've come a long way..."
Proud of you, son...
Thud smiles, a truly bracing event. His lips slide back to reveal jagged, yellowing teeth that look more like dull bone grinding stones than human teeth. The joy in his eyes only makes it seems more likely that he'd eat you.
His voice though is so full of pride that the mental image is immediately replaced with one of a eight year old kid and the perceptual whiplash is real.
I did it! Mamma Leni had to tell me the letters sometimes. I kept writing it in High Garlic, she says. Somethin' with my head's new bits. But it only took a couple days between drill! Mamma Leni's the best!
for a moment, Cormaeg's mind is lost in contemplation over what exactly a language named High "Garlic" would look like?
Then he snaps back to the present, not wanting to stand and stare into space for very long in front of troopers, even Thud.
He quickly cover his mouth with his fist, pretending to cough.
In reality he is hiding his own smile, finding it somewhat amusing that Leni is capable of making two men smile, but for very different reasons.
"Only a couple of days eh? Fast progress..."
Glancing back at the form, he takes a moment to puzzle out what exactly it says.
A..."Molar can'on"? Oh wait!
"A Mauler Cannon? Have you ever used one before Thud?
I can certainly try, but I suspect it's more likely to get you that heavy Stubber."
Thud shrugs. Da Moler is just like da stubber, ya? Point da bangy end at da guys that need bangn'. I can do dat. Don't know where Mama Leni heard it was, but she got dat weird smile like when somebody turns insides out but not so insides out she can't shove 'em back? Like dat, but I tinks she wants me bang the baddies, not hers guys.
"Certainly true, there would be a whole lot of bullets in the air in either case.
We'll see what we can come up with.
Hmm, what else?
Oh, look at that. A heavy stubber as well...
And armour, yes, that would make sense.
The less you get hurt, the less Leni has to patch you up after all."
Cormaeg ran a hand over his beard, smirking just a touch.
He himself had after all a full Storm trooper carapace.
Whatever happened to the second set? It wasn't particularly important at the end of the day, but whatever.
"Let's wait and see who turns up next?"