NPC Guardsman's page

"Ahh, it's nothing, father.
Its just the usual crazy of guard life and the small moments of hilarity it produces.
We just passed "Patchy" back there and saw him tripping over the robe of a local tech priest and scatter his entire load over several square meters of floor. He just should walk three times rather than stacking his stuff so high, he cannot even see over it.
And, well, the mix of profanities he was shouting mixed with the irritated buzzing of the cogboy were just the icing on the cake."

Through the knot of troopers, two cackling ones approach the first squad.

Specialist 1st class Frederick "Speaker" Miller, a regal looking man in his fourtys with greying, curly hair, is your assigned driver and vox operator. He abruptly comes to a standstill as he witnesses an Ogryn test-swinging a missile launcher as if it were a bat.

The same sight is making "Lost" cackle even harder and somewhat more hysterical. She is a blonde bombshell, with striking violet eyes and your navigator and "Speaker's" Co-Pilot.

"Told you we would get to ferry HIM, didn't I?!", she crackles and then makes the sign of the Aquila to the Ogryn in priest's robes.

Captain Jutr nods crisply, replying:

"Very well. The Emperor protects. You've accomplished much today...",
his gaze wanders to the mostly unconscious forms of the ratlings.
"Prisoners of war too? You really want that promotion, eh?"

Jeff looks troubled at the cargo tube, then back towards the main entrance.
"I sure think it is way past time to go.
Do you hear bells tolling too, or am I going crazy at last?"

Scorch-Seth nods approvingly.
"Indeed.
Retreating men count every enemy twice, but it sounds like we will head into a target rich environment."

During the hished debates about the right tactic, Sgt. Hrnner seems slightly distracted and takes a peek onto his chronological more than once.
After a minute of back and forth, he waves for Zulu and MacGyver.
"Check out our rear. There should be four more squads here with us and they are more than ten minutes behind schedule by now. Keep box silence if at all possible and report back in ten."

Sgt. Henner gets to his feet from a crate he had sat down upon to consult the data pad with the map and mission details.
"What was that - you consulted with local mutants?
I beg you pardon, Mr. Medland, but I would have expected you of all people to advice and act against such a course of action.
Ahh, nevermind. We have more pressing issues at hand.
We are seven minutes and counting behind schedule.
Time to move out.
Zulu, you and MacGyver take the lead.
Here's the map.
We need to get there in twenty minutes."
He hands over the data slate with the three dimensional floor plan to the scout of the second team.
A black-haired, lean guy of little words and way too many knives on his belt to feel comfortable around.

<< A ratman? You mean a mutant?
Avoid contact where possible. Do not trust the mutant.
If you think you can get important Intel, then go ahead but I would be hesitant to actually use such Intel unless we can verify it somehow.
Don't tally and get here asap. >>

Martha does look pretty sick as she approaches Sergeant Walkover and speaks up in a bleak voice, tears glinting in her eyes.
"Sir, Syna died sometime during the firefight...
No one noticed or was by her side when it happened.
What ... shall we do with ... her?"

"Still here, Sir!" Comes the hard-trained voice of Plip.
"Yes, by the Emperor. But Syna does not seem like she will make it, dammitall!" comes the troubled sound-off of Martha, Felix' Gunner-Sister.
... and that's it from the Tankers.

Syna, the very young and nervous looking medic trainee only shrugs at Lynn's remark and answers the Lt.
"Maybe if we bundle a couple krak and stuff them in.
We tankers don't get kraks but you field soldiers should have some, right?
Quicker than letting him", he points to the Ogryn,
"make a new door for us."

One of the wounded troopers in the trench whistles silently as Felix drops close to the group, visibly bleeding from her arm.
"Oi, sis', this ain't lookin' good.
Lemme call ye a medic, eh?"
He then calls into his com-bead:
"<< Medic Jonston to trench section 0-12, at the double, man.
Got some wounded of wave 2 here! >>"

The Navy guys look disbelieving at the Commissar. The woman speaking up after a moment.
"You earnestly think that we have a Xeno loose on the ship?
When should this have happened in the first place?
Unless you folk brought a war prisoner with you and promptly lost control of him that is."

The man blinks then answers quickly:
"Ahem, the deck below is the starboard gunnery deck, above ... must be crew quarters, mostly occupied by your dir... soldiers.
This deck is stuffed with secondary and tertiary infrastructure stuff.
Loads of machinery like in here, seldom visited storage cells holding spare plating, pipes n'other stuff for repairs.
Next intercom ... pro'ly next to the elevator we took down here.
I heard that some of da cog'eys shrines have an interlink 'swell."

One of the Navy grunts is looking at the Enginseer, dumbstruck.
"What the feth is he talkin' about, ma'am?"

Good call. Although this one only has a lousy autogun. Mr. Shotgun is dead
2d100 ⇒ (17, 86) = 103
The militiamen adds a couple of hits against the onrushing Ork, adding to the damage of Simmins stubber hit!
3d10 ⇒ (10, 3, 1) = 14
1d5 ⇒ 5
The first shot punches right into the impact crater left by the stubber round and bites deep, causing the Ork to drop face-first onto the ground!

Resolution of your action comes in a bit.

<< FUBAR Co'frmed. We could fall back and close da big door.
Should keep 'em off our heels fer sum time, yes? >>

The squad net crackles with the sound of gunfire as Lucky replies:
<< Got sum grots rushing out one of da rooms we didn't check.
I hear a boy or two as well.>>

The manual with the vox nods at Lucky's words.
"Ain't doin' nuffing stupid like 'at.
Old MacStibbin would 'ave had me wipped if I ever played with the chambers vox' settin'."

Captain Martins grimaces at those words with a clearly readable: 'Oh frakk, what now' but leads Cormaeg out of earshot (which in the close confines of the station means the train).
"Okay, here we are Mr. Common, I am all ear..."

The report is met with a surprised silence, lasting a handful of seconds, before the operator on the other end - or more likely whatever listening Officer - decided on how to handle this unexpected stream of information.
+++ If all of this is in fact true, you just marked your squad and yourself down for a medal, Sergeant. +++
The voice did not add 'otherwise you will find yourself in front of a firing squad' - because it did not have to.

A few more seconds pass, before another voice cuts in, this one you know.
It is Captain Jutr, Commander of your Battalion and his voice is overlaid by a lot of static but still very powerful.
+++ MacCommon, good ta have ya back.
After yer little train ride, yer the most advanced squad we have atm.
We must get visual on what is happening in the central garden.
Pencilpushers tellin' me that urgatrnsz Ork-artillery must be within a block of the garden.
From my map, you should get a good view on it from somewhere high up that spire you'r in now.
Try the head office.
Pencilpushers like a good view from their desks.
You may commandeer those PDF rabble yer found.
Yer's an alpha mission now, overriding any objections that locals may bring up.
Get us a visual and some good coordinates on that artillery and I'll see ya promoted.
Now get it done, Sergeant.
Jutr out. +++

Kikky, the young PDF mortar-team loader grimaces.
"Ain't needin' an order for that!
Can't even hit 'em that close with the tube!"

Then Thud'dr arrives, and Kikky only manages a "Huh-ahh!" before being lifted off the ground, including the heavy backpack full of mortar round, and dropped unceremoniously inside the train.

Choon is right. Thu'dr can only carry one at a time without dropping his gun in the process.
Leni: If you did not, I recommend you to read the 'Monia' entry.
@All: Ork-Boy [9/36] means: Dodge skill of 9, parry skill of 36.

@Cormaeg: That will be an athletic+20 check to climb the crane to get to the weakest looking spot - aka where it is less ridiculous thick.
"Aye, Sir.
Shall we start lobbing as soon as set up or hold fire until your word?"
While Yuri is replying, Maggy and Kikky seem to discuss where to set up.
Kikky is pointing to the roof of the train but Maggy seems to not be amused and rather points energetically behind the closest heap of cover.

1d100 ⇒ 1
Meanwhile, scurries up the crane with ease after extracting himself from the heavy promethium tank and the connected flamer.
He even offers a hand for the Sergeant.
+10 if you let him help you ;-)

Huh, didn't got updates from your last four posts again. Checked the site multiple times yesterday afternoon but nothing :-/
***
I did not prepare a map for this, but cover is
- plentiful, sturdy available if you decide to stay a dozen-or-so steps back from the ramp
- zero.zero on the ramp
- one might use the small heaps of junk the Orks have heaped up every 10 meters or so for makeshift cover. Unless someone uses explosives or other high-velocity weapons, they should provide rather good small-arm-fire protection. The closest such heap you can make out is 6 steps from the end of the ramp, which is a good 50m run up in a noticeable angle

Maggy, the still groggy-looking guardsman, asks:
"Shall we set up the Mortar, Sir?
It is a little tricky with all those low ceilings and stray supportive metal stuff around, but I guess we might get a shot through and hit those in the back with a surprise gift."

"Huh, this looks like the control panel.
Got two activators.
Anyone mind to guess which one is up and which is down?"
Anyone feel free to just go forth an press the world-end button.
...
I have a loooong weekend coming, so probably no big posts before monday

Maggy, now mostly concious but still quite high on painkillers makes a snarky remark at your situation.
"Weeel, as if .... trains still run on ssssschedule after all this timesies.
Guesssss, biggy has tu curry me awesome moar, eh?
At least tunnelssss are big 'nuff fffffer him thisssss time.
Hey Ralph ... Which way to the ... thingy we search.
Left ur rightsy?"

Yuri knees beside Meggy with a troubled look and mutters:
"Try to not touch any suspicious objects.
We and the militias used a lot of those improvised explosives during the later stages of the war.
Proofed effective against Orks.
They try to loot everything, ya know..."

1d5 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
With a yelp, Notch is flung back from the console he is working on, a finger-thick blue spark dancing for the briefest moment over his hands and he shouts in frustration.
The smell of (slightly) scorched flesh and burned hair starts to fill the area.
"Okay, Okay, Omnissiah-forsaken thing!
I'll take the other one - groktoschwillakr'zuta!"
The last word clearly some kind of curse, but also very clearly neither low nor high gothic in origin.
A moment later ...
"Sarge, I need another powerpack.
Just fried the first one.
Or it fried me to be precise.
But I guess it should work then."

Notch is fiddling with the machine deep in work as the grenade goes up.
To his luck, he is on the opposite side of the hall and while some shrapnels reach him (and his machine), they have lost all of their lethal energy traveling this far and ping off the metal surface of the taxer without damaging it further.
"Hey, what'ya doing back tere?!
I am working here!"
Then he looks back at the maintenance panel he just opened and the host of snaking cables that now lie open in front of him.
Wighting a half-empty power cell in one hand and two cables in the other he turns to Thud:
"Hey Thud, wattaya think.
The black or the red cable ought'a carry power?"

Remembers me of the all-ogryn-party.
OW game with only ogryn players I read in another forum.
One of them was 'multiclassing' in operator and did specialize in fixing things the ogryn way - because: what could go wrong?

The old PDF gunner (Yuri) asks Simmins who walks beside him with a lowered voice: "Are those ... Ogryms ... really worth the hastle?"

The young PDF loader (Kikky) is vomiting heartedly at the sight, sound and smell of this.

1d100 ⇒ 20
1d5 ⇒ 4
Notch is affected by the psychic backlash as well and glowers at Monia, the tip of his flamer resting uncomfortably long on her, before he turns to follow 'his' Ogryn towards the Orkjelly.
As he passes her, he says:
"I could have purged you for this one witch and would have been praised by the priesthood.
Keep that in mind in the future..."

4d100 ⇒ (89, 95, 57, 94) = 335
Cort, Maggy, Kikky and Yuri cannot hold back their lunch either at the sight (and smell) of the green-violet-cube-ork.

@Thud'dr: keep in mind that unnatural Characteristics decrease test difficulty by one step.
Additional Info: As you charge closer (half distance in one round), the smell is getting worse and worse...

The PDF soldiers follow Simmins, abandoning the set-up mortar altogether, producing worn-out autoguns.
"Way too close for the tube!"
The shaggy woman you know as maggy calls out the smeared thing with a disgusted face.
"Urgh ... What is that?
I ... urgl ... It was a head.
Urgs. I can see an ear."

As movement comes into the squad, Yuri (the PDF team leader) asks in a deep, matter-of-fact voice:
"Ahh, were you want us, Sir?
Stay back and setup or walking wit you?
Tose childs need half a min'te to set up the tube an we cant hit targets closer tan 50 met'r.
30, if you feel like bendink some regulat'ns."

Guess the consensus is a bunny-hop-from-entrance-to-entrance, slowly approaching the area where the Sarge saw movement, right?
You keep this sight or cross the street, or split up?
Movement was on the opposite site of the street.
***
Hah, Cormaeg posted while I wrote up this push post ^^

By Order of the Ecclisarchy and the Astra Militarum:

Starting in one week, on Saturday the 21st, I will be completely offline until either Sunday the 30th or Monday the 1st. I am going on an interstellar trip to "Africa" and the Astra Telepathica there is practically nonexistent for uses such as squad level orders. I will return on the next available convoy headed to the front.

Can I see your orders, soldier?

;-)

+++ That's good news for a change, Mac.
Knew that thing had to have a weak spot.
Chimeras: Lula, Crossroads Guardian, Believer and Saintskeep follow Requiem towards northern trench. Deploy squads and support drop assault.
Chimeras: Duma, Lil'John and Treebreaker follow Salvus towards southern trenches. Deploy squads and support drop assault.
Dies Irae, provide support for Salvus' group.
Alerian, Squadron #2 and #3. Take rearguard elements and try to circle south and get to the flanks of that gatetowers.
Everyone else: Focus fire according to the coordinates of Requiem.
...
We will grind them! +++

+++ Confirmed. Fire-for-Effect. Offset 1.0-West. +++
Offset: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
1d100 ⇒ 41
dir: 1d10 ⇒ 6
dist: 1d5 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

"Damn it, they have a void shield in place!
Scatter! Scatter!
Keep the pressure up.
We'll have to wear it down the hard way.
Chimeras, keep firing until you're dry!
Serenus 1st: You fire together with me once you're reloaded.
Alerians: Alternate fire with us, so we can keep up the pressure in between reload cycles!"

A healthy laughter is the respond to Macs call.
"Favour a battlefield promotion eh?
Don't haste things, BPs usually mean that things are going bad for our side.
But thanks, Mac. These Alerians aren't easy.
Good thing it suffice to point them at the general direction of Orks.
They are here since the first month.
They hate those greenies.
Anyway, good work with those trukks.
Still no losses yet for us.
Emperor willing, this shall continue for the rest of the day, yes?"

*** Invictus ***
Feral gets on board with a grunt, that could mean anything between a laughter, pain from his burned arm and disgust.
You wonder (once again) how this guy manages to get through any inspection with his long, unclean beard, ever-growing tattoos and disregarded uniform that smells of oil, gunpowder and cheap cigars.

*** Salvus ***
The frenetic work of Psi fills the interior of the Leman Russ, bus eventually, he manages to restore vox connection and the still-alive beacon before you reach any further resistance.

"Ehm, what?"
Clearly, fresh-Connor had only very limited interactions with the Adeptus Mechanicus in his rather new career.
;-)

The foul smell of scorched flesh and hair follows Connor as he and Jamis#1 lift the heavy set Feral out of the turret-hatch.
His left arm looks quite bad indeed.
1d100 ⇒ 3
Having seen his fair share of burn wounds during his apprenticeship, Connor expertly applies two layers of anti-burn spray after clearing the wound of uniform remainders.
"I'd let him recover a bit, but I could inject him a dose of stim if you need him awake right now.
Guess his dexterity will suffer for the next week or so, but otherwise he should do fine.
Now to sis'..."
After a few minutes, he gets back up with a grin.
"She muons the lost of her favorite upper-right canine and has a headache like never before.
Saw doubles for half-a-minute.
Someone really should soften those edges in the side-gunnery positions.
Every time you hot-shot pilots make some stunt, we poor gunners bang our heads against something way more solid than our heads..."

"Good point, Mac.
They are on a tight schedule as their cover-fighters are needed elsewhere.
But we don't stand a chance without the Alerian ... numbers and PDF infantry cover.
Mhhh...
Tell your cogboy to overcharge the position beacon on his tank.
We drive through that mess ahead, shoot every greeny up and call everyone to link up or get left behind.
Let us roll then!"

"Good job gunners, earned your meal today.
Operators, perform a quick system check then link up on me in a wedge and we'll see the remainders off before heading to our objective."
The voice of the Major has some fire to it and you can tell that the fact that her squadron did not loose any of their number but took out a lot of ork vehicles, makes her proud and eager for more.
Tech-Use+30 for each operator for a standard system check under fighting conditions.

"They sides of the rift reflect all my readings, dammit!
Wait ...
There's a big contact, 20m in front of us!
It emits a lot of heat, maybe a charging weapon!"
No way a 99 would be a bad thing ;-)

The unpleasent voice of Bob echoes through Requiem:
"Did 'e juzt dcide fings with a coin?
Mac, did vu see vat?!
Hes not kwnowin wat hes doin afta'll!"

"Hard to tell with all that damn dust.
No more than ... 30m I guess?
Shall I open fire?"

Jamis': 2d100 ⇒ (75, 26) = 101
"There's fire in the sky, Ma'am.", says Jamis-1.
"Can't make out single shells yet, Ma'am.", Jamis-2 adds with a strange sounding voice - due to her broken nose.

Harker thinks for a moment, then nods.
"Aye, we should be able to get through or around the rocks that hit the slope with a skilled driver in the seat.
It should provide a good vintage point and hopefully will keep us out of direct sight if anything remains standing in the area."

The lengthy but detailed report is met with several seconds of silence and you'd guess that several key elements of your report are reported upstairs and/or confirmed against cogitator information.
"Gamma-13 report reception confirmed.
Is one of your Chimera transports still operational, or could your enginseer get one working within the next hour?
If either is the case, board it and approach the Rokk close enough to confirm destruction and radiation levels.
Chimera patterns are designed to shield off most radiation types and will protect you from the worst of it.
Once confirmed, report and fall back to meeting point Gamma-1x-Alpha."
Giving everyone 24h to RP or come up with actions, before continuing with a quick write-up of your findings.