W40k: In Service to the Imperium: Episode 4 (IC/Closed)

[Segmentia]

In Service to the Imperium
OOC

Kel'borshal, 1162nd Cadian Regiment HQ

Never in Colonel Arktheleon Lividivus’ 56 years of life had he experienced such brutally cold conditions as he had since landing on the ice-world of Kel'borshal. Why a good Cadian regiment was sent to such an unimportant waste-land while there were far more important battle going on in the crusade was a mystery to him. An involuntary shiver crept up his spine as he walked through the nearly two foot deep snow that covered his ‘regiments’ encampment.

No. He knew why he and his regiment had been sent here. Evisor. The name burned in his mind. What had happened on that Emperor damned barren rock had but the 1162nd on to someone’s blacklist. The regiment had even received a few dishonors for that venture. The other companies that had been thrown into the 1162nds’ ranks hadn’t though. They had been rotated out, back to other regiments from their own worlds or not. Arktheleon could really care less.

He passed by a pair of Guardsmen, nodding to them as best he could with his heavy trench-coat. There was a standing order for no saluting, not with Tau and Eldar involved. They seemed to be un-naturally still though, so Lividivus changed is course a bit, stopping as he came by them. It was then he saw that the men were dead, frozen to death in the brutal and merciless cold, no doubt sometime during the night. He sighed. Being killed in battle by the Tau or Eldar was at least an honorable death, but freezing to death…

He shook his head and moved on. They weren’t the first and they most likely wouldn’t be the last. He would send some troopers out to bring in their bodies. He reached the command center a few minutes later, closing the heavy door behind him. He shook off the snow before moving into the anter-chamber, taking a minute to warm his hands on an area-heater. He then moved into the command center-proper, a handful of staffers and officers moving about or listening on vox sets, updating read-outs as a few reports trickled in. Getting a half-cup of recaff, Lividivus tucked himself into a corner, trying to warm up at least a little.

A tired looking Guardswoman with the insignia of a lieutenant approached him. “Sir,” She nodded to him. “Got a message from the navy. Our reinforcements should be landing in a few hours.” the lieutenant said. That was something at least. A month and a half ago he had received word that nine companies worth of reinforcements were being sent in to shore up the 1162nd, an Emperor send if there had ever been one. Of course the data-packet had failed to name what regiment these forces were from, but at he could care less at the moment.

“Excellent. Now go get some rest.” He ordered the Guardswoman who was eager to comply and quickly departed.

With some reinforcements, perhaps Lividivus would be able to initiate an offensive. He knew the Tau were hurting just as bad as the 1162nd in this cold, though they did actually have a strong hold, and at least a thousand soldiers to put on the field, where as the 1162nd could field 329, if he put every single soldier into the field, which he had had to do a few times. Why the Tau hadn’t just rolled in and wiped them out, he didn’t know. Perhaps the Eldar had something to do with it?

Regardless, he planned on finally securing this frozen hell for the Imperium, and maybe erasing some of the black-marks on the regiments record.

[Legital]

Unknown Imperial Navy Vessel,
Over Kel'borshal
Fifty-Two minutes ago, before drop to 1162nd Cadian Encampment

"What do you mean there is no information on our whereabouts? You're telling me that no one is telling us anything besides the name of the planet and that we're going to need heavy winter equipment?" First Lieutenant Gustav said, the now commander of the Higaran company sized forces. The travel within the Navy transport was relatively short compared to most, but extremely uninformative. The quick transfer from their last post had seen the 92nd transferred to three different vessels, along with a short stay on one of the Imperial held worlds where the Higaran 92nd had received an amount of fifty-seven fresh Higaran recruits. It was indeed rare for Guard regiments to replenish in the field, but the Higarans were ones to do so. Gustav admittedly knew of only the Vostroyans who did so as well, but the Imperium was a vast creature. One cell did not know of all the others.

"Unfortunately, that is correct sir." Replied the Higaran trooper holding up one of the winter coats from the crates around them. They were in one of their assigned storage rooms, where they were allowed to store and keep items needed for a regiment, or whatever was left of one. The quartermaster was on the other side of the room, speaking with some other troopers assigned to assist him. Most of the crates were already out of the room and prepared to be stowed on the landers for their coming drop. Gustav rubbed the side of his face, sighing, and wiping off some of the sweat there. The storage room was quite stuffy and warm, and apparently the ship designers did not believe storage rooms required air ventilation. The young trooper before him was stripped to his sleeveless undershirt and regular pants, and he was sweating as well. Gustav wore his full uniform, minus his flak armor. "Throne, very well. Toss me one of those, will you." He replied finally, motioning at an already open crate of winter coats. The young trooper pulled one of the large grey coats out, and looked at the departmento munitorum official stamp on the back collar. "What size do you wear, sir? Will a medium be sufficient?" Gustav glanced over the coat, before shaking his head. "Ech, toss me a large. That medium looks rather small." He said, and the trooper tossed it over. "Well sir, they only come in large and medium. It seems they lack a small and a proper medium." Gustav looked over his large coat, holding it up. "You're not joking. Alright, very well then. Head on back to the quartermaster, he'll have something for you to do." The young Higaran trooper straightened up to attention and clicked his heels, saluting. Gustav saluted back, and the young trooper was off.

---

"From what I've heard, the planet below us is ice cold. Real nice, eh? The news is we've been issued with heavy winter coats, so that is all the proof we need. My opinion, commissar, is to keep your new bionics relatively covered up. It won't rust or corrode, but the new wires might be a bit sensitive to the cold and snow." The short Higaran said, adjusting his round spectacles. The man was one of the Higaran surgeons, doubling as a general medicae for guardsmen. He wore all white surgeon single breasted tunic, and an apron covered most of his front side. "Quartermaster Berhnhard will get you a good pair of gloves if you need some." He explained to the commissar sitting on the low cot, with his peaked cap laid on his lap. His commissar's great coat was lain out beside him, and his sleeve was rolled up, revealing his new bionics. His right arm from his elbow down was completely bionic now after an Ork cleaver had cut it clean off after his last engagement, which he did not enjoy remembering.

He brought his arm up before him, and examined it. He flexed his fingers, feeling them move as if they were actual flesh. Indeed his hand and wrist were grafted with new flesh, but a silver ring marked the end of synthetic flesh and cold metal. "While not very lucky, as you did loose most of your arm, the bionics you have are quite top of the line. You'll have increased strength in your hand now." The surgeon explained, and the commissar chuckled. "Yes, well, I'm sure that will come in handy some time. Does that mean I'll be able to swing a chainsword faster?" He asked, looking up at the older surgeon. The man nodded, "Yes, you should be able too." The commissar nodded in turn, standing up. He placed his cap back on his head, and slung his coat over his organic arm. "Well doc, thanks again. I'll see you again when we get situated." The surgeon smiled, his bushy mustache contorting to match his smile. "A pleasure, Commissar Amsel. Be careful out there." Amsel smiled grimly and shook the mans hand. "No promises, doc. We commissars lead from the front."

The surgeon adjusted his black spectacles again, and frowned. "Yes, well, I was afraid you'd say that."

---

"Commissar Amsel, sir. Is everything well, sir?" A voice said to his right, and Amsel turned to see his new student and assistant approach him. Junior Commissar Nicholas Klaus, fresh out of his cadet training, who arrived with the batch of fifty-one other Higaran reinforcements a few months ago while the 92nd was stationed on an Imperial World in system. "Yes, quite alright. I was just having a quick checkup is all. Are the men situated, Junior Commissar?" Klaus nodded, his peaked cap tilting slightly on his head. Klaus was very young, being only nineteen years old; just a few years older than most recruits. Klaus adjusted his cap, and then spoke up. "Yes, Commissar Amsel. The moral of the men is at sufficient levels, sir. Though there are some, uh, grumbles to report. The distribution of winter coats to the men have caused some general unhappiness. Evidently, we are being deployed to a tundra like world. Also in regards to the winter coats, the sizes are deemed, as one man put it 'fething made for children and giants'." Amsel nodded himself, rubbing his arm. "It is to be expected, remember that. Each deployment you will witness will see waves of this. Moral eventually rises again after a few weeks, though if the planet is a giant snowball, it may take a while longer. So stay vigilant." Amsel cautioned, and Klaus nodded, his cap again tilting. Amsel suppressed a grin, and placed his hand on his adjutants shoulder. "Go to the quartermaster, request a new cap band. It'll keep your cap from falling over, alright?"

Klaus blushed slightly, and nodded. "Yes, commissar, sir." Amsel laughed, "Klaus, I told you, you can just call me Amsel. Okay?" "Yes, co-, er, Amsel. Sir." The senior commissar nodded, "Alright, come on. Let's go supervise the landers."

---

Imperial Navy Landers,
en route to 1162nd Imperial Encampment
Current Time

"Landfall in eight...six...four...two...." The pilots voice over the internal vox system was drowned out by the creak and thump of the lander touching the ground. While they were not landing in a hot zone, they were still in a combat zone. The landing was softer than usual, but they still had to be quick to get out of the landers.

Within the main hold, First Lieutenant Gustav removed his harness and quickly stood up, adjusting his winter coat. Gustav was a broad shouldered man, so the large winter coat thankfully fit him well enough. Though the same could not be said for most of the men, who had to choose between something too small, or too large. Most choose too large.
"Alright! Alright! Quickly now, let's move it men!" Gustav called out, removing his bolt pistol from it's place at his hip. He stalked forth towards the end of the lander where the door was, and he pulled the lever down, allowing the ramp to decline. In the short seconds of the ramp removing from the airtight hold, Gustav immediately felt the piercing cold air of Kel'borshal. He took in a sharp breath from the sudden temperature change, and when he let it out, it came out in a cold white frost. By the Emperor, this place must be a frozen hell. He thought, and as the ramp touched the ground, Gustav saw the bleak landscape and encampment before him.

"Let's move it men, let's move into the camp!" Gustav shouted, stalking forth into the cold. He wondered if there were others landing as well, or if the Higarans were the sole reinforcements here.

[Sub Sector Protractis]

Kel'borshal, 1162nd Cadian Regiment HQ

As the hustle of the 1162nd's headquarters staff occurred a group of figures walked through the throng of Guardsmen unopposed. Those that found themselves in the way of the detachment quickly parted and gave the group an open path with bowed heads. At the fore of the group were to Space Marines of the Deathwatch, but what followed them was often considered more terrifying then even their legendary might. Behind the super humans strode a group of extraordinary individuals, many could be considered odd, unnerving, in some circles even blasphemous; but at their center was the true cause of concern. I man named Jerrod Duran, Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos and commander of Ultima Detachment Omega. Around his neck dangling from his hooded neck line was an Inquisitorial rosette a symbol the put fear into all that encountered it both Imperial and otherwise.

Duran called forward to one of the Marines walking " Mabus, are you sure that this regiment is up to the task? It has been met with several mixed results and severe bouts of misfortune."

Mabus replied " My Lord, next to my breatheran there is no other formation that I would rather stand with then the 1162nd Cadian. Several of their officers have shown remarkable courage and unyielding resolve. It is a shame that they are constantly isolated without support."

Duran smiled at the last statement is was a slight jab at his refusal to bring more men into this operation. He then said " Mabus, all things are the will of the Emperor and as you know his greatest servants are forged through strife. If this regiment is as valiant as you say they may have quite the future ahead of them, or they will be found wanting and will be destroyed. It is after all the way of things."

Mabus simply responded " Aye Lord."

They continued to walk until they reached the regimental COC
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

" Excellent. Now go get some rest." Colonel Lividivus said.

Mabus smiled ever so slightly under his helmet and said " But Colonel there is no rest for the weary if I recall the statements of several Cadians" before removing his helmet to reveal himself. His armor now painted black again as a reinstated member of the Deathwatch, with a slight pause he said "Colonel allow me to introduce you to Inquisitor Duran" motioning with an open hand to the man in the center of the group.

Duran walked past his man to stand next to Mabus and removed his hood awaiting the Colonel's acknowledgement.

[Phonencia]

The 5'th Lockite Rangers were among the first Guardsmen to arrive in the 1162'nd's camp.
Their armor and uniforms covered by thickly insulated white ponchos, the soldiers moved like ghosts as they crossed the camp and occupied a small empty section of it. Immediately, they began pitching thick tents in their claimed spot. Moving with speed and skill, they had finished within minutes. Their commander, Captain Stroud, went to see Colonel Lividivus. As military custom dictated, he waited just outside the Colonel's office/tent and requested permission to enter. Once granted, he walked in, saluted and announced,
"Sir, 5'th Lockite Rangers, Captain Stroud, reporting as ordered, sir."

Stroud was a massive man, almost 6'6 with broad shoulders and massive arms. His armor was adorned with a cape, made from the hide of a Lockite Wolf, fur and all.

[Arsuf]

"Commander Helwauld, how long until we reach the camp?" Colour-Sergeant Gilbert Maddur asked, sitting on top of the tank waving around the Company Banner to keep himself entertained, this planet was far too cold and depressing, since exiting their transport ships only five minutes before they had seen nothing but endless snow, he would go inside his tank but he was in command of Infantry too and if they had to brave the cold, he would too.

"We should be arriving in a few minutes, Sir" Helwauld replied, briefly sticking his head out of the hatch before going back inside and closing the hatch behind him.

Exactly four minutes later, the unit finally came into sight of the Cadian sentries, who directed them towards the camp, which was at this point teeming with Guardsmen going to and fro, Colour-Sergeant Maddur jumped off of his tank and got his men lined up before calling the roll from Aleck Dace to Yuri Stedehird and Heth Zart, all eighty eight of his men were present and accounted for, now would be a good time to report to the Colonel.

"You there, Guardsmen, I need to report to the commander of this unit, can you tell me where he is?"

((OOC: Hope that's enough for a first post, couldn't really think of much))

[Aelosia]

"Chinchimink coats from Isoust. Glad to know we still have a finger in Munitorum purchases", said the Commissar Schanblücher sliding a finger over the soft and thick fabric of the winter outfits just issued to the thermidorians. The Chinchimink was a rare animal, and its fur was an expensive one. Isoust should had produced the coats as a tithe for the Imperial Guard a while ago.

Major Vanhayn managed a half hearted grin as she heard the comment. "Given that Isoust is no more, it is an untold luxury to have them. Above how fancy these may look, they are extremely functional. Few things are as good isolation from cold as Chinchimink fur". She grabbed a coat for her own, of a pitch black color with a rather fashionable white collar. "And we are going to need it. The theater this time is a harsh one, I guess you have already felt it".

"As if...", said the Captain Irvine, the third person present in the large warehouse that held the recently orbital deployed war material for the campaign in Kel'borshal. "Desert, jungle, urban wasteland...We have seen a few of those in a row. All theaters of war are harsh, on their own way. The enemies of the Emperor do not wage war on gardens. Shame on us, I would like to be deployed to a garden world for once".

"They do", answered the Commissar, suddenly showing a stern look. "But they usually turn them into ash before we arrive. War is what it is. Death by thy compass", she added, fixing her clear eyes upon the other two officers.

"But the Emperor Protects, at least", answered the Major, not wanting to enter another piety-related discussion with the Commissar. During the last campaigns, those had been awfully common.

"That he does. I guess that the Captain and me will share these coats with the freezing rank and file while you go and meet the Colonel, right?". The Commissar seemed to relax after the avoided confrontation. Major VanHayn was undoubtely a better fencer with words than she was with a blade, and the arguments had been becoming tiresome after a while.

VanHayn gave her another tired look. "Right. That will make you the hero of the day. Half the company is already freezing and shaking. Captain, please remind the lasses that special caution is to be had with fuel canisters and ammunition storage. The freezing conditions can cause unwanted deterioration in most of the cargo. And regarding the Colonel, I'll go meet him, but he's an old acquietance of mine. We served together in Evisor. He was my commanding officer back then", said the Major as she placed the coat around her shoulders, checking it would fit properly over her carefully prepped uniform.

"That was the disaster where you lost two entire platoons of the Company right?, just before I was assigned to you?", asked the Commissar without any consideration on the sibject. The Evisor campaign was usually absent in any conversation on the company, as the memory was too grim and losses were high. Casualties were present in all campaigns, but in Evisor the Thermidorian Maidens had lost almost half their number due to a disastrous campaign and a mistaken deployment.

VanHayn sighed. She knew the comment from the Commissar was specifically targeted at making her angry. "It was, although Colonel Lividivus did not have to do with it. He saved what he could. Evisor was a trap and a mistake from someone upper in the ranks. We should had more numbers there, or just left the planet altogether. It was not a battle the guard could win, in the conditions present. You already know it, you read the reports. Stop chastising me over the subject". Her voice was quiet and serious as she left the warehouse towards the command structure. This time she would meet Lividivus alone.

She passed through the lines of vehicles still covered in white linen blankets and the shaking troopers that struggled to salute her, almost frozen from the cold even in the relative coberture of the warehouse. There were boxes and boxes of Munitorum supplies filling the warehouse up to its ceiling, most of it spare parts, munitions and fuel for both the thermidorians and the other companies of the newly formed regiment.

Even the Chinchimink coat struggled to protect her from the biting cold as Vanhayn stepped outside. She would be meeting the rest of the staff soon, and this time she did not even had any kind of files related to her officer partners.

[Lunas Legion]

Pride of Ophelia, Imperial Navy Transport Vessel, Over Kel'borshal, One Hour Ago


"Permssion to speak freely, sir!" A lone Guardsman stood up in the Pride's vast briefing hall as Captain Lucas finished briefing what was left of the 47th. They still considered themselves the 47th Hakaroni, not the 1st- it was a matter of regimental honour. Just because some prissy Adept somewhere in the Departmento Munitorum renamed their regiment, they weren't going to change their identity.

"Permission granted, soldier."

The Guardsman nodded and saluted. "With all due respect sir, this operation and planet seem like another load of Throne-damned grox crap."

Lucas glanced nervously behind him, where the short, plump figure of Commisar Gibbs stood, eyeing the crowd of Guardsmen. Gibbs had been with the 47th since the Grey Maze Incident- and had also been the only Commisar to come out alive from the Grey Maze.

Gibbs stepped forward to address the Guardsmen as they shuffled with unease. "It may be a load of Throne-damned Grox crap, soldier, but it is the Emperor's load of Throne-damned grox crap. And by the God-Emperor, we will fight and die in the name of the Emperor's load of grox crap should he command us to. And if you will not serve on the front lines, you will serve on the firing line."

The Guardsman gulped nervously as he sat back down on the hastily-assembled benches.

"We make planetfall in a hour. Be ready." Lucas finished.

Present Time, Planetside Kel'borshal

"I hate this Emperor-damned snow." Gibbs complained as the 1st/47th continued their march from the drop site to where they would be manning the front lines. "Do you think the good Admiral might have had something to do with this, Captain?"

Lucas shrugged. "Quite possibily, Commisar. His influence, and that of his noble house, does stretch far and wide across the Imperium." The 1st/47th had been marching through snow for well over two hours, since the pilots had 'accidently' set them down way north of their proper drop zone. "I miss the days when we would just have Grav-chuted in directly behind the lines..."

Gibbs nodded. "So do I Captain, so do I..."

The pair watched as one of the regiments two remaining Tauros Buggies drove up beside them, and stopped while the driver motioned for them to climb on. The two did gratefully as the Tauros drove off towards the HQ while Lt Hawkins, the second-in-command, bellowed at the column to keep marching.

[The Empire of Pretantia]

Four Days before arrival
Somewhere in the Immaterium, aboard unnamed Imperial transport

"The hell do you think you're doing?!"

There were three Macharius tanks in the 1st armored company, all painted a deep red and covered from turret to tread in gorgeous paintings and fancy flags. Naturally, some of their crewmembers would be slightly agitated if they ever found someone covering their tank with white cloth, especially Sergeant Haota. Now the art on his lovely Endless Dusk could no longer be shown to the world!

The quivering private Waratani tried to answer as he tied on white tarp ,"W-well, you see, Captain Oron-"

"WHY?!"

"I-I-I don't know, Sergeant!"

Haota stormed off to find the captain, looking everywhere on the blasted transport. However, the captain was not where he usually was; not in his impromptu office, not in his quarters, not in the mess hall, not in the vehicle bay, not on the bridge, not in the lavatory, and not in a small closet. No, the captain was where he never was: in the storage room, behind a maze of crates, sorting through winterized clothing. As Haota entered he maintained constraint for one moment,"Captain?"

Captain Oron looked at his subordinate as he folded a shirt,"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted,"Confirmed the captain.

Haota took a deep breath and screamed,"WHYYYYYY?!"

The shout was unexpected, making Oron jump. He look at the sergeant, confused as to the nature of the question,"'Why', what?"

"One-hundred-and-nineteen years. For over a century my predecessors have decorated Endless Dusk, enhancing its beauty with depictions of mythical creatures and battles past. For over a century have the previous tank commanders mounted their insignia on the turret. Over a century of tradition is my tank worth, so why. Are. You. SMOTHERING IT?!"

Inspecting a tunic, Oron shook his head,"Haota, there are things more important than beauty. Take my arm for example. Though the warmth of my right arm now eludes me, and my new bionic replacement lacks grace, I may now better serve the Guard and the Emperor with an iron grip and a hellpistol up my sleeve. It is the same with our armor, being camouflaged for the winter environment."

The logic was lost on the sergeant, who's taste is stronger than his thought,"It is smothering my beautiful masterpiece!"

"Sergeant, the red of your masterpiece would be a goose in a pigeon flock that is the icy tundra. Every enemy would see the beautiful works of you and your predecessors, and seek to sully it with lasfire and rocket. So from my perspective I am preserving our tanks' beauty."

"But-"

"Now begone, we shall be landing in three days and I want the company winterized. We will be finding suitable clothing until then. Dismissed."

Haota hesitated,"White will be the death of me," he muttered before turning around to leave. However, as he navigated the boxy labyrinth he accidentally tripped over a small crate, knocking its contents out as he fell. Recovering from the fall, he noticed the crate was full of small green packets. A grin overcame his face, noticing the labelling:

MK-XII
THERMAL PROVISIONS

---

Current time
Surface of Kel'borshal, 1162nd Imperial Encampment

"By my balls, it's freezing,"Private Waratani, loader for Eternal Dusk , remarked as the dropship's ramp eased down,"I figured the planet was cold, but this frakking cold?" He strapped on his Skuller mask, filled with warm crotchet patterns.

"At least the company has Granny,"Radiowoman Corporal Kirona retorted, fitting on her new fur-padded mask,"Besides, what'd you expect? Did you think it would be Valhalla?"

"I don't know what planet you're talking about, but I'm sure they at least have damn summers there."

"On the bright side," a crack was heard from behind Eternal Dusk,"I brought these."

Sergeant Haota came around the tank holding a handfull of green packets.

Kirona and Waratani's eyes widened,"Are those-"

"Thermal packs? Yes. I also brought some heaters I found on the transport, because by the throne we all know people don't care about material possessions when they want some warmth."

"As your favorite loader, could I have a few free samples?"

"As my second-favorite loader you can help me 'mutually donate' to the truly needy. Is it not enough to have a ten-inch heater next to your head for most of a battle?"

"Frak."

"What about me, Sergeant?"Kirona inquired, giving puppy eyes.

"The radio's seat is quite toasty you know."

"Damn."

"So we're all in agreement: only the poor infantry get to buy packs and heaters."

"Minus the outrageous price, I assume?" Captain Oron climbed out of the Macharius Vanquisher at the rear of the transport, somehow having heard the conversation.

"Umm... by that you mean, sir?"

Oron pointed his war fan at the Sergeant,"It is acceptable if they are sold at a very affordable price, or even simply a trade; but anything I consider outrageous would not be grave to your fate. In addition, if it is ever an emergency then you must give them for free, and heaters may only be sold to entire squads and vehicle crews."

"But... Yes, sir!"

"Good. Now I'll be going to find the colonel. Surely he would like to see the man who brought heavy armor. Waratani, grab a heater and come with me."

Finding the Colonel was easier said than done, as the captain knew nothing of the encampment's layout. Oron had to ask guardsmen several times-some unresponsive from being frozen solid-until he decided it was easier to follow one of them to the command tent. The inside was no warmer than the outside, making Oron change his mind on the thermal packs; they were going for free.

Oron stopped two steps in and saluted with,"Captain Oron of the First Armoured company, and Private Waratani of Macharius II, Eternal Dusk, reporting in!"

[Legital]

Kel'borshal
1162nd Encampent
En route to command center

"I left Junior Commissar Klaus in charge to watch the men for the time being. I hope that is suitable?" Amsel asked Gustav as the two trekked through the snow deeper into the camp. They needed to report in and receive billet information. No way were they staying out in the open snow. "Yes, that is quite alright. He needs experience anyways." Gustav remarked, tugging his slightly over sized winter coat closer to his body. Commissar Amsel did so as well, and he pulled his collar up to keep his neck warm. "You know, I've been with a number of regiments and different theaters. Never have I had to deal with somewhere this cold." He remarked, and Gustav nodded. "Not like home, that's for sure. Throne, even winter back home is not this bad." Amsel chuckled, "We're in for a good one, that's for sure."

It was not long before the men trudged deeper into the camp and had followed some signs and pointers from guardsmen as to where they needed to go. They eventually spotted the command center, and made their way inside. They were met with the sight of other guard officers who had, as it seemed, just arrived. Commissar Amsel looked around, and was, much to his surprise, spotted some familiar faces. "Well I'll be..." He whispered to Gustav, "It's Colonel Lividivus. We're with the 1162nd Cadian!" He remarked quietly. "I served with him and some others a long time back." Gustav nodded, "Allow the commissar in you to forgive this, but is he a decent commander?" Amsel nodded back, "Yes, he is a good one. We don't need to worry about him."

Suddenly, Gustav gripped Amsel's arm tightly. "By the Throne, is that a Space Marine and Inquisitor over there?" He hissed out quietly, and Amsel peered towards the other side of the room where neither men had looked. "Emperor preserve us, it is!"

[Lunas Legion]

Main HQ, Imperial Guard

Lucas took a swig from a bottle of amasec that the driver had smuggled in as the Tauros pulled into camp.

Gibbs glanced around the camp with distaste as he climbed off the Tauros, closely followed by Lucas as he offered the Commisar a swig. The Commisar declined with a wave of his hand as the two set off towards the HQ, the Commisar demanding the directions out of any Guardsman unlucky enough to be in their path.

Eventually the pair found their way to the command center, and once again Gibbs and Lucas scowled at the assembled officers. At least one was a Cadian; that wasn't a bad thing, as both had fought at the Cadian Gate. There was also the distinctive hulking silhouette of one of the Emperor's Space Marines- which meant the Adepts were taking this seriously.

The two hadn't spotted any familiar faces: but any one of them could be related to the Admiral. This was a small galaxy, after all.

[Bone Fort]

"Well... here... we... GO!"

With a final heave, the door to the shipping container popped open. For their next mission they had been sent winter gear, and Major Gustaf Johansen had come with two of his men to inspect the gear before distributing them to his regiment.

Wait. Company now.

The grim campaign that had wiped out most of his regiment was still fresh in the minds of him and his men. With barely a day's rest they had been reassigned and shipped back out, too fast to even get really fully resupplied. They had thankfully been resupplied with ammo, but other gear hadn't. Things like spare parts, non-mangled clothes, and even some toiletries were in short supply. His Valdor's gunner/mechanic, Stretch, didn't even have a proper shirt to wear, for Emperor's sake. So he had been understandably worried when his men were shipped off to an ice world. But command had the foresight to give them winter gear, and for that he was thankful, even if the container carrying them had been a bitch to open. As his worries subsided, he poked his head in to look... and immediately started worrying again, as the container held nothing but scarves and strips of cloth, presumably with which they were supposed to wrap their hands with in place of gloves.

"Gentlemen? Does anyone happen to spy any other containers?"
"This is it, sir."
"So this is all of the winter gear?"
"Yes, sir."

He inhaled and exhaled sharply.

"... Sunvabitch."
"Wait, look, sir! They did give us some space heaters for the tanks!"

His heart fluttered briefly.

"How many?"
"Two."
"SHIT."

He sighed yet again.

"Raffle them off between the Leman Russes, the Valdor's reactor will keep it warm enough."

All things considered, it wasn't as worse as it could be. At least they had gotten some winter gear, even if it was next to nothing. He had half expected the container to be empty. There were more then enough scarves, and since most of his troops already had gloves the cloth strips could be used in other ways, like mending damaged clothes. Their homeworld, while not an ice world, was on the colder end of the scale due to the lack of sunlight, and their uniforms had been made with colder environments in mind, but a full blown ice world... it was simply too cold. They would probably be fine during the day when the sun was out, but come nightfall, when the temperatures drop... he shuddered at the thought.

"Alright then. Start giving the gear out then. I'll be in my quarters reviewing the campaign info if you need me."

The young Major kept up a strong look about him, his face betraying none of the worry in his heart as he turned to head to the lift, and was surprised to find it already waiting for him with another of his troops inside. The man leaned against the back wall with his arms folded across his chest and looked straight at the ground. He couldn't make out the man's face, as the downwards tilt of the head caused his helmet to obscure it. The Major got in and the doors shut behind him.

The ride went mostly in silence, with only the occasional strange laugh or snigger from the other man. The Major barely noticed this, as he was too wrapped up in his own concerns about the coming battle to bother with the stranger. It wasn't until the doors opened and the Major step out that the man finally spoke up.

"Funny, isn't it?"

The Major paused and turned to the man, who in turn looked up from the ground, revealing his face. The man was covered in some rather nasty scars, and a maniac smile adorned his mouth.

"The night, which has been your strongest advantage in so many campaigns past, is shaping up to be our biggest killer in this one."

The Major paused for a second as he considered this, and was about to respond when the lift doors shut between them. He stood there for a few minutes considered the stranger's words before returning to his quarters.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the lander touched down to disgorge his troops, the Major stood on his Valdor and looked around at his troops, knowing that most of them , possibly even all of them, will meet their fate on this world. And he was going to lead them there.

He shook such negative thoughts away as they exited the craft. They were in full uniforms, complete with gas masks and their new scarves. He left his men to go find the command center, and after some initial difficulties, he arrived.

[Sub Sector Protractis]

Kel'borshal
1162nd Encampent
En route to command center

"I left Junior Commissar Klaus in charge to watch the men for the time being. I hope that is suitable?" Amsel asked Gustav as the two trekked through the snow deeper into the camp. They needed to report in and receive billet information. No way were they staying out in the open snow. "Yes, that is quite alright. He needs experience anyways." Gustav remarked, tugging his slightly over sized winter coat closer to his body. Commissar Amsel did so as well, and he pulled his collar up to keep his neck warm. "You know, I've been with a number of regiments and different theaters. Never have I had to deal with somewhere this cold." He remarked, and Gustav nodded. "Not like home, that's for sure. Throne, even winter back home is not this bad." Amsel chuckled, "We're in for a good one, that's for sure."

It was not long before the men trudged deeper into the camp and had followed some signs and pointers from guardsmen as to where they needed to go. They eventually spotted the command center, and made their way inside. They were met with the sight of other guard officers who had, as it seemed, just arrived. Commissar Amsel looked around, and was, much to his surprise, spotted some familiar faces. "Well I'll be..." He whispered to Gustav, "It's Colonel Lividivus. We're with the 1162nd Cadian!" He remarked quietly. "I served with him and some others a long time back." Gustav nodded, "Allow the commissar in you to forgive this, but is he a decent commander?" Amsel nodded back, "Yes, he is a good one. We don't need to worry about him."

Suddenly, Gustav gripped Amsel's arm tightly. "By the Throne, is that a Space Marine and Inquisitor over there?" He hissed out quietly, and Amsel peered towards the other side of the room where neither men had looked. "Emperor preserve us, it is!"

Mabus heard a name and a voice that sounded very familiar to him, he turned and looked at the veteran Commissar Amsel and said " Commissar Amsel, please don't be a stranger. I thought that after having worked with me you would allow the formalities to relax somewhat. Please come join us, this is Inquisitor Duran and to my left is Watch Captain Xander of the Minotaurs Chapter."

Duran looked back and replied with a nod and Xander merely looked the Commissar over and said " For the lesser's formalities are least to be expected Sergeant Mabus."

Mabus offended snapped a look at the fellow Astartes and started to reply in anger when he caught himself. He was subordinate to this man for now, it was not his place to usurp his authority. He replied " As you command Captain" with a clipped tone.

[Gideus]

Morallis
High Militant Command
Hearing 00-312-B
Some Months Ago

"The survivors... None of them are individually capable of being charged as such; they were all commended with the utmost honors. Their devastation, however... and the apparent forsaking of the Code..."

The dark figures in almost-black dark green cloaks in the utmost darkness of the Trial Rooms shuffled papers amongst themselves. Their mechanical eyes allowed them to see in even this darkness. The soldier whom sat on the plain wooden chair in the center of the beam of light at the exact center of the room stared into the darkness, his head perfectly straight.

"For these offenses to the spirit of Morallis, the Morallis Fighting Third will be officially considered... Penitent. The surviving members are to be assimilated into a crusade force; until you have served in a total of seventeen years actively crusading in this penitence, you shall not be considered a man of the Third any more than we are. All battle-honors beyond rank are to be stripped. All signs aligning yourselves with Morallis, besides that of a single banner, are to be stripped. The cobalt of nobility, once the pride of your armor, is to be stripped. Any mention of Morallis in any setting beyond the required official settings is likely to be heard of - and punished. All auxiliary soldiers and officers are to be stripped. All transport and resupply beyond that required to get you and your men to the crusade is to be provided by the Munitorum; the contracts are being sent out now. All honors earned in your name, unless given directly by a man equivalent to the rank of Justicar on Morallis are to be forgotten until the crusading is complete. All personal joys... Are to be considered forfeit until the crusading is complete. Are these terms acceptable, Major Dimitri Major, son of Colonel Mikhail Major, son of Lieutenant Admas Major?"

"All terms are acceptable, sir."

"You find yourself reinstated in your position commanding the remains of the Fighting Third. You are to report to barracks seventeen and eighteen to rearm your men with the equipment they were able to bring from the place of their shame. You are to requisition the required amounts of munitions to operate in the best capability you can. You are to review the files being downloaded from Crusade Command; you are to requisition the equipment you believe necessary to operate in the conditions described."

"Understood, sir. May I ask one favor?"

"Denied. You are to report to the barracks. Dismissed, Major Major."

Kel'borshal
In Orbit
Unimportant Guard Transport Ship X172B

"Lieutenant, is your squad finished with the winterproofing of their armor?"

"Negative, sir. The majority only need to insulate their gauntlets."

"Very well. Start issuing winter rations and cloaks. I want them ready for combat. Issue the cases for their weapons as well; we can't have any jams or misfires. And make damn well sure none of them have armed their plasma guns yet. If they don't acclimate to the cold, they might damn well cook off the first hour we're down there."

"Affirmative, sir. Anything else?"

"Make sure your fists are sharpened." he said, a sort of farewell amongst men of the Morallis regiments. Almost all of the Morallis guard had carapace armor, and almost all of them had this modification - the gauntlets had a sharpened blade, made from the same material as the carapace armor itself but with a higher concentration of carbon for strength, which could be flipped down or back over the gauntlet. Little bigger than brass knuckles would be, it had still saved many a Morallan trooper's life.

He turned to his own weapons. It was the hotshot lasgun that concerned him the most. While of the best make it could be, the nature of the weapon made it prone to breaks. Stripping it down to function optimally at mid-range, he began applying the various components to its outside that would keep the snow and ice out. While they had no level of insulation, their purpose was simply to keep the mechanics of the weapon clean. Nearly half an hour later, his job was complete - every component of the gun was sealed to the environment. Popping the small cap into the barrel which would keep the barrel clean, he sighed. Their deployment window was drawing near. The encampment they were to report to - apparently the 1162nd. Lots of guards on the planet below.

The time came - the sirens warning for deployment went out - and the winterized Morallis Fighting Third reported to their lander bay along with the countless hundreds, if not thousands, of other men destined for combat.

Kel'borshal
1162nd Encampment

The men of Morallis marched in an organized manner. Not a word was heard from them - their sealed helmets had integrated vox systems. As such, they needed not to say a word that anyone else could hear. Following the downloaded maps, they proceeded to their bunks.

"Lieutenant, you and your squad are to come with me. I need to report to regimental command. The rest of you men, you have your bunk assignments. I want you to make sure no one else is taking them. Remember, so long as we abide by the rules, even this downtime counts as crusading."

"Sir! Permission to requisition meals for the men?" asked their stand in Quartermaster.

"Granted. Lieutenant, with me."

They walked out at a brisk pace. Their insulated, winterized carapace stopped most of the cold from getting through - the worst was their feet. Proceeding to flag down a transport, they managed to get one of the ones headed to the Command Center...

[Pragia]

Thomas looked down from the top of the Praetor Indomitable onto the artillery pieces assembled. Many more were still coming off the Galaxy transport's ramps, the sounds of roaring engines echoing out. The Basilisks' shields shimmering black with geometrical red lines running across. The company had just been relocated for the eighth time to this world, to fight the Tau.

The company's last deployment at a forge world was rather uneventful until a single attack had wiped out Werewolf platoon and all the company's commisars. The company requisitioned a transfer, and they got it. Thomas immediately was angered to see that they were put onto a crusade against the Emperor-Damned Xenos. He began to watch the larger Medusa seige guns roll out, flanked by gaurdsmen.

The tau had weapons that could outrange their gun, and blow clean through them. He didn't want to loose more men to the hit and run tactics that have claimed many imperial regiments.

Thomas would be sure to make that not happen to the Prandium 3rd.

[Segmentia]

Kel'borshal, 1162nd Cadian Regiment HQ

Arktheleon looked at Mabus and gave a slight nod. “They never said anything about being weary and cold.” He tried to joke with the Space Marine, though no doubt it sounded more like a tired, weary response. He then nodded toward the Inquisitor. He hoped this wasn’t a sign that his ‘regiment’ was going to be used in some Inquisitorial witch-hunt. He had heard of some Cadian regiments that had been commandeered by the Inquisition. He couldn’t recall hearing about them again afterwards. Though he could guess as to why the Inquisitor was here.

“Here for the Eldar, my lord?” He asked, then several officers started filing in. The first thing he noticed was their various uniforms. ‘Throne damn them, they did it to me again!’ He thought. Though all he did was frown slightly, which was quite something for the Cadian, though someone would have to have been around Cadians a bit realize. Cadian officers were usually stone-faced, not showing any emotion unless it was something rather severe.

He saw a few uniforms that he remembered; there were two Higaran officers, one he felt like he recognized. Then Mabus moved in and said the name Amsel. Ah yes, the commissar from the 21st Higaran Armored, another name from Evisor. It seemed the man had seen some more action since then, if the bionic implants were anything to go by.

The other uniforms though…

“Damn it.” He muttered under his breath. He doubt anyone would hear, other than Mabus, the Inquisitor, and the other member of the Death Watch.

“All right people, check in your supplies with the regimental quarter master, make sure your troops are bunked in the pre-fab structures, and absolutely make sure they are briefed in cold-weather injury prevention. Officers briefing is in three hours.” He said.

[Lunas Legion]

Lucas didn't bother saluting, he merely nodded. "The 1st won't be here for several hours at least, sir. Damned flyboys dropped us in the middle of Emperor-damned nowhere and they've been slogging it out through open snow since." He turned to Gibbs as hey walked out into the freezing air.

"You take the Tauros back to the column, check on Lt Hawkins. Make sure he hasn't done anything too stupid, will you, Commisar?"

Gibbs saluted. "Of course, sir. May I also say that it was damned good thinking to keep our survival suits from the days of the 1st?"

Lucas smiled. "Of course, Commisar." Gibbs climbed back into the Tauros which drove out of the camp, kicking up a stream of loose snow as it left.

Lucas signed as he walked back inside. He might as well use the heat while he had it.

[Legital]

Kel'borshal, 1162nd Cadian Regiment HQ

Commissar Amsel had no desire to really join the space marine and the others with him, but his words were kindly spoken. However, the space marine of the Minotaurs was of a lesser kindred spirit. Of a lesser? Amsel thought bitterly, Perhaps in body, but we are equals in spirit. What servant of the Emperor deems another lesser? The commissar thought, averting his gaze from the Inquisitor and space marines. Gustav gave him a look and Amsel shook his head.

The two Higarans kept back mostly, not speaking at all and simply observing the other officers who entered. As Arktheleon must have noted, as Amsel did so as well, they were in another fold regiment. The colonel probably cared more than Amsel did, having to command yet another non-pure Cadian regiment. Amsel had been in various other regiments, but they were all Higaran.

It was not long before the Colonel had said something to Mabus, but the two Higarans did not catch it. A few moments passed and they heard the commander mention Eldar. Was that their enemy? Or were there Tau here as well? Or, Emperor forbid, both. As it seems, they would know in three hours time according to the colonel. For now, they needed to simply get settled in.
When the colonel finished speaking, the two Higarans snapped their heels together and saluted their new regimental commander. "As you command, sir." Gustav said, and the two men smartly spun on their heels and marched out.

The cold air met them once they were outside, and they lost their previous parade ground precision as they left the command center. "Throne it's cold. Did I mention that?" Gustav said, again tugging his coat tight around him. Amsel stuffed his hands into his greatcoats and nodded. "I'm sure you mentioned it." He managed with a weak grin as the two men trudged over to where the Higarans had gathered for their billets.

---

Higaran section of the 1162nd encampment

"Trooper! What are you doing? Get behind the mortar and help push!" Junior Commissar Klaus shouted, pointing at a Higaran trooper who simply stood with his hands in his pockets as one of the centaurs pulling a heavy mortar struggled. The trooper stared at the junior commissar for a moment, no doubt thinking about ignoring him, before he walked over and began helping the crew push it.

All around the junior commissar, who was within a small courtyard formed simply by the square arrangement of the prefabricated guard shelters, watched over a line of centaurs pulling their mortars. They were heading towards a section of the wall of the encampment, which was little more than snow piled up about the height of a man. But no doubt the freezing weather had hardened the snow mounds, so there would be at least some decent protection.

A centaur passed by slowly, with what looked like a squad of Higarans hitching a ride on top of it. One of them turned and spotted the junior commissar before waving at him. "Hello, commissar!" One of the guardsmen on top said, waving. Klaus frowned slightly and waved back. A moment later, he thought he heard laughing from that centaur as it pulled away. I bet those were the Crotanians. Filthy excuse for Higarans. The young man thought bitterly. The Crotainians were from an area of densely populated industrial centers near Higarans capital, a place ripe with adeptus arbites and organized crime.

"Commissar! Commissar, sir!" A grizzly voice called out from behind Klaus, and he turned half expecting another Higaran to do some silly trick on him. However, he was greeted with the large form of the Higaran 92nd's Sergeant Major, Petrish Bourne. The man sported mutton chops, as they were called, and was a bear of a man. Klaus knew that the man had worked his way to his position from sheer hard work, a respectable aspect.
Bourne jogged up to the junior commissar, and snapped his heels to attention. He saluted, before reporting. "Junior Commissar Klaus, sir! I've come to report that all 92nd personal have exited their landers. All men, vehicles, and supplies are on the ground." He said, and Klaus nodded. He too straightened to attention, which still made him a head shorter than the sergeant major, and nodded. "Thank you, Bourne. However, there is no need to salute here. At least, not outside. We're under operations where the enemy may be under guerrilla tactics." He said, and Bourne instead nodded back. "Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?" He asked, and Klaus nodded. "Yes, of course.

"If you desire sir, you may retire to your quarters. I can handle what the lieutenant requires myself." The man said, and Klaus felt a small pang of anger. He was tired of being thrown under for his relative inexperience. He shook his head. "That is not needed, sergeant major, however I respect your offer. I need someone to go ensure the heavy mortars are dug in properly, and that the men don't saunter off because of the cold." Bourne nodded, and snapped to attention. "As you command, sir." He said, before jogging back off towards the snow wall. Klaus sighed, and looked around. Higaran infantry who were not assigned to anything were entering the rectangular prefabricated shelters to claim cots and bunks, happy to get out of the cold. Klaus knew Amsel and Gustav would want the men to report where they were going to billet, so they could have a count and roster of names for each shelter. Trying to get ahead of the game, as the saying went, the junior commissar went off to go find the quartermaster so he could receive the proper papers to pass to the heads of the billets to have filled out.

---

"How rude." The trooper said to no one in particular, spotting what appeared to be a squad making fun of the junior commissar as they passed by on their centaur. "What'd you say, Sebastian?" A voice said behind him. Gernor, his squad leader, walked up next to him and peered out of the window next to him at the convoy of centaurs and chimeras. Johannes Gernor was much older than Sebastian, and experienced as well. Not just anybody could be a sergeant. "Oh, I think it was Jorven's squad." Sebastian said, "They were up to their things again, this time messing with Klaus." Gernor snorted, "Huh. They'll all end up on the wrong side of a bolt pistol before too long. Let's hope Klaus can keep his cool." He said, and Sebastian nodded. "He's a good guy. I've spoken with him many times before. I guess we get along so well since we're both green." Sebastian explained.

Gernor laughed, and patted Sebastian on the shoulder. "Won't be long till that changes for the two of you, same with the rest of the recruits in the 92nd." He said, walking off to the other members of their squad. Sebastian nodded slowly to himself, knowing that was true.

Behind him somewhere, another squad had produced a small portable voxophone, a device which played large discs inscribed with music. A wondrous invention, Sebastion thought. Quiet music began to drift around the still cold air of the fabricated shelter, and Sebastian sat down on the bottom bunk of the bed next to him. He had already laid out his gear on it, so he already claimed it. His squad had claimed the bunks around his as well.

Reaching into his regular infantry coat, Sebastian removed a folded piece of paper from the inner breast pocket. He opened it up, and looked it up and down, reviewing it one last time. His eyes darted to the ending of it, and he read it over again.

....we're with the crusade now, mother. We're retaking back planets that the Xenos had taken from faithful citizens of the Imperium. What joy it will be to do the Emperors work! I'm a real guardsman now, just like father. I don't know if I will ever be a major like father, but I hope I will be someday.
-Your Son, Sebastian Hess.
P.S. Don't fret about this year's harvest, mother. I overheard officers speaking about the area north of us, the Sherfrier farms. Good weather is coming!

Sebastian nodded, happy his letter was still safe from the drop down. He'd have to give it to one of the quartermasters workers when they settled down. For now, he would rest.

[The Empire of Pretantia]

-Snip-

No. No he would not like to see who brought heavy armour at the moment. The two tankers departed the tent, Oron having forgotten that Waritani was carrying a heater for the colonel. No matter, as it would have to be registered anyway. But firstly, to figure out how many thermal packs and heaters Iron Lollipop brought with them. They returned to the transports, where the crates were still being unloaded. Haota approached his commander for orders. The captain would break the news to him hard.

"We won't be selling anything,"Oron stated,"We shall be transferring it all to the quartermaster for regimental distribution."

Haota's face grew hot, and he soon forgot the cold in his anger,"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!"

"I honestly don't see what the problem is,"Remarked Kirona.

"I could be rich!"

"There are things more important than money, you know."

"I could use money to buy those important things!"

Kirona cocked her head, feigning bemusement,"There are things more important than faith?"

Haota was about to retort, pointing violently at his radioman. However, his words were too twisted for a pious response. Instead Captain Oron raised his war fan and batted Haota in the head. This idle conversation was wasting his time. Their captain spoke,"Now if we may return to the issue at hand, I would like to know how many supplies we brought. Haota?"

The sergeant rubbed his head where the sting lingered,"Eh... Actually, I never bothered counting them. About... fifteen-thousand packs, I guess?"

Oron rubbed his chin,"Hmm... Assuming there are three thousand men in the regiment, and one-fifth of them are vehicle crewmen of some sort, then we would have eight packs per infantryman or artillery crewman. If we provide a pack each day, then... We'll all be freezing cold again very soon."

"Well... Yeah, I guess. Yeah."

"How many heaters?"

"Ah, those I've got a better idea of those. About... A hundred."

"Ouch," Waritani cringed. That would mean the it's going to be cold in most of the regiment.

"Very well, I'll go report to the quartermaster. Load what you can into the trojans and chimeras and follow me. I'll let them decide how to handle supplies."

[Sil Arion]

Modified Shark Assault Boat
Over Kel-borshal

"Sir, we've successfully translated! Calculated warp jump complete!" Halvar glanced quickly over to commanding non-commissioned and brother-in-arms, Torgeir, a man he'd known over a decade in the line of duty. But now, things were going a bit downhill.

Just a bit.

Obviously, he thought wryly to himself, things weren't bad at all when your homeworld was destroyed. Below him in the massive crew compartment men ran too and fro, welding scrap iron and various plates to the seams in the already damaged hull in a desperate attempt hold their 'ship' together. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to jury-rig an ancient assault boat far out of good state with a miniature warp drive and attempt an atmospheric calculated jump at the very edge of its safe range. Obivously not so bad then. A wry smile lifted his pale cheeks, but he quickly smothered it and lowered himself into his stony combat mindset of cool and calculating disposition.

"Sir! We have a hull breach on the starboard bow bulkhead! Containment breach!" While minute in size, he could feel air beginning to leak out into the cold, dark void that was space. Pure vacuum and instant death awaited them should the ship fail. And failing it was.

"Arn, Magnus! Get over there and help those three! I want triple-layered c-welds on that spot immediately!" The tension and stress were palatable in the air as the fought desperately to keep the ship together. Even if they were a group of hardened veterans, they hadn't caught a break in the action for so long. Halvar and his officers and noncoms continued giving direction to the repair efforts on the hull as more cracks, howver small, began creeping across the inner superstructure. The boat groaned with the sounds of rending metal as one of the metal scantling ribs in the troop compartment ripped off and spun through the hold, knocking over several of his men in a twirl of heavy steel. One man went down hard, and blood gushed from his nose and mouth as his head slammed against the iron walls.

A chorus of "Corpsman front!" and "Man down" echoed throughout the hold as the hiss of welding and screeching of flexing metal got more intense as each precious second ticked by as they whizzed towards the ice-world Kel'borshal at breakneck speed. The engines were already maxed out as they eaked out each ounce of thrust they could manage.

It was a dangerous gamble, each man knew, but they had very little time before the ship was ripped apart by vacuum pressure of space. And no man of his would allow that to happen so long as they took in breath, as they never, ever would fail their duty to the Emperor before even beginning their next task. Said next task was to fold into a motley group of regiments and immediately reinforce the planetary garrison in preparation for likely Tau assaults, given the system's position on flank of the overall Imperial Crusade.

Halvar continued to bark orders as his few surviving tech-savvy soldiers worked like mad to keep the engines running. That too was a battle against time, as they were liable to break down at any moment, given they were nearly out fuel, overheating, and in horrible condition to start with.

But for all the stress and danger, Halvar and his Shadows wouldn't give up. They never had, not even when faced with an entire Chaos splinter fleet and fighting hand-to-hand with daemons and Chaos Marines, and even when he dueled a Magister to the death. Not once did they break. Not once did they fail their duty. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken was their motto for good reason; they strived to live by it every breath they took.

And that is why no man paniced, no man moved about recklessly or without careful movements. Even in a race against time the for all logical reasons should have lost when they'd still been in the damned Warp, they were still cool-headed, if a bit intense. Granted, Shadows are always intense, so it was no surprise to Halvar.

"Sir!" The current navigator, one of his five remaining lieutenants, yelled across the bridge to him, "we've entered the objective's atmosphere." The bridge erupted in a flurry of motions as hands flew across controls as Halvar and several officers maneuvered their failing boat into a landing position, belly down as the small ship bucked as it entered the atmosphere. The temperature inside began to raise dramatically as the boat's environmental control systems finally gave way and heat from the red-hot outer hull began to leak inside through the walls.

A spurt of intense flames erupted from a seam on the larboard side, flaring up and scorching the ceiling bulkheads black before men swarmed it with fire retardant and water before hurriedly welding on several plates of scrap iron. A close call. Halvar wiped a bead of sweat as it dripped down his brow, swiping off hi commissar's cap as he brushed a coated forearm against his forehead. He could see his other men sweating as well, the heat getting to them far more than mere stress. Given his men were from an ice-world themselves, they felt a particular loathing for high temperatures. Thus they weren't liking this one bit, but they soldiered on as only Shadows do.

Never breaking, they continued holding their stations around the hull, welders in hand and retarders at ready as more and more bursts of flame appeared from seams. Thankfully, givne the orientation of the heavily damaged boat, they all splashed relatively harmlessly against the ceiling plates, but ever hotter the small ship got as two hundred sixteen men fought desperately against time itself.

"Sir! We're within one hundred kilometers of the objective site! Deploying drag flaps and wings!" The lieutnenants voice echoed in the ears of each Shadow, his voice spread via the internal vox integrated within each man's helmtet. Halvar could only hold on to the rail in front of his seat with all his strength as the ship bucked terribly as it experienced exponentially more drag. It rocked suddenly, and horrible screeching sound filled their ears as something tore off the hull. That's not good. Many lost their already tenuous footing as the boat began spinning uncontrollably. His lieutenant remained cool-headed though even as the small boat began to corkscrew, throwing everyone around the compartment as it fell through the sky in a conflagration of flames and black smoke whilst he tried to regain control.

Halvar yelled at the lieutenant to get over the sounds of the howling winds and roaring flames and the screaming hull as they fell, "Lieutenant! Set us down as close you can! Aim for that snow drift thirty degrees off your starboard, elevation three hundred meters." He managed to speak with a strange sense of calmness, and that seemed to relieve his young lieutenant's nerves a bit, who regripped the sweat-slicked controls whilst Halvar punched a series of buttons on the helm, firing the vernier thrusters several times to compensate for their lost wings. Below, as the ship managed to level out slightly, the men hustled quickly to their seats as noncoms barked orders to starp themselves in for a hot crash landing in unknown territory.

Halvar forced himself not to close his eyes as the world slowed around him. The last seconds trickled by so slowly, painfully so as the vast snow drift loomed taller and taller in the viewport as their flaming ship flew toward it straight as lasround.

And then the world sped up, and the ship screeched like Hell hath no fury, tossing all his men around in their crash-seat restraints like rag dolls. Steam and smoke filled the compartment as snow slipped in through the ripping seams as the ship rammed through the hundreds-meter tall snow drift, emerging on the other side in an explosion of white and arcing metal as it bounced and rolled thrice, end over end, eventually settling just a single meter from a sheer cliff face dropping off some three hundred meters below into a deep ravine.

Halvar recovered his wits quickly, calling for a headcount, his officers and noncoms counting heads as he surveyed the damage to his now dead boat. A minute later, and he found none of his men had been killed, though there had been some minor injuries, though thankfully nothing major. Corporal Tromgar suffered from first degree burns to the left side of his face, as well as some nasty lacerations that cut through his armor on his life shoulder from a snapped support rib on the ceiling. Private Nes suffered from a minor concussion and a broken nose from a hard fall after getting whacked by a broken scantling. And a few others. Fortunately, all their arms and armor seemed in good working order, and most of their supplies and consumables and survived. More or less.

No one would really mind that a few barrels of salted beef had been lost when part of the cargo compartment exploded outward from sheer stress, the boxes lost when they were still in atmosphere. Meanwhile, as other officers rechecked inventories, teams of welders began cutting through the hull, as the forward drop-door was sealed shut from heat, melted into the hull itself. The rest of the boat was useless too, the engines and outboard weapons fried or otherwise completely destroyed, unsalvageable. But she'd served her purpose well, allowing Halvar's men to arrive at Kelborshar with utmost speed.

It took ten long minutes before a sizeable hole was cut through the hull. Men clambered out, breathing the cold, free air, gulping in grateful lungfulls after being trapped in that boat for nearly a week of travel through the Warp, and then their classic crash landing. And now, overlooking the cliff and the encampment below, the Shadows experienced their first feeling of peace in nearly a year, now on a world so similar to their lost one, standing side by side with their brothers as they took in the beautiful sight beofre. It was good to be home, even it was a home away from home...

[Sub Sector Protractis]

Arktheleon looked at Mabus and gave a slight nod. “They never said anything about being weary and cold.” He tried to joke with the Space Marine, though no doubt it sounded more like a tired, weary response. He then nodded toward the Inquisitor. He hoped this wasn’t a sign that his ‘regiment’ was going to be used in some Inquisitorial witch-hunt. He had heard of some Cadian regiments that had been commandeered by the Inquisition. He couldn’t recall hearing about them again afterwards. Though he could guess as to why the Inquisitor was here.

“Here for the Eldar, my lord?” He asked,

With a smile Duran replied to the exhausted Cadian " Well then Colonel maybe a rotation to the Tallarn system would be a suitable next deployment, and to answer your question yes. I am here to capture or kill both a Tau Ethereal and a Eldar Farseer, your regiment will do great things here Colonel. I want you to know that my presence here will not interfere with your planned operations and I will provide you with as much support as I can. I will explain more at the briefing with all of your officers. Following protocol however I must ask, are there any issues that you feel need to be brought up to me or my staff for investigation?"

[Legital]

Kel'borshal
Not too far from Shark Assault Boat crash landing

Off in the far distance, obscured by the snow, a group of figures observed the crashed Imperial ship. These figures wore simple mesh-type armor with powerful concealment coats over their body, and they blended into the snow and ice so well, one would be unable to spot them unless they carefully studied the area. Three of the figures were crouched or prone, watching the Imperial ship with their exotic long rifles closely. The other two figures watched behind them and over their chosen transportation, jetbikes.

After the ship had lain dormant for a short time, a hole appeared in the side of it, and guardsmen began to exit the ship into the cold air.
"Mon-Keigh." One of the figures said with a sneer in his voice. "Who else would have such a ship?" Another said, lowering his long rifle. "They must have failed to properly notice their own encampment. Fools." The third had said, but one a few feet away by the jetbikes was quick to answer. "You underestimate the mon-keigh at times, Olivek. The ship appeared damaged on entry, this was an accident."

"And as it is an accident, the mon-keigh will likely leave their defenses to assist the survivors." The last one had said. "Therefore, we wait, we watch, and report everything back to Farseer Jeen Ri. We will be able to crush and weaken the Imperials as they send forces to leave their camp." He said, and the three on top of the snow mound acknowledged their senior. "Back to your rides. We follow and observe."

[The Empire of Pretantia]

The quartermaster was hardly impressive, besides his scar. He was taller than Oron, but only by the heels of his boots. He was wrapped tightly in layers of winter clothing, and yet still shivered. The only things noteworthy for a Guardsman was how he walked and talked with haste, but that was not so for the average quartermaster. He hardly noted Oron and Haota from his ladder as they walked in, too engrossed in cataloguing of another company's supplies. Oron had to be persistant.

"Excuse me?"The quartermaster did not heed,"Excuse me, Quartermaster?"

Still he did not hear. Oron was about to repeat himself when Haota cupped his hand and shouted,"Hey, Quartermaster!"

The shout startled Oron, as it was both unexpected and right next to his ear. He smacked his sergeant on the crown with his fan. However, Haota's lack of tact was useful; the quartermaster's attention was theirs', although same was to his annoyance. Oron bowed low, and Haota follow in his example.

"I am Captain Oron, and this is my second-in-command, Sergeant Haota. We are here with surplus."

The quartermaster stared blankly for a moment, before his face lit up.

"Aaahhh! Supplies! Excellent! Alright, how much?" He descended and approached them.

"About... One hundred heaters, fifteen-thousand thermal packets, and a missile."

"Ah, good, good. Shall we see?"

The two showed him to the transports waiting outside, each full of crates and heaters. Eight trojans were stuffed with packets, two and a chimera with heaters. The second chimera was holding the manticore missile, a bus so large that its tip poked out of the top hatch of the passenger compartment. The quartermaster climbed a trojan and opened a crate, revealing enough packs to warm a platoon. He turned back to Oron on the ground and mumbled,"This'll take a while."

Oron nodded,"I hope it's not a waist of your time. Need help unloading them?"

"Do you you expect me to do this alone?"

"Absolutely not, Quartermaster."

That should keep twenty-four guardsmen busy. In the meantime Oron wandered the headquarters with Haota, seeing who exactly was where. He was hoping to find a fellow armoured company, as he had not to found one on his first trip to the command tent. However, the captain soon found that the regiment was undergunned in terms of armour, and there was not a Leman Russ in the headquarters. After some more scouting, Oron came upon the largest motorpool he has seen in this regiment: an artillery company. Haota had noticed as well.

"An artillery company,"He stated flatly as he stared at a Macharius Vulcan sharing the colors and emblems of the rest of the company.

"Indeed,"Oron confirmed.

"An artillery company has a battle tank."

"Yes."

"An artillery company has more battle tanks than every other company."

"Except us and those night-fighters."

"AN ARTILLERY COMPANY IS BETTER PREPARED FOR ARMOURED WARFARE THAN HALF THE REGIMENT."

"Not including us. Or the night-fighters, of course."

"The fact that we've only seen twelve battle tanks total is really killing my appetite!"

"Now, Sergeant," Oron placed his hand on Haota's shoulder,"It's never a good idea to be so negative."

Haota pulled off his helmet and threw it to the ground,"WHAT KIND OF REGIMENT DOESN'T HAVE TANKS?! DOES IT LOOK LIKE A HIVE WORLD WE'RE ON!"

Oron kneeled down and picked up Haota's helmet. Snow poured and drifted in the wind as he flipped it,"I believe this is a death world, judging by the biting cold."

Haota's veins were popping under his mask. Not willing to berate his superior, he held his tongue at the snark, only grunting loudly to vent his anger. Oron replaced the helmet on his head, stating,"And the cold is biting, judging by the frozen corpses soon before us. Tanks or no tanks, death is inevitable."

"That was awesome-sounding,"Waritani interrupted. The two looked at him curiously, previously unaware of his presence.

"Is there something you need, Guardsman?"Oron asked.

"Yessir, Sergeant Goro was just wondering what you want to do with the Samaratin and Chimera. Give it to an infantry company?"

"I shall figure that out in,"Oron checked his timepiece,"two hours, at the briefing. Please tell Goro to prepare a report on the company's forces."

"Yessir,"Waritani bowed and left. Oron turned back to Haota.

"Where were we?"

"We were discussing the possibility of getting someplace warm."

"Naturally."

[Sil Arion]

Kel'borshal
Crash site, twenty kilometers due north of Kel'borshal Imperial Guard Firebase

Night fell as Halvar and his officers finished their short tactical meeting, a mere twenty minutes since their epic entry to Kel'borshal. In that time, they'd gathered their depleted supplies, rechecking their arms and armor for malfunctions or disrepair. All in order, they hunkered down for but a brief but welcome moment of respite upon reaching this besieged world. They refilled their canteens with purified water, snowmelt, and ate a few bites of food, eating what fresh food they could while unpacking the few crates of food that survived the journey, dividing up rations as they did. They were advanced reconnaissance commandos by all means, far more experienced than any would expect in surviving and excelling in such conditions that would leave a lesser man in despair, surrounded on all sides by enemies with no realistic hope of rescue. Only themselves to rely upon.

A tear of flame streaking across the greyed sky as little flakes of ice fell from the heavens around that fiery piece of molten metal as it exploded thunderously into the snow, lighting up the darkened night sky - a miraculous landing on their part, to be sure. Even more assuredly, it would have attracted attention, and they were deep in uncharted territory, twenty klicks from any allies. Possibly surrounded by enemies, a death trap only waiting to be sprung among those icy peaks and hulking drifts of snowfall frozen solid, hills but in name. But of course, they were no strangers to circumstances such as that. Their entire lives they'ed lived on such an edge. Regardless, the Emperor truly had protected them this night.

A moment passed as he and his officers attempted to raise the Guards' Headquarters on their long-range vox. Halvar spoke clearly into the vox, his voice loud and clear and without stress despite their circumstances. "Kel'borshal Imperial Guard Firebase, this Halvar Storm, Captain-Commissar of the Solvaeran Shadows, do you copy." He waited a moment, but all he got in return was static. The gale force winds and heavy snow must be interfering with the signal. He tried again, "Kel'borshal Firebase, this is Halvar Storm, Captain-Commissar of the Solvaeran Shadows, do you copy." Still, no reply. Calmly, he set down the vox and thanked his lieutenant as he back over to his officers and senior noncoms. Knowing they had no support, they fell back on their Plan Alpha: they would circle around to the northwest, marching through the snow-fields and icicle-forests, then loop around once more and descend elevation, following the curve of the ridge as it lowered to meet the massive snow-covered plain below, where the subterranean city had its foundation, and the Firebase located at its surface. They would stay under cover, maintaining vox silence unless an emergency appeared, moving slowly but steadily on their course to rendezvous at the presumed location of the Firebase Headquarters, where they'd make contact with the local Guard forces. Hopefully, at any rate. The Plan was very simple, and thus could adapt easily to any circumstances, whether they be a random deep-patrol of Tau scout, or some marauding group of Eldar rangers, of even should they be set upon by the local wildlife, whatever there may be of it in this frozen hell. Still, it was as close to home, Solvaera, as it got.

It was rather wonderful, a warm feeling in the hearts of his men to be on such a world. But also a sobering thought. Aay'han. A word from their culture meaning in Low Gothic, roughly, a bittersweet moment of mourning and joy, of remembering and celebrating one's past and their gone loved ones, but knowing in the future was bright and love would always come, no matter how hopeless it seemed; a peaceful, yet paradoxical moment, one of terrible sadness and longing and yet intense love and hope. It was a word, a concept, that identified them as children of Solvaera. Something that defined them as a people, that from which their unbreaking spirit was born from. It was something few others could perhaps relate too.

A final nod form his officers and senior noncoms, and Halvar opened up the command vox channel, his voice clear, cutting easily through the howling winds as his voice sounded in each man's helmet through their integrated and encrypted voxes. "Shadows, my brothers and last kin, we are deep in uncharted territory, without allied support. We will execute general Plan Alpha, as according to these parameters." He outlined their movement procedure by which they would contact their fellow Guardsmen. It would be along road, but a fun one, to be sure. "From hear one we are All Dark. Only hand-speech from here unless emergency circumstances arise. You all know the drill, my brothers. We are but Shadows on the land." He paused briefly, his voice softer, less hard, "For Solvaera. For the Emperor." He closed the connection as the two hundred sixteen men of the Solvaeran Shadows, last survivors of their world, moved out with practiced movements of hardened veterans, men who had seen looked into the Abyss and lived. Even to the most experienced of hunters, mortal or otherwise, they were undetectable, untraceable, their camo-cloaks concealing their every movement, they natural skills and will forged and formed, tempered and sharpened in the fires of war against all manners of eldritch horrors and angelic beings. Talents and training hardened in the most brutal and bloody of wars as their homeworld fell before their eyes. And not once did these men break, never once did they falter with Halvar at the head.

Only in death does their duty end.

They pushed into the howling gales, snow flying horizontally into their cloaked and armored forms at speeds of over ninety kilometers per hour, whipping up slithering snakes of ice crystals that surged and whirled across the drifts. But those biting winds would find no purchase on these ghostlike men, these shadows as they crept across the frozen hell that was Kel'borshal. Their home away from home, long lost, and now forever gone. But they moved onward, as they always did, never once halting, never once allowing their pasts to stop them from marching forwards towards tomorrow. That nigh unreachable, bright future that was the Emperor's Salvation, bought by his sacrfice to all of Humanity, his children.

And so they marched. For Solvaera. For the Emperor.

[Gideus]

Kel'borshal
1162nd Cadian Regiment HQ

Major Major sighed, the sound being completely deadened to the outside by his carapace armor. The travel to the regimental headquarters had been almost pointless; the command given was something that any officer with half the brain cells of a grox destined for slaughter should have already done. Saluting his superiors, taking note of the Higarans, and barely allowing himself a moment's glance at the Inquisitor - Throne prevent it being one of the psychic ones - he turned sharply to leave with his Lieutenant and his squad. He didn't want to spend any more time than necessary around the Inquisitor and his dog, the Space Marine. His last deployment...

Epsilon Prime
A Few Years Ago...

He stumbled across the scorched field. An entire column of Hellhound tanks had been destroyed here. He had watched it. The flames still sputtered. The Leman Russes only fifty meters away had turned the traitors responsible for the destruction of the Hellhounds into little more than craters in the permanently scarred ground. Taking cover in the shell of what had used to be the front of a Hellhound, he looked through the viewport. The metal had partially slagged but it was cool enough to touch. Taking his primary weapon - the same one he would be using years later, albeit with repairs and replacements - he had used the scope to see what was occurring at the bridge that the Russes were crossing. Waving his hand to the men following him, the four of them formed up in the same shelter as him. This was before he was alone, before he had sat beside his commanding officer as he bled out.

What he had seen through the scope... This did not compare to the few Chaos Space Marines he had seen so far. This was a tear in reality. Where the Marines were tangible horrors, things you could eventually take down with heavy enough weaponry, this was... This was a portal into Hell itself. This was one of the maws of the great Archenemy. This was something that they had all seen at least once, or would see at least once, in the Crusade. And coming through it...

He turned away from the scope. What he had seen was damnation itself. The cultists, the traitors, the Marines - they were all enemies that he could understand. This thing, however... This was a horror beyond most men's imaginations. Its image was scarred into his eyes, only to be erased by the blood he would shed on his way to meet up with his Major and the amasec he would down once he was in a safe place. This was the sort of thing the Inquisition would kill you for seeing - or the sort of thing they would erase your mind for.

Present Day
Kel'borshal
1162nd Cadian Encampment

The Morallan guardsmen had found their bunks and been given the meals they needed. No one wanted to eat their rations, not yet. Those were meant for later.

Each man ate from the plastic trays - which were to be returned to the mess hall upon the meal's completion - and was surprised by the quality of their meals. Each man had a small yet rich slice of white cheese, apparently from one of the farming worlds that had been unable to send troops, along with actual non-grox meat. The grains were, of course, the same hyperplant of unknown origins that everyone else was eating. It was understood they wouldn't be eating anything of this quality again for weeks at the least. While it could not compare to the refined food of Morallis, it was strides above the normal fare of the Imperial Guard.

"Alright men, finish your food! We're going to firing practice in seventeen minutes. We need to make sure your weapons function properly with their winter outfits. Stand to, men. You've finished your meals, return the trays - lest the Munitorum, our only friends in this punishment, see fit to spite us. Trooper! Your plasma flasks are exposed to the direct cold. How do you think the gun will heat those up? Put them on the pre-fab's heater, and keep your damn eyes on them. I don't trust for one minute some of the rats that seem to have accompanied proper Guardsmen to this Throne-forsaken rock. Lieutenant, I trust you can keep the men in line for me? I'm going to check one of the rosters."

"Yes sir. I'll ensure they don't do anything out of line."

"Don't be too harsh; we are on break. Ensure their weapons are all properly stored though."

Two and a Half Hours Later
Regimental HQ, Officer's Briefing

Marching to the briefing with his Lieutenant and his Lieutenant's top two men, he entered the command pre-fab. Walking briskly to the place at which he would await orders, he looked around the tent. Seeing the Higaran officer - or who he suspected was an officer, at any rate, due to their place in the Headquarters at the time of the Officer's Briefing - he walked up to him, taking his fully obscuring helmet off.

"Hail, fellow servant of the Emperor." he said, keeping the greeting formal.

"Major Dimitri Major of the Morallis Fighting Third. I believe you are of a Higaran regiment? It's good to know I'm serving with men of your homeworld again. I served with the 93rd Foot on Epsilon Prime. Good men, the lot of them."

[Legital]

Kel'borshal
Higaran Billets, Higaran Quartermaster

"Much obliged, Quartermaster." Gustav said, taking the slate of information regarding all of their equipment. As per the Colonel's orders, he wished for an updated list of each companies supplies. Some supplies would be pooled together, such as las-packs and other standard guard issue equipment, but naturally the Higarans would hold on to some items that were unique to them only, namely uniform materials and provided alcohol.

"Of course, Commissar. All information on that slate is exact, I can assure you of that." The quartermaster said, a smile on his face. Quartermaster Berhnhard was a big man by guard standards, with a large gut and beginning of some jowls. He sported a very large bushy mustache, which covered most of his mouth. But the man was not in a position to be used for his physical fitness. His organizational abilities were exceptional, and he was able to keep track of just about anything of Higaran possession.
"Oh, and Commissar Amsel." Berhnhard said, catching Amsel before he left. "If you're looking for your junior, he was here just earlier gathering troop rosters for the billets. He's a sharp lad, you know." The man said, and Amsel tipped his peaked cap. "Yes, I think I can make a proper Commissar out of him yet."

---

Some time later
Regimental HQ

At one point, Amsel had handed the quartermaster's list off to Gustav, as the Commissar had another duty he had to attend to. He said he would join Gustav soon, and that he go ahead. It was nearing time for the Colonels briefing, so Gustav had set out.

"Hail, fellow servant of the Emperor." A voice had said behind him, and the First Lieutenant turned around to see who was speaking to him. He noticed the man from earlier, but never knew who he was. Now it appeared it was time for some proper introductions.

"Hail, Major Major." Gustav said, the two words sounding a bit odd to him together, but he shrugged it off. "The 93rd, you say? I remember our founding was alongside them, but it was so long ago. I'm afraid I don't remember many of their names, but I do know they were nearly fully wiped out. Poor lot were cycled off. Down to the last forty men and their Commissar, I heard."

"Eitherway, I am First Lieutenant Gregory Gustav. Pending promotion to captain. It's rather an inappropriate rank for someone of my stature, as I now lead the Higaran 92nd."

---

Near the Solvaeran force

Flying at low altitude, with an unmatched speed compared to most Imperial aircraft, a group of Phoenix ground attack fighters scoured the sky, inbound to the Solvaeran location. They received constant updates from the ranger vanguard, and enlarging force of Eldar armor and guardians. It was whispered amongst the pilots that they may be joined by Aspect Warriors, but that was only said in hushed voices.

The Eldar, as usual, were to utilize their small numbers but deadly weaponry in a game of hit and run with the slow and cumbersome Imperials. They were only moments away from the Imperials, and when they arrived, the snow below would run red with blood.