W40K In Service to the Imperium: Episode 5 (IC/CLOSED)

[Legital]

In Service to the Imperium
Episode Five: Uprising on Pan Arcadia

I hate this planet. -Anonymous Imperial Guardsman

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius

In the glistening sun of the morning hours, the black painted staff car drove casually along the winding and twisting road which led up towards Fort Macharius, one of the three Imperial Guard garrison bases on the entirety of Pan Arcadia. Fort Macharius itself was near ancient, having been built many centuries ago along the foot hills of the Gebbet mountains, a wide stretching range of mountains which lead from the shores of the Adrian Sea where the city of Nova Prime herself lay, to the deep inner lands of the continent. The way to the fort, which sat on an elevated tract of land high in the foothills, was rather long and uneventful. While usually the land was colorful and lush, as the area was very much forested, the color of the lands had disappeared. Winter was well on it's way, and the leaves of the trees had fallen onto the forest floor, leaving only the tall and majestic evergreen trees to provide any color in the bleak mountains.

The weather recently had been very clear in the area, which was good news, especially to the farmers of the lowlands between the city of Nova Prime and the Gebbet mountains. The area was prone to snow storms during this time of year, and the brisk cold wind which descended from the heavens and over the land was a clear sign of how cold it really could get. Though, with prayers to the God-Emperor, one could only hope the weather would remain calm for the coming winter. Unknowingly, not all prayers were directed towards Him.

Overhead, high above the staff car, a wing of avenger ground attack aircraft flew by in formation. The aircraft were camouflaged with light olive green and tan, making them out to be of PDF origin. If one could see the aircraft up close, they would spot the PDF emblem. While not an unusual sight to see, today of all days it was expected to see PDF troops and vehicles out. Today was, after being a long time in the making, the annual PDF full planetary training day. While it was actually a week long, today was the start of the training, which was created to ensure that the PDF was always ready and could cooperate in war games on a mass scale with other PDF elements around the planet. The Imperial Guard stationed on the planet were asked to sit out this year, as this was solely to ensure the PDF could handle things themselves, and it was just as much training as it was a show to the inhabitants of the planet, letting people know that their own people could hold their own without foreign Imperial assistance.

Within the staff car, one of the two passengers watched the Avengers fly overhead from the backseat window. Once they were well out of sight, the man sat back, nodding to himself. "You know, those things bring back good memories. I can't tell you how many times those things have been there to get my ass out of a hassle on the ground. I'm glad we'll never have to know the feeling of those things bearing down on you." The man said, glancing over at his compatriot beside him. The other man was dressed in high black boots, which had putte strips wound up tightly up his leg. His black pants were neatly tucked into the boots, and also poofed out slightly along the sides of his legs. Obscuring most of his upper uniform was a large black great coat, which was tied with the attached belt around his waist. Sitting on his lap was the unmistakable peaked cap of an Imperial Commissar, which happened to have the markings of Higaran origin. His cleanly shaven face was very sharp, with traditional Higaran characteristics such as high cheekbones and gaunt eyes. His brow and face was arranged in such a fashion that it naturally appeared he was lightly scowling, something which was often joked about amongst the Higarans.

The commissar turned to look at the man and smiled. "I don't care whose side you're on. I'm an imperial and even I'm scared by the sound of those things. You know some of those things happen to have dive sirens on them? What fething maniac thought about putting screaming sirens on those things? The Navy, that's who. Maniacs, the lot of them." The reply issued a laugh from both men. Unlike the commissar, the other man wore no great coat. His uniform from the waist down was identical, but his dark blue coat with red trim was clearly displayed to all. A black leather belt wrapped around the man's waist, with smaller straps going over his shoulders and under his uniforms epaulettes to help hold it up. A black leather laspistol holster was situated on the right side of the belt, with two small leather pouches on the left. The man also had a peaked cap, but unlike the the commissar's, which met with a point at the top, this one was rounded and lower, marking him as a Higaran officer. The captain ranks on his collar ensured there was no doubt as to who he was. Unlike the commissar, this man appeared less like a traditional Higaran, with a somewhat rounder face but still with high cheekbones. As per Higaran tradition and culture, the captain had a full and styled mustache on his lip. It was in stark comparison to his shaved head.

"Either way, the PDF here certainly know what they're doing. It was...odd, though, I must say, that they were rather unwilling to let us watch them on their parade ground. It seemed less like protocol and more like they simply didn't want our presence." The captain said, prompting the commissar to offer a thoughtful nod. "Perhaps. A shame, though. I was looking forward to seeing them perform in formation. Speaking of formations, do you know what the colonel has planned for us today, Gustav?" He asked, and Gustav, the captain and Higaran company commander, looked at the commissar with a wry grin. "You're the regiment's commissar, Amsel. You tell me." Commissar Amsel made a 'hmph' sound, frowned, and glanced out of the window. "Try not to remind me."

---

The Higaran company commander Gustav and Commissar Amsel, who also happened to be the regimental commissar as he was the ranking commissariat representative as he stood at Captain-Commissar, idly chatted as their staff car continued on the long and winding stretch of pavement which led them to Fort Macharius, which happily set nestled in the backwoods and foothills. The driver, as requested, turned on the vox on the dashboard, and quiet music filled the vehicle. The two men sat in silence for the rest of their trip, simply enjoying the local music.

After a short while, the forest began to thin out until there were no more trees. Off in the distance was the entrance to the military base, and the driver cut the music as they approached. One of the guards flagged the staff car down, bringing the vehicle to a stop. Both Amsel and Gustav presented their identification pamphlets, issuing a stiff salute from the guard. Gustav offered a salute back from within the car, and Amsel offered a measured nod. The guard, stepping back, waved the staff car into the base.

Fort Macharius itself was originally an airfield, and as such, the middle of the base was a long and cracked tarmac. Weeds grew out of revealing cracks, and it was evident aircraft were not often used here. Indeed, the only aircraft that were stationed here now were only a few decommissioned birds which sat grounded in one of the hangers. The hangers, once painted a nice solid olive drab, were now faded and chipping. The steel colored sheet metal which created the hangers were partly rusted in some places, but all in all the remaining hangers looked sturdy enough. The ones which remained were now being used to store the regiments vehicles, as the hangers were rather large. Across from the hangers, on the opposite side of the tarmac, where the fort's main entrance was, was a host of older buildings. Two story bunk houses, administration buildings, storage areas, and all of the usual things were arrayed in a orderly manner. The buildings themselves were recently remodeled, but it was obvious they were older than just a few decades.

Despite the older buildings, much of the base itself was rather new, within just a few decades of being built. More modern style housing and buildings made up the vast majority of the buildings, and the head administration building and hospital were remodeled. As the staff car continued into the base, the large amount of vehicles gathered near the hangers was certainly a sight to take in. With all of the various companies in the regiment, many of which carrying armor contingents, it created a very mixed picture. Open doored hangers revealed rows upon rows of mighty Imperial armor, shaded from the elements in hangers that once housed aircraft.

As the car continued along it's way, Amsel and Gustav spotted guardsmen at each corner of the base. All of which wore different uniforms, with a few of their own Higarans mixed in. Both men knew what companies some of the uniforms belonged to, as all of the COs had met briefly a few days ago for introductions, but even then, neither men could place all of them.

"I wonder what we have done to deserve this fate." Gustav remarked, staring out the window of the car as they proceeded along their way. Amsel, who was flexing his left hand, which was covered in a black glove to hide the augmetic underneath, casted a curious glance towards the captain. "What fate would that be?" He asked simply. "These fold regiments. I've read your record, Commissar Amsel. I know you've been in several fold regiments with Higaran contingents. Even I've been on that track recently. I'm beginning to worry we're never going to be fully replenished. The Munitorum keeps us moving around. The only fresh Higaran faces I've seen is the batch of sixty or so we got those few weeks ago while we were still in transit to this place. Is that all they send these days?" He asked, sighing. It was, admittedly, rather unfortunate that neither men hopped to see a full Higaran regiment again. While they met interesting and certainly kind fellow guardsmen along their times in different fold regiments, it was always rather off. Not being apart of a full blooded Higaran regiment was just simply that, off.

Captain-Commissar Amsel pondered this for a moment, running a hand over his short cropped black hair. "My mother always told me Higarans lost their luck the moment they stepped foot off home. I guess that's beginning to show true. But," He said, glancing at the captain, "The Emperor never made things to be easy for us. If he did, well, I'd probably be a little heavy and looking a bit like a Lord Militant." The commissar said, prompting the two men to laugh lightly.

The staff car at that moment came to a slow stop outside a bleached white building, with paint cracking as well, and the two men exited the vehicle. Amsel placed his peaked cap firmly on his head, adding quite a few inches to his height. Gustav held his cap in his hands for a moment, patting at it, before neatly placing over his shaved head. "Throne, it's a bit cold out don't you think?" Amsel said, placing his hands in the pocket of his great coat as he walked alongside Gustav towards the white building, a small administration building given to the Higarans chain of command. Gustav had decided to allow any Higaran guardsmen inside, as the building had some office rooms that were now lounges. Captain Gustav figured it was better if his men kept within the Higaran territory (as a guardsmen had joked, as several bunkhouses and a warehouse were given to the Higaran company on the east side of the base, while other companies were assigned their own buildings, prompting guardsmen from different companies to stay within their own zones or 'territory') than loitering around the base and bumping elbows with any company that was not too friendly. Gustav could only imagine where those chaps from Die Schwarzen Manner were hiding. He half expected to go to sleep in his cot one night, look up, and see some of the fellows sleeping in the rafters of his room. The thought made him figure he should not look up anymore.

"Certainly. They say winter is not even here yet. Can you imagine that?" Gustav replied, stepping up towards the building and opening the door for the commissar. Amsel made a crude remark about the planets atmosphere and the Pan Arcadian women, and both men entered the warm building. Immediately, they were greeted with the sound of faint music from one of the rooms, as Higarans were known to carry voxographswithin their regiments as part of troop recreation.

Gustav removed his cap but Amsel kept his on as the two men carried on into the building. The lighting was rather dim in the main hall, but from the rooms they passed, with the window shutters open, light flooded in. The walls inside, unlike the outside, seemed to have been given a new coat of paint some years ago, and looked at the very least presentable. Some paintings decorated the wall, depicting old battles and soldiers of Pan Arcadia. A faded steel sword hung on one of the walls over a door, and the two men entered the room.

Several Higarans were inside, many with their coats unbuttoned and feet up on small tables. The sight of Captain-Commissar Amsel, the regimental and Higaran company commissar, along with Captain Gustav, company commander, caused the men to quickly shuffle to attention and salute. Gustav and Amsel made quick salutes in the general direction of the room. "Button up those coats. Don't let me catch them open again." Amsel warned, though without any malice. All the men with their blue jackets open quickly began buttoning them, to the slight amusement of Amsel. Gustav continued on, however, into a small adjoining room. Amsel entered, passing a Higaran guardsmen on his way out who saluted and nodded in courtesy, and saw Gustav by a small machine. "Want some recaf? Apparently this batch in already is from some other company. They put some spice in their recaf, really good as I've heard." Gustav said, and Amsel sat down at a small wooden table. "From the Thermidorians?" Amsel asked, but Gustav answered with a shrug. "Not sure. Might be from the Segmentians, actually. I heard their name mentioned with the recaf." Amsel made a sound and leaned back in his chair. "A bunch of staunch asses, the lot of them. I doubt they would know good recaf if it fell from the sky and danced in front of them." Gustav chuckled and brought over two black mugs. He grabbed a seat with the commissar, sipping on the recaf. Amsel took a sip as well, and nodded. "Well, whoever makes it, it's damn well good." He replied, Gustav agreeing with him.

The two men spoke for a short wile, enjoying their beverage, before Amsel parted from the captain and made his way off. As things stood, as regimental commissar, it was his job to check in on the others. He figured he would see what the other companies were up to.

---

Capital City of Nova Prime
Departmento Munitorum Headquarters
Conference Room

Lord General Melgear, along with three other Imperial Guard generals and several high ranking Imperial Guard officers and Munitorum officials, including several Imperial Navy officers, sat alone in the main conference room. The room was large, with a simple large wooden table resting in the middle, where all the officials and officers were gathered around. To the Lord General's left was a wall which was completely glass, watching over the entirety of the city of Pan Arcadia. The sea was framed in the distance, and it was, save for some of the smog covering the city, a nice enough view.

However, Lord General Melgear was not focused on the view from the window. With a half snarl on his face, he was rather angry. Slamming his fist down on the table, garnering the attention of those gathered, Melgear flew into a fit of rage. "Those frakken worthless Planetary Defense officials are motherless! They call me personally for this meeting, and not a single frakken one shows up! Where are they! I want those sorry grox looking son-of-bitches in here now! I don't care if they are PDF, they will answer to me and face punishment! The audacity of them to waste my time like this without a single one of them showing their face! Where are they!" He roared, his hands creating a colorful invisible picture in the air before him.

Those at the table, startled by the outburst, looked away or gulped nervously. Melgear was known for his rages, but this display was much more heated than any he had had before. An Imperial Navy officer sighed, and stood from his seat. "If they will not show up to their own meeting, then I must return to my ship. I don't have time for thi-" The man was saying, before the door to the room opened. All heads turned to see a single PDF officer enter, quietly, and with a large briefcase. Many people grumbled, and Melgear offered a very colorful line of expletives towards the PDF officer. However, the officer simply quietly approached the table without word.

"What is this!?" He roared on, "You finally arrive and there is only one of you! Where is your commanding officer!? I demand a word with him! What do you have to say for yourself! Nevermind, I don't want to hear it! You're career is over! Over, you hear me?!" He yelled, but the officer kept quiet, simply stopping at the table and placing the briefcase down. After a quiet moment, with only Melgear's panting in the air, did the PDF officer turn to look at the Lord General.

"I have nothing to say to you, or any of you. Simply, consider this Pan Arcadia's succession from the tyranny of the Imperium of Mankind." The officer said simply, before removing a small cylinder from his pocket.

Before anything further could be said, or before anyone could truly react, the officer thumbed the button on the cylinder, and the world within the conference room became very bright.

---

Outside on the streets below the Deparmento Munitorum Headquarters, the explosion on the top floor blew out almost the entire floor beneath it as well, so severe was the blast. Glass rained down in tiny razor sharp shards onto the streets, and fire and smoke licked at the blue sky. Many blocks away, another explosion went off. To those who could see over the tall mass of buildings and urban sprawl, they would have seen that a large explosion had detonated just outside the Adeptus Arbites Courthouse.

However, unknown to all, a highly trained team of PDF forces stormed the Imperial Governors palace. Today was the day that had trained for and waited for for such a long time. Their way into the palace was like clockwork, and they quickly found the governor and beat him senseless, before dragging his body away to where ever they planned to take him.

Today was the day. Today, the PDF and unhappy traitorous people of Pan Arcadia move to take their planet out of the Imperium, and to the hands of the shadowy forces they have doomed their souls to, who watched from beyond and laughed at the terror which would be unleashed.

Perhaps the most terrifying thing of all, was the fact that nobody, not even the valiant Imperial Guard knew of the attacks yet. Under the disguise of their training day, the PDF began to move to eradicate the Imperial Guard garrisons around the planet.

[Carcharhinidae primari]

Fort Macharius
Former Adeptus Mechanicus Depot, last hangar along the airstrip
4th company, 557th Segmentian formerly Urdeshi 15/17th armoured.

For the first time in years the clinging and overpowering smell of the incense favoured by the Cult Mechanicus wafted from an opened door before dispersing in the cold breeze coming down from the mountains. Inside both the troopers and enginseers belonging to the company were busy to get the depot in order again. They'd taken, or had at any rate been allowed to take, this building as their own.

On the inside it had been stripped of anything but the sigils of worship, and even after a few days on planet the enginseers were still directing the troopers where to stow their gear. There was a surprising amount of this, but while most of the regiment had perished on Ark Reach Secundum, the spare parts and other assorted tools had remained on the troopship that brought them there, leaving a company with 10 vehicles equipped to maintain over 30 times that number. Even with most of those stores now distributed to the other companies containing armour the shelves were stacked high. CSM Alden was talking to the senior enginseer, Ravid, while both men were engaged in stripping down the dorsal turret of a decaying marauder, of which less then a quarter of the frame was left. The rite of salvage being a not-insignificant contributer to the clouds of incense wafting around. Matheos pointed to the firing mechanism with a mechadendrite after he and Alden had pried away the outer cover of the gun.

"See, Marik? The Hull is just corroded right through, but some young tech adept had the good sense to apply the oil of preservation to the weaponry at least, unhook the trigger mechanism while I dab on the rune. Unfortunately there is no hope for the Machine spirit of the craft itself, too much corrosion and not enough maintenance. Hyron,-' and here he stopped another enginseer coming past with what looked like the crankshaft for a chimera . " - when you're done with that I want you to start on the rite of decommissioning.'
Marik Alden meanwhile, took a moment to straighten up and strike a few folds out of his uniform. Only the rank pins on his collar and the three chevrons below a Mechanicus skull on a badge on his shoulders indicated his rank, and the combination might seem out of place to those outside the regiment. One pin for sergeant, one pin for major, and a Machina Opus on his shoulder.
When the door opened again and closed he directed a glare in that direction, before turning back to Enginseer Ravid.
"If you'll excuse me Enginseer, This is something I have to attend to."

He slid down the side of the craft and confronted the two men who'd just stepped in; Both were Junior troopers, having joined the remnant after the battle at Ark Reach, and both were late. They saluted him nervously, and one opened his mouth to speak; Managing to get as far as 'sor-' before Marik interrupted him.
"You two are late, and improperly dressed while on duty." he snapped, walking slowly around them as they stood to attention, one making a move to tuck in his uniform and close the last button before thinking better of it. "Sir, we-" he managed again, before being interrupted again by the CSM. "I do not want to hear it. There is no excuse. I may have been somewhat lenient before on you two, but this is the second time in two weeks. Now since we have several commissars in this regiment, I should be reporting you for disciplinary actions to one of them, which would likely involve lashing and kitchen duties. This will be the only time I will not, as I need every man I can get on duty, and. ON. TIME. TROOPER." he bellowed, causing several others to look up, and a few of the more experienced gunners to make a move towards their weapons at the sudden outburst.
"You'll both be pulling double duties for the next month. And report to the enginseers for grease duty for the next week. which I'd say is rather light for the infraction. Do. not. disappoint me."

When the pair had scuttled out of sight Marik leaned against the side of a hellhound, breathing in deeply for a moment and muttering "Omnissiah, Grant me wisdom."
Did he do the right thing? he couldn't tell right now. one the one hand letting them off lightly wouldn't serve to underline the dressing down he'd just given them. On the other hand he couldn't spare anyone. there was already a roster for double-duty, with each platoon taking a single 8 hour shift every day with the company vehicles and with none of the companies containing enough men to actually fully fill the roster on their own.
Still, today would be the last day they'd have to worry about storing spare supplies; and he'd made sure the hellhounds were all ready for action the day before they'd arrived on-planet.

[Morrdh]

Fort Macharius

Captain Artemis Stormwell, formerly of the 319th Battalion Morridane Mirewatch and now commander of the fifth company of the Segmentian 557th, sighed as he placed the dataslate down on the wooden desk in front of him before reaching for the bottle of amasec. On the dataslate itself was a list of reports of petty thief and missing items within the ad-hoc regiment from over the past few days since they'd made planetfall, he was pretty sure that the Navy would have a similar list compiled during their voyage to this world. Though no claims had been levied against the Morridanes under his command, Artemis hazard a guess to whom the likely culprits were.

He doffed on an overcoat for warmth against the chill in the air and then his officer's cap before leaving the 5th Company's Administrative section to walk the short distance over to one of the old hangers that had been commandeered to serve as both stores for the company and as maintenance depot for the slow but growing pool of vehicles the Morridanes had 'requisitioned' since their arrival. There were a few Cargo-8 trucks being attended to when Artemis reached the hanger, he noticed that all of them had had the insignia of the Segmentian 557th recently applied over that of the vehicles' previous owner which could just faintly be seen. But must of the activity in the hanger seemed to be centered round the sole Leman Russ Vanquisher, which bore the word 'Poacher' in large letters on its sides and was presently being serviced. Trouble was that Artemis didn't recall any armoured vehicles being on the old Battalion's strength prior to the campaign on Benylin, nor did he recall fighting alongside any armoured units which only led to the deepening of the mystery that surrounded the tank's origins. Not wishing to dwell upon the matter any further Artemis called out loudly so that his voice echoed. "Sergeant Major!"

"Sah!" Responded Company Sergeant Major Midnightte as he emerged from the depths of the hanger and saluted.

"We've may have acquired some extra equipment that might be similar to some equipment that has been...waylaid from other units." Artemis explained. "Make sure our stores tally up with what the Departmento says we have."

"Certainly sah, the lads have found an old bomb store that may prove useful."

"Excellent Sergeant Major, step to it then."

[The National Dominion of Hungary]

Pan Arcadia, Fort Macharius
Major Jan-Szigmunt Waszielewski

Waszielewski stood in front of the mirror, straightening the collar and sleeves of his impeccably well cared for jacket. He fastened the Order of the Virtuti Militarii, in theory earned for the preformance of the 51´st in the great military maneuvers on Lesznah, not unlike what the local PDF was partaking in at this very moment. In practice however, while the 51´st did far from bad, he earned the medal because the King, a Kazanowski, had found it necessary to placate House Waszielewski in order to avoid... unpleasantries in regard to the proceedings of the Noble Assembly. A few of medals had come as part of the package along with other gifts and a few estates and positions gifted to different members of his House. Indeed, the power of the Crown and the Assembly were in a precarious balance, intrigue was rife. The bribe, the agent, the poison and the weapon-silencer were all integral parts of the game played by the Noble Houses.

But the Major left the life of a Lesznii nobleman as the dropships departed their homeworld, taking him and his 51´st Company toward distant worlds where they would do their duty as warriors of Mankind. First in the Hurragon Campaign against the vile Dark Eldar. The 51´st had fought on Hurrag Primaris, a rocky desert world in the outskirts of the system where the battles had become the bloodiest in the campaign, and the men and women of his Company had preformed admirably against the xeno filth, with hellgun, shotgun and grenade they had sung the praise of the Emperor. Their warcries had beckoned to their ancestors in the afterlife to come and see, how bravely their descendants fought and brought death to the enemies of the Emperor, Mankind, and Mother Lesznah. Many had given their lives, but luckily, Rebekah was not among those lying in unmarked graves on Hurrag Primaris. A fate no Lesznii, and much less a daughter of House Waszielewski should be consigned to. They should rest within the sacred soil of their homeworld, or burn, their dust scattered to the wind in a land far from their own. That was their way. And no Lesznii, man or woman, serf or King, could ever dishonor the ways of their people.

This world next world they had been shipped to after so many of their number perished against the vile Eldar, this... Pan Arcadia. Reminded Jan of his home, the cold, refreshing air filling his lungs in the morning. The rocky hills and the mountains visible in the distance when the Major looked through the window of his private quarters. The room was rather spacious, but also spartan when it came to the decor and furnishing, it would have to do for now, but if it was true that they would stay here until other orders are recived, he would have to turn this room into something befitting a man of his station. As of now it was too early to tell, but it seemed that it would indeed be Garrison Duty in store for him and the remnants of the 51´st. On a world far from home, in a regiment made up of the badly battered remnants of Emperor knows how many companies in a radius of x or y lightyears. A blanket sewn toghether from whatever rags obtainable. One of these rags was the 51´st, which had become the 9´th Company of the 557´th Segmentian. It would take some getting used to, all these... others. They were a... colorfull band one could say. Light Infantry from Morrdh, an all-female company from Thermidor and even a company from the legendary Steel-Legion of Armageddon.

The Major then fastened the ornate scabbard of his equally ornate power-sword to the belt. It was not only a weapon, it was a true work of art, made by the greatest artisan of Nowy Targ. Indeed, it was almost to beautiful to stain with the blood of something so unclean as a xeno. And so the Commander of the 9´th stepped out from his quarters, ready for yet another day on Pan Arcadia. As he emerged from the building in which he had taken up residence along with a part of his Company, he saw his troops conducting excersises in the morning. The 5´th Platoon, under the command of none other than his Rebekah drilled with bayonets and combat-knives, hacking and stabbing at plastic dummies, his daughter stood proud of her soldiers, as she should after their feats in the Hurragon Campaign. And he in turn, was proud of her, she had become a true descendant of past Waszielewski warrior-women such as Queen Beata VII or Ursula of Haryczkow. He sensed great things in the future of Lieutenant Rebekah Waszielewski.

I do wonder if the Colonel has something for us today. The basing of the units had taken up much of their time. Perhaps they would get new instructions, but that was highly unlikely, it was quiet Garrison Duty for Major Waszielewski and his forces.

[Norvenia]

NATHANIEL

Gebbet Mountains
Near Fort Macharius
“Purity” Platoon, 14th Company, 557th Segmentian

The air was crisp and cold, there in the clearing in the mountain forest. It filled the lungs, and carried on it the sound of distant birdsong and the sharp scent of spruce. The bare trees stood all around, and their shadows fell like old skeletons over the ring of Rangers who stood in the clearing. Most were still panting lightly from their ten-kilometer run in full kit among the peaks; their heavy fifty-kilogram rucksacks sat on the ground in front of them. But the Rangers still stood: tall figures in camouflaged battlegear and uniforms, patrol caps on their heads, walnut-stocked lasguns strapped across their chests and tomahawks gleaming on their hips.

They wore no nametags, no rank indicators, and yet I knew all of them. I could see which man was which from the way he walked, which woman was which from the manner in which she turned her head. I didn’t recognize them; I knew them. They were my brothers and sisters, the last of a slowly dying breed.

We stood there in that mountain clearing, and I took a deep breath, relishing the rush of the cool air into my lungs. And then I let the breath out, and I spoke. “Let us pray.”

So it is always, with us. So it was that we began, on the town green of Sebastianhold, still in our Whiteshield uniforms; after we had taken the oath, Colonel Hopkins – Emperor rest his soul – stepped forward, and spread his hands, and said: “Let us pray.” So it will be when we end, and only one of us remains to spread his hands over our broken bodies, and whisper – alone though he will be – “Let us pray.” This is our way: we pray together. Let others keep their chapels and their confessors, their gold and their tithes. We have a clearing in the forest, and a circle of brothers and sisters. The God-Emperor hears us as clearly. It is enough.

“Let us pray,” I said, and I took off my cap. Around me, the Rangers – my Rangers – followed suit, their caps in their hands, their white-gold Cadian hair glimmering in the mountain sun. There was a low sigh from the circle, a release of tension, a readiness for worship.

“God-Emperor, our strength and our savior,” I said quietly – though I could hear my voice echo from the trees – “only by Your Grace can we hope to triumph. Grant that we may run with courage the race that is set before us, to the glory of Your name. And in Your mercy, may we may come at last to the banquet which You have prepared for us from the foundation of the galaxy.” For the second time, I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Amen,” I murmured.

The word was echoed from some forty-three throats, a soft ripple of sound around the forest clearing. I looked from face to face, from one pair of violet eyes to the next. I could see a pain engraved on each, a weariness, the sorrow that only the survivor knows. It is the outward sign of an inward wound that will not heal, the aching absence in the heart where once there were people who made life worth living. Now, there was emptiness. We went on; we prayed and worked; and within, we carried the memories of all our absent friends like a bittersweet token of our own loss.

At my side, Zuriel stood still and quiet, even after Abimael had forced a smile and said something about getting back to Macharius before Sergeant Brewer and the Thermidorians gave away all the good grub. She stared ahead, and I suddenly realized how small she was; just barely five feet tall, for all that I’d seen her kill a greenskin with her tomahawk and her teeth on more than one occasion. I looked at her, turning my patrol cap over and over in my hands; then, finally, I reached over and just laid one gloved hand on her shoulder armor. Zuriel gave a small chuckle, half-embarrassed and half-grateful. “I miss them,” she admitted.

“All of them,” I agreed quietly, and felt the truth of it sink into my gut like a stone.

“Every day,” Zuriel replied. She gave a hollow little laugh. And then she straightened, so that my hand fell from her shoulder, and she was herself again, all fire and focus. I swung my pack back up, feeling its familiar weight settle onto my hips and shoulders, and shrugged my lasgun into the crook of my arm. It was time. I moved quickly toward the edge of the clearing, and soon enough my feet were doing the old subconscious dance from stone to root, avoiding dried leaves and fallen branches, swift and silent. Around me, the rest of the platoon fanned out through the forest, flitting among the bare trees like camouflaged ghosts.

When we had gotten halfway down the mountain, the air was split by the sudden snap-CRACK of a lasgun shot. With the speed of instinct, we all dropped to the ground, lasguns up and panning around. It turned out that Joel Merton had happened upon a particularly fat and delicious-looking deer, and shot it with his long-las. Shadrach Parks took the creature’s body on his back, alongside his meltagun, and carried it the rest of the way down the mountain. There was some quiet conversation about how delicious it would smell roasting over an open fire. But when Lydia Palmer saw that beautiful creature slung, broken and bleeding, around Shadrach’s shoulders, the life all gone from its glassy eyes – well, I saw how Lydia closed her own eyes for a moment; and when she opened them again, they were shining with tears.

ORPAH

14th Company Motor Pool
Fort Macharius
“Vengeance” Squadron, 14th Company, 557th Segmentian

Elkanah Hurst was scary when he got bored. He was a very tall, thin man who looked like he’d been knit together out of steel cable; there was no softness in him at all. Now, he was pacing back and forth, spinning his tomahawk in his hand; its blade gleamed dully in the mountain sun, and the wooden handle thumped smoothly into his palm with each movement. Abruptly, Elkanah spun and hurled the tomahawk; it whirled end over end through the air, a blur of steel and oak, and sunk two inches deep into the wooden side door of a nearby warehouse, its blade biting into the timbers with a resounding thunk.

I straightened from where I had been tinkering with the engine of the command Venator. I’m technically the vox-specialist for Vengeance squadron, but I only got that job because I have what Mary – Lieutenant Granville – calls a greasy thumb. I’m good with machines; always have been. So if there’s a problem beyond the ability of an ordinary Ranger to solve, but too minor to bother a tech-priest with, I get called in. In this case, Elkanah had claimed to be feeling some vibration in the Tauros Venator’s breaks – which was why I was now elbow-deep in the engine, waiting for inspiration to strike as to what the hells he might have been talking about.

Mary was sitting in the shadow of the Venator, her back against one of the huge all-terrain tires, reading a very well-worn copy of Sebastian Thor’s sermons. At the sudden blur of motion when Elkanah threw his tomahawk, she glanced up as well. She cast me an inquiring look; I, in turn, held up my hands – black with engine grease – in a gesture of utter bewilderment. Carefully, Mary turned back to Elkanah. “Brother,” she said mildly, “is all well with you?”

Elkanah gave a frustrated sigh. “No,” he barked. I smiled ruefully at that; the staff sergeant was one of the oldest men in the company, closing fast on sixty, and he became more crotchety with every passing year. Increasingly, I’d come to think of him as a grumpy old uncle – but I liked to think that he saw me as a favorite niece.

Now, Elkanah looked from Mary to me and back, and sighed. “Sorry,” he grunted. “Sorry. It’s just – something’s not right. I can smell it.” Elkanah tapped his temple. “An itch in the back of the mind, you know? Something’s not right.”

Mary frowned, and cast me a worried look. Elkanah had been fighting Chaos cultists before either of us were born; out of all of the Rangers, he had one of the best “noses” – that passive ability to sense the presence of the Warp before it revealed itself. When Elkanah said that there was something wrong, there was something wrong.

“Brother,” Mary said, slightly urgently, “does anything in particular – “

“No,” growled Elkanah irritably. He walked over to the warehouse door and wrenched his tomahawk out of the wood. “That’s not how it works. If it were, I’d be on a Black Ship. But something’s wrong.” Behind him, I saw a platoon of Rangers come running in from the fort’s rear entrance, panting lightly under the weight of their packs; one of them – Shadrach, I thought - had a fat deer slung around his shoulders. Behind him, I saw Lydia Palmer, and waved; there was a special connection between vox-operators. Lydia gave a small smile and waved back, but I saw the pain in her eyes. It was always there – the memory of all the people that we’d lost. I felt the sorrow flare within me for a moment, and then settle back to its slow burn.

Elkanah followed my gaze, and watched as Purity made for their barracks and shed their packs. Then he turned back to us, his Cadian purple eyes troubled. “There’s something wrong,” he said again, wiping his tomahawk on his thigh and sheathing it at his belt. “I can feel it. And I’m never wrong.”

There was a long pause, and it was more than the cold breeze that made me shiver when Mary finally said, “No. You never are.”

[Aelosia]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius. Center
Command Section Quarters
3th Company, 557th Segmentian

Victoria Vanhayn

The Thermidorian Major placed the book on top of all others. She had gathered a rather interesting and curious collection of volumes during the last 20 years sailing through the stars, and although some of the copies were cheap Imperial Standard Press editions purchased in the Schola during the Thermidorian years, others were fairly rare, most of them gifts from superior officers and personalities she had known during her career. Her gloved hand took a walk over the spines of the titles, as if caressing the wisdom hidden in the words stored within. There was the standard The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, Progena Edition,The Codex Exercitus, covered in the dark brown leather all-climate bag for officers, alongside the Manual for the Imperial Bombardier, and the Utilitas et Conservat Libel for the Macharius Tank, the Chimera Chassis and the Earthshaker Gun, along the basics. Then came the historic texts, long and fat with pages and long winded descriptions. The Macharian Heresy by Inquisitor Krypmann, Macaroth’s Memories of the Sabbat, The Chronicles of Golgotha and Acheron, amongst at least five minor titles. And then came the Memoirs. Classics like Macharius, Solon, and Crassus, alongside more disputably famous titles as the Tragedy of Sejanus, Wars of Tarka of Hymenes, The Amazon Achilles by Reila Vann or Jenit Sulla’s Like a Phoenix from the Flames. The technical texts came after the Memoirs, small notebooks filled with notations about hundred of subjects, from advanced algebrae to alternative electrical current generation and ballistics treaties from studies on the nature of soundwaves and basic electronics, copied by VanHayn entirely by hand. Finally came her favourites, her bibles of warfare. The Art by Tsong Txo, Of Warfare by Van Clacksuwatt, The Prince by Macciatolli, The Strategics of Conflict of Thukydadas, and Bellus Iustum of Saint Thome of Akinnus.

It was a treasure not worth of elimination, and Vanhayn wondered that if something happened to her, who would take care of giving her private library to someone who could value the compendium as much as she did. Her own memoirs were lost somewhere alongside her notes, still waiting to be finished if she ever retired.
Retirement. That was barely a dream, not a possibility. She had heard stories about many Generals and High Military Officers who were able to retire after an illustrious career, as for example Jenit Sulla, or Reila Vann, but it didn’t seem real to Vanhayn. She had fought with talent, readiness, and success, and even then she hadn’t even been able to secure a promotion. Her company was so diminished that not only she couldn’t hope to be reattached to a Thermidorian Elite Regiment again, but not even the motley and mongrel regiments that the Thermidorians had been forced to join wanted them anymore. They just lacked enough firepower to even keep their namesake of an artillery company, or maintain a steady connection inside a proper regiment without losing their identity altogether, becoming a molest cur for the Ministorum.

The once aloof Major, First of the Progena of Thermidor, was now relegated to command a support company, without any room left for high aspirations of glory. Her own tank, the majestic Inflecto Maestus had to be modified, its titan weapons removed and relegated to serve as an orbital turret in a small satellital station orbiting a probably forgotten and perhaps even already destroyed world. Only because the Ministorum was not able to provide her with proper ammunition.

Yet, even if she died in a forgotten backwater world, without the glory she and her maidens had earned and by all rights deserved, she would keep trying. Like the dull Sulla once titled, like a phoenix from the ashes of the old company the Thermidorians would fulfill their duty to the Imperium of Man, fighting the wars of humanity across the galaxy. No matter how many casualties they sustained or how low the odds, they would keep fighting for survival until the very end. Even if that meant the death at the end of an Orc’s Choppa or poisoned by nuclear radiation in a forsaken moon of the last reach of the last Segmentum.

More than half of the women that followed her out of the graduation ceremony from the Schola Progenium were already dead, and for sure the dripping of casualties would continue as long as they maintained themselves in campaign. Pretty soon more than half of the Thermidorian Maidens would had never seen the clear skies of Thermidor, nor had studied directly from the most advanced minds of the entire Ultima Sector. She wondered how few of her soldiers remained that once were able to attend the classes of Magisters such as Hizak Niubtonne of physics, Vleiss Phascale's symposiums of advanced mathematics, or the electric and electronics dissertations of Thezla or Halba Hedinssone in the vast, elegant saloons and auditoriums of the Thermidorian Faculties.

Victoria Aleinne Isabeau Katherine Vanhayn Debois Castel took a long sigh with a last glance at her assorted books, killed her reading lamp, and came out of her tent, barely more than four panels of plasteel with a roof located right next to the enormous mass of her tank with a roof depicting her heraldry, and took a glance at the assorted women feverish with work that as working bees hovered around her quarters.

There was hope, however. Old man Lividivus made to General after commanding a mongrel regiment in a campaign after the Tau, and given her good relationship with the old man maybe he would call her and the Thermidorians to his side in the near future. Colonel Victoria was an able commander, honestly similar to Vanhayn's own train of thought, and with some coincidences in her career. Both were artillery officers commanding diminished companies, and usually agreed in most issues. Vanhayn was not surprised at all that Asilis Victoria has requested the assimilation of the thermidorians into her segmentian regiment, given the service history of both organizations, and was honestly happy to have ended under a good tutelage.

Regarding the companionship, the rest of the company seemed better than the average. As it was common lately in the war scenarios of the Segmentum, there was a company of Higarans present, alongside some old friends in their officers' cadre. Higarans and thermidorians had also a long and varied story together, and seemed to carry along well, as both were disciplined and able. Ibram Hess was personally missed by Vanhayn, but Commissar Amsel was now in charge of the entire regimental commissariat, and he was one of the closest thing Vanhayn could consider a friend, although outside of her company she did not consider anyone worthy of such status. There was no place for true friendship in the Imperial Guard. Between her and Amsel was true partnership and respect, and that was more than enough. Vanhayn tended to think in that in the case of a final and complete merge of companies, the Thermidorians and the Higarans would fit perfectly.

Victoria Vanhayn looked at her tank and the assortment of antennae protuding from the top of the armoured mobile castle, right next to the proud Honorifica Imperialis banner that displayed the maximum condecoration adquired by Vanhayn's once regiment, when she was second-in-command. It was not anymore the murderer of men and machines alike than once were, but now it was something equally important, and without doubt more unique, the first Macharius Tank of the Consul Variant. It was an instrument of advanced warfare, a tool for the movement and integration of massed strategies for thousand of troops and dozens of units at the same time, and also was capable of protecting the regimental communications while disrupting the enemies' own chains of command, an encrypter and a decoder, a true augur of the battlefield. It was a weapon way more subtle, but not less deadly properly used. Its importance was so vital now that each corner of the tank was now guarded by a Sabre Weapon Fixed Platforms, their linked heavy stubbers ever manned at watching at the sky as sentinels against any incoming danger.

Vanhayn smiled, and again looked at the antennae, not missing the big guns anymore. She was determined to fight for the Imperium as long as she drew breath, and she will keep finding ways to do it no matter what. With sure steps, she started to climb towards the open hatch in the top of her tank, ready to another of the dozens checks of technology of the Maestus's delicate systems. She reached the top of the tank and le3t her body slid inside, where she was greeted by the soft glow of many cogigator screens opened. She nodded back to the salutes of the two standing crew that were running routine checks of comm channels and strategic analysis aboard the Inflecto Maestus logistics engines, and walked towards her command throne. As soon as she took a sit she pressed the various switches that forced her console to wake up and take command of all the softwaring structures. There was something that she missed entirely during her briefings and that did not let her start to proccess the information she got about the capabilities of the newfound regiment. There was something that she needed to know.

She pressed a button and opened a channel towards the First Company of the Segmentian 557th. More specifically, to the channel especially reserved for the top echelon of the officer cadre. Opening the channel, Vanhayn spoke in a measured tone, but her words spoke of camaraderie "Colonel Victoria, Madam, here Major Victoria. I have a pertinent question. What in the Sigillite's backside did we come to fight here?"


Fort Macharius. South
3th Company, 557th Segmentian
1st Spitfire Battery Platoon "Trebuchets"

Valentine Irvine

The booming noise filled the morning with a stacatto drum of pistons and metal as suddenly as if a huge Titan had went for a jogging. Captain Valentine Irvine raised her glassed eyes from her dataslate where she had been revising measures and angles of fire for most of the morning and took a few steps towards the source of the noise. When her steps took her towards the third piece of her battery she stood there transfixed and utterly impressed. The Earthshaker barrel of the main gun of the Basilisk carriage was completely depressed in the minimal elevation, and had a huge pipe entering and leaving it with haste, as if penetrating the open mouth of the cannon. The pipe was propelled by a weird assortment of pistons attached to a pumping promethium engine that made it move it inside and outside at a four or five times per second, and was the source of the hellish metallic noise.

"TOLD YOU IT WOULD WORK!", screamed a gunner, Arkasha Trevekian, the loader of the engine, the Iaculator towards the rest of the crew that was looking at the device, equally as marvelled as Captain Irvine herself was. "I'LL CALL IT TREVEKIAN MOVEMENT REMOVER, TRE.MO.R, GET IT?", she added, visibly pleased with what was taking place.

Irvine took several committed and authoritarian steps towards the four gunners and made a rude gesture moving the edge of her hand across her throat, the universal symbol of "kill it" amongst mechanics that worked with loud and noisy machinery. Gunner Trevekian quickly approached the machine in front of the Basilisk and lowered a lever that made the machine lose power and stop. The four women of the crew quickly got together and formed up, saluting without making a sound, while Irvine just fixed her glasses upon her brow and stood there tapping her foot. She cleared her throat once before finally speaking. "Care to explain, Gunner Trevekian? I clearly explained to you last week that the device was to be scrapped".

Trevekian did not move as she issued her response. "Captain Madam, the device was to be scrapped because you explained that the barrel brush would incur in an attrition and wearing of the barrel insides while polishing and cleaning the inner surface, Madam, due to the strength and the velocity of the rubbing", she added with her heavy Borshali accent so different to the precise pronunciation of the original thermidorians. "I fixed those issues using a special lubricant found in a common source abundant within our current parameters, and distilling it". Gunner Trevekian produced what looked like wrinkled and wizened notes from inside her jacket, and extended them at Irvine. "If you care to take a look at these calculations, Madam, you will see that the application of my lubricant reduced the problem in such a way, that even improves the coefficient of weariness of the barrel above the manual procedure".

Irvine frowned and taking a step, took the notes from Trevekian's hand with a fast gesture. She examined the crumpled numbers of the paper and grunted affirmatively while checking the veracity of the Gunner's claim. She finally arched her eyebrows and took a look at Trevekian. "Several questions, Gunner Trevekian, you can rest now", she said looking at her subordinate with a smile.

The gunner-private opened her legs and stood in a more relaxed stance than the firm position she was in earlier. "Yes, Madam?", she retorted with confidence.

"First, I can see your lubricant reduces the weariness coefficient. From what did you synthetized or distilled it?", asked Irvine, although she already knew the answer.

"Guard Standard Margarine from the cook's office. It seems Corporal Brewer has a surplus of the stuff, and it is easy to replace", Trevekian answered with a smirk. "Cheapest you can get".

"Your device, what's the approximate time it takes to clean a full barrel?", asked Irvine, getting more serious now.

"Ten minutes is the standard automated procedure. The manual procedure included in the Manual for Weekly Maintenance is scheduled to take at least more than..."

Irvine interrupted the Gunner. "I'm fairly familiar with the numbers that appear in the Manual for Weekly Maintenance, Gunner. I have forgotten more about that book than you can remember of it. I have been attached to gun carriages at least for 20 years, without counting the classes got in the Scholam by the finest artillerists this side of the Segmentum. No need to remember me. Last question. Numbers for fuel expenditure for this device?"

Trevekian seemed to doubt for the first time. "Approximately 2 gallons per cycle, Madam. I have not yet run the numbers".

The Captain seemed to gleam at this moment, her victory fully revealed now. "Your lubricant is easily available and cheap, but you are telling me that the machine that you have built to clean the barrels of our earthshakers eats up part of the reservoir of fuel for our engines? That's a squander of the companies' resources, and a waste of vital material. And I am not even talking about you refusing to follow my direct order of NOT attach this infernal contraption again to one of my precious barrels", Irvine did not even rose her voice during the exchange, however harsh her words seemed to be. "If the Major finds this out, you will end in the jailer, Trevekian, or worse, she will end sending you to Captain-Commissar Amsel to be punished".

"She wouldn't mind Amsel punishing her, nor would any of us", whispered the Sergeant of the carriage standing a step behind Trevekian.

Irvine shot the Sergeant-driver an icy look, enough to make the driver bite her lips. She took breath again, and looked at Trevekian as she spoke "While I could commend you for running the numbers on the new lubricant, I must punish you with taking care of the manual cleaning process of all the barrels of the battery for a week. That will teach you to misspend our resources only to get more free time to fix your hair and uniform. Sloth is a sin in the Imperial Guard, Trevekian, even if it could promote creativity. And even worse than sloth, Trevekian, is lack of discipline and foremost, not taking advantage of your own talent, and that is what bother me most"

Trevekian seemed to be troubled with the last statement. "My talent is to invent devices, Madam, it is what I am doing here".

Irvine sighed. "And so you invented a lubricant and didn't realize you could had adapted the engine to work with the same product or even the residue of the distillation? You could had adapted a pump engine to work on distilled margarine, you even already know how, Trevekian. You rushed your product without thinking about the consequences so you could get more free time to chit chat and brush your mane. That's sloth. You did not take fuel consumption into consideration, and I prefer to save fuel than to save time for my gunners. You have your punishent, clean all four barrels manually of the battery, and given your reckless dismissal of my input, now you will have to polish hatches too, and grease the upper pistons. Answer to me again and I will keep adding tasks to that punishment".

Trevekian looked at the floor, seemingly defeated. "As you wish, My Captain. Am I dismissed?", she asked, gloomingly thinking about the hours she would spend manipulating the heavy barrel brushes.

"Yes, one more thing", Irvine retorted with a grin. "Make the engine work on biofuel from the margarine, and I will give you a patent for the thing", Irvine dismissed the rebirthing smile in Trevekian's lips and pointed her with a gloved finger. "And one more thing, you know enough of hydraulics as to adapt some sort of piston to reduce the noise of that thing. It sounded like a marching ork mob. Think about the regiment, Lady. You start that kind of ruckus and someone will come to the barracks to shoot you in the neck!"


Fort Macharius. East
3th Company, 557th Segmentian
Logistics Auxiliary Platoon "Munitio et Cibus"

Bellona Bellatrix

The Munitorum official measured the depth of the ditch with a quick analysis on her command staff. It was close to 18 meters deep, and was already reinforced with ferrocrete to the sides. According to regulations, it was a well built munitions pit. Bellona fluttered with her long mane of blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders and took a last look at the thermidorian gunners that were checking the dryness of the ferrocrete around the inner side of the crater they have been digging during the last week. She was impressed at the Thermidorians, during her long career she had found only a handful of regiments as committed to work and efficiency as them. She had given them the manual directions regarding the dimensions of the pit, and they had started to work on it inmediately, recognizing the wisdom hidden in the old regulations.

They have used their vehicles to dig much faster than usual, adapting cranes and Trojans to the task, and opening the deep abyss in the earth right next to the Tarmac with special haste. War machines had turned into efficient building tools, and even when they reached an unexpected bed of rock embedded in the ground, they had used the explosives under their care to dispose of the obstacle with ease. Honestly, Bellona loved to work with the thermidorian women.

The munition pit was an opening not unlike those silos used to store missiles, albeit it was a less monumental undertaking. It was going to safekeep the tonnes of earthshaking rounds, explosives and even the fuel tanks of the thermidorians underground, where they would be safe from enemy action. The amount of military material was huge, as the thermidorians did not handle supplies only for their company, but resupplies for the entire regiment as well. Just in munitions and fuel they packed enough bang and room as to fed for a long campaign ten companies of the size of the Thermidorian one, and the plasma reactor they have been provided with from the Forgeworld, even if it was an old and outdated model, could feed a medium city for years. "The ferrocrete...Is it dry enough?", asked Bellatrix to the sour commander of the Munition division of the company, a Lieutenant of a eternal dour look.

"Dry enough", the guard officer answered. "We can store everything sensitive here and most of our reserves. Lowest level is for the reactor, then the heavy munitions, then the hand munitions and finally the fuel on top, as the data you provided me with says. I only see one problem, and it is not small. A plasma reactor surrounded by munitions and giant deposits of promethium? One hit and everything is gone"

"The silo would blow with all its contents, yes", added the Munitorum envoy, nodding sagely. "It would be a tremendous loss of material".

"You don't understand", added the Lieutenant. "One direct hit and the entire base is blown to bits. A plasma reactor blowing underground? According to my numbers, it would create a moderate seismic movement, and all the base would blow up. Why is that data not covered in the original Munitorum blueprints?", added the Lieutenant with serious concern printed on her visage.

"To be honest, the original Munitorum blueprints did not include a plasma generator into the contents of the Standard High Explosive Munitions Pit". Belladon seemed to be worried. "If we could put only the generator inside, we could have enough space as to put reinforced layers of plating over it to protect the generator from everything but a direct missile hit with a penetration power on an ninety degrees angle, which honestly is pretty close to the impossible, but then we would have to lay all these tons of munitions laying openly somewhere. It is your decision Lieutenant..."

The Lieutenant pondered for a bit, extracting her dataslate to check some facts on it. She accessed the regiment order of battle and singled out a new possibility out there. "I have an idea. We can put only the generator, with its cabling, openly here and plug most of the entire base needs to it. Then we add the ferrocrete plating in layers, as you instructed. Safety first. Here says that there is a Siege Company attached to the regiment, so they must be even better at digging trenches and holes underground than we do. What do you think if you, as Munitorum authority, go over there and ask them to lend us some space to store the regiment reserve of fuel and munitions. I am pretty sure that they can open a deep tunnel to store it. I can't ask a superior, perhaps, but you? You Adepta can manage everything", finished the thermidorian with a smirk.

Bellona sighed, but realized that the Lieutenant was right. "I guess it is better than to build a plasma weapon of mass destruction in our backyard, I wonder where I can find the siege company, then".

The Thermidorian smiled again. "That is easy. Do you see those guys that have fortified thatspace over there bristling with redoubts, fortified tanks and basilisk pointing upward? There they are, just go over there and ask whoever is in charge to bury our supplies deep enough", she added, not without a funny expression.

Bellona sighed again, grabbed her staff and badge of office, and started to walk towards the positions of the Erasmian Siege Company. She hoped to find someone who could understand her current conumdrum in a pinch...



Fort Macharius. West
3th Company, 557th Segmentian
Security Detachment Platoon "Satellitium"

Yuri Nonsilva

The smell of sweat of the dozen women crammed inside the Chimera's troop compartment was getting stale, and Yuri's hands were getting sliperry over the stock of her lascarbine. She had been waiting at least for four hours inside, and muscles had started to cramp as she struggled to retain the same posture. The siren announcing deployment could blast in any second, and the price of failure could be really high. They have been buttoned up during the entire duration, and the air recycler was quickly reaching its top endurance. She wondered for how long they were going to wait when suddenly a small explosion boomed outside the vehicle and the normal green illumination present inside the compartment switched to crimson and the sound of the alarm did awake the mostly cramped Gunners of the Security Detachment. The pair of Guardsmaidens closest to the rear hatch of the vehicle opened the door just to find the standing figures of their direct superior, the Lieutenant Paulina Forge, and the company's Commissar, The Sharnblücher woman. The Commissar seemed to hold a weird white lasgun,while the Lieutenant was pointing the huge barrel of her massive grenade launcher at the open door of the vehicle.

Even before it happened, Yuri knew what was going to happen and grabbed the gas mask hanging from above her seat in the Chimera. The Commissar laughed and fired two straight shots, firing from the hips, towards the pair of women that opened the doors of the vehicle. She hit both in the abdomen, and they started to tremble as if they were going to convulse. Almost at the same second, the Lieutenant fired her gun and a bouncing can expelling corrosive tear gas came in and filled the troop compartment of the chimera. Yuri felt the tang of her last breath before she fixed the mask over her face, while the rest of her squad started to cough and gasped for clean air. Before any of them could properly react, the Lieutenant and the Commissar closed the door of the transport from outside, locking them in again. Yuri tried to relax and breath in controlled breaths, meanwhile the rest of the squad tried to open the hatch again in desperation without any kind of visibility.

She heard the Lieutenant comments from outside. "They are not ready, Commissar, too slow, and they lack aggression. If the grenade was a live one, they would be mashed meat now. This is the trainee squad, and as such, we can only deploy them as sentinels until they are ready. This is your proof. Now let's them get out of there to continue their training".

The Commissar laughed again, the woman for sure taking some sort of glee by the situation at hand. "Get them out? Let them cook there. That will teach them the lesson that when the order is given, they must disembark as quickly as possible". The thermidorian Lieutenant seemed shocked by this. "I am strict with my girls, but this is maybe too much. The idea is not to send them to get medical atention".

"On the contrary, my dear Lieutenant. It means double training. Your trainees learn their lesson, and the nurses get to practice theirs too", answered the Commisar, clearly amused. Yuri realized how distracted the women had become, and managed to crawl out from the service hatch in the floor of the compartment, leaving the Chimera and slowly crawling to where the two officers were standing. Some kind of argument followed, but Yuri failed to grasp the words as her concentration was in what was going to happen next.

Before they could react, Yuri left the underside of the Chimera and jumped on them, using her unloaded lascarbine as a club, hitting the Lieutenant in a kidney from behind, a crippling blow that forced the flak-vested officer to fall to her knees. The Commissar seemed impressed, astonished even, but quickly shouldered her strange albino lasgun and fired two shots that missed when Yuri crouched behind the pained Lieutenant. As Yuri had planned, the Commisar's third shot hit the Lieutenant in the shoulder and sent her into the same weird convulsions her squadmates had suffered before. Yuri tried to charge from behind the convulsing Lieutenant, but the Commissar discouraged her to come any closer by disposing of her white Lasgun and drawing her long power sabre, although she did not press the activation stud that turned on the energy field around the curved blade.

The Commissar snickered. "You did well, wench, I must say. You knocked out your own Lieutenant. It seems there is one in your squad worth it. Don't you think?".

Yuri managed to smile behind her gas mask. "Riot, disciplinary, and non-lethal weapons and similar are open to use by all participants during the Half-Live Exercise".

The Commissar seemed puzzled by that statement. Those were the same words she had said at the start of the exercise, that was a given, but she didn't see how they were related to the situation at hand.

Realization came when with a fluid movement Yuri picked up the fallen grenade launcher and switched the revolver drum of ammo, placing another tear gas grenade cocked into the main chamber. "All participants", Yuri repeated, and pressed the trigger. The can did hit the Commissar right in the chest, and it would had caved in her ribs if not by the reinforced mesh vest the Commissar wore under her fancy uniform. The punch, however, was hard enough as to launch the Commissar into the air before she landed inside a large cloud of tear gas.

Yuri smiled and removed her gas mask. She knew now that the open place of Sergeant in charge of her squad belonged to her now. "MEDIC!", she yelled before dropping the grenade launcher to the ground. "I guess the nurses need even more practice now".

[G-Tech Corporation]

Redoubt XC-17, 13th Company Quadrant, Fort Macharius

Jarn strode along the ranks of Basilisks, his crisp white and black cap tilted at the precisely twelve degree angle proscribed by the training instructors so long ago in the Academes Militar. His keen eyes, a striking white-gray, took in the men standing alongside their machines, missing no detail. Each soldier stood ramrod straight, their hands either at their waists in a precise parade rest, or holding their lasguns at attention. No eyes moved as he trudged past the first detachment, the men and women of the Fighting 3rd Platoon. Their black and charcoal gray greatcoats were as fine as if they had just come back from their chem-presses; indeed, it was likely some had. In iron discipline did the Heartsworn prevail, in season and out of it. The costly victory on Altar IV against the endless legions of Hrud had been glorious, but terrible to the 4th Regiment. With nearly five sixths of their strength dead upon the field of battle- a fitting exchange for over three billion Hrud vermin- it would be many years indeed, probably longer than his service, before the 4th Erasmian Heartsworn was up to full strength again. Already they had received some reinforcements from the homeworld, the 12th Platoon. It remained to be seen if they would fight as needed, but the Major harbored no doubt. Graduates of the Academes Militar were weapons of admantium, forged to serve the God-Emperor, and serve they would.

The 3rd Platoon was the last to be inspected, the lead unit of the 3rd Rank. Like a clockwork automaton Jarnassus turned, and brought his hand to his head in a salute timed out as if by gears within. Through the air snapped the arms of his men and women, returning the gesture, and then the commander turned, snapping his heels and retiring from the inspection yard. It had once been a side runway of the main strips here at Fort Macharius, outside the fortress walls as an auxiliary site for grounded aircraft and those under going repairs or refitting. That had suited the 13th Company just fine; the First Rank were consummate professionals in the art of entrenchment, each as skilled a laborer and architect as the most cunning Enginseer, though those auspicious individuals of the Adeptus worked alongside his men. Near three miles of blastcrete and milisteel bunkers surrounded the encampment, with a single heavily fortified gate leading towards the main fortress where the rest of the Regiment were housed. It was over-cautious, but Jarnassus didn't honestly expect attack on such a peaceful Emperor-fearing world. The entrenchment had mainly been an exercise to keep his soldiers fit and mentally sharp, prepared for their duties as was ever required of the Heartsworn. He had heard of regiments getting lax on peacetime duty between hellish combat assignments; no rumors of Erasmian units succumbing to the sin of sloth had reached his ears, and he did not intend the remnants of the 4th Regiment to be the first to fall to temptation. All his vehicles- minus those under repair and maintenance- were ready for combat, their mechanics well-maintained with sacred oils and the blessings of the Omnissah, their machine-spirits only waiting for the first urging of man to let loose their wartime fury. The God-Emperor would not find him and his men wanting in this life or the next, for they were the bulwark of humanity, the Hammer of the Emperor. He saved them from the dark ages of ignorance and superstition, of fear and anarchy, and for that the Erasmians would repay his sacrifice with their lives if necessary. The Ecclesiarchy functioned as the leaders of his men; nearly every squad not aligned with a Techpriest bore a missionary and their holy words with them, and never had the Commissarat sent an agent to question the fealty of his soldiers. To doubt was to fail, and the Heartsworn did not fail. Those that the training did not weed out, the priests did.

With those cheery thoughts in his mind, Jarnassus trudged along the road to the main camp, taking in the state of his redoubt as he did so. Three milisteel gates were opened and closed before him, passwords and identification given and received in a show of martial preparation. It was time for the weekly revue of the Regiment's forces, and he would be pleased to report to High Command that the Erasmian Heartsworn were ready and eager to smite the foes of the Emperor. It would only be his second such report, and he looked forward to being told that they would soon ship out to deprive some more fetid xenos and heretics of their air. Those who tainted the winds of the Imperium with their unworthy breaths would not find themselves in possession of the ability for long in the presence of the Heartsworn.

[Saragrossa]

Fort Macharius
8th Company - The " Iron Ladies " - 1st Mordian Heavy Infantry

---

The Mordian ladies were reformed into a regiment after suffering heavy losses in the previous campaign. As a result, the unit had become more manageable and more intimate. The Ladies were now closer and now battle hardened and they were enjoying the first quiet time in several weeks.

The Lieutenant Agustina, spent the time keeping her mind and body in check. She was in the corner of one of the barracks the unit occupied and she was doing personal exercise with her command squad. They were doing push ups and sit ups and spent the time keeping their bodies in tip top shape.

The Ladies were all in great physical shape and they continued to maintain their exercises. Mostly a routine of cardio and basic weight lifting. The excerise room they had created as the corner of their container within the barracks and they had gathered several las cannon deleted charges and filled it with dirt and sand and banded them together to form basically a makeshift dum-bell. The ladies made the best they could do with the very spartan conditions. They kept their quarters maintained and clean to a tee and they make various little excerises to past time and to keep them sane.

Lieutenant Agustina was a very committed soldier and she demanded her ladies to be ready at any time, ready to go and she demanded her soldiers be at half kit even if they were off. These was combat, boots, khakis, and their combat bag was always checked, maintained and prepared daily for an emergency if one to were to occur.

It was nearly two clock standard time and she demanded her soldiers to drop shop and begin the shining duties. It was nearly comedic that the entire mordian force of ladies spent a good hour cleaning, polishing and servicing their footwear before shining the tassels and delinting their combat uniforms. Their Mordian signature heavy blue with red trim was a very outlandish dress considering it belonged to a parade rather the combat but the ladies maintained and cleaned their uniform to a Tee.

Their carapace armor was covered by their dress uniform. It was a rather ingenious armor set up with the dress and parade like standard issue Mordian uniform contained shells of the carapace armor beneath. Since the ladies were very slender and considerably smaller then the average IG, they were able to save weigh by removing some plates and needless armor to give the bearer more flexibility and better comfort.

It took nearly to three o clock until the ladies were ordered to service their hell guns and hot las guns and they began to take apart the weapons and individually clean and oil and care of their weapons. However the almost 350 ladies sat on simple, pine wood benches with their gun dissembled in a hasty movement with their cleaning utensils unwrapped in a standard issue cloth and the ladies seemed to work at the same, frightening speed as they cleaned the weapon at the game same moment, the same way at nearly at the same speed. The ladies were drilled and were almost frightening to see these soldiers work quickly, efficiency with such unison it was almost like they were robots.

They quickly gathered their weapons and loaded in a new power pack before immediately standing at attention when Ceasre inspected her unit, she noticed that several of the ladies hadn't polished the barrels or the stock of the weapon and they immediately chewed them out and resorted to slapping one of the ladies in the face before brushing her off and inspecting the next soldier.

---

After inspecting the bags of each soldier and making sure that every soldier was combat fit, with full load out. They began to prepare a march into the mountains. It was going to be a standard 45 Kilometer march into the dense forestation. However with the Mordians, they moved with a such a grace and elegance and their parade style march was done within a moment of each other and that their swagger would be known.

They made a point to march past as many units as possible while shouting out their war songs of Mordian's famed military victories.

[Bredtonia]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius. Tarmac 7
10th Company, 557th Segmentian

Lcdr. Marki habitually brushed down on his long-coat and pulled the low ends together as he stepped down off the ramp of his Chimera and onto the open tarmac.  The massive, mixed regiment had more companies then this old PDF airbase had buildings, and as the best equipped for it, Marki had volunteered his men to be stationed out in the open.  Now the old weed-ridden ferrocrette slab gave the distinct impression of a semi-organized parking lot or gypsy camp.  Keeping his eyes open, Marki turned turned and walked partway across the encampment, intentionally skirting wide around a couple of squads sitting half in, half out of their Chimeras playing cards, cleaning their lasguns and otherwise working in their required activities into their recreation time.  Marki kept far enough away the soldiers were not required to salute him, before turning in and heading for the Engineseer's trailer.

Bright yellow chocks kept the newly painted (winter forest was the designated-patternh) trailer immobilized as he ascended the folding stairs and pressed the small cog & skull symbol beside the door.  The door slid opened to reveal a space hardly large enough for Marki to fit.  He entered.  Moments later, the door slide closed, there was a rush of air, and another opened in front of him.  Another step took him into the factorium, where Engineseer Fermi was working.  On the artisin's alter before her was a chainsword, held in the air by thin forks, it's armored cases off and delicate mechanisms opened to the air.  The senior engineseer nodded in Marki's direction, but did not lift her eyes from her work.

"You wanted to see me, Master Fermi?"  Marki asked, using the honorific of her advanced education among the cult of the machine.  The two had known each other long enough to for the Lieutenant to know Fermi had ambitions beyond engineseer.  But changing the track of your life was uncommon in the Imperium, and the Mechanicus was no different.  

"Yes, Commander Dominic."  She replied as one of her mechadendrites ignited a small incense burner from the side of the alter then lifted it, waving it slowly under the exposed gears and chain of the sword.  The acidic, caustic smell reached Marki's nostrils.  He debated for a moment donning the mask that sat attached to his belt, but thought better of it.  

Apparently not required to see this step to complete it, Fermi looked up, the glass lenses of her eyes meeting with Dominic's.  "I wished to inform you that our post-landing survey of the company's machine spirits has been completed.  Although some, like this chainsword's, will need to be placated - all the critical ones stand ready to do the Omnissiah's work.    You may proceed with your intended training drill when you wish."  Although the silver mask that covered, or perhaps replaced, her face was expressionless, the tone of her voice translated her gratitude at Marki's respect of her duty to the company's equipment.  She turned her attention back to the chainsword, delicately shifting, scraping and filing the mechanisms to restore the veteran weapon to its original condition.

"Thank you." Marki replied, his subtext recognizing her gratitude, and exited the trailer through the same airlock and back down the folding stairs.  Turning now to the east, he walked back along the other side of the camp, passing through the large empty section assigned to the second platoon, who were currently out on a manufactured patrol.  A small adjustment to insure at least one platoon was combat ready at any particular time.

He'd made it almost entirely across when the company's steward, essentially the errand boy for the logistics unit, speedwalked on an intercept course and gave the commander a salute.  "Sir."  He waited a second for Marki to give him the acknowledgement to talk.  "Quartermaster requests your signature on this Munitorum requisition form.  He doesn't want to dip into his own stores while were still at base."  The steward produced a small pile of bound papers and held them in Marki's direction.  Dominic took them and gave them a quick glance.  He trusted the company's quartermaster, but still felt obligated to at least have some idea what he was signing for.  Satisfied, he looked up top find the steward holding a pen, which he accepted.  After signing the top sheet, he handed both back to the solder, who saluted again and walked off in the direction of the Thermidorians; who the company had heard were handling regimental logistics.

Dominic himself continued in the direction of the regimental headquarters.  His plan, now that Fermi had signed off on the machines, was to surprise his troops tomorrow with a relocation drill, to keep them on their toes.  After all, he felt a mechanized unit that couldn't be on the move at a moments notice wasn't worth the promethium it ran on.  However, he also wanted to warn at least the regimental commander, if not his fellow company commanders, to keep anyone from panicking at the sudden movement.  

He only got another few hundred feet, however, before another thing claimed his interest.  An unarmored guardsmen was running full bore in Dominic's direction, looking repeatedly over her shoulder at the ovoid leather ball rocketing in her direction.  She jumped, caught it, and made it another five or six yards before being tackled to the ground by a member of squad three, the current opposing team.  Dominic nodded, making a mental note of her ID.  A couple more catches like that and she'd undoubtedly end up on the platoon blood-bowl team.  Idly, He wondered if any of the other companies played.  He made a note to bring it up next time he met with some of the other commanders.

After watching another couple of plays, none quite as spectacular, Lcdr. Marki continued his treck, passing by the Agies defense line the combat engineers had put out as part of their own training and onto the old runway.  Out of what a few soldiers were calling 'Little Armageddon' and onto so-called neutral ground.

[Bone Fort]

"This... what even... Your actions can be quite... problematic..."

It wasn't an easy thing to say for Der Schwarze Mann, as such a phrase barely registered in his (quite extensive) vocabulary. When one commands a crack Inquisitorial Stormtrooper unit, the kinds of situations where such phrases are used rarely crop up. In fact, in retrospect, he found himself using such phrases more and more over the last few weeks. The lose of the Inquisitor was bad enough, but the various problems that rose from the fallout were almost overwhelming. Still, he had managed, but only just, and he found himself feeling a continuous sense of foreboding, always dreading the coming of tomorrow where he had once welcomed the challenge. But all those problems weren't on his mind at the moment. No, what occupied his mind currently was the rather big problem right in front of him.

He was standing on the rough of one of their barracks, having been up there to observe the going-ons around the base, but something peculiar had caught his eye. Not the loud and (in his mind) obnoxious procession of the Mordians literally next door, no. It was the sudden presence of three tarps with suspiciously Chimera-shaped bumps in them, right behind their barracks. He was staring down on the troopers apparently responsible, Bauk and Bala.

"Boss, I can explain... see, me and Bala-"
"Well, us and M-, I mean, just us."
"Right, just us, because no one else was involved."
"Yeah. Anyway, me and Bauk were out like you said, spying on the PDF, and we saw these Chimeras, and recalled how we have no vehicles, and, um... what I'm saying is that they fell off a truck."
"Exactly."

Der Schwarze Mann just continued staring at them, slightly irked but completely unsurprised. It wasn't the first time such things had happened, it was merely the timing that got on his nerves.

"You should already know the only question I'm going to ask."

He spoke in a quiet voice, with a slight mechanical infliction in it. A bionic implant had been installed in his voicebox in an effort to allow him to perfectly mimic voices, but the results were far from perfect and barely believable. Only enemies with Ogryn levels of intelligence would be fooled.

"No one can prove it was us."

Content with their answer, he turned and walked away, as he had other issues to attend to. Seeing as his company specialized in infiltrating enemy lines, he should probably get in touch with the regiment's artillery so as to discuss the best way for his troops to mark targets for them. the two Victorias would be the best to talk to for that. The files he managed to dig up on them stated that they were known for their accuracy, and he didn't trust the siege company to be very accurate. Never trust a sledge hammer with a scalpel's job. He pulled out his voxbead to hail them.

"This is Der Schwarze Mann to Asilis Victoria and Victoria Aleinne Isabeau Katherine Vanhayn Debois Castel. Is it possible for us to arrange a meeting? There is something of some rather great importance that I discuss with you."

He was well aware the addressing them without their proper ranks was probably going to be viewed as a grave breach of protocol, but he did so anyway. No one in the company openly referred to others by rank, as to do so was to draw a bullseye on the higher ranks for assassination. There was little chance of that there, but his job was to be paranoid. Besides, it was better that the various differences between the companies were brought up sooner rather then later, so they work them out in a calm environment, as opposed to an inopportune time like in the heat of a battle.

[Legital]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius
Higaran 2nd Company billets

Despite having been on planet and base for a few days, several Higaram chimeras sat outside the two Higaran bunkhouses. A couple of the chimera's rear hatches were open, with troops sheltering inside for warmth or simply a place to be. Most of the base was inhabited by other companies who were unfamiliar with each other, and while some adventurous guardsmen with free time on their hands went around the base to explore and meet their new compatriots, many settled down near they assigned billets and, more or less, camped out. Plans were to move the chimeras over to the motor pools and hangers to store them indoors, but as room has yet to be assigned, the Higarans took advantage of the situation to camp out with their machines.

Most men sat gathered around the hatches or sitting up upon the tops of the vehicles. As it was still somewhat early in the day, many men had out pack heaters and were cooking small meals for themselves and their squads.

---

"Do you think it'll taste any good? I mean, how much different can it taste from any old regular hen? It looks like one and certainly sounded like one when that shot scorched through it." Basker asked, sitting around a heater with two small sizzling slabs of meat on it with several other Higarans, all members of his squad, watching the meat slowly cook. As it was, apparently, the local area was home to some interesting game, from large deer like animals to wild rabbits and chicken appearing creatures. The area appeared to be quite rich in wildlife, so some Higarans quickly nabbed some game to try out.

"Who knows. But one thing I do know, is that it needs more seasoning." Gernor said with a slight grin, producing a small paper packet from his meal kit and pouring some mixture of spice and seasoning on the cooking meat. Basker tried to swat the mans hand away, but failed in doing so. "That's the fourth packet! It'll be less meat and more spice by the time it's finished cooking!" He said with the slightest pout, earning a snicker from Pavel. "Guess we don't need to worry about it tasting bad." He said in return, elbowing Gernor and causing both men to laugh. While Gernor was the squad leader and, coincidentally, the eldest, he sported a mustache which was very trimmed down. Pavel, on the other hand, sported a long wild mustache which snaked it's way down to his lower jaw line, across his cheeks. Basker, very much utilitarian in his grooming, had a usual handlebar styled mustache.

"Can't be any worse than what we had on the transport. Whatever they fed us may as well have been pure salt." Sebastian offered from his position behind Gernor and Pavel. He tossed the small mirror he had in his hand aside towards his kit, and, elbowing Pavel aside, joined in with the gathering. Sebastion Hess, one of the younger Higarans, had truly earned his combat stripes on the ice world Kel'borshal. With three confirmed Tau kills, Sebastion had ended up saving the lives of an entire mortar crew when one of the xenos warriors attempted to flank them. He had earned a service ribbon for his dress uniform for the occasion.

Basker waved his hand, scoffing. "Don't bring that up. I still taste salt from that Emperor forsaken meat they fed us." He said, earning another response from Pavel. "More the reason for the spice!" He said, earning a sigh from Basker, who was flipping the meat over with his combat knife on the small heater. Upon stabbing the meat slightly, letting the juices run out, he scoffed again. "For the love of...that's not even blood! That's the damn spice stained juices it's bleeding!" He exclaimed, earning a trio of laughter from the other three men.

"By the Throne, that spice smell is coming from you guys?" Grayson said, walking over with a small tin of water with Haggar beside him. "Bloody hell, it's like a festival over here. I've never smelled stronger spice in my life." Haggar said gruffly. Unlike the mustache or sideburn toting Higarans, Haggar boasted a full bushy beard which accompanied his muscled arms and burly personality quite well. The two newcomers sat down with the rest of their squad, Grayson setting the water tin down beside the cooking meat. "Our trustworthy squad leader here snuck in a fourth seasoning packet onto the chicken." Basker said, shooting a half-serious glare at Gernor. Gernor simply smiled and shrugged, feigning innocence.

However, before the men could carry on more, a Higaran from a chimera nearby quickly sauntered over. "Watch it, Amsel's coming this way. Hide your amesac." He said, then moving off to the next group of gathered Higarans. Gernor simply laughed. "Whoever is drinking this early, let them get caught. Throne, sometimes I wonder if the codes are in place because they are needed or because it's common sense!" He said, shouting the last bit out towards the other Higarans, earning a laugh from the men nearby. As per Higaran regulation, no amasec or alcoholic beverages are permitted to be used on weekdays unless it is during the late evening hours or in severe cold weather climates. Early morning and the chilly Pan Arcadian weather did not cut either categories.

Pavel, from his seated position, glanced around the side of the chimera only to be greeted with the knee high black boots of Captain-Commissar Amsel, who looked down with his hands on his hips and with his usual scowl on his face. "What's all this talk about amasec this early?" He questioned, then glancing at the cooking meat. "And Throne above, are you guys running a spice kitchen over here?" He said without mirth, though some of the men quietly snickered. "No amasec here, Commissar. Might want to check the boys over on at 3-B, though. I heard they're passing around amasec like water." He said with a wry grin. Amsel simply raised a curious eyebrow. "And don't mind the spice, sir." Basker said, "We ran into a bit of a mishap with our cooking."

Pavel covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his grin. Commissar Amsel simply shook his head with the slightest grin on his lips. "You boys never cease to amaze me. How you have a cooking mishap with a slab of meat and spice, I'll never know. I'm amazed you lot know the right end of a lasgun." He said. "That's an entirely different matter, commissar. Just don't watch us too hard at marksmen practice next time, will you?" Grayson said, grinning. Amsel stared at the man for a moment, his sharp crystal blue eyes piercing through the guardsmen, before he lightened up and smiled. "No promises. Keep out of trouble you lot, I'll be sure to drop in a few subtle surprise checkups today." He said, beginning to walk off. Pavel grinned and cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "If your as subtle as that Junior-Commissar of yours, then I don't think we have much to worry about!"

Amsel, not looking back, simply made a dismissive hand gesture. "Trooper Pavel, I'll be sure to pay special attention to your marksmanship scores." He said, causing Pavel to retort with a quiet 'bah'. It was not exactly secret that Pavel was not the nest shot around the company, and any man who fell below a certain score for marksmanship practice earned some less than favorable training time with the commissar and some punishment to boot.

With Amsel heading off to where ever he was needed, the squad went back to talking and joking amongst themselves.

---

As Captain-Commissar Amsel continued on his way from the small Higaran makeshift camp, he was content with the reactions of the men. As everything appeared, moral appeared to be rather high this morning. Usually, from his observations, moral was not very high during the first few days of initial deployment on a new world. But, with the mountain framed in the distance and the forest surrounding the airbase, perhaps this place reminded them of home. Amsel certainly saw the resemblance between Pan Arcadia and northern Higara, and it was rather pleasing. While the air was crisper than what he could remember about home, the general atmosphere was very...comforting. Hopefully that would promote acceptable behavior amongst the ranks as Amsel knew that the moral of the common trooper was a very picky thing.

The men stuck up in the barracks were enjoying themselves to some fine music and recaff, the men outside with the chimeras were enjoying a morning meal, and as far as he knew the other Higarans off around base were at the very least amused with themselves at floundering over the other companies and sticking their noses in everything that caught their interest. Amsel could not help but suppress a small smile. He could already name the companies that likely were being watched over by the Higarans, one being the Thermidorians.

Though, speaking of Thermidorians, and with a frown, Amsel remembered the task at hand. That throne-awful cacophony of machinery that sounded off from somewhere on the other side of the base, near the Thermidorians and Urdeshi. For some reason, Amsel was aiming that the Thermidorians were the source of the noise. He hoped that there had been no vehicle wreck, or anything along those lines. Though, thinking back to the noise, it did not exactly sound like that. Either way, he was bound to get to the source of the noise, as it had now been long quieted.

As a cold wind picked up, Amsel found himself rubbing the scar on his face, which stretched down from the top to the bottom of the left side of his face. The cold air irritated it, and he bounced around the idea about seeing a medicae about if that was normal. Likely, he supposed, it was the different air and atmosphere. His skin was not accustomed to it, so it probably felt a little odd. He could certainly smell the difference in air quality in regards to other planets he had served on. So far, Pan Arcadia was turning out quite nice. Though, the very distant sounds of explosions and gunfire was a rather slight nuisance. Amsel wondered how long this PDF training day would last, and what exactly they were using for target practice.

Tugging his great black coat around himself, Amsel made his way towards the not so far Thermidorian billets.

---

Capital city of Nova Prime
Outskirts, highway
PDF Convoy Inbound to Fort Macharius

"Know your enemy." The static washed voice said, sounding off from the vox set sitting on the lap of the squad vox-operator. In the tight confines of the rumbling chimera, most of the men had to strain their ears to hear the voice of the man on the vox. "The Imperial Guard, as you know, are the dirt troops of the Imperium of Mankind. Their souls are foul, and care not for you or glorious Pan Arcadia. They are here to ensure your compliance like the lapdogs they are. Their uniforms come in many types, but do not be fooled, they look just like us. Devils dwell beneath the skin and the uniform of the Imperial Guardsmen here...." The voice continued, droning on. The PDF troopers in the hold were no less entranced by the voice, taking the words to heart.

Their olive colored uniforms, with all aquilas scratched or torn away, were very utilitarian and fitting for the Pan Arcadian environment. Each man also wore a fitting overcoat, as they understood the extent of the coming winter and how harsh it truly could be. If the Imperials did not perish under their guns, than mighty Pan Arcadia herself would freeze the Imperials to death.

"They kill without remorse. Woman, children, the elderly and infirm; none are safe from the eye of the Imperial Guard. You, a freedom fighter for glorious Pan Arcadia, is a prime target. They see your desire for freedom, and see that as danger. Danger to the tyranny that they enforce. I ask you not to kill without remorse. I ask you to kill with dedication for your home in your hearts. Know that while the Imperials may appear human, they are nothing less than evil...."

---

Overhead above the convoy, several Avenger flight squadrons flew in formation. The ground attack aircraft, unlike those seen earlier, carried attached payloads to their wings and bodies. The planes, while still mainly olive green, now appeared to have dark red paint covering the noses and wings, as if someone had accidentally painted part of the planes in the wrong color. Though, to any observer, the feeling that the paint scheme was anything but an accident could be concluded...

...The burning sections of Nova Prime behind them were no doubt proof enough that the PDF were acting with some great plan in mind, and that a simple paint change was the least to be worried about.

---

Capital city of Nova Prime
Adeptus Arbites Precinct Courthouse
Under siege

Arbitrator Jessan fired another quick shotgun blast around the corner of the second gatehouse, supported by his squad. Several heavy stubbers provided support fire as an Arbitrator team made a mad dash from the front gatehouse to the second in a desperate retreat back to the inner courthouse as overwhelming PDF forces stormed the outer perimeter of the courthouse. Las rounds and hard rounds exploded all around the second gatehouse, which was crumbling under the intense assault. "Victor! Get your team across the courtyard and into the lower courthouse battlements! Keep to the west wall!" Jessan shouted harshly, attempting to be heard over the roar of gunfire.

Nearby, a tank round exploded, sending three arbitrators into the air in more than several pieces. Jessan covered his head with his forearm as dirt and debris rained down on his position. Beside him, an arbitrator took a hard round to his throat and was flipped over, such was the power of the bullet. "Sniper!" Someone called out, just as Jessan attempted to do so. Firing off several more bursts from his shotgun, Jessan saw two nearby PDF troopers running for cover drop. He figured he had killed them, though from the immense firefight taking place he did not rightly care. Going for another shot, Jessan pulled the trigger only to find his weapon empty. Cursing, he slumped down the brick gatehouse wall to reload his weapon. Reaching for slug rounds in his ammunition pouch, he attempted to push the rounds into the receiver. That was when he noticed he was shaking.

Sweet merciful Throne. He thought, realizing just how confused and scared he was. Everything had happened so fast, it was almost surreal. In one instance, the report came in that explosions were going off around key Imperial locations around the city. The next thing he knew, a PDF Leman Russ had appeared at the front gate of the courthouse and obliterated several nearby arbitrators, none of which saw it coming.

Attempting to steel his nerves, Jessan was able to load four rounds before he gave up and popped back out of cover, firing at more PDF targets. A lasround exploded not inches from him, and the immense heat and force knocked him down. Just as that happened, another tank round exploded just feet from his cover, sending large bricks and debris overhead. Seeing several very large bricks flying just over his cover, Jessan realized that he would have been decapitated if anyone of those had made contact to his head.

"Jessan!" A voice called out from somewhere, "Retreat back to the main battlements! Move, quickly!" the voice shouted urgently. As gunfire began to intensify on his position, he saw the entire Arbitrator line at the gatehouse make the retreat across the open courtyard towards the open entrance of the courthouse. Without much thought, Jessan began the fastest sprint he could possibly muster across the open yard. Something hit him hard in the back, and he let out a startled yell, but he only kept running.

That was when another round him him. And another.
And yet another....

[Carcharhinidae primari]

Fort macharius
Sector 4 housing
Urdeshi bunkhouse

Third platoon was currently on their scheduled free time, with most of the troopers exercising in one of the back rooms or cleaning and stripping weapons a few had other things on their mind.
Third squad sat by one of the windows with a pack of cards, playing a hand of tarot* for their week's worth of ale rations.
“I'll see your day, and raise you by another half-day's worth.' One said, adding 15 of the chips they were using to the pot; smiling confidently. Most of the others had either already folded or folded at this point, revealing a pair of magos and an inquisitor as already being out of the game. Leaving sergeant Chiffros, corporal Alaric and trooper first class Evan in the game, eyeing each other suspiciously. Evan held the largest amount of chips; His first real luck with the cards since they'd departed for this world. The three men, each in charge of one of the hellhounds in their squad were usually in the last round, and this match looked like this was be no different.
With the other two players calling Alaric's bluff he put his cards down. Two more magi and an inquisitor, a decent hand, though not good enough to beat Chiffros' pair of inquisitors, and he reached for the pot with a smile.
“My hand, I think.” He said, before a hand grabbed his wrist, and Evan put down a hand with an Omnissiah and no less then all four primarchs.
“I'll just take that as a 'why, Evan, let me just gather the chips together for you.' Shall I?” He said with a grin. Pocketing the chips.
Alaric smiled as Chiffros glared at Evan, though the sergeant too broke into a smile after a moment.
“Hey, looks like those Cadians are back” Somenone chipped in from the other end of the room, which looked out to the north. It did indeed look like a platoon of the 51st were back from a patrol of some sort; To the Urdeshi, who'd never heard of anyone else having purple eyes, the Rangers looked like Cadians.
Evan looked at Chiffros with a knowing smile; and leaned down to whisper something to one of the other men from his AFV ** while the sergeant had his back turned. When the other man chuckled softly Evan straightened up, and shrugged nonchalantly to Chiffron as he looked at him questioningly.
“What was that Evan?”
“Oh, nothing sir, was just saying I could use some fresh air. You know, maybe strike up a conversation with that other company. We're all in the same regiment, might be a good idea to get to know about them.”
Chiffron gave him a long, stern look to the grinning Evan, especially when the troopers behind him exchanged a few glances and whispers before purposely leaning down to pick up something from under a bunk.
Eventually the sergeant just nodded, and gestured to the door, but grabbed Evan by the shoulder so he could whisper: “Just make sure you distract them good enough, I don't want my driver getting caught up in one of your jokes.”

A few minutes later Evan walked out on the south side of the bunkhouse, shading his eyes from the bright sunshine though he still had his sleeves rolled up.
Giving the bunkhouse of the 11th company a wide berth he casually sauntered over to the Rangers. The smell of an open fire and roasting meat drifting towards him as he rounded a corner. He gave a small whistle of appreciation when he saw them roasting a large carcass over a fire. Though he'd certainly have been noticed before, he'd only really stand out when he leaned against the side of the bunkhouse with a sincere smile.
“And here I thought the Thermidorians were the cooks, smells good though.”

On the other side of the building, in the shadow of the bunkhouse of the 11th company, a quartet of troopers were trying to be inconspicuous while simultaneously trying to stake out if any of the Rangers were in the rear-most room of their second bunkhouse.

*Tarot: a popular card game on many worlds in the Imperium, it likely originated out of the cards used to lay the emperors tarot in divination, but nearly each planet now has their own versions of the cards and the game itself. In this case for example the highest card, the Emperor, has been replaced with the Omnissiah; And the magos replaces the eclesiarchs from the 'standard' deck.
It is comparable to poker on 21st century Terra.

**AFV, Armoured Fighting Vehicle. A generic shorthand for vehicles used in combat by the imperial guard for anything from Chimeras to Baneblades.

[The Empire of Pretantia]

Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius, Goda Quarters
Captain Kar Hawken

"Mutants and Xenos!"

Captain Kar Hawken blurted loudly, scribbling the words on a sheet of paper. Besides the captain's outburst, the Goda tanker section of Hawken's little abode was rather quiet. Some soldiers were here writing and drawing, others were out maintaining the motor pool, and some few were simply enjoying a drink. The room was tidy and clean, the soldiers leaving their equipment packed neatly in their lockers rather than strewn about like some other platoons. The same could not be said of Hawken; he had thrown his coat onto a couch when entering, leaving his boots on in the room.

"Mutants and Xenos!
"Oh, how are these two alike?
"They are both ugly!

"A poem, by Captain Kar Hawken", Hawken wrote and read. His fellow poet, Lieutenant Muro, was unamused, shown by his face that practically said,"You are a complete idiot." In one-uppance Muro began writing himself, reciting,

"The wind and the cold
"The everlasting winter
"Of frozen Fenris

"A poem by Wurota Muro", Muro looked up, smirking smugly at his captain. Hawken chuckled, before leaning over and plucking the poem out of Muro's hands. The lieutenant tried snatching it back to no avail, as Kar toyed with him by pulling just of his reach when he tried to grab it. Muro yielded, sitting back down and pouting. However, a grin came over Muro's face, and he chuckled, followed by Hawken's own chortle. The two joined in laughter, until Muro suddenly leapt for Hawken, his grin replaced by a determined scowl. Although surprised, Hawken stayed sharp; he escaped by a hair from Muro's reach, and dodged around the room, on tables and chairs, playing keep-away and disturbing the other Guardsmen. Muro chased left around a table, as so did Hawken running; one went right, and the other followed. Infuriated, the lieutenant flipped the table on his captain, making him stumble and fall on the hard concrete. In what seemed to be defeat, Hawken held out Muro's poem, but as Muro reached for it triumphantly the captain quickly pulled back, and tore the paper to shreds in an instant. Muro's expression changed from triumph to plain annoyance as his haiku was blown about the room, and he resigned himself back to his seat.

"Captain Kar Hawken,"He wrote again.

"Captain Kar Hawken
"My captain no matter what
"But a poor captain

"A poem by Wurota Muro."

Muro smiled smugly at Hawken again, this time prepared for his tricks. Hawken did not bite, instead he just frowned.

"Shouldn't you be in the motor pool overseeing your armor?"He asked.

"I'm sure the enginseer can do that just fine, if not better,"Muro replied.

"Ah, but who would oversee the overseer?"

"Commissar Palor can handle himself handling Koder."

"Then who would oversee the one who oversees the overseer, said overseer of the overseeing being unknowledgeable in the overseeing of a motor pool's overseer?"

"Commissar Palor
"A man's man and a Guard's guard
"He can handle it

"A poem by Wurota Muro,"Muro wrote. Chuckling, he conceded,"Alright, I'll go make sure he hasn't executed poor Koder or anything."

The two stood,"I'm sure he's fine though, seeing as I've yet to hear bolter fire."

"Well this was a good poetry session, and I would love to do this again some time. Until then, I have some errands-"

KABOOM!

A large explosion rang out, like the thunderous boom of artillery, from the motor pool. The entire tanker section jumped to their feet, scrambling to their equipment at the sound of cannon fire. Hawken grabbed his coat, slipping it on as he rushed to the motor pool. That was a big boom...

---

Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius, Motor Pool
Commissar Palor
Moments prior

Commissar Palor was a surprisingly hard man to please, and an even harder man to shake. Although he was no techpriest, he knew the standard regulations of the motor pool as well as any engineer, as well as many other areas where a commissar must be keen. The motor pool is the perfect place for heresy, the many tanks lined up being tempting targets for joyriding, and the tons of ordnance for their armaments hold equal potential for abuse as "fireworks." Worst is that heresy was least expected here, among the cold and emotionless machines, as opposed to the obvious targets such as bars and... Cathouses. Palor had to remain ever vigilant in his supervision, even among these supposed "Emperor-fearing servants" these men of Goda call themselves.

"You! Guardsman!"Palor pointed out a tanker sitting on a chimera's turret, its multilaser between his legs,"What are you doing?"

The guardsman held out a small capacitor,"Maintenance on the gun, Commissar."

"Well don't sit like that! What if you were to slip and end up sitting on the hardware, crushing the damn thing? You would have to do the whole thing all over again, if not outright replace the multilaser itself!

"You!"He approached another victim,"Can't you tell the breach is closed? Open it up before you clean the barrel, and end up getting the thing rusted shut!

"OW!"Palor tripped over a tank shell. A tank shell haphazardly laid about. On its side. Palor got right back up and walked briskly away.

"Who in the name of the Emperor and all that's good left a tank-"

*KABOOM!*

The shell discharged, launching the round and the casing in opposite directions. While the casing shattered harmlessly against a Leman Russ, the round had flown straight towards the commissar in the blink of an eye. The round paid no heed to Palor's carapace armor, passing through his body, leaving only a smear of blood before the projectile met the ground with a large boom. This brief moment did not bode well for the Sixth company...

[Norvenia]

NATHANIEL

Sector Four Housing
Fort Macharius
“Purity” Platoon, 14th Company, 557th Segmentian

Sure enough, the deer smelled delicious cooking over the fire. It was Joel who had brought it down, and it was Joel who had skinned and dressed the carcass, but then - by popular demand - he'd turned it over to Drusilla Scott for the project of actually cooking it. She'd worked in a tavern back on Sacristan, before joining up but after finishing her Whiteshield years, and she had a hand with game that no one else could match. There was a joke in Purity Four that she'd only been promoted corporal after bribing Ahab with free food - it was funny mostly because of how flustered good old Sarge Purcell got whenever the myth was raised.

Anyway, Drusilla was turning the deer slowly on a spit over an open fire out behind our barracks, and the rest of us sat in a loose circle around her, watching the fire snap and crackle in the gathering evening. A few minutes earlier the Mordians had run by in their bright uniforms, singing and hollering at the top of their lungs. Charitably, the Rangers managed to contain their chuckles until the women had gone by. Oh, don't get me wrong, we respected the Iron Guard - but they were a very limited-effectiveness unit. Put them in the woods, in the swamp, in the mountains - hell, even in an underhive tenement - and their rigid discipline and fierce pride would be no substitute at all for camouflage and a willingness to actually get behind some solid cover, dammit. They were useful when they could form a line with all the enemy in clear view in front of them, and that was about the only time they would shine, as far as we could tell. So we weren't too impressed when they came running by singing their own praises.

Once the Mordians were gone, we settled back down, pondering the fire. Back on Sacristan, all of us grew up with fires like that, in our own villages; they would hold the darkness of the preindustrial night at bay, and they became strange, liminal, almost sacred spaces: filled with mystery and magic. Just watching the fire flicker and change, never still and never the same, became a hypnotic, meditative experience. And so we sat, a galaxy away from home, and watched the fire flicker, and smelled the meat roasting above it. Drusilla had slathered it with a rub made mostly from fresh herbs that she'd found out in the forest, and the mingled scents of chives and rosemary and red meat rose tantalizingly into the cold evening air. We sat with our gloved hands tucked under our armpits to ward off the chill, and watched the fire, and talked in low voices. Somebody had a flask of good Sacristan applejack, and the strong homemade brandy made the rounds, warming gullets and loosening tongues. Across the fire from me, someone prevailed on Elisha Stone to sing - never the hardest task in the world - and soon his fine, strong tenor was lilting above the crackling of the fire, singing a sweet sad song of lovers parted while the years rolled on.

There was a movement in the shadows near the bunkhouse, and I glanced up to see one of the Urdeshis in his rust-red uniform come walking up to lean against the barracks wall. “And here I thought the Thermidorians were the cooks!" he called. "Smells good though.”

Elisha's voice trailed off. You have to understand, we Sacristans - well, we weren't big socializers. Remember, we'd lost a lot of friends, and most of us felt that it would be somehow disloyal to their memories to get too cozy too quickly with our new bedfellows. On top of that, we were always insular to start with - just in our nature. We were born and raised for war, and we were volunteer professionals. Too often in the past, we'd discovered that other Guard units - no matter their birth or reputation - didn't measure up to our standards. And when that happened, good Rangers ended up dead.

But on the other hand, the Urdeshi seemed nice enough, and I certainly didn't want to antagonize the fellows with the giant flamethrower-tanks. I glanced briefly at Zuriel, who shook her head warningly - this is your decision. And if that were the case, then it was really made already. I sighed, and felt a wry grin play across my face. And then I waved at the Urdeshi. "Plenty of venison for you too, and for a few of your friends," I called back. "Please - join us."

There was a moment's pause, and then a few of the Rangers shifted aside to make a space for the newcomer beside the fire. Elisha's singing started up again, his voice fine and true. A few moments later, Drusilla stuck a combat knife in the deer, and upon inspection of the blade she nodded happily. "Supper's up," the corporal announced.

We waited to let Elisha finish his verse, and then I leaned forward, getting up onto one knee. Unbidden, the platoon joined hands, allowing the Urdeshi to join the circle or not as he pleased. I turned to the newcomer. "Sacristans say our own prayers," I explained, "without priest or confessor. We usually say grace before a meal. You're welcome to join us."

HOSEA

Sector Four Housing
Fort Macharius
Scout Sniper Squad “Patience”, 14th Company, 557th Segmentian

I am an old man. Hell, I was an old man back then, too. But the day I let that slow me down is the day some tattooed cultist spots me and puts one through me head. Hasn't happened yet, don't plan on having it happen soon. But anyway, back to the story - this one when time four tankers in frakking red jumpsuits decided to try to sneak up on Rangers.

It's not like I was guarding the bunkhouse door, or anything. I mean, sure, I'm paranoid - comes with the territory, being a scout sniper - but I'm not crazy. But it wasn't exactly just right-place, right-time either. I keep my eyes open. Comes with the territory, like I said.

So I'm out back of the bunkhouse in the fresh air working on my boots. A man's boots are important, and a Ranger's boots are more important, and the boots of a Ranger sniper are the most important of all. You have to be able to move soundlessly in them, but swiftly, and for miles on end without fatigue. Mine are made from three different kinds of leather, built by hand back on Sacristan by an old-fashioned artisan. They've saved my life more times than I can count. That evening, I was tightening up the laces, while I sat behind a tree wrapped in my camp-cloak. And around the bunkhouse come these four jokers in rust-red, from the Urdeshi unit next door. They didn't want to be seen, and they weren't doing a bad job, for a tank crew. For Rangers, they were a joke, and for me, they were somewhere beyond a joke.

Well, anyway, I figured that whatever they were doing, it wasn't going to be convivial to the sons and daughters of good old Sacristan, and they clearly hadn't seen me yet. That was no surprise - the camo-cloaks work, really work. If you're wearing one, and sitting still - and I was doing both - then you won't be seen unless someone is actively looking for you and has had good training in how to spot a concealed target. Plus, just by luck, I was in the shadow of the tree and partly obscured by its trunk. It would have been hard for one of the normal Rangers to spot me; for anyone without the Sacristans' level of training, it was going to be more or less impossible.

Having decided to investigate these sneaky treadheads, I waited until they weren't looking my way, and then started to move. I've been doing this a long time - decades at least, and really my whole life. I once hunted rabbits with my bare hands - they didn't know I was there until I'd grabbed them. So I moved nice and slow and smooth, gliding and then freezing, just a shadow drifting across the airfield's trees and shrubs and parked vehicles, one more patch of darkness cast by the warm glow of the setting sun. I drifted, and shifted, all patience and silence and calm, until I was in the shadows of the bunkhouse just three feet behind them, still wrapped in my camo-cloak, while they peered about in search of anyone standing guard.

And at that moment, I took out my trusty Sacristan tomahawk, and simply let it drop from my hand, down and slightly forward, until its razor-sharp blade sank into the earth between the feet of the lead Urdeshi. It made a clearly audible thunk as it hit the ground beneath and just behind them. And as they responded to that rather alarming development, I slipped out of the shadows, let my camo-cloak fall back over my shoulders, and raised one gloved hand in greeting. "Hullo, brothers," I smiled. I let the smile do my talking for me: I know what you were up to; still want to play games, or are you ready to be straight with me? I pulled my tomahawk out of the ground and wiped its blade casually on my thigh. "And how are you this eventide?"

[Morrdh]

5th Company Depot, Fort Macharius

Leaving the matter of dealing with surplus supplies in the capable hands of the Sergeant Major, Captain Stormwell proceeded to check up on the Morridanes' recently reformed Outrider Section. The Outriders were the former 319th Battalion's sentinel squadron that had been used to scout ahead of the infantry, though it had been been amongst the heavy casualties the Morridanes had suffered in fighting the Greenskins on their last deployment. More walkers had been requested since the Muckers (as the Morridanes liked to call themselves) had arrived on Pan Arcadia and joined the Segmentian 557th, though the Departmento had so far only provided a pair of standard model sentinels armed with multi-lasers. Presently Corporal Bassett, the Outrider's section commander (the Morridanes were unusual in having the low NCO rank of Lance Corporal), was talking with some mechanics about replacing the current weapons with the Morridanes' preferred autocannons.

"Corporal," Captain Stormwell nodded as he walked over. "How goes?"

"Fine thanks Cap'n." Answered Bassett. "Getting 'em fitted out to our specs, still need a few more to bring us back up to full strength."

"We're short everywhere, though we're suppose to be getting fresh sprogs from the Bog."

"Should hope so and all, though how come we've been dumped with all these ruddy buggers?"

"The Departmento works in mysterious and ill-planned ways." Stormwell replied with a grin. "But look on the bright side Corporal, least we ain't being shot at."

"Well at least until the Commissars get trigger happy."

"Best hide all the stills then." Replied Stormwell. "In the meant time I'll see 'bouts the extra walkers."

---

Sector One Firing Range, Fort Macharius

"In yer own time," Sergeant Morris called out to the assembled Morridane soldiers laying prone with lasguns. "Three rounds. Fire!"

A short volley of lasfire streaked across the range towards the targets with most of the shoots hitting the markers, though Sergeant Morris wasn't so much concerned with how many shots hit but rather the spread of the shots. Since the plastering the old Battalion had received on Benylin they had focused on consolidating the remnants into a company sized force, then rebuilding their strength and expertise. Whilst most of the Muckers were decent shots, Sergeant Morris was looking for those with exceptional aim to form the company's cadre of sharpshooters with. A handful came to his attention and Morris gestured for the longer range targets to be raised before calling out a few names. "Bradwell, Cooper, Miller and Parker. New targets thousand yards distant, five rounds. Fire!"

Another, much longer volley of lasfire streaked across the range to the longer range targets and once again Sergeant Morris watched where the shots hit as well as their spread. He made some notes and then called out. "Parker! Join the group to the left, the rest of ya are dismissed."

As the soldiers filed off, Sergeant Morris nodded for sniper rifles to be issued to the remaining group before repeating the process of picking sharpshooters began all over again.

[Bredtonia]

The 10th companies camp was actually rather close to the main administration building, or at least close for an old airfield. Even including the time he was held up waiting for a cadence yelling iron ladies group to pass by, he still arrived in a matter of minutes. Pausing only to take note again of the new regimental flag, Lt. Marki pushed open the old reinforced wooden door and stepped inside.

A few moments of navigation later, he found himself before the regimental commander’s secretary. “Is the colonel in?” he asked.

---

Sgt. Bryant, steward for the 322nd regiment, or 10th company as they now were, found himself in the general vicinity of Thermidorian ‘territory’ looking around for some indication of an office or a person who might be able to direct him to the right location. After much consideration, he finally picked one of the more administration looking doors with a company flag next to it. Walking up, he knocked and let himself in.

“Hello? I’m looking for requisitions?”

---

Lt. Schulte’s Chimera, like the rest of the officer chimeras in the company, had a pictographer on the wall beside the Lieutenant’s chair that allowed him to see every direction out of the tank without actually having to poke his head out the top like some regiment’s officers were known to do. He watched the monitor as his platoon drove along an old, empty fire road on the side of Mount Macharius keeping an eye out for anything that might make this patrol-drill a little more interesting.

A very large cylinder, some kind of water storage tank, rotated into view as the platoon rounded a corner of the mountain. Recognizing this as the excuse he was looking for, Schulte directed one of his sergeants to open up the platoon vox channel. “Second Platoon.” He announced to get everyone’s attention. “Time for a new drill, we’re going to secure that water tank. Second, fourth, you’re on assault, everyone else, form a defensive perimeter. Move people.”

After a round of acknowledgments, the front two chimeras kicked into a flat-out speed and ripped towards the tank, the other four chimeras moving swiftly behind.

[Aelosia]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius. Center
Thermidorian Quarters
Command Section
3th Company, 557th Segmentian

Victoria Vanhayn

The inside of the Inflecto Maestus was glowing with the soft green and blue radiance of dozens of screens and holograms depicting the different routine check outs and readings from the Thermidorian Strategic Center. The Thermidorian Major was sitting atop her command throne placed on the crowded compartment, that was also housing two specialist data analyst chosen and trained by Vanhayn herself given their knowledge of cogigators and sensors, and also of their wisdom regarding macrovision of battlefields.

Vanhayn made the massive silvery chair rotate, connected and plugged to the tank's systems via uncounted cables, and caressed her chin with her gloved hands. She had embedded microcircuits in the fabric of the gloves as to facilitate the management of the different consoles that controlled the advanced systems of the Consul data engines, and as she pondered her next steps, the flexible circuit boards glow as if demanding more data to be processed. Vanhayn needed a broad view of the current theater her new regiment was deployed in, and only the Colonel was able to give it to her, but she has not been able to raise her on the vox on the entire day.

One of the few remaining analog systems aboard the tank, the intercompany comm, pinged, and Vanhayn quickly pressed a series of buttons to open the proper channel through which the message had arrived, checking if the Colonel finally was available. It was not the Colonel, though, but another Company Commander.

This is Der Schwarze Mann to Asilis Victoria and Victoria Aleinne Isabeau Katherine Vanhayn Debois Castel. Is it possible for us to arrange a meeting? There is something of some rather great importance that I discuss with you

"Someone has been reading the regimental dossiers", muttered Vanhayn under her breath, as her full name was not usually publicly available, but for sure could be dig up from some sort of official documents. Whatever this Dark Man was, he went through and deep with his information gathering. She pressed another series of buttons as to let only Der Schwarze Mann decode its meaning, and sent a response.

Vanhayn here. I'm open to discuss anything, but I haven't been able to raise the Colonel on my Comm. Let me know when you get a response from her and work something out, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, not being either friendly nor especially dry. The absence of orders from the Colonel was starting to worry her. She was a clear and clean follower of the Chain of Command, so it made her uncomfortable when a link of the chain went missing, albeit temporarily.

Vanhayn thought about some way to occupy her mind and not let it wander into unfeasible solutions or situations. Rotating her throne again, she fixated her eyes upon the planetary scans of incoming communications, simple wave graphics of the frequencies that were being used and anything that the extremely tuned sensors of the Macharius Consul could grasp. There was the electronic noise, as a grey flux at the bottom of the chart, then the civilian transmissions, hundred of thousands of them, occupying the frequencies usually given to them by the planetary authorities. Finally, there were the upper channels for satellital and planet-orbit communication, and the military frequencies, usually monitored and shared between the planetary defense forces and the Imperial Guard and Navy. She had put through the Colonel the requisition of several frequencies for regimental use, and assigned them to the different companies, as per regulations.

So far, inter-company communications were scarce, and most of the combat channels were monitored non-stop to prevent any unwanted intrusions. Vox discipline was a maximum that Vanhayn liked to enforce and that she had convinced the Colonel to follow. She turned to her current vox operator aboard the Inflecto Maestus, an Evisorian girl with the adopted name of Palatine Pike. "Our frequencies seem to be secured", commented the Major through her comm bead, even although only few feet separated the two women, checking the history of channel clearance of the last watch, 12 standard Terra hours.

"We have not discovered any intruders so far", answered the trustworthy operator. "Countermeasures and warnings have kept everyone outside so far...", at this point, the Thermidorian Sergeant, once a civilian flight operator, seemed to doubt and ponder. "Yet there is something outside normal boundaries".

"In our channels?", retorted Vanhayn. She wanted to maintain the spectrum as clear as possible.

"No, Major Madam, any interference and you would had been informed of it", answered quickly the operator. "It is not inside our bandwidth, but through the PDF's channels. During the last watch, there has been an increased amount of traffic through their lines...", here Palatine paused, checking more data. "What I don't like is that..."

And now the other operator on watch, the original Thermidorian schooled Lieutenant Louise Lottie Lester, interrupted the analysis of her partner. "Major, you might want to take a look at this..."

"Link me, Louise", answered Vanhayn, a gesture of her gloved hand forcing the circuits to interact with the consoles and switching the visuals in her screen for "Current Planetary Sensors analysis. Everything seemed to be as the last time she checked in 8 hours ago. "What is it?".

"Thermals, Major", answered the seasoned console operator. "I have linked with the few satellites orbiting this world to get a weather prediction, and I have managed to extract interesting, or worrisome, data from the results".

Vanhayn made another gesture, displaying in her screens a history of the thermal readings of the surface gathered from orbit. "There are some peaks over there. Industrial activity? Orbital landings? Did you run a full check of them?"

"I did", answered the Lieutenant. "I have discarded normal hypothesis with that profile. There is one explanation that fits the behavior...If there was only one, I would had ruled some sort of industrial mishap, but given the uncontrolled nature of the pattern, it might be".

"For the Sigillite's Shaft, woman, spit it out already!", claimed the Major, already eager and worried about the explanation.

"Explosions, Madam. Military grade explosions alongside several points. There is no other explanation. I pinpointed the origin points and...You are not going to like this", finished the Lieutenant as she sent the direct data to be displayed in Vanhayn's screen.

The Major stared at the points on her map. "Those are the locations of Imperial garrisons. Are we under attack? Do you have any orbital readings? Any kind of intruding transmissions?".

"No, Madam, we have not recovered anything in that regard...Except...", now added Sergeant Pike, sending to Vanhayn's display the history of transmissions across the planet. "Nothing from outside, but..."

"Except, but, but what? Give me something to interpret if you haven't already", retorted Vanhayn in a berated tone.

"The PDF transmissions are encrypted. They were supposed to share data with us, but since our arrival, they encoded the entire content of their transmissions. We know the amount of their transmissions, but not the messages, it is not intelligible. And the code is difficult to crack, nothing imperial standard. Whatever they are using, seems to be engineered specifically to keep us out of it", answered the Lieutenant. "That was what worried me. They are purposely hiding something from us, whatever it might be".

"Military activity?", asked Vanhayn to both operators. "Give me a spectrum of military activity, immediately", she ordered, returning to her usual detached tone of voice.

"The PDF has birds on the air, and given the points of origin of the transmissions, they have several units active around the planet, outside the usual bases and garrisons. At first I thought they were doing some sort of exercise, perhaps under orders of the Lord General, or the planetary governor, but the exercise has been too long", answered the Sergeant in charge of the info-monitoring.

"Squadrons in the air. I can track them. For the rest, there is a pattern of military activity across the cities, but apart from the explosions I have already shown you, I can't track any other formations of enough size as to be picked up individually, but I can run a closer scan if ask for it, Major Madam", added the Lieutenant.

Vanhayn took a deep breath. "If we are under attack, then the PDF already know it. Perhaps they are even reacting to it...", she pondered several additional seconds before reaching a conclusion. "The PDF might be under attack and somehow their communications have been jammed and intervened and that's why they haven't been able to contact us"

"What are we to do, Major Madam?", asked the Sergeant, already opening communication channels to the rest of the regiment.

"Issue a general alarm company level, I have no authority to give any further orders. I want all the company in the command post and securing the aerial and terrestrial perimeter. Defensive Condition Azure. All weapons powered up and every gunner at her post", started Vanhayn in her most serious voice.

"Done, Madam", answered the Sergeant after pressing several switches that sent the silent alarm to the thermidorian quarters and changed the light inside the tank from blue and green to deep crimson.

"Then, someone get me that damned Colonel on the vox, now. If not her, then the next on the chain of command in the Segmentian First Company. And also Amsel. Tell them I am on my way to rendezvous with her. This is of utmost importance. We might be facing a stealth attack and our potential PDF allies might need our assistance and we are still here with our hands on our butts", continued Vanhayn, her circuitry gloves again going to caress her chin.

"On it, Major Madam", answered the Sergeant activating her bead and her vox unit as to transmit the message to the First Company.

"And finally, Lieutenant", added Vanhayn. "Give full command to Irvine. I want all our engines live to face any threat, aerial or otherwise. Turn on all sensors and give her a perspective of everything military related closing on us in a twenty kilometer radius. I am going to meet this Colonel and I'm taking my Salamander. I'll be back soon. In the mean time, I want you both to put all your effort into cracking those PDF transmissions. Give me results to my slate and bead as soon as you get any. We need to decode it as fast as possible".

"It is not going to be easy. It doesn't follow a pattern..." started to object the Lieutenant.

"Do it or find me someone who can", retorted Vanhayn as she rose from her throne and started to walk towards the hatch of her tank. "I want those messages decoded now, Lieutenant, and you have the tools to do it. This Consul tank is a miracle of technology, be worthy of be its rider".

Without further words, the Major left her post and prepared to ride her Salamander vehicle towards the barracks of the First Company of the Segmentian 557th...

[Aelosia]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius.
Outskirts of Thermidorian Quarters
3th Company, 557th Segmentian

Yuri Nonsilva

Getting the night's watch was not such a problem after all. Given that she has sent the Company's Commissar to the infirmary after receiving a tear gas grenade to the chest, Yuri would count her as lucky to have such light punishment placed upon her. The Commissar herself has been opposed to her remaining arrested, after whizzing something about her "higher fighting spirit". Stupid Mordian was as crazy as the rest of the mordians. Yuri had seen them jogging around and chanting the great victories of their company. As if. Commissar Lydia was the same. That dark world produced dark minds. Yuri could swear the Commissar was pleased that she had shot a grenade at her, for all counts. After all, the Commissar had been talking of raising the fighting spirit of the thermidorians right? She had said they were too tamed, too quiet, and too good. She wanted nastier soldiers, more aggressive, wilder.

Well, she got what she wanted, said Yuri to herself as she gripped closely her lascarbine. The climate here in Pan Arcadia was pleasant enough as to not fear to tread a night's watch. She was lost in the weird thoughts that somehow the Commissar liked pain inflicted unto her when she detected a shadow moving towards the Thermidorian billets. She guessed that some lucky gunner had found some sort of lover in the neighboring companies. It wasn't unheard of. Whoever he was, he was covering himself with a long coat, as to avoid further identification or at least to hide his company's uniform or insignia.

Well, Yuri was not taking any of it tonight. If the Commissar wanted to foster the aggression of her troops, this was going to be it. Yuri was part of the Security detachment, the infantry squads of the Thermidorian company, and as such, she was going to release and vent some anger upon anyone breaking the rules, even if that meant a lost lover trying to find a warm bed for the night. She followed the figure and realized he was going to surround the first building and close the facade of the second one. If she turned around, she would come right in front of him at the next intersection. She abandoned her post and quickly took the turn around the building in long steps, her trusted lascarbine in front of her. She reached the corner of the second building well before the stranger could. Whoever he was, he wasn't taking any rush into getting inside wanting sheets tonight. She had to wait several seconds until the heavy steps of the stranger gave him away, and took a pair of long breaths before surprising him.

Yuri heard steps incoming her way, and turned around the corner extending the bayonet to touch the chest of the stranger in the coat, her finger in the trigger. One wrong movement and the stranger would find himself impaled in the triangular spearhead at the end of the weapon, alongside a las crater on its torso.

"Zone off limits, miscreant", she shouted smiling as she faced the intruder, just to check that...

It was Captain Commissar Amsel.

It wasn't Yuri's day, for sure. Or was it Commissar's Day?

She remained unmoved, looking at Amsel right in the eyes, her bayonet slightly touching his coat. It was quite a moment, now. Right then, the silent alarm started to chime in her Sentinel's bead. The sound was a bothersome vibration that commanded her to gather her squad and be ready for any further orders.

"Commissar, Sire", was finally the infantrywoman able to say. "Are we under attack?"

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius
Thermidorian Quarters
Adeptus Munitorum Office
3th Company, 557th Segmentian

Bellona Bellatrix

The Adeptus was having enough problems as it was. She now had a full shipment of munitions and promethium lying in the open air, although some of it had been stored under camouflage nets inside the part of the motor pool initially reserved for the thermidorian vehicles that had been moved to the spaces between the barracks buildings. It was a logistics nightmare even for someone such as able as herself.

Bellona Bellatrix was something both common and strange alongside the deployment of the Thermidorian Company. In everything but name, she was a Thermidorian. She was an imperial orphan directly sent to the Scholam Progenium of Thermidor, and had been trained there, getting a specialization in Administration and Accounting. Yet she had never been summoned to be part of the Imperial Guard. Bellona was not a soldier, but an Adeptus Munitorum, the huge organization in charge of supplying the Imperial Armies alongside their campaigns. She had been the only reinforcement the company ever got from Thermidor since their original deployment. When the original regiment was decimated and the remaining companies reassigned, Major Vanhayn had changed the focus of the company from an artillery company to a support and logistics company, and that meant that she needed direct support and contacts within the administratum. She had asked the Scholam for it, and they had sent Bellona, taking her away from the desk from which she supplied fleets and armies sectors apart to be sent into a barracks alongside the soldiers she had ever despised. Soldiers as Vanhayn. Rich, pretty, well-educated Vanhayn, daughter of an Imperial Navy Captain of a frigate no less.

She hated her job, almost as much as she hated war. But you simply did not challenge the decisions of the Scholam. In this age, those above command and those below obey. She was cast adrift in those dreadful thoughts when someone knocked the door of her office.

"I bet is the damn cook asking me for more supplies. These soldiers eat better than most nobles I have met", she mumbled while she approached the entrance to her dispatch.

One man was standing there, looking lost. Bellona hated soldiers but knew them, and by uniform, this man was from Armageddon. The uniform was Steel Legion, a pattern now taken and distributed alongside many other regiments, a well tested and proven piece of equipment now commonplace in hundred of battlefields.

"Hello? I am looking for requisitions", the man said in a rather humble tone of voice.

"Of course you are", answered Bellona, sarcastic. "Soldiers come to the Munitorum for requisitions. You all need requisitions. What is it this time?"

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius.
Motor Pool
3th Company, 557th Segmentian

Elizabeth Sinnett

This was the last shipment of hard munitions. As such, they had to be treated with extreme care. Lieutenant Elizabeth Sinnett surveyed how the 8 Trojan transports moved slowly into the part of the regimental motor pool reserved for the Thermidorians. The chimera chassis vehicles were filled to the top with explosive ordnance, so any accident might be a catastrophe. Inside the warehouse they were entering to, however, there were no vehicles waiting for refit or just waiting idle there. There were vast pyramids of shells of different types and caliber, and piles upon piles of other type of munitions. It was a share enough as to fit a regiment, and the thermidorian were supposed to share this bounty of war material with the rest of the companies, although they would keep being in charge of monitoring and safekeeping it. Having such amounts of munitions stored in one place made everyone nervous, and especially Sinnett, who usually preferred to keep her bang into deep dug ditches.

The Lieutenant of the Auxiliary Platoon was a no nonsense woman that fell more on the overcautious side of the character than anything else. She checked everything thrice, and did not leave anything to chance. When you handle daily amounts of promethium as to fed Forge engines and enough munitions as to blow a titan, you tend to develop this kind of personality. She guided slowly the driver of the first Trojan towards the designated disembarking spot, and waited until the rest of the convoy was safely parked before daring to take more than a shallow breath. Now came the most delicate part. The cranes included in the Trojans had to dispose of another pile of Battle Cannon and Earthshaker shells in a corner of the warehouse, alongside already towering and fearsome deposits. At her signal, the operators from the support vehicles already started to deploy the long necks of the cranes at unison, slowly but safely, as Sinnett liked it.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, an explosion thundered inside the warehouse, and for a moment, Sinnett expected to be vaporized the next second, alongside the entire regiment of the Segmentian 5557th. It didn't happen, however, and the thermidorian Lieutenant felt how her sudden fear was replaced by red anger, a common human reaction.

She turned on her bead."What was that?", she asked, as serious as she could be.

"Battle Cannon shell. Outside the warehouse, but next to the motor pool", answered through the comm one of the most experimented gunners on the company, a Sergeant that claimed to have loaded every kind of shell available in the Imperium.

"It was not us, then?", asked Sinnett again, feeling how hot her ears were becoming.

"Not, Madam Lieu", answered the gunner with the common short word for Lieutenant. "Not us, or otherwise we would be all dead".

"Everyone stay on your post, and do not start unloading the cargo until further orders. Remain in your vehicles. I am going to find out who is the irresponsible head of this", she ordered through the bead, upholstering her laspistol and leaving the warehouse. The source of the explosion was not hard to pinpoint, given the smoke already rising from a spot really close to the warehouse where the thermidorians were storing the regimental reserve of munitions. Sinnett opened her eyes wide. A few more feet of deviation, and the entire Fort Macharius would be a scorched crater now.

She walked towards the scorched spot, laspistol in hand, determined to find a culprit.

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Outskirts of capital center of Nova Prime
Fort Macharius.
Sacristan Quarters
14th Company, 557th Segmentian

Mary Diane Brewer

The smell was mesmerizing.

Corporal Brewer had left half the plates without finishing. This was something she had to see, smell and perhaps taste with her own eyes.

She hasn’t tasted game in months. She was a miracle worker, able to turn nutrient paste and gruel into something edible thanks to her talents as soup and stew maker. She had hundreds of recipes for stews, and they had been favorably received by the soldiers of almost a hundred worlds. Soldiers loved her stew, and everyone was more than happy to provide their recipes and suggestions, so every day she had been able to improve her cookbook.

But stew was stew, the perfect food to combine many ingredients, hide and order flavors and be shared amongst many people. Steak and game was something else.

She felt herself drooling. It was not just the game she smelled, there was something else, something special. Something....Talented.

Her nose led her feet towards another company's dwellings, and to the fire roaming in the center of it. And finally, to the once magnificent deer that was spreading goodness and perfection through the entire camp.

She wanted to see the red meat turning around above the fire. She wanted to see the melt grease and the gravy dripping from it. So many months of stew.

She finally reached the place where the deer was standing, not being challenged by anyone. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and wept with joy. This was life as its best.

"Chives and rosemary and something I can't define", Brewer said amongst tears. "Who is the architect of this? Who is the artisan who brought this to you?” she asked to the silent, smiling men eating around her.

[Carcharhinidae primari]

4th sector housing
14th company housing

Evan's smile curdled a little at the sudden silence, a slightly puzzled look at what he'd done wrong playing over his features. He nodded back when on of the rangers asking him to join them. Standing closer to the fire with a slight glint in his eyes.
When the others joined in a circle he was a little unsure what was going on. After Nathaniel explained that they were going to say a prayer before they ate he nodded, his slightly flippant smile softening into a more genuine one.
“Of course. Heh, we have our own priests in the company, but we, and the techpriests, also hold that there is always a time and place to thank the Omnissiah for our sustenance.”
With thankful nod to the rangers beside him he joined in the circle; his demeanour also turning more serious. He was grateful for the offer of a slice of venison, and it was clear these people were stoic, and perhaps a touch grim. Though a number amongst his own company had a similar attitude, most pronounced amongst the enginseers and the CSM. Personally Evan never considered such an attitude to be fitting all the time.
As he waited for them to begin the explosion from the motorpool echoed across the base, and instinctively he dove towards the side of the bunkhouse, his hand on the holster of his laspistol as he looked at the nearest ranger.
“what on Mars... That was a battle cannon round.” He said softly to a nearby ranger, as the echoes died away.

Second bunkhouse of 14th company

The four troopers tensed at the noise, turning quickly with a few nervous grins. One of them seemed to be holding a tin to his chest, he also seemed to be the leader of the small gang.
“Ah! Oh, hello. We were just looking for you guys, actually.' He said, with a smile about as sincere as an Eclesiarch distributing alms in front of the pictcasters, though it was half the truth.
His eyes met those of the ranger and the two men held each other's gaze for a short while; but it was the Urdeshi trooper who blinked first, his smile fading as he explained quickly.
'okay. Suppose, maybe.. We were trying to sneak in, for a joke, you know? We just wanted to give you guys a surprise, no mess to clean up, no damage to anything, no harm done, just a surprise. But, you caught us. So fair game to -'
he was interrupted by the echoing thunderclap of the round going of, which made one of the other troopers jump, clearly as surprised as the rangers would be.
'-you-what-the.. That, wasn't us. And I don't think that was one of your people either, unless your jokes are a lot more serious then ours.'

South bounds of the motor pool
Adeptus mechanicus depot/4th company motor pool

CSM Alden washed the grime from his hands at a sink in the back of the depot, having helped in the maintenance of the company's vehicles as was common among the Urdeshi. It was believed to bring the machine spirit closer to that of the men if the crew helped with the maintenance, especially given that they all had been forge-worlders before joining the regiment.
He looked up as the senior enginseer stepped up beside him, placing an oil can back on the shelves lining the depot.
“Marik, we've finished the checks on the vehicles and all the machines are functioning normally. The maintenance rites were enacted successfully and we've filled the fuel tanks.”
Marik nodded, looking at the vehicles, with the crews now resting and taking a drink on top of their armour.
He was about to reply when the shell went of, the sound echoing between the rock-crete buildings and resonating in the large bay doors of the depot. For a moment everyone froze, and then they all unfroze at once. Scambling into the AFV's as Marik ran for the door, opening it by running into it with his shoulder. Drawing his laspistol as he looked around for the cause, spotting the cloud of dust and smoke rising beyond the munitions warehouse. As he strode towards the source of the explosion he clipped the vox headset over his ear, pressing the rod with the microphone to his cheek as he cut into the company channel.
“This is CSM Alden, no threat for now; All vehicles stand by for deployment on my mark.”
As he hurried past the trojans he spotted a thermidorian lieutenant heading the same way. He saluted with his free hand, on the premise that he wasn't sure how the other regiments handled the rank of CSM. Amongst the Urdeshi he outranked the lieutenants in his own company, and was ranked about equal with the lieutenants of any other companies.
'Lieutenant, I don't need to guess that that wasn't one of yours, and it's certainly not one of ours. Do you have any idea what junkhead's responsible for this?' he asked, laspistol kept pointing down, but not holstering it just yet.

[Legital]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius
Near Thermidorian Billets

Captain-Commissar Amsel quietly carried on along his way down the relatively empty stretch of road towards the Thermidorian buildings, his hands neatly stuffed in his black great coat's pockets to keep warm in the chilly morning air. His level gaze drifted around the surrounding area, taking in what he could see. It was, as it seemed, rather barren of individuals in this area. In the far distance, he could hear base personnel and vehicles moving about, along with the delicious smell of the cooking food off yonder near the Sacristan billets, but this particular area seemed to be deserted. Despite this, he figured there were some guardsmen around, likely in some of the buildings around him, some perhaps keeping out of sight as the figure of a commissar is enough of a deterrent for most. Unfortunate, he thought, as he did not consider himself a particularly cruel individual, unlike some colleagues he had served alongside and trained with at the Schola Progenium.

Commissars came in all sorts of types and molds. Some isolated themselves, considering the guardsmen they serve alongside as nothing but cattle only to be herded into the frontline. Others, like Amsel, preferred to bond with the common Imperial trooper and officers, earning their trust and friendship. While it has been warned that making bonds with guardsmen is a bad thing at the Schola, he had learned otherwise as a cadet attached to a commissariat cadet squad with his mentor, Commissar Flynt, who he considered to be the most influential person to him. In fact, the commissar mentor that most commissar cadets would be attached to end up being the most influential. Learning from veterans on the field was much more different than learning from a book.

With all of the different types of commissars, Amsel considers himself to be one like the kind Flynt was. An approachable but stern friend off the battlefield to the guardsmen, but an austere and unforgiving figure on the battlefield. Of course, the battlefield did not necessarily mean only on the battlefield. Anywhere where a commissar was needed as nothing but an instrument of the commissariat would such austere role take center. He remembered what Flynt had told them, that they should split themselves into two personalities to better fit this duel style. Some, he admitted, were unable to do that. They either were too domineering or too spineless, and were unsuitable to fit such a complicated role, as a commissars life and style of work was by no means simple. Flynt, however, was a shining example of the split style for commissars. Amsel, luckily enough, was a perfect individual to be molded into such style, like a few other cadets who were in his squad, who he now hoped commanded in such a style as Flynt and as Amsel does now.

Though such a style was taxing on a commissar, admittedly. Commissar Flynt had warned them all that it was not simple to command men to their deaths, an issue which plagued many officers as well. As his mentor said, one must 'live like a true human, but command like a devil'. Though, the meaning did not actually mean one had to rule without emotion. Commissars were just as much unforgiving in command as they were moral boosting. There was a large difference between the commissar who led men to death like they were cattle and the commissar who led men to their death like soldiers. Either way, when it was all said and done on the battlefield, and the survivors were all that were left, then one should offer prayer to the God-Emperor for the souls of the men that had perished at the hands of a commissars work. But Amsel prayed for all men, alive or dead no matter what. Death simply could not prevent a commissar from doing his duty.

The heroic death of Major Ibram Hess, the man who led the Higaran 21st armored which Amsel was attached to for many years, had been particularly taxing on him. Being one of the last survivors of the 21st armored, Amsel was surprised, almost taken aback when he was assigned to his current Higaran unit only to find out that a particular Sebastian Hess was the son of the major. Surely, Amsel figured it was a sign from the God-Emperor himself. Despite that, Amsel still had not informed Trooper Sebastian Hess of the death of his father. It was, to Amsel, a personal issue which conflicted with him. Commissar Flynt had warned against such personal issues, and that they must be terminated as soon as they could. Despite that, Amsel still could not figure how he should break it to the boy that his father, who he so looked up to, had perished at the hands of greenskins sacrificing himself to allow most of his company retreat and fight another day. It was even more unfortunate that such another day never came, and that Amsel and the survivors were on the run for a very long time until finally being reassigned after severe losses.

So lost in his thoughts, Amsel had found himself experiencing the odd feeling of being watched. Instantly pushing aside his thoughts, Amsel came near a corner to a building, just when from that very corner an individual appeared with a lascarbine and bayonet attachment came into view, aiming such a weapon just mere inches away from his chest.

"Zone off limits, miscreant." The woman had shouted with a smile. He immediately recognized her as a Thermidorian.

Glancing down almost nonchalantly, with a slight curious visage on his face, Amsel looked at the bayonet nearly touching his chest. Beneath that and the lascarbine, he saw his hand gripping his bolt pistol pointing at the torso of the woman. Acting with such instinct, Amsel almost did not realize he had drawn his weapon in the short time of the figure appearing with the weapon.

Amsel however looked back up at the woman, still with the nonchalant curious expression. "I assume you were expecting someone else." He said, which then the woman had answered back with a question which he was not expecting.

"Under attack?" He asked back, "If you refer to the distant detonations, the Pan Arcadian PDF are under a supervised training exercise. Higaran Captain Gustav and I had visited Nova Prime earlier today in hopes of observing their demonstrations." He said, though at that very moment, the not so distant explosion of a bomb had reached the two individuals.

Snapping his attention to the distant motor pool across the tarmac, with a glare on his face, Amsel changed his tone. "Perhaps I may be mistaken." He said, his voice taking an audible tone difference. Without thought or feeling, Captain-Commissar Amsel had split into his second personality. Motioning at the Thermidorian to follow him, Amsel set off at a determined jog towards the motor pool and the dissipating plume of smoke rising from there, his bolt pistol firmly grasped in his hand.

---

Capital city of Nova Prime
Adeptus Arbites Precinct Courthouse
Under siege

"Hang on, we've got you!" A voice shouted dimly to his right, an audible ringing encompassing his hearing. Jessan blinked his eyes, clearing them of the dim blurriness which did not want to go away. As his vision came back, so did his hearing. And the pain. Jessan could feel something stabbing him in the lower back, and several other dull spots along his upper back. He did not need to be a doctor to realize that he had been shot, but his carapace had apparently stopped several other hard rounds. As far as he could tell, he was lucky not to have taken several las rounds to the back, as he would likely not be alive at this moment.

As his senses flooded back to him, Jessan realized two fellow arbitrators were pulling him by either arm to the large open metal door of the courthouse, which had many arbitrators and some local police units holding behind makeshift barricades. On either side of the door, the Gothic style castle-like walls stretched up and to the sides, with weapons firing out of the slits and from the top battlements towards the attacking PDF below and across the now barren courtyard. The sound of weapons fire and shouting was almost deafening, and an explosion which detonated against the courthouse walls sent some brick and stone flying.

The man carrying Jessan from the left took a las round directly to the back of his head, the heat and ozone washing over Jessan's head and the side of the other arbitrator carrying Jessan from the right. As the arbitrator fell like a limp doll, Jessan inhaled sharply as he placed his feet on the ground, beginning to run with the other arbitrator. It came to a point as both men neared the courthouse door that they were both practically carrying each other, the two men sprinting with arms over each others shoulders. They came flying through the courthouse door, passed the defenders who were now falling back as Jessan and the other arbitrator were the last ones in, and with a fierce exchange of fire, the metal door was quickly closed and locked. Fire pinged off of the other side of the door, but it would hold for now.

Jessan and the arbitrator came to a stop by a wall, both panting extremely hard as others around them, worn out, dragged weapons and the wounded deeper into the citadel like courthouse. "Arbitrator Finx." The man said between breaths, offering a hand to Jessan. Jessan looked up at his savior, taking the man's hand in a short handshake. "Jessan." He managed, suddenly gasping in pain. Finx grabbed Jessan by the shoulder, keeping him upright. "Alright, Jessan. Let's find you a medicae surgeon." He said, helping move Jessan as his legs seemed to grow sluggish again. Finx helped move him along into the courthouse, gunfire still raging outside.

After a few moments of travel into the inner sanctums, the extent of the damage done to the arbitrators in the surprise attack was evident. Much of the inside stone courtyard was now a makeshift medical den, with wounded laying all about in what appeared to be in no pattern. Most of the wounded and dead appeared to be arbitrators and judges, but several of the light blue uniformed local Pan Arcadian police officers appeared amongst the wounded and dead. They were likely the ones who were still loyal, Jessan figured, as he saw many Pan Arcadian police defend the courthouse alongside the Imperial arbitrators. As he continued inwards, he saw a number of bodies which were not uniformed, but instead wearing civilian clothes. Likely they were outside the courthouse as the attack started, and happened to run here for safety, only to be cut down. A few lived, it appeared, clutching weapons which they did not know how to use.

"I've never seen someone take so many hits and live." Finx said after a moment, bringing Jessan to an empty section of the courtyard, and helping ease him onto his stomach so his back wounds could be revealed. After a moment, Finx offered a quiet whistle. "Three shots did not penetrate the armor, one did." He said. Jessan gasped as he felt Finx probe around his back. "What are you doing?" He gasped out between teeth, feeling his wound on fire. "I have ample medical training." Finx answered back, and Jessan turned his head to see the arbitrator removing some small tools from a small pouch. "The bullet did not go far. I can see it right at the surface of skin. You, uh, might want to bite something." Finx answered, and Jessan just simply knew he was not going to like what was coming next. Reaching for Finx's helmet beside the two, Jessan put the tough chin strap in his mouth, and bit down on it.

"Get ready. Three, two, one." Finx said, and Jessan immediately instinctively dug his teeth into the chin strap with a yell in his throat as he felt something sharp dig into his wound. His hands were clenched into white knuckle fists as he began to shake his head, eyes closed shut. "Hold on, almost have it." Finx calmly said, Jessan still screaming with his mouth closed. Suddenly, as soon as it had started, the pain dulled slightly as the bullet was removed. Jessan took several deep breaths, fists still clenched. "Okay, I'm dousing some antiseptic and alcohol on it." Finx announced again, and Jessan gritted his teeth as he felt the stinging burn along his wound, his face contorting into a grimace. He then felt something dull get pushed against the wound, and it felt like Finx was now applying a bandage.

"Alright. You should be good now, as most of the pain was from the bullet wiggling around the shallow wound. I don't think I need to remind you to change the bandage and put some more alcohol on it when you get the chance." Finx said, moving off of his knees and onto his bottom as he settled onto his back, elbows propping him up. Jessan, with his head turned to the side, took a glance at Finx and realized the man had a nasty gash across his face which he had not seen before, along with dirt and grit. Jessan began to pull himself up slightly, gasping from the pain in his back. "I don't think you should be moving, now." Finx said, looking over at Jessan. Arbitrator Jessan simply shook his head, "Frak that." He murmured, grabbing a swath of cotton from that small medical bag Finx had, and he told the man to turn his head slightly. Finx, curious, brought a hand up to the side of his face and took it away, looking at the blood staining his fingertips. He sighed and turned his head, speaking up.

"It's not bad, is it?" He asked, Jessan now dabbing the cotton on the gash on the man's face. "No, not too bad. Looks like a piece of brick chipped you." Jessan answered back, bringing away the bloody cotton ball. He grabbed the alcohol and splashed some onto the gash on Finx's brow, and then attached a small bandage to it. After a second, both arbitrators were sitting down, Jessan leaning against the wall from his seated position, and Finx propped up on his elbows. A moment of silence passed between the two men, with only the sounds of the screaming wounded and shouts of medicaes and passing arbitrators, and the distant sound of gunfire and explosion filling the air.

"Shit." Jessan said simply, in such a matter-of-fact way, that Finx began to laugh lightly, followed by Jessan. "By the Throne, what have we got ourselves into." Finx said with an ironic grin on his face. "I was looking forward to the day off duty after midday, but I guess not." He said, laying back fully onto his back and covering his face with his hands. Jessan simply chuckled, also going over the recent events in his head. "Of all days and places." Jessan said, referring to the evident uprising. "I was told this backwater world was quiet." He said, Finx removing his hands from his face and staring up at the roof of the inside courtyard. "Always the quiet ones, they say." Finx answered back, causing Jessan to make a 'hmph' sound.

It was then at that time that a judge entered the courtyard, flanked by an arbitrator, and shouted out to gather the attention of the occupants. The chatter died down, and some of the wounded men tried to stifle their cries of pain. "Attention, attention." The judge said quickly, "Any and all walking wounded in non-critical condition that can carry a weapon, with me. Quickly, please." He announced, and after a short second a number of men arose from the wounded, making their way towards the judge. Finx and Jessan exchanged glances, and with some help from Finx, Jessan and his new found friend made their way with the others towards the center of the room with the judge. Finx still had his shotgun, but Jessan had likely dropped his when he was shot.

After looking over the wounded mob of men before him, the judge nodded and motioned behind him. "Alright, we need more defenders on the upper battlements. Those without weapons either find one or help our gunners or the wounded. Those of you with weapons, to the walls and murder-holes." He announced simply, turning around and leading the procession off into one of the side corridors. Finx, walking beside Jessan, suddenly handed him a laspistol from somewhere. "Here." He said simply, "Take my spare." Jessan, checking the powerpack, offered his thanks and nodded.

---

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius
Motor Pool

Captain-Commissar Amsel and the Thermidorian trooper he had ordered with him arrived at the motor pool in a matter of a few short minutes. Amsel made a path towards the scene of the explosion as his tall and intimidating form seemed to part guardsmen like water. Especially since his bolt pistol was out. However, as he reached the area where the explosion had went off, no doubt a case of munitions mishandling, a serious offense, Amsel spotted another commissar on scene. This commissar, wearing almost an identical uniform to Amsel's was of a much shorter frame with a peaked cap which looked slightly too large for the figure wearing it. Even without seeing his youthful face, it was none other than Junior-Commissar Claus, Amsel's adjutant from the Higaran company.

Claus was standing near the spot where the explosion had detonated, and there was some gore laying about. Amsel, scowling something fierce, met eyes with the equally scowling Junior-Commissar. "Captain-Commissar!" Claus stated in a calm and authoritarian voice, something which he was lacking in before Amsel had taken command of the boy, "One casualty." He said simply, holding up the ruined and scorched remains of a peaked cap, belonging to none other than another commissar. Amsel took the proffered cap, turning it around in his hands as if he was inspecting it for clues, and then handed it back.

"I'm not aware of any incompetent commissars in this regiment. Even then, a basic trooper understands not to play with munitions." He said, Claus nodding. "A tank shell, sir. From what I've gathered from the others, there was a tank shell laying around here when our late commissar passed by. I...I don't think I must inform you that tank shells don't just detonate at random." The junior-commissar added, and Amsel nodded. Amsel then turned to look at the Thermidorian he had brought along with him, and spoke up to her. "Go fetch a medicae to clean up this mess." He said, then looking over at the mostly scorched small pieces of remains laying around the small crater in the concrete ground.

Amsel then turned his attention back to the surrounding area of the vehicles and gathered guardsmen, most of which have retreated some distance. Captain-Commissar Amsel spotted the Thermidorian, Lieutenant Sinnett, and Command Sergeant Major Alden of the Urdeshi, and pointed at them. "Both of you. What do you know of this?"

[Lunas Legion]

"And that, Lieutenant Pavelum, was the last bloody time I ever made a jump out the back of a Valkyrie." Captain Berhalm shook his head sadly as he poured a glass of Amasec from a hip flask. "Bloody idiot Admiral and the bloody idiots in the Navy and the bloody idiot General..."

Pavelum shook his head as he lay back on his bunk. The 47th, as they still considered themselves, or the 1st, as the Departmento Munitorium would have them be known, had long grown used to their Captain's endless recites of the Hive Askardon Incident. It was something that weighed heavily on them all; Hakaroni were drop troops through and through, and were only ever assigned to drop regiments. The 47th would never recieve any reinforcements from their homeworld, having effectively dishonoured the entire planet with their re-designation.

None of the company paid much attention to the roar of a detonating tank shell; their Tauroses and Sentinels were kept well away from any heavy ordinance and it was more than likely to be little more than a PDF shell from one of their artillery pieces that had veered off target into the base grounds.

"Anyone seen Commisar Guibbet?" One of the Tauros drivers asked as he shoved open the door to the barracks, idily wiping one hand on his sleeve. "Some explosion in one of the other motorpools, well away from the Tauros." The various Guardsmen scattered around the barracks shook their heads, Berhalm and Pavelum included. The driver shrugged and sat down on a bed near the door. "Thought he might be in here."

"Nah." A slightly younger Guardsman shouted from the back. "Ol' Guibbet's gone to the motor pool I think, muttered something about the 'damned ground pounders thar can't look after the damned vehicles properly'. Don't think he was too happy about the redeployment either."

"None of us are, Guardsman." Berhalm sighed. "We may have fought on the ground, but we are Hakaroni; we were born to start the flight from the air, not the ground."

"A fair fight is a wasted fight." Pavelum repeated the Regiment's motto.

"To the Emperor's 47th, and their restoration!" Lucas raised his flask of Amasec into the air in a toast.

"To the 47th!" The other Guardsmen echoed as they settled down again. At least this wasn't a combat posting so they wouldn't be doing anything until some Orks showed up, because Orks always showed up.

[Morrdh]

5th (Morridane) Company Billets, Sector One, Fort Macharius

Captain Stormwell finished his rounds of the fort, checking in with the various Morridane sections and speaking with the various officers and NCOs, and made his way back to the administration block to finish his daily reports. These reports, when the unit wasn't in the middle of a warzone, were mandated by the Departmento and so there wasn't really any excuse for getting out of doing them. Though he figured they would just end up on the desk of some senior Departmento scribe and data-signed without the contents even being read, though it probably wasn't a wise idea to simply put down in the report.

As he walked back to the company's main billets he wondered about the Morridanes' future, replacements had been promised and reportedly on their way with no fixed date as to when they were to be expected. Plus for the foreseeable they were lumbered with garrison duty, he suspected the Departmento had pulled together all the scraps from battle depleted units for the garrison rather than use a combat ready unit for the task. In a way he could see the Departmento's logic and it allowed battle weary troops a chance to rest, but at the same time those same troops could be a powder keg after being neck deep in the stress of constant fighting for months on end. With bored troops came morale problems and an ever-escalating war of inter-unit pranks could lead to further problems and unrest.

However he stopped just short of the Morridane billets and lost his train of thought.

Some joker had placed an outhouse with an attached sign that read; 'FORT MACH GHQ' just off the main roadway where it had attracted attention from some amused guardsmen, whilst Captain Stormwell could see the humour in it he wasn't so sure that some of the non-Morridane officers would. He quickened his pace and set off in search of some Morridanes to remove the offending object before serious trouble came their way.

[Bredtonia]

"Mikel." Fermi called out as soon as the resonating sounds of the detonation settled down. The requested enginseer poked his head out from the storage area behind the Factorium. Catching his movement in the corner of her electronic eye, Fermi continued "Investigate the cause and damage of the explosion."

"Master?" Enginseer Mikel started, "Our company does not possess the ordinance necessary to produce such an explosion."

"We are in a mixed regiment now, Mikel, we have some responsibility to all the spirits here." Fermi replied. When he still seemed hesitant, she added "Now go."

The subordinate enginseer bowed and exited the Mechanicus trailer before taking off at a hustle down the old runway. The rising smoke made it obvious where the explosion had taken place.

---

Moments earlier, the second squad thrower for the blood-bowl game going on outside had launched a reasonably accurate thirty yard pass to a teammate who was developing a significantly improved record over their last deployment. The ball was never caught; training driven into instinct sent the men and women of Armageddon running low for their transports the instant the detonation took place.

The Steel Legion were trained to not just fighting any orks, but fighting Ghazghkull's orks, who are amongst the most cunning in the galaxy. Sneek attacks on bases by ork kommandos were not unknown, and in the event of something unexpected, Steel Legion infantry are taught to arm up first, and worry about what actually happened second. After all, Orks could always show up.

The 10th company camp was filled with the sounds of shouting and the starting coughs of Chimera engines turning over and awakening from their three day slumber. Sergeants barked out orders over the sounds of lasgun magazines being slammed into guns and the whine of multilaser turrets priming to fire.

Meanwhile, the Steel Legions command-vox frequency was alive with the sounds of the companies lieutenants sharing their limited information and coordinating an auspex sweep of the surrounding area. They weren't worried about the soldiers, they trusted the sergeants to get them ready and in line, the officer's duty was to figure out what they needed to do once they were ready.

---

Engineseer Mikel, who was dressed almost identical to a Steel Legion officer, save for a few Mars Red symbols and a cog and skull patch on his shoulders, almost ran into CSM Alden as he turned the corner where they were staring at the crater that had once been an Imperial Commissar. He to stopped short at the forming parameter of men around the damage. He arrived just in time to hear the Junior Commissar's final comment.

"The Holy Precepts of Mars require Battle Cannon shells not to detonate for less then eight thousand newts; a human in incapable of produce that kind of force on a resting shell."

The enginseer paused for a moment and looked around, seeing the various vehicles and other items scattered around. "Who's machines are these, they were also likely damaged during the detonation."

---

Realizing he was in the correct place, Sgt. Bryant took on a somewhat more confident attitude. He covered the distance between himself and Bellona's desk in a couple strides. He seemed unaffected by the sarcastic reply; the product being the company's steward, the man almost inevitably sent to wrangle supplies out of munitorum representatives.

"Food, ammunition, a Baneblade, the usual." He quipped as he put the small stack of binder-clipped papers on her desk, somewhere that resembled an 'in' box. "Just a stack Munitorum Forms D-17-03; signed by the quartermaster and the company's commanding officer."

He was turning to leave again when the building was rocked with the detonation of a battle cannon round somewhere in the complex. True to his training, Bryant dove behind the limited cover provided by Bellona's desk and pushed his mask onto his face. "What the hell was that?" he asked rhetorically.

[Atelia]

Imperial Planet Pan Arcadia
Fort Macharius
Open Space between Sector four and Sector three housing


Captain Serecinius Abrukis Dari Guarkin Huanin Vanstahalin walked up a red carpet, his shining golden mask of Verdiscius looking over to the right as the sunlight gleamed from the top of his helm. His eyes set on his company as they laid out before him his serfs bowing, and his noble troops kneeling before his presence, and as he turns his head to look towards his stage he looks up to see their icon of Verdiscius, a twelve foot tall monument to their most holy Saint. Its copper structure implanted firmly in the ground, it shows to all the faith of the Irilaxi! The Icon itself is a large mask of Verdiscius much like those worn by the company, with tears flowing from its eyes, and an Aquila proudly perched upon the crown of skulls that rest upon the mask.

Serecinius Abrukis Dari Guarkin Huanin Vanstahalin continued walking until he was under the tears of his Saint and with a nod the flames of the All Father were lit beside him, and he looked up at the heavens rising his hands out over himself and began the High Gothic chant.
"One more day does man rise under his most benevolent view! And with his saints at his side may he forever guide us to greatness! Praise the Emperor!"
And with that the whole company shouted out at their loudest voice their praise!

Serecinius Abrukis Dari Guarkin Huanin Vanstahalin then bowed his head in prayer.
"Let you know Emperor we shall of all that we do in your name. For your guidance and the glory you have bestowed upon us we eternally have thanks. And forever shall we lay down our lives for he who has led Humanity to conquer all. He who is the holiest man who is ever to live. And to Saint Druscius he who wept eternal tears for Humanity and led the glorious Crusade of the righteous against the arch enemy. We forever honor your name by bearing your icon through with us in battle. Ave Imperator."
And with that the Company leader raises his head.
"Sons of Druscius rise!"
And with that the small legion rose up to their feet with Hell gun, and autogun at the ready.
*BOOM*
At the sound of an explosion from the motor pool the Irilaxi jumped into position rank and file in rows at the ready for an attack. Captain Serecinius Abrukis Dari Guarkin Huanin Vanstahalin ran towards the motor pool skidding past the walls to investigate the explosion alongside a retinue of six priest his crimson cloak fluttering in the wind behind him.

[Sub Sector Protractis]

Fort Macharius
North East barracks area

With a sigh Major Alexander Vertis set down a battalion supply manifest. He turned to his aide and said " Corporal, I am going to speak to the regimental Commissar and the Thermidorian commander. I have a matter of personal businesses to address, see the men stay in our battalion area. I don't want them mixing with the Mordian women yet as we have just settled in and I don't want the latter part of the word Nobleman to complicate our stay here. Also the strange shock troops keep then at an arms distance they seem to have something off about them. I want full watches and * BOOM!* By the Throne! Order the men to stand too!"

The Major jumped out of his chair las pistol in hand. As he stormed out the door his four man staff following him weapons in hand. Alexander saw smoke coming from the company motor pool he looked back and yelled "Get a platoon to the motor pool and bring some stretchers! "

As Alexander jogged toward the motor pool his heart rate began to slow as he realized there were no follow on blasts. Indicating it was mist likely a negligent discharge and not a bombardment.

As he approached he saw the figure of Captain Commissar Amsel and a guardswomen from a different company. He slowed to a walk putting his side arm away just as Commissar Amsel began to question those present. Alexander spoke up saying " Lord Commissar are there any wounded?"

A he looked back he saw some 40 odd men if his battalion running with a handful of streachers.