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Post by Rolling Thunder on Aug 26, 2009 10:53:51 GMT -5
Even from here, you can hear their cry, that deep, visceral roar that you feel more than you hear, the booming retorts of each one melding into a symphonic mix of dull, thunderous crashes that not even this bastard rain can mute beneath it's thick sheet of wetness, a wall of water descending from the heavens to blanket Hive Kalimus beneath it's funeral shroud.
"The Emperor weeps" whispered Lieutenant Montfort Drake, as stood beneath the armoured lip of the Regimental Command bunker, watching the rain plummet earthwards like some unending army. Each raindrop a Guardsman, falling from the blue-black dropships that blotted out the sky above. There was a certain irony to it, he contemplated, as he shut his eyes and lit a lho-stick, the rasping flare of phosphorous igniting into a single, supernova-flare in the grey-black shadow he stood in, fading to the low, warm glow of a banked fire as the stick caught, blackening and crumpling inward as the fire began it's slow consumption. Beautiful as well, in it's own way, this unceasing, whispering tempo that sang like a soprano, to the orchestral thunder of the Imperial guns in the distance.
Officer now, he thought. Man of iron, will of adamant. Fire spouts from mine lips, and thunder at the slightest gesture. Balls. Just another bloody soldier with the misfortune to survive this long. And a tendancy to make too many friends in high bloody places. Must remember to let the next brasshat cop a faceful of shrapnel, instead of saving his hide, if this is the reward it brings. Bah. War's war, no matter if you've got your first pip or narry a stripe. At least they won't kill me quite so out of hand.
"Lieutenant Drake?" said a voice. Behind him, one of the bunker's doors had slid open without so much as a noise, at least as he could tell, between his own distraction, and the lullabye overture playing out around him. Turning, he saw a subaltern, a young man in what appeared to be his twenties, looking directly at him.
"The General wishes to see you now." As if reading his mind, the orderly added "They'll be bringing your platoon up through the tunnel system. Couldn't risk them catching on as to what was going on. Come on in."
Drake nodded, bringing the Lho-stick into his palm, and, without any sign of pain, crushed the burning flare-head in his grasp.
A little pain, a little payback. The hell did it matter, another scar?
- - - - - - -
Drake was sweating, as he strode down the over-warm corridor. Too damn warm for his liking, especially after the refreshing chill of the rain outside, his fatigues sticking to his body unpleasantly. So this was his first command. A bunch of petty crooks, crazies, and a few decent Guardsmen drafted in for him to keep an eye on. They barely qualified for the title of 'Squad', let alone that of 'Platoon'. Still, there was a Commissar in there with them, to aid him in keeping the men in line. And put a round in the back of my skull if I outlive my usefulness, eh, Kathorn?
"Briefing room six" he murmured, as he paused at that doorway. Emperor damn it, he was worried, but the hell if he'd let them see. Ach, well, you know what they say. Death or glory, he thought, as he palmed the lock, and opened the door into the gloom and darkness....
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 26, 2009 11:30:57 GMT -5
Commissar Heinrick Sterben, he almost fit the part. He was tall and straight and held his head high with a stern look of proud determination on his scarred face. His uniform was a bit shabby and worn and he looked badly in need of a shave, he was skinny too, he looked starved in fact, like a hungry wolf...and he paced back and forth around the assembled troopers and looked at them through his one good eye as though he were sizing them up as a potential meal.
"Delta team..." his thin upper lip curled in a slight sneer. "Remember, we're the only chance this throne forsaken rock has...if not for us the whole damn planet is doomed, so step briskly and look alive out there. Make the Emperor proud. Have faith and I shall have faith in you...let me down and you've let down the Emperor...remember that the Emperor's judgment is swift."
It wasn't a very pretty speech but it would have to do for now. Sterben turns to Drake and bows his head while offering a courteous two fingered salute as the Lieutenant walks in through the door
"Lieutenant...they're all yours." He said with a cruel little smile, that hungry look still caught in his sunken eye as the sensors on his bionic implant glow and pulse gently and the Commissar takes a step back to allow Drake to fill up the room.
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Post by shugotenshi47 on Aug 26, 2009 12:04:57 GMT -5
Lance Corporal John Saito set on edge. This was the first time he had ever seen a commissar not look he was ready for a parade and that unnerved him. Saito knew when he was detached from the 1st Sylmarian Partisan Rangers he was going to be in for a wild ride but this a whole new level. His eyes turned over to Lieutenant Drake, he had not quite figured out what sort of person the lieutenant was but if he was anything like the commissar this whole mission was probably a suicide run.
Saito stood not quite at attention but not quite relaxed either more like a coiled spring ready to be released at any moment. All he could do know was to sit tight and wait for Lieutenant Drake to begin.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Aug 26, 2009 12:12:19 GMT -5
So far, he hadn't thought much of the new guys brought in to replenish the squad. Chaz Kellion was massive, lean and pale, like all monians. And thus, had the mysterious eyes that could really creep other people out at times. It was a surprise when the nightblade sergeant of A company, Monian 37th had been given a permanent position on Delta team. Now he was the squads scout. It had been a chance meeting, the wraith, separated from his fellows in another routine death-hole. He met with the cadian called Jason, and many others. Many of them died in that damn arbites complex...
He looked across to the new lieutenant of Delta squad. A beast of a man, about equal to Chaz in height terms. The monian was more agile and nimble with a sense if finesse about him, Drake was Drookian, brutish and had a build like a ork. It was the perfect case of mutual contemplation.
Lovingly, he stroked his sacred wraithbane, any monians most beloved possesion. It was hot and stuffy in the briefing bunker, but it was damn better than sitting outside in the falking rain. He called over to the lieutanant as he entered the room. “So, what falk are they tossing us into this time?” He asked in an unnervingly cool tone.
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Post by Laughing Man on Aug 26, 2009 12:24:05 GMT -5
Lucian saw the Monian yell out to the Lieutenant. He rolled his eyes believing such things to be childish and ill-disciplined, he wished the Lieutenant would just get on with it and brief them.
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Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Aug 26, 2009 12:39:58 GMT -5
The Commissar glares at Chaz for a moment.
"Haven't I shot you yet?"
He rested a hand on his bolt pistol and tilted his head to one side as if giving it some serious consideration.
"Bah...just be quiet, I'll get plenty of chances to shoot you later."
He says then clears his throat softly "and watch your mouth." and with that Sterben goes to sit down in the corner so Drake can have everyone's full attention.
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Post by Laughing Man on Aug 26, 2009 12:47:08 GMT -5
Lucian failed to not smirk as the Commissar censored the loud mouth. Lucian hadn't had much contact with Commissar's in his old regiment and was much more used to associating with the Priesthood of Mars and thier disciplinary measures were different, often units were equiped with remote bombs to prevent retreat. He was glad he was serving in a regular guard unit this times, bolt pistols were much easier to dodge than explosive collars if the matter arose. However Lucian could scarcely disarm a bolt-pistol unless the commissar asked him to maintain it.
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Post by Melissia on Aug 26, 2009 12:53:07 GMT -5
Ellen Heinbeck rolled her eyes and sighed to herself. She was clad head to toe in ordinary green and lighter green fatigues, somewhat faded and with some burn marks still on the uniform, a set of black flak armor with a silver Aquila on the forehead of the helmet, and a black form-fitting flame-retardant bodysuit. Her face was covered by a respirator and photovisors, and so not a single bit of skin was revealed-- appropriate for someone whom was often carrying as much explosives as she did.
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Aug 26, 2009 12:58:54 GMT -5
Chaz scowled at the commissars or “commies” as they were called in his regiment. They were a rare sight in monian regiments due to them being seen as embodiments of the high commands attitude to the common soldier as cannon fodder. Sergeant Kellion would only obey Sterben as long as it was compulsory. Sterben was another familiar face from the arbites centre.
Then he just caught the subtle laugh of that new fish, uh...Lucian, wasn't it? He quickly shot him that poisonous stare, the kind of “don't laugh at the sneaky bastard who lived 19 years of his life in the coldest, predator infested hell in the Ultima Segmentum” stare that he liked to use.
The monian soon turned back at the lieutenant.
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Post by Laughing Man on Aug 26, 2009 13:06:38 GMT -5
Lucian saw the Monian glaring. Ah frak he saw me smiling he thought. He pondered over the Monians usefulness a little considering that a man so unintimidatable was coming he might be good in a firefight. He also made note of the figure clad in flame retardant armour and thought either pyromaniac or demolitions believing the latter to be more likely due to the lack of promethium stink.
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 26, 2009 14:16:36 GMT -5
Isan stood, looking through his side vision at the team.
This is the Delta team that the Major, the LT, and Havoc Squad fought with?
So far, he didn't know what to make of it. The coolness, and the lack of "discipline" meant that the unit had been together for a while, or that the unit was good enough that they knew they could get away with more.
Either way, it wasn't his problem. His main mission was to serve as the communications expert, and to learn to fight with a foreign group, as this was his first time away from his squad, and specifically, away from his fire team.
Isan was clad head to toe in heavy carapace armor, with a full face visor in the front, making it impossible to see any facial features at all. The armor itself was painted jet black, with dark blue highlights.
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Post by Rolling Thunder on Aug 26, 2009 14:29:49 GMT -5
Drake chuckled. The wirey Monian had broached the question weighing on all their minds. Interesting bunch of cutthroats. Very Tanith-like....but not. Much more arrogant, and far, far crueler, a sadistic streak running through their blood that he very much admired. The rest were a fairly interesting band. The Commissar was clearly not in the soundest frame of mind, an unnerving, and at the same time fascinating little quixote his hindbrain noted. Another man, bantering with the Monian. Lucian. Sweeper and secondary demolitions. Well, plenty of blast-techs in this crowd, considering he and the Commissar had the training as well.
Speaking of which - ah, yes, the original blazer. Not bad, not bad at all, Drake thought, eyeing the woman appreciatively. How any man could admire a woman behind armour and combat fatigues, let alone the gasmask, but hell. After he finished, he recalled her combat record. Decent one at that.
"Demolitions - take off that blazed respirator" he snapped, suddenly irritable. How the hell could he build a team if no-one knew what the hell she looked like was a near-impossibility. That kind of oddness would pass, but there would have to be some kind of camraderie to overcome it first. She wasn't fething - ah, Tanith, how amusing thou art - fething Death Korps, or some drugged-up Salvar. No bastard excuse for that kind of undiscipline.
"You - knifeman" he said. "Don't play with your food. Sound off, the rest of you, and I'll get on with the briefing!"
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Aug 26, 2009 14:31:37 GMT -5
"Sir." Chaz mentioned with a salute and a grin.
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Post by Kaikelx on Aug 26, 2009 14:45:35 GMT -5
"Sir, yes sir." said Isan as he snapped to attention, well, what amounted to snapping in carapace armor...
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Post by shugotenshi47 on Aug 26, 2009 14:52:03 GMT -5
"Lance Corporal John Saito, medic, 1st Sylmar Partisan Rangers reports as ordered!" Saito snapped to attention and saluted.
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Post by Srgt. Master on Aug 26, 2009 14:55:05 GMT -5
Standing up from his corner, Jack saluted in perfect Cadian fashion, "Plasma Specialist ready, Sir!"
After sounding off he then returned to the maintenance of his plasma gun uttering cants he had learned from the Adeptus Mechanicus while keeping his attention focused on the officer.
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Post by Cadian 117 on Aug 26, 2009 17:35:23 GMT -5
"I'm here. Sir." Jason stood from his corner in the back of the room. The darkness covered his lightly tanned skin, leaving only part of his face to be seen. Walking towards the others, in their chairs near the center of the room, shotgun slapping his abs from its 3-point sling. Resting his arm on the stock of the slug thrower, and placing a foot on the nearest unoccupied chair.
"So, what are we doing now? I see the newbies showed up." he said.
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Post by Laughing Man on Aug 26, 2009 17:53:44 GMT -5
"can we just get on with this, i'd rather know if i'm being sent on a one-way trip sooner rather than later"
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Post by Melissia on Aug 26, 2009 18:51:15 GMT -5
Rolling her eyes again, the woman sighed and started taking off the respirator, it appeared taht the rest of her face was also mostly hidden under the black bodysuit, and it formed a balaclava-esque shape on her face, still hiding it from everyone else. "Armsman Ellen Heinbeck."
Her face was still hidden, just having one less layer. She still had her photo-visor and bodysuit, and the helmet as well. Given how much of her it covered, it would likely take far too much time to safely remove her equipment, get her flak armor off, her uniform off, take her flame-retardant suit off, put her uniform aand flak armor back on, and safely re-arm herself and stow her equipment in the best areas for them on her suit, all for a quick glimpse at her face.
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Post by Srgt. Master on Aug 26, 2009 21:08:33 GMT -5
Seeming to notice the armsman for the first time, Jackasked quickly "What pattern suit is that?" Leaning in to peer at the Photo-visor, Jack's intrest was focused on this interesting piece of technology.
Hmm..Maybe the Imperium's tech isn't so bad after all.... he tought to himself.
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Post by shugotenshi47 on Aug 27, 2009 1:56:58 GMT -5
Saito nudged the plasma gunner on the shoulder and whispered angrily. "Hey, knock it off. Nows not the time for that. You can admire the lady and her gear later we got business to attend to."
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Post by The Refined Gentleman (M.I.A) on Aug 27, 2009 2:44:16 GMT -5
Chaz smirked at the silent banter around him. Some of these soldiers were tooled up like a coghead (although at least one of them was affiliated with them). He must look like a primitive here.
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Post by CaptainHindenburg on Aug 27, 2009 10:30:25 GMT -5
"Sir, Guardsman Paul Akaban, reporting in sir." He saluted, and sat down in his chair. Paul continued to watch the others with interest, noting their peculiarities in the back of his mind so he could better know the person in the future. He set his medi-pack on the table in front of him and began to take another inventory.
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Post by Helmian (M.I.A) on Aug 27, 2009 12:00:05 GMT -5
Well these are a interesting bunch. Julian thought as he snapped to attention as the lieutenant walked in.
Holy feth! He's huge!
He silently tapped Chaz on the shoulder and whispered
''Hey, you're Monian right? I've heard of you guys, stealthers was it?''
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Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2009 12:37:53 GMT -5
Igor smiled from the back of the bunker, Flamer to one side of him. Relighting his squigar, part of a box of them he, 'liberated' from a raid some months back on some orks, he watched the interchange between the mix. Looked rag-tag to him, much the way he preferred. In a loose salute, he puffed out. "So who's the kill hoss?" muffled slightly by the smoldering creature caught between his teeth.
To look at the man, he seemed more of a guerilla than an actual soldier. Wearing loose urban camo fatigue pants and a dull red vest, open to the front, revealing tightly packed muscles. He was also shorter it seemed than most of the lot. Shrugging, and without really waiting for an answer, he kneeled down, checking his pack, and the weapons attached to it. Although it seemed as if he didn't care as to what was going on, he listened intently to all that was said. He also wondered if his luck would hold out with these people. Last he heard, most of the unit he was now attached to was wiped out before, with only the harder individuals still alive.
Shaking his head, he took another puff from his squigar, making sure that he would have enough ammo before hand, before having to resort to combat retreival.
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