Shouting, "Y'all heard Sarge, lets move it!" Hoping into the Chimera and doing a head count. Everything seemed in order, just waiting on Sarge and Ralley to finish. Taking up a seat next to Natalia, looking a bit more nervous now that some unknown authority is around. Making sure the other brass wasnt in earshot, "Tibs what in the Emperors name is going on? whats with other companies giving Sarge orders?"
The 1337th New Texas Abyssal Fists
- Thread starter Konrad
- Start date
"Way above my pay grade. I've heard about these guys, I'd rather be on their good side," Tib whispered back, leaning in towards Wilhelm, "You know me, I hate authority but this guy? He fucking scares me. I'd rather fire my lascannon alone in the middle of the road at at incoming warbuggu than piss him off. I'm just going to smile and nod."
Ralley heeds the sergeant's orders and starts hauling herself and her gear back into the Chimera. Squeezing between people in the, now crowded, crew compartment, her eyes meet that of a young member of their contingent. Even though the battle had long since ended— at least for now— the young woman looked utterly terrified and on the edge of a mental break. No words were spoken between them but as Ralley passed, she seemed to steel herself. Enough at least to mask her terror and tighten her grip on her lasgun.
Good thing too, Ralley thought, we have no use for frightened children where we're headed.
Reuniting with the driver's seat, Ralley ran through her operation checks. Ignition, door control, fire suppression, drive pedals; everything checked in order, as dictated by the primer. Anything less was a disservice to the machine spirit within the great lumbering beast.
"We're ready to push off Sarge!" Ralley announced, turning to look over her shoulder. The young woman was eyeing her from around the corner of the support wall that separated the crew compartment from the operational sections of the tank, but Ralley ignored her and continued, "Everybody strap in, things are liable to get a little dicey."
Good thing too, Ralley thought, we have no use for frightened children where we're headed.
Reuniting with the driver's seat, Ralley ran through her operation checks. Ignition, door control, fire suppression, drive pedals; everything checked in order, as dictated by the primer. Anything less was a disservice to the machine spirit within the great lumbering beast.
"We're ready to push off Sarge!" Ralley announced, turning to look over her shoulder. The young woman was eyeing her from around the corner of the support wall that separated the crew compartment from the operational sections of the tank, but Ralley ignored her and continued, "Everybody strap in, things are liable to get a little dicey."
Cyntha noodded to Ralley once at her command post. "Alright people, this was as good a first engagement the fisters could have asked for. Ralley, lets push off for the BDL, LT if you would be so kind as to direct Ralley here to the BDL." she spins up the command seat and sets to watching for any ill welcomed guest, keeping a mind the troops sitting atop the chimera and not swinging the turrent too much. "Tibs keep trying to get a link with command. I don't like wondering like a tyranid looking for its next meal."
Lt. Schrilblut follows Ralley up to the helm and leans forward to peer out the narrow driver's sight. Pointing down the tarmac, he informs her, "There's a supply depot about three hundred yards down on your left. It's at the edge of the perimeter of the city." He glances briefly to Cyntha over his shoulder, "Your platoon will be co-located with my boys there."
After some initial interference, Tiberius gets a response by the unmistakable western New Texan drawl of Lt. Rancher. "Yea, Tibs, I hear ye. Whatcha got?" After Tiberius passed on the Brontian Lieutenant's request and explained the location of the supply depot, Lt. Rancher affirmed that he would meet them all there.
The drive was short and uneventful. Any attempts to speak with the Brontians, even their commanding officer, were met with silence or noncommittal grunts. Once on location, it was a simple matter to unite the two Lieutenants who immediately stepped away to have a private conversation. The office in which they chose to have their palaver had no door, and it would be a simple matter to eavesdrop... assuming someone was willing to risk the ire of not one, but two platoon commanders (+10 Stealth check, cannot be assisted).
But of course, there is never a moment's rest for a Guardsman. Almost as soon as their Brontian cargo is unloaded, Sergeant Cyntha is informed by one of her colleagues that their platoon has need of strong, able-bodied Guardsmen to help clear away the debris from the defensive positions around the supply depot. The backbreaking labor will be intensive, but it will also give the squad a chance to interact with their fellow platoon-mates and their new neighbors, the 4th Brontian Longknives.
(This would be a good time to ask around about any information you may want, or connections you may wish to make regarding supply acquisitions. Any Investigation checks you make about the war or Longknives can be made with a +20 as you have established a positive reputation.)
After some initial interference, Tiberius gets a response by the unmistakable western New Texan drawl of Lt. Rancher. "Yea, Tibs, I hear ye. Whatcha got?" After Tiberius passed on the Brontian Lieutenant's request and explained the location of the supply depot, Lt. Rancher affirmed that he would meet them all there.
The drive was short and uneventful. Any attempts to speak with the Brontians, even their commanding officer, were met with silence or noncommittal grunts. Once on location, it was a simple matter to unite the two Lieutenants who immediately stepped away to have a private conversation. The office in which they chose to have their palaver had no door, and it would be a simple matter to eavesdrop... assuming someone was willing to risk the ire of not one, but two platoon commanders (+10 Stealth check, cannot be assisted).
But of course, there is never a moment's rest for a Guardsman. Almost as soon as their Brontian cargo is unloaded, Sergeant Cyntha is informed by one of her colleagues that their platoon has need of strong, able-bodied Guardsmen to help clear away the debris from the defensive positions around the supply depot. The backbreaking labor will be intensive, but it will also give the squad a chance to interact with their fellow platoon-mates and their new neighbors, the 4th Brontian Longknives.
(This would be a good time to ask around about any information you may want, or connections you may wish to make regarding supply acquisitions. Any Investigation checks you make about the war or Longknives can be made with a +20 as you have established a positive reputation.)
"Oi, Johnny Boy!" shouted Tib over the din.
"Fuck off Tib, I told you not to call me that. It's Lieutenant Johnny Walker to you, you damn scoundrel," scowled Johnny, "What the hell do you want?"
"Do you even have to ask? You know I want one of those sweet, sweet M41 Multi-lasers," replied Tib with a smirk.
Johnny sighs "Why aren't you content with that lascannon? You know it's the cream of the crop."
"Yeah...well, it makes one person scream in agony. I want to serve up that pain up to whom it may concern."
"Fuck off Tib, I told you not to call me that. It's Lieutenant Johnny Walker to you, you damn scoundrel," scowled Johnny, "What the hell do you want?"
"Do you even have to ask? You know I want one of those sweet, sweet M41 Multi-lasers," replied Tib with a smirk.
Johnny sighs "Why aren't you content with that lascannon? You know it's the cream of the crop."
"Yeah...well, it makes one person scream in agony. I want to serve up that pain up to whom it may concern."
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"dammit Tibbers ya keep saying that, right up until ya see some bullshit walkin can opener and ya one shot the green bastards into the warp while the rest of us cry as we just lightly heat up its armor. Besides, thats what weve got 'nades for, i dont think las sends any message cept 'wit the Emperors Blessing'." Wilhelm starts mumbling off to Natalia about stories of crazy ork mechs that shouldnt be able to move and how dumb xeno engineering must really be.
"Alright squad, restock and then clear this rubble. I want this supply depot nice and clear for xeno target practice." Dismounts from the chimera. "Ralley give our beauty here a once over and see about a name for her. Something real pretty like." She gives the squad a once over. "For our first engagement, couldn't ask for a better start!" she nods and goes to resupply. After a few moments to herself and inspecting her gear, she moves over to one of the more senior longknives. "Sergeant Cyntha, glad we could assist on the airfield. Anything my boys can help with just let us know. So what has your squad been tasked with?" (inqury 53(43FEL -10untrained +20bonus) v roll 18 (3 successes(if those matter here)))
"Roger roger sarge," Ralley answered, grinning eagerly at the Chimera.
"Don't worry this isn't my first time with a fine lady such as yourself," she says, retrieving a number of tools— Data-slate, Lascutter, Combi-tool, and a few others— from her pack, "I'll find all the right spots and will have you purring in no time."
She removes the flak armor from her chest and unzips the top portion of the uniform beneath, revealing a black tank top and skin covered in ink of all shades and hues. The most pronounced of which is the Imperial Eagle— spreading across her back and shoulders— followed a pair of matching prases on each forearm— I shall.
Securing the upper half of her uniform around her waist, she scans the surrounding troops for an assistant. Spotting the young soldier that was watching her earlier, Ralley crosses the area and interrupts her conversation with a fellow guardsman— another young initiate with a chiseled jaw and bright blue eyes.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. You're going to help me with that beautiful lady over there," she said, pointing at the Chimera, "C'mon"
The young woman follows her back to the tank and Ralley begins explaining the tools of the trade, followed by the rules of working with gifts from the Mechanicus.
"First off, strip down to whatever you got beneath your uniform," she explains, motioning at herself as an example, "If you got nothing on under there, then you're braver than you look. You're likely to get a lot of drippings on you, working on one of these, good to try and save the uniform if you can. Then, it's time to pray."
"Pray?" the young woman asks, finally breaking her silence.
"To the machine spirit. A small measure of respect goes a long way," Ralley replies, kneeling before the great war beast— their protector, their salvation.
She closes her eyes and begins reciting words that sound, to any within earshot, as practiced and well-worn as the grips of their lasguns, "This Machine is discharged into your care. Fight with this machine, and guard it from the shame of defeat. Serve this machine, as you would have it fight for you."
After a moment of silence, Ralley, responds to the invocation, "I shall."
Then, without another word, she sets to the task of maintaining... Tyra... she decides, harkening back to an old word uttered by her grandfather.
"Tyra," she says, trying out the name, sliding her open palm across the tank's armor, "Like thunder."
"Don't worry this isn't my first time with a fine lady such as yourself," she says, retrieving a number of tools— Data-slate, Lascutter, Combi-tool, and a few others— from her pack, "I'll find all the right spots and will have you purring in no time."
She removes the flak armor from her chest and unzips the top portion of the uniform beneath, revealing a black tank top and skin covered in ink of all shades and hues. The most pronounced of which is the Imperial Eagle— spreading across her back and shoulders— followed a pair of matching prases on each forearm— I shall.
Securing the upper half of her uniform around her waist, she scans the surrounding troops for an assistant. Spotting the young soldier that was watching her earlier, Ralley crosses the area and interrupts her conversation with a fellow guardsman— another young initiate with a chiseled jaw and bright blue eyes.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. You're going to help me with that beautiful lady over there," she said, pointing at the Chimera, "C'mon"
The young woman follows her back to the tank and Ralley begins explaining the tools of the trade, followed by the rules of working with gifts from the Mechanicus.
"First off, strip down to whatever you got beneath your uniform," she explains, motioning at herself as an example, "If you got nothing on under there, then you're braver than you look. You're likely to get a lot of drippings on you, working on one of these, good to try and save the uniform if you can. Then, it's time to pray."
"Pray?" the young woman asks, finally breaking her silence.
"To the machine spirit. A small measure of respect goes a long way," Ralley replies, kneeling before the great war beast— their protector, their salvation.
She closes her eyes and begins reciting words that sound, to any within earshot, as practiced and well-worn as the grips of their lasguns, "This Machine is discharged into your care. Fight with this machine, and guard it from the shame of defeat. Serve this machine, as you would have it fight for you."
After a moment of silence, Ralley, responds to the invocation, "I shall."
Then, without another word, she sets to the task of maintaining... Tyra... she decides, harkening back to an old word uttered by her grandfather.
"Tyra," she says, trying out the name, sliding her open palm across the tank's armor, "Like thunder."
Works at clearing out some of the rubble into defensible lines along the sides of the runway for faster trench making. Wilhelm looks over at the dead orks for a moment, "Sarge dont forget we gotta burn the bodies. Or those green bastards'l be sprouting up all over the place!"
"I know yer too young for this Nat, but some thirty years ago in the a 'small' Ork invasion happened. Engulfed the Crockett Region along the border near Glasscock. Sumthin around 20-30 million Orks hit hard. Nearly two thirds the planet was conscripted by the PDF, yours truly included. Let me tell you those Ork scum were brutal, you kill a thousand in front of them and they dont flinch, ya had ta slaughter them with the full force of the guard, some serious shock and awe treatment, to get them to waver. Once their blood is in a frenzy, they lose what little minds they have. When the guard arrived it was a hell of a lot easier. Clean up took a few years but we pretty much eradicated them off the planet. Just keep yer head down when you see some massively stupid, impossible walker moving around. Those things may look like a fat, drunk necron but they usually have guns bigger than most tanks strapped to them..."
Clears his throat after thinking on his words a moment, "and i dont mean they have large tank guns, i mean they have guns literally bigger than whole tanks. So do what you can to keep Tibs alive and shooting but stay down as much as you can."
"I know yer too young for this Nat, but some thirty years ago in the a 'small' Ork invasion happened. Engulfed the Crockett Region along the border near Glasscock. Sumthin around 20-30 million Orks hit hard. Nearly two thirds the planet was conscripted by the PDF, yours truly included. Let me tell you those Ork scum were brutal, you kill a thousand in front of them and they dont flinch, ya had ta slaughter them with the full force of the guard, some serious shock and awe treatment, to get them to waver. Once their blood is in a frenzy, they lose what little minds they have. When the guard arrived it was a hell of a lot easier. Clean up took a few years but we pretty much eradicated them off the planet. Just keep yer head down when you see some massively stupid, impossible walker moving around. Those things may look like a fat, drunk necron but they usually have guns bigger than most tanks strapped to them..."
Clears his throat after thinking on his words a moment, "and i dont mean they have large tank guns, i mean they have guns literally bigger than whole tanks. So do what you can to keep Tibs alive and shooting but stay down as much as you can."
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Lt. Walker grumbled something under his breath that sounded like it rhymed with, "Reedy mudder trucker," then sighed and shook his head. (Commerce 40 [30 + 10 for supply availability] v 92, failure). "Ain't even cracked open the supply ships. Can't get ya one now. Try back later, ya goon."
Cyntha had approached a sergeant of the Longknives, judging by his pauldron. He looked her up and down appraisingly. Something about what he saw made him stand up tall- perhaps their reputation was spreading. "Chous jes ge here witta armor reg? Sumin good roun here fonce, an non too late watta be witta skirmy soonin." The man's deep voice made it all the more difficult to parse his rural Brontian accent (Linguistics Test +0 for full translation). "Ye, we's stiffin legs onna here n now, but rain a gonna come a chasin cloods same as same. Ya thumps eeder burly summa stone er stiff shop, same as same t'me."
After finishing their rites, Ralley's recruit stood up. "That's a beautiful name," the younger Guardswoman cooed. Then she extended a bare arm to shake. "Ralley, I'm Chambers."
As if on queue to Wilhelm's comment regarding corpses, a distant shout of, "Hit it!" could be heard, followed by the bellow and belch of an industrial crematory perhaps halfway down the block. If they were to peer back toward the runway, they might also see a few Brontian guardsmen with flamers doing initial burns as a preventative measure.
(We'll do one or two more rounds of this before we push to the next encounter.)
Cyntha had approached a sergeant of the Longknives, judging by his pauldron. He looked her up and down appraisingly. Something about what he saw made him stand up tall- perhaps their reputation was spreading. "Chous jes ge here witta armor reg? Sumin good roun here fonce, an non too late watta be witta skirmy soonin." The man's deep voice made it all the more difficult to parse his rural Brontian accent (Linguistics Test +0 for full translation). "Ye, we's stiffin legs onna here n now, but rain a gonna come a chasin cloods same as same. Ya thumps eeder burly summa stone er stiff shop, same as same t'me."
After finishing their rites, Ralley's recruit stood up. "That's a beautiful name," the younger Guardswoman cooed. Then she extended a bare arm to shake. "Ralley, I'm Chambers."
As if on queue to Wilhelm's comment regarding corpses, a distant shout of, "Hit it!" could be heard, followed by the bellow and belch of an industrial crematory perhaps halfway down the block. If they were to peer back toward the runway, they might also see a few Brontian guardsmen with flamers doing initial burns as a preventative measure.
(We'll do one or two more rounds of this before we push to the next encounter.)
"Awww come on Lieutenant...alrighty. I'll be back later. Ya better be ready then!" Tib laughed. While he was disappointed, he kinda figured that would be the answer. Nothing like harassing the requisitions folks every now and then. Gotta keep them on their toes.
He bid farewell to Walker, and ambled his way over to some of the Longknives pushing some barricades further down the road. "Howdy, you fellers want some help with that?"
He bid farewell to Walker, and ambled his way over to some of the Longknives pushing some barricades further down the road. "Howdy, you fellers want some help with that?"
"It's nice to meet ya," Ralley answers, beaming at the recruit and shaking her hand, "Now the real work begins."
She goes to the pile of tools removing two small cans, handing one to Chambers while keeping one for herself.
"This lovely shit is... well let's just call it elbow grease," she explains, twisting the top of the can off.
The black, gelatinous sludge inside the can wafts into the air, smelling of motor oil, burned meat, and sweat.
"Get a little bit of it on two fingers and coat any moving part you can find, it will keep this lovely lady in fighting form," she says, pointing to the opposite side of the tank, "Start on that end and we'll meet in the middle. Then, once that's done, we'll come up with an insignia."
She goes to the pile of tools removing two small cans, handing one to Chambers while keeping one for herself.
"This lovely shit is... well let's just call it elbow grease," she explains, twisting the top of the can off.
The black, gelatinous sludge inside the can wafts into the air, smelling of motor oil, burned meat, and sweat.
"Get a little bit of it on two fingers and coat any moving part you can find, it will keep this lovely lady in fighting form," she says, pointing to the opposite side of the tank, "Start on that end and we'll meet in the middle. Then, once that's done, we'll come up with an insignia."
After recharging their packs, Wilhelm and Natalia make their way to a slight trenched area on the side of the runway near the chimera, most likely for rain to flow along. "Hey tibs we can set up over here in case the orks come in again. we got some rubble fer cover and a decent sized trench. I would prefer to have armor around us but just in case more of those rokkit bastards make it around while Ralley is running maintenance..."
looking back at Natalia giving him a worried look, "better to be safe right? besides it gives us a good spot fer your cooking. i dont know how you turn corpse rations into something edible but you are the savior of our taste buds. i dont know how anything could taste worse than surstrom, but corpse ration beats it hands down."
"dont tell me ya never had surstrom? what part of New Texas were you from? Its a mixture of fish and ceedhog meat thats fermented for a few months...it tastes like death but it keeps forever if its a bad winter. Tibs yoov had surstrom right?"
looking back at Natalia giving him a worried look, "better to be safe right? besides it gives us a good spot fer your cooking. i dont know how you turn corpse rations into something edible but you are the savior of our taste buds. i dont know how anything could taste worse than surstrom, but corpse ration beats it hands down."
"dont tell me ya never had surstrom? what part of New Texas were you from? Its a mixture of fish and ceedhog meat thats fermented for a few months...it tastes like death but it keeps forever if its a bad winter. Tibs yoov had surstrom right?"