After months of training and routine, they were finally facing their first real mission. And yet, despite wishing for that moment for a long time, Arrauth felt like he wasn't ready for the kind of mission. They were given only the most general details, but it was still apparent that they would be fighting other Astartes, except they had better equipment and far more experience. They were also full Astartes. Still, won't be the first time for the jungle dweller to fight something much stronger than him. He's not in the jungle anymore and his foe has Bolters, but the general principles still apply. To hide his anxiousness, Arrauth pretends to carefully check his Sniper Rifle, even thought he did it dozens of times already. While he was weaker and less experienced than his enemies, his aim was good and his weapon should be good enough to deal with them. Looking around at his comrades, it seems like they have the same mixture of emotions - an outwardly stoic appearance with anxiety or perhaps even fear beneath. OOC: Sniper Rifle and Prey-Sense Goggles.
"I will see to re-armament." was all that Theodosius had said, his vox rumbling the room as he made his way out, the contemptor's vigour already being brought back to him; as somber as he may have become in the last few decades in his solitude, what times he was brought to War were times that always made it seem as though he was but a raw recruit, the fire of excitement burning in his veins and his eyes. All he would do now, would be going to the Techmarines for exactly that; re-armament, in attempts of getting an arm replaced with true firepower. Perhaps an assault cannon would do nicely; we'd seen them fare quite well against Power Armour, before. Choices, choices... A moment of irritation was all that came over Alexander Garrick as they were pulled out, the Initiate having to reluctantly relinquish his only hold upon the heavy bolter; he knew (or at least felt) that he would not get another chance at it the next time, if only so that everyone would be able to use such equipment. All the same, it didn't affect his mood too much if at all (if he even had a mood, all things considered; he always kept the same somber mood that the true Marines had, even before being inducted into the 10th Company), and he moved on to other thoughts for what equipment he would try and grab first. In the Thunderhawk, Garrick comfortably wore the cameleoline cloak over his shoulders, causing his lithe form to fade out of sight along with the large shotgun he carried in his arms; a set of bandoliers came over his chest with the shells for his weapon, along with a sidesaddle set with another handful. All the while, he kept his favoured weapons on his person; the bolt pistol, and a combat knife. Hell, if he was allowed he'd have taken two of both, for the sake of personal preference, the fool in his head (as any young, idealistic soldier has accompanying them in their heads) demanding things that seemed awesome, even fi they were impractical. All the same. He liked his shotgun for now.
To Barron, the silence of his peers unnerved him more than the threat of the upcoming operation itself. Even compared to the rumbling engines, the stillness within the hold was practically deafening, interrupted and contrasted only by the casual conversations that preoccupied their superiors. It had been like this all trip. A sea of white knuckles and clenched teeth. Having a chainsword in his lap helped. As opposed to many of his peers, Barron found himself fingering the familiar weapon out of boredom rather than stress, the cloak currently slung across his shoulders pushed aside so that Barron may appreciate the piece of machinery in full. There was something methodical about it all, something comforting about the familiar rattle of the hull as they descended. He knew the tools he had at his disposal, and he knew the comrades he'd be fighting alongside better. This was what they had trained for, after all, and war? War never changes.
Charon sat silent his missile launcher in front of him in his arms his eyes gazed over it has he cleaned and reviewed the heavy ordinance once more wonder about the events that they had recently brought them there and of the mission, They had learned of there gene father's status slain on a planet battling his traitor brother Fulgrim in combat. While it was a tragedy in of itself The lord that built the segemtum ultima and made there great legion before splitting it up, Charon was less attached to the primarch instead focusing on the next mission with his brothers and avenging there primarch through continuing there duties of protecting the imperium. looking up to his brothers the silence was surprising him,though he began to learn of the silence before the storm, they would be facing a force of traitors that fought in the hersey and some that were likely beyond there own skill, though with the rest of the chapter here and help from there cousins the doom eagles there was still a chance of victory.
The rumbling of the transport was nearly all consuming, as the thunderhawk traversed the fiery descent through atmosphere, shooting down into the warzone that awaited those within. A bunch of silent, contemplative faces would be gazing off into the distance, their minds trying to comprehend that challenge before them, the end of trials, the beginning of their life as true Astartes. It was a solemn moment for the most part, as many new that those that waited for them below were not the creatures of the Quriq, the rabbling gangs of The Shattered Fangs, or even a insidious Wendigo, but true, and horrid traitors, the foulest of the foes in this universe. The training was coming to an end for all, as those here would either rise up and ascend into the ranks of Angels of Death, or would falter at the final hurdle, and fall in battle, corpses littering a world that would not remember them. Some bowed their heads, some fiddled with their gear, some prayed to The Emperor for strength. Tiro slept. Indeed, for the most of their transit from the ship, Astra Drakon, the young scout had decided to get some shut eye, seemingly just lowering his head, let out a sigh, and was gone. It had only been as the worst of the violent shakes came shuddering through the transports frame, that the man's eyes would open, and as if a switch was hit, a smile would return to his visage. With a fire in his eye, Tiro would look about the troop bay, his confident grin all but to contrasting with the dour mood of many. Let them sulk, and overthink their mission, all Tiro knew what that, By The Emperor, he would finally be able to go out and slay the enemies of man. Clutching his flamer almost affectionately, the astartes would smirk, as he turned a eye towards Barron. "Lighten up would you, I swear you lot act like we're going to a funeral." It was clear from the look in his eye that Tiro knew that was the case for a lot of folks on this world, yet it was just as clear he was thinking more of the enemy deaths, rather then their own. Rolling his eyes, a intriguing thought came to mind, as he turned his head, a grinned. It was time to cast aside this doom and gloom upon his brothers, he'd decided, and if it was to be so, it looked like he'd have to drag these sorry bastards into a state of pride and excitement. "I wanna set the universe on fire Feel it burn this night..." His tone was low, yet, his voice, no doubt, carrying a tune, bashful, confident, and only growing louder with every moment. "Set the universe on fire With no end in sight..." He'd met Battle Brother Ozymandias on a handful of occasions during his time within the Torch of Atlos, and in those times, he'd marveled at the figure. When all he had to compare him to was the likes of Kenemon, and Captain Akar, both miserable and cruel, Ozymandias was a boastful, boisterous and genuinely excitable figure of the Chapter. It was said he had battle upon the fields of Terra, side by side with those who would go on to be Captains and Chapter Master of The Dawnbringers, and what was more, he had done so in such a unique manner. Tiro had never seen nor heard of sonic weaponry before he met Ozzy, but, since then, it had been the only form of weaponry to rival his adoration of the flamer. Booming, it's powerful chords only relied upon the skill of it's wielder in crafting. "Bring me to the holy raging power Where I find my destiny!" Where others in the chapter had spent the better part of the past century rebuilding through the designing of architecture, the training of aspirants or the developing of their roles of leadership, Ozzy had set himself to another task. Alongside the relics of the chapter, the glorious weapon Gorehowl, The Coming Dawn warship, indeed, the Fortress Monestary itself, he had sought to add his own work to stand with his brothers in the coming generations. Yet, where others fashioned relics of metal and stone, Ozzy instead focused on relics of music and lyrics, songs to be sung for all time, to rouse the spirits of those who would hear them, those who would take them to heart. As it would be, Tiro, in his adoration of Ozymandias, had ensured that he'd committed his works to memory, and indeed, would often hum the tunes, or sing little bits to himself. Indeed, if Ozzy had designed his relics to inspire and set to fire the spirits of his brethren, then Tiro could think of no better time to bring forth one now. His voice would only grow louder, as he began banging along in time with the beats of the rhythm, singing with all the burning passion that welled up within his two hearts. "The universe on fire He's my guiding light! Carrying the warmth of fire Within the blood of steel Soaring to light the flame Forged by Human Ordeal Ascending on with mighty drakon with metal wings and claw In a great battle foregoing one dark era ago Now lead me to the stars Blazing flame ignite my heart I wanna set the universe on fire Feel it burn tonight Set the universe on fire There's no end in sight Bring me to the holy raging power Where I find my destiny The universe on fire He's my guiding light Gliding across the stars To soak up all their might Charging my solar gun And prepare for epic fight Questing through nebula's in search for threats That gives me the overdose of force to fight for His Throne It is time take up your arms Melta bombs and plasma guns I wanna set the universe on fire Feel it burn tonight Set the universe on fire There's no end in sight Bring me to the... Holy raging power Where I find my destiny The universe on fire He's my guiding light Set me on fire! I wanna set the universe on fire Feel it burn tonight Set the universe on fire There's no end in sight Bring me to the holy raging power Where I find my destiny The universe on fire He's my guiding light He's my guiding light He's my guiding light"
Aridan noticed the expression changes in their sergeants, and without question got on to the bike to regroup with the rest of the chapter. Only when he found out one of the primarchs had fallen did his mind felt the shock of sudden change. Guilliman, dead? It seemed impossible, like the star around Zeussar suddenly turning off and plunging them into darkness. Yet here they were, racing back to gather for deployment, and Ultramar? Sure he had studied about it as the Ultramarine's domain, but to actually go there? The scout merely narrowed his eyes and focused on his driving, dodging a rock kicked up by that idiot Relcos' crap driving. It was time, their journey to prove themselves began now. Like his brother Tiro, Aridan slept through most of the trip on the way down to the Yuka-Rie. He had on the standard scout armour assigned to each of them, with the bolt pistol and astartes combat knife (really a short sword) at his side. For his weapon, the battle brother to be chose the reliable bolter as his primary weapon. It had been a painful decision between that and his chain axe, but the inability to wield that weapon with one hand really limits the usage of that particular melee weapon, and he didn't relish going toe to toe in close combat with a power armoured opponent. Unlike Tiro however, Aridan did not wake up when the anti void craft (and later air craft) guns opened up on their thunderhawk. He grimaced as his brother started singing, the voice getting louder and more irritating. Still, the young scout said nothing. If that was how Tiro wished to prepare himself for battle, that was his prerogative. Doing his best to allow his hearing to blend the singing with the explosions outside, his body relaxed and he rested again. Aridan could sympathise with the nerves the other members of the scout company had about the mission, but for him things were quite simple: if his fate was to get domed as soon as he stepped out of the transport by a bolter round, then such was the will of the Emperor. Not much he or anyone else could do about it, and as with all things he can't do anything about, he refused to worry about it. Tucking his triple checked bolter up against the teleport beacon on his chest, Aridan hugged his charge as a father would a son, and slipped back into the twilight between consciousness and oblivion. His ears listened for Sergeant Kennemon or Captain Akar's voice, but other than that, his mind passively went over the objectives and briefing once more, alternating with detail coordination and the inner peace provided to him by the Emperor. OOC: Got the teleport beacon and bolter.
Some may have found the sheer amount of noise Tiro was making quite offensive in consideration of their journey's destination, the mission that laid ahead, the trials they were surely about to face... Barron agreed that those people needed to lighten up. Tiro's voice would soon be matched by his brother's, Barron's worries fading away as the melody lifted itself over the grim atmosphere of the hold. Yes, battle cruisers To space we'll go Discover new worlds And conquer galaxies Today their legend begins.
TouchdownThe first voice to join in with Tiro's singing was one so rarely heard it took a minute for them to realize it was none other than the Master of the Recruits himself. Facing away from them all, fingers engaged with a data slate, it was impossible to tell if there was a mocking smile or the usual deadpan on his face. Alas by the time Kenemon and most the other Scouts joined in it seemed that Akar was genuine, old bastard couldn't resist every aspect of brotherhood, especially not when it involved one of Ozzy's ballads. Even in the grim darkness of the thirty first millennium where there is only war, metal is a alive and well. Right around the closing chorus, sung by no less than three squads of Dawnbringer young bloods and their Sergeants, Thunderhawk reached Yuka-Rie's surface. Touching down with force enough to rattle the hold one last time the craft's interior echoed to the sound of restraints being unfastened in unison and eager feet gathering up before the assault ramp grinding down towards the earth. Already, Yuka-Rie's dry winds carried the shrieks of a populace beset by one of the few legions you'd rather die to than be taken prisoner by. Espanza, planetary capitol and primary living center of the desert world, looked all the world like one of the hives Squad Kenemon had purged in its time on Zeussar. A full eighth of it was already on fire, over a dozen hab blocks burning and pillaged with many more already seeing their first infections of violence and slaving. From where the Dawnbringers stood, just outside the cover of a rocky outcropping conveniently large enough to disguise their Thunderhawk, they could only begin to guess how many were slain. Certainly an already unacceptable number, and one that would only tick higher and higher as they stood around. Most immediate objective would be infiltrating the city. Three land bridges capable of supporting even the largest of titans crossed over the cities man-made oasis-moat. Bridges connected to highways running through the deserts, barren of any other civilizations beyond small out of the way mining villages and larger restricted operations run by the Mechanicum as part of the planet's tithe. While Yuka-Rie hosted several large cities spread across its singular continent, Espanza was the only one that the IIIrd had shown any interest in. Kenemon points up, drawing his units' eyes toward dark spots spilling from the clouds: yet more landers and gunships. "There, the flight paths are all clustered together and homing in on the city's eastern industrial sector. Looks like they rushed headlong into one of the better defended areas to get the 'boring' parts over with." "They will have bled for it, even if it is a little." Javeran brings his squad out, forming up just behind Kenemon and co. "Also means they will have ready made fortifications to make our jobs hell. Whatever recklessness is on display here does not mean they are dumb. They're still legion, and behaved enough to take on the Ultramarines and Roboute Guilliman. Superior numbers or not that still takes intelligence and discipline to pull off." Akar practically shoves Third Squad out, planting his boots at the ramp's peak. "I'll be monitoring your progress from here and keeping communications open with the fleet." Turning away Akar vanishes back into the craft's belly. Similarly all three squads split off and begin making for their assigned city sectors. In the case of squad Kenemon their LZ left them nearest to their designated bridge: one that was absolutely jammed with bodies both metal and flesh. Bridge and attached highway were choked with abandoned vehicles and bodies packed together around them. Men, women, children, and PDF alike appeared in the throng stretching a few miles out of Espanza and all the way back to the inner city landing. Animals all of them, herd mentality overtaking common sense as people without a plan or supplies made a break for the careless dunes and sweltering roads. Not a one of them seemed to be enforcing a sense of order. Some families attempted to punch their way out or brandished concealed weaponry, uncaring that every scuffle only slowed the entire retreat down even more. It was a wonder that the traitors were not already here. "Throne's sake look at them all. Why in the bleeding Eye are they not in shelters?" Kenemon worked his jaw in a tight loop, speaking just as several civilians packed in against the guard railing noticed them and began screaming that much louder, recognizing the abnormally large and heavily armed men, but not their colors. "Fuck me." Snorting Sergeant signals they sprint with two rapid waves forward before breaking into a run himself. Poor Charon brought up the rear, Psyker suffering some disorientation and a nosebleed from a foulness carried by the winds of the aether. So much lunacy and panic in one place was an experience that tested his nascent mental defenses. "Fire! Fire! FIRE!" Yell came from someone unseen, but it was enough to get Kenemon on edge. "Book it boys, faster!" PDF smacked people from their way, a man toppling off the bridge so a soldier could level his lasgun over the guard rails. Several more wedged themselves into the breach, packing in shoulder to shoulder and jostling for a firing position. Few were the times that incompetence among the PDF would be so useful to them. "Akar, can you get in touch with the local guard so they do not blow us to high hell?" The first sizzling spear of crimson energy scorched a lump of sand grains at least eighty paces out from their group. Similar displays of accuracy followed. Eight volleys, give or take an extra two or three thanks to the staggered nature of the fire, lanced out before ceasing, two soldiers pushed aside with force enough they fell away and back into the tide of pressing bodies. Clad in flak armor and wielding a las-pistol the only distinguishing feature of the PDF Sergeant was a few pins and the frustrated prostration shown by his subordinates. "Arrauth, We're short on time, the enemy could be upon us at any second, and I am still evaluating you." Sergeant waves the Quirrian close to his side. Whatever was coming could not be even vaguely defined as good or pleasant, no doubt. Marginally better than sitting around while Kenemon had been talking to the PDF at best. "You're calling the next shot on how we get to the bank. No way we are crossing this traffic jam on foot without having to start torching everything. The PDF here have been so generous as to allot us their Chimera and a driver to try and muscle back across the bridge. Alternatively those supports and cables supporting this thing look sturdy, climbing is a possibility to get across without risking any innocent lives or our equipment. Last option is to swim, we'll risk our equipment and our ability to fight if anyone spots us, but we will have a far easier time avoiding attention if any enemy aircraft show up. Right now the skies report clear but that means shit once we are in the middle of crossing. Our fastest route will probably be taking a ride with the PDF, but you'd best be comfortable with road kill if we do. Slowest will be the swimming, but again, stealthiest. Crossing the ropes is our sort of middle ground here, still slow as a constipated Grox, about as dangerous too, but we"re far less likely to kill anyone or damage our kit. You've got thirty seconds to make the call before I take us over." @Redthirst - Decision Time! Pick a Path: - 1. Hitch a ride with the PDF 2. Cross the bridge cables 3. Swim First Captain"Captain Maximillian, I have finished inspecting the teleporters and everything is operating at peak efficiency for the moment. You are cleared to deploy vehicular support with your assault teams. Please bear in mind the strain this will put on the platform and its systems though. Considering the nature of our campaign I would advise restraint, however do as you must. Ave Imperator." Techmarine Pol cut out after the small show of piousness. A surprising, if not uncommon, member of the ever growing faith that had settled its roots in the Dawnbringers. A small sign of trust towards a brother in both arms and belief. It was heartening news at least. Akar's initial reports were feeding into his ear every other minute and by the sounds of it their enemy was already spreading like wildfire through Espanza. Maximillian had a full company to command, but only his Terminators, and now vehicles, were truly qualified for the rigors of teleportation. He would need to plot his teams accordingly. Strike Teams: Build Three and assign one of them to Squad Kenemon - Their current goal is the destruction of an enemy landing field established inside a fortified industrial sector. The other two squads on the ground are tasked with calling down reinforcements to blunt the enemy advance near civilian centers and key city structures) Each strike force cannot contain more than 3 'slots' of units. 5 Terminators or 1 vehicle = 1 slot. The Sicarian Omega takes 2 slots. Forces - + Three Squads of Five Hoplikons (Storm Shields and Power Spears in Cataphracti pattern armor) + Three Squads of Five Tactical Terminators (Storm Bolters and Powers Fists w/ special weapon assignments. Ten in Indomitus pattern armor, Five in Cataphracti.) + Two Land Raiders (Variable loadouts, Very Heavy strain on teleporters) + Sicarian Omega - Gladius ad Sol ( Immense strain on teleporters) + Three Predators (Heavy strain on teleporters. Variable loadouts) +Two Vindicators (Heavy strain on teleporters. Variable loadouts) @Vulpas @BruticusTheGoreHound @RuinaImperii @Vlayden @WanderingJester
"We're not getting through the bridge, unless you want to drive through the crowd and swimming leaves us wide open, we're going to climb if I get to choose" Of course, what Arrauth didn't mention is that he wasn't a great swimmer while climbing was something he did every day in his previous life, but none of it mattered at this point. The important part is that they didn't have to deal with an insane crowd that could trap them as well as making it very obvious to anyone looking that someone was trying to get into the city. At least with climbing they could maintain some form of stealth, at least as long as nobody starts singing again. OOC: We're climbing the cables.
Aridan marched out of the thunderhawk amidst a crowd of singing, though it quickly died down to see the hive in front of them alight. They headed out onto one of the bridges leading into the city of their objective, only to see mobs of people pushing, shoving, and, in several cases, punching and even killing their way through. The scout scowled at the disorder, though he had expected nothing less from the frightened and disorganized mob. Just as he moved forward with his bolter in hand and the homing beacon on his back, he felt a quick tug. Turning, Aridan saw the peevish look of a man holding the beacon. Aridan cursed, both for his lack of vigilance to let the mortal slip that close and for the greed of the scavenger. He wanted to smashed the man's face in with his bolter, but restrained himself to allow a single sharp blow from his elbow. The strike sent the man flying away a few feet away, the minimal distance his less foolish counterparts kept at the sight of them, if not outright fled. Just then the errant shot from the Planetary Defense Force made the scout snap his bolter in their direction, nearly loosing one of the rounds at them. Only the trigger discipline instilled in him prevented one of the guardsmen from losing his head, or his limb, literally. Marching forward, Aridan had barely heard all of the options Sergeant Kenemon gave to Arrauth before the answer came. Of course, all the options seemed equally bad for him. The vehicle made for a rather large target for any enemy attacks, they would be sitting ducks climbing the cables, especially if the traitors decide to attempt to bring the whole bridge down and swimming in that water, without knowing what dwelled in it, if anything, had been foolhardy at best. Knowing that his brother wanted to pick the least of all evils, the scout merely signaled his acknowledgment before heading to the nearest cable, checking all of his strap as to make sure nothing would fall during the climb.
