The hive confused Barron.

He understood the things, in theory, in practice--a nucleus of Imperial Citizens surrounded (protected?) by a barely coherent weave of lasgun barrels and rockcrete.

But for a moment, the sheer mass of it all dazzles him. Men. Women. Children. The dead. They seem to crawl out of the pores of the hive itself, each face blurring into some breathing extension of the shattered city as Barron shoved his way past countless individuals with chainsword held tight and at the ready. It all reminded him a bit of the ants, really, especially as the squad came to a halt before the pandemonium of a bridge they were apparently expected to cross.

That’s a whole lotta fuckin’ people.

The call to climb didn’t particularly surprise Barron. There would be time for risks later. “Back on the lam so soon?” Barron deadpanned as he grasped a cable and awaited the order to advance.

Cable Crawlers​

One call was all it took for Squad Kenemon to fight their way over to the nearest bridge anchoring. Elbows, bolter casings, foreheads, and fists were all used to clear out both the desperate and the slow from Kenemon's path, Sergeant caring not whether the citizens enlightened understood they were friendly and began swarming in to beg for protection, or simply the unawares in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anything short of actual weapons discharge was fair game to him, even with a hundred hands reaching over one another and crushing others down in an attempt to touch the Emperor's Angels. One last man goes down with a broken nose, face crunching against Kenemon's carapace plated shoulder. Rest of his squad arrived in a staggered chain, each one force to handle the crowd with about as much grace.

"It's gonna be a slow climb, tedious, however once we're on our feet and can balance you better believe we are moving. If you fall behind or topple over the side, and are not carrying that homer, you will be left behind." The thick arms of an astartes and his proteges coil around the dense cabling helping keep the bridge structurally sound. Even when in the midst of a task of obvious treachery the road block of civilians reaches after them, at times requiring a solid boot back into the crowd. Only when they manage to ten feet up do the commoners of Imperial humanity leave them alone, looking on at their ascending saviors with a sinking feeling all too palpable to Charon.

"Squad Kenemon be advised void command reads enemy aircraft inbound on your sector." Lovely thing to have buzzing in ones ear while Emperor knows how high in the sky you are. Every foot fall was a tenuous thing, even for nimble Scouts without the disadvantage of their power armor. To either side lay death, no safe holds or ledges to grab, only a long drop into a river of vehicles and people, or into waters that might as well of been rockrete when velocity was factored in.

"Yeah, yeah I figured that one out Captain." Kenemon glowers out across the growing city. Even with the winds proving themselves a howling, biting force from their current position it was impossible to miss the whine of turbines coming in hot from somewhere below. They were back on their stomachs, shimmying down the last sloping cable and towards the ground when at last enemy revealed themselves. A Storm Eagle resplendent in the purple and gold of the Phoenician's sons glides out from between a pair of skyscrapers separating the city's upper and middle caste. Aircraft seems to of missed the Scouts, instead hovering along the bridge's western flank and seizing up all the exposed meat like a tiger prowling around the edge of a pit stuffed with pigs. Fortune and disaster all at once.

Kenemon takes them off the side and into a short fall east, lacking power armor the scouts settle for rolling on impact with the earth to avoid splattering. In the cover of a seemingly unmanned guard tower rising many meters into the sky, Sergeant calls another of the squad to task.

"Buddy, you're up." Fingers snap at Barron, the nickname one Sergeant has used since their earliest days together. Ever since the elder marine realized his pupil's discomfort with being teacher's pet it had always been the call sign for when the boy was to be put on the spot. "The pre-mission map mentioned Espanza's extensive sump network hidden beneath our very feet. Alternatively we can progress on foot through the city itself." For once an urgency not born out of impatience manifested itself in the man. "I expect you can think out the pros and cons of each, for we have another grave situation on our hands." Head nods out towards the bridge and the gunship, still holding as it casts its shadow over paralyzed refugees trapped in the core of road blocked bodies. "We lack the fire power to down that thing, but we do have a missile launcher and that might distract it at least. The bridge will not magically clear itself either, but we might buy a few more lives a few more seconds. I'd estimate there are several thousand stuck on the bridge right now, and one bird won't have the rounds to kill them all, it'll still butcher most of them. Especially once those missiles come into play. What's your call?"

@RuinaImperii Pick a path and then some: 1A. Take to the sewers! 2A. Keep on the streets and buildings.
1B. Try and distract the enemy aircraft. 2B. Unacceptable risk to the mission, leave the people to their fates.

Despite the sudden pressure thrown his way, Barron still found himself suppressing a bristle at the nickname. I’m not your buddy, pal—is what the scout may have muttered, if experience hadn’t taught him that it didn’t exactly yield favorable results.

But there were more important matters at hand than sassing his CO.

“We distract the bird.” The answer comes without a hitch or thought. He didn’t know how, but leaving the civvies was out of the question. “Then-Then we make our way through the city,” The next part doesn’t come as easily, but Barron’s gut murmurs something about the devil you knew. “Easier to deal with problems you can see.”

OOC: 2A/1B, distract the enemy Storm Eagle, then out through the streets.

Tiro grins at the choice of their impromptu leader, letting some smoke rise from his open mouth, as he flicks on the pilot light of his flamer. He'd been arguably the least annoyed at the displays of the filthy masses of fleeing civilians, his push through the crowds surprisingly gentle for a man of his size and disposition, words of comfort offered in phrases such as, "We'll kick their asses" or "Throne's Light, I'm going to obliterate those purple peacocks". Indeed, the only thing that had brought a clear scowl to Tiro's face was the approach of the enemy air, and the thought that they might abandon the people. Slapping Barron on the shoulder, in clear support of his brother's choice, he'd speak, voice brimming with cheer and a deep rumbling laugh.

"You glorious son of a bitch! Let's go ruffle their feathers, yeah?"

How the scout intended to do such a thing with his flamer, was not clear, yet from the intensity of his gaze, and the sheer confidence pouring out from the man, it was almost as he would will the enemy to come and be washed in holy fire.​

Aridan reached one hand in front of the other, and if it wasn't for his brother in front of him, he would've made up the cables much faster. It may have been a lifetime ago, but his body's foundation had been built upon the peaks of Zeussar, and muscle memories fade much slower than actual ones. The winds didn't bother him at all as he scrabbled up the cable, quickly out of reach of the panicked civilians. While Sergeant Kenemon seemed annoyed at something, the scout found himself thoroughly enjoying the experience.

Then the Storm Eagle arrived.

Aridan had to remind himself of the homing beacon on his back as he stopped last second to stand up on the slope of the cable and fire on the traitor aircraft. Still, his brothers behind him would have seen him on his feet, somehow balancing perfectly on the degree slope with the homing beacon on his back and the bolter aimed at both of his hands. Coming to his senses, the scout quickly drop back onto all fours, the bolter slung back in place on its harness and he scrambled forward.

As Sarge led them to the end of the bridge, Aridan had to sling the large beacon on his back forward on his chest once more. Leaping off of the bridge, he tucked and rolled, cradling the valuable tech and letting his body absorb all of the fall's impact and allowing the force to dissipate on a horizontal plane. Climbing was one half of the essential skills from the mountains, learning how to fall was the other. Getting back up quickly, the homing beacon went to his back and the bolter back in hand. He looked to see the next set of order options sent to Barron, who replied. Making a mental note that this was a test eventually required of all of them, Aridan slot that knowledge in the back of his mind.

Hearing the decision, Aridan frowned but said nothing. Never doubt your commander's decision in battle, regardless of your personal feelings about it. Having their objective in his hands, the scout also noted Tiro's enthusiasm and took a step back. If they wanted to volunteer to distract the aircraft, so be it. He had to protect their homing beacon and get it to their destination in one piece. Thus, the scout began to seek and took cover well away from the engagement zone of the squad and the aircraft, keeping his eyes for any threats from the city ahead.

The harshness required to get through the citizens wasn't a comforting thing to the initiate, in comparison he himself merely pushing himself past, or rolling his shoulders to get by, not with any intention of actually harming them. These were people he was supposed to protect; why would he see to harming them? They did not impede his objective.

Still, with the notion that they were to distract the gunship, this at least pleased him even if none could see any difference at all in his body language aside from how he held the shotgun a bit tighter. His eyes looked up and around, trying to look for any form of 'cover' that could be used - if anything, at least in an attempt to get the enemy distracted. This wasn't going to be possible with his shotgun, for all he knew... But he'd try all the same.

Perhaps jumping from a higher height and landing on one of the wings.. Bit risky. Detting frags in front of the cockpit? Could work; may crack it, if we're lucky.

Bleeding Hearts​

Legionary Latheran caresses the targeting console. A finger smears itself over the magnified image of several dozen faces transfixed with terror. Hand at last finishes its painstaking journey to the firing controls, three fingers splaying out on the activation runes for the heavy bolters, lascannons, and missile pods. Something of Latheran's intent must of caught wind, for the man-cattle had been spooked and a whole new frenzy swept through the herd. A visual cocktail of terror and dread now filled the image feeds and Emperor's Child lets out a breathy sigh, pressing in on ever so slightly raised firing runes. Then the cockpit starts screaming about a missile lock, cabin dyed red by emergency lights that instantly kill the mood worse than that one time his offering's heart gave out before knife tip had even made to underneath any skin.

Smoke blooms all around and every mouth screams in surprise. Storm Eagle lists to the right, after image of a detonating krak missile burned into many retinas. Wreckage tumbles into the oasis below, a ruined heavy bolter spat down like froth from a rabid mouth. Air craft jerks around, heaving its intact guns with it like a farmer's scythe that hammers mass reactive brass straight toward the missile trails origin. Charon bolts down the guard tower stairs, hopping several railings and catching himself near the floor before leaping to entrance. Heat hits him before the pressure, returning missile fire blasting apart the platform he had fired from less than fifteen seconds ago.

Scout sprints through the rain of smoking metal fragments crashing to the ground around himself. Storm Eagle's shadow draws over the road, Charon forced into an open door to a sand stone hovel nearby. Scattered throughout the nearby alleyways Squad Kenemons' other soldiers book it deeper into the city.

"Never took you for a bleeding heart Kenemon." Akar's flat line of a voice comes through the vox.

"Can't be all guts, need glory in there sometimes." Sergeant turns his way and shrugs at Barron.

"Whatever glory you're after is going to spill a lot more guts before the mission is over. Enemy vox traffic has spiked in your sector and long range auspex is picking up a combat squads worth of traitors rapidly approaching your location. Expect jump infantry and heightened enemy awareness."

"Take it you aren't feeling brave enough to finish off that Eagle for us, before the pilot gets bored and goes back to the bridge?" Kenemon begins tapping shoulders left and right, pointing everyone off towards different roads, alleys, and some of the larger buildings. Tiro and Barron are paired and ordered off further into the hab-block currently masking their movements from the enemy. More primitive buildings of tan stone that stand in stark contrast to the more modern leviathans a few streets over in the city's upper class neighborhoods and seats of power.

Aridan and Alexander are ditched on the forward path their squad had previously been taking as one. Surroundings start to rise as a neighborhood built on a series of shallow slopes with a maze of vertical staircases swallows them whole. Arrauth ends up with the dubious honor of accompanying Kenemon himself, pair booking it towards a nearby apartment complex that towers above the other nearby buildings, a behemoth of curved steel and blue tinted windows, never mind a great deal of them had already been blown out.

About this point Charon was probably getting that sense of deja vu. Squad having outpaced him, something far more dangerous than their entire team combined hunting for him amid dense terrain, and now jet pack equipped whoresons hounding after him; yeah it was the Quirq and trial two all over again. This time, at least, people would actually give a damn if he died. Cue the surprise of their formerly concealed Thunderhawk lifting off from its cozy cove of stone in the distance.

"You're lucky this is not the crusade, Kenemon." Sergeant's communication indicator lights up, Kenemon about to reply before he pauses, discerning a statement within a statement.

"Aren't we all though, Captain?" Sergeant yanks Arrauth by the back of his collar, redirecting them from crossing the street and into a run down two story flat. Somewhere above their heads a smaller set of turbines has joined that of the hunting Storm Eagle and their own Thunderhawk. Dust shakes itself from walls and ceiling as roof suffers a heavy impact. Who or whatever was up there leaves quickly as they came, assault pack screaming like a fiend during the ascent. "Arrauth, find yourself a perch in one of those apartments. I am counting on you to cover us while we work through the streets. I need to go back for Charon and make sure he doesn't get caught alone by enemy pursuers." Like a wraith the man vanishes back out the way they had came, leaving the sniper to his own devices.

Storm Eagle circles around in as tight an arc it can manage with a smoking jets. Dawnbringers' gun ship had scored a pair of nasty hits with its lascannons, putting an already damaged rival at even graver odds. Much as the young Librarian to be wishes to watch, the mission, and his Sergeant, are calling. Vaulting through an open air window built over a clay stove Charon makes to rendezvous with Kenemon. Mentor bumps into pupil under the awning of an abandoned fruit stand. Without a word they go low and start crouch-running through cover. Scout's heart tenses as a pair of bodies cast shadows in the small market square, too large to be human, too small to be vehicles. Neither soldier skips a beat in their advance, Kenemon veteran enough to dealt with this sort of thing a hundred times before, and Charon too brow beaten by his masters to dare falter for even a moment.

A half hours journey saw everyone in position. In their wake the Scouts had left a wrecked Storm Eagle and a number of frustrated and befuddled assault units that never did figure out where that missile came from. All the worse that they could not take the edge off with those vulnerable souls on the bridge, Thunderhawk patrolling the skies and keeping them at bay. Reinforcements were landing on both sides, Doom Eagles deploying drop pods loaded with automated weapons and what marines could be spared from the void war to secure as many Imperial innocents as possible. All the while detachments of traitors and their cultist thralls emerged onto the dusty streets to war with their loyal cousins in the name of Slaanesh.

Romantic as it was the reinforcements were not doing Squad Kenemon any favors. Each team sat secreted in the buildings occupying the southern approach to the industrial district turned IIIrd field command. Roving gangs of cultists and thralls were everywhere, searching every building and stealing anything of value or capturing anyone unfortunate enough to have remained behind thinking they might be able to lay low and hide from the invaders. Enemy Astartes were few, but prominent enough that sneaking around was going to become a bigger issue with trans-human senses being matched against their novice skills.

"Tiro, Charon, Alexander, you three are making the calls for your respective teams. Tiro, Charon, we're going to be making distractions and throwing the enemy into disarray for Kerberos Company. Alexander, you and Aridan find somewhere nice and important looking to deploy the beacon and call in Maximillian's strike force. Arrauth, I assume you have free range up there so pick your targets with care and watch your brothers backs. Initiate operations at will."

Everyone was more or less looking at the same situation, albeit at different altitudes in some cases. The industrial district was undoubtedly the most advanced sector in Espanza, an eye sore of winding pipes, oppressive grey warehouses, rust brown factories, and goliath smoke stacks. Foreboding walls sectioned off Espanza's primary production sector from the rest of the city, only a dozen or so gates permitting entry or exit staggered throughout the fortifications. The familiar half cog half skull symbol of the Mechanicus was everywhere, accompanied by ample numbers of sentry turrets. Most of them remained active, sector having been taken from within. Bands of labor and combat Servitors reprogrammed for loyalty to the traitor legion patrolled the walls and streets beyond, the odd legionary among them on patrol or overseeing the faithful fanatics as they went about their hunts. At one point Arrauth catches a glimpse of a Techmarine, spotting the warrior with a servo-arm craned over his head between a pair of pipes before traitor walked out of sight.

The most immediate gate facing the infiltrated sub-teams of Scouts lay open, doors retracted into their housing so that freshly landed reinforcements could move out unimpeded. It was an obvious weakness though and no less than ten marines stood watch, along with the automated weapon systems implanted into the walls and their decor. Walls looked climbable though, Imperial penchant for ample amounts of gothic decor providing handholds on certain stretches of the gatehouses facing. Most temporary item of note was an approaching convoy of Predator tanks. Four of them trundling toward the gate in a line, cultists both living and dead nailed to their hulls, some spewing smoke and others a thick cloud of narcotic smog. Rhino transports tailed them, and traitor guard sprinted at their flanks, working themselves to early exhaustion to keep up. A ripe target for a melta bomb, one good blast could hold up the entire convoy... and trap a significant enemy force nearby to make the First Company's job that much more dangerous when they came down.

@Redthirst @BruticusTheGoreHound @Vlayden @Vulpas - You guys are not being given explicit choices to pick from. I've painted out a scenario for you, now it's up to you to create orders for you and your partner, or figure out how to support the other teams in Arrauth's case. For the Teleporter Beacon team I have not described any ripe targets for teleporter deployment yet as you must first get past the walls, unless you decide to plant your beacon outside and call down the strike force to begin assaulting from outside the industrial sector.

Aridan watched as the enemy aircraft took a direct hit from Charon's missile launcher before turning its attention towards him. His brother in arms quickly vacated the area, just as the retaliation of missiles smashed into it, causing explosions and shrapnel flying all around. From the safety of his cover, well away from the engagement zone, the scout thinned his lips but said nothing. He had a job to do: protect the homing beacon and activate it at the heart of the enemy territory. Even should Charon be in trouble, his other brothers would have to go after him first.

The Emperor must have watched over him, as Charon made it back safely, and the squad moved deeper into the city and behind enemy lines. It took some time, but they had to utilize every bit of caution on hand: traitors in power armour swept the area along with a number of cultists, heretics and other lost and damned. Aridan wanted nothing more than to put a bolter round into each and every one of them, but they had a mission to complete, and so Squad Kenemon moved forward.

Stopping in front of the walled section deepest into enemy command, Sergeant Kenemon quickly divided them up before heading to complete his sub objective. Looking over at Alexander, Aridan heft the homing beacon on his back before making sure there was a round in the chamber of his bolter. He gazed over at the tall walls, the commandeered Mechanicus soldiers and turrets, and the outpour of troops from one of the entrances, and said, "we need to deploy the Kerberos Company as close to their primary deployment zone as possible. I don't like the idea of going over those walls; it would leave the beacon too exposed.

The others might be able to make a distraction but I don't think we can rely on them to draw away all of the guards of a single entrance, even for a short while. Do you think we might be able to find a way under or through it? Maybe a sewer pipe or an exhaust vent?" Aridan looked at Alexander, hoping to get his opinion on the matter as they hunkered down out of sight and out of mind of the enemy. For now.


@Vlayden

Admittedly, it was a pleasure to see that they hadn't abandoned the civilians, hitting the aircraft and all - though that was in the past now, now as they got to the walls - admittedly, he had kept from saying anything (while not a surprise usually, he felt a few urges on commenting), merely looking to the others and his surroundings in an attempt to see anything that could be done.

Looking over towards Tiro, he nudged him and gestured over at the convoy; while silent, his words were plain, a suggestion and wonder on if he was to set his charge there.

The words from Aridan however got him to perk his head up and look back, a few moments to think; and for the first time since they'd gotten off the ship, he'd spoken.
"Sewers are an obvious choice; vents might be a bit dangerous, less so. Might prefer the latter."
With that, he held his shotgun up now, giving a nod, now stepping back with his Camo cloak wrapped around him, now - if he was allowed - going off to do scouting, as he was intended to, in hopes of finding anything that could be used for such an entry. Surely, he wouldn't avoid the chance of going through sewers to get to their objective, if he found that it was safe enough!



OOC: just looking around for any hidden entrances and the like; and maybe sewer entries.