Herchel, kept silent as they went to the armory to gear up he mechinically grabbed his weapons, A flamer of olympian make, A Standerd pattern bolt pistol, and a Standerd combat knife and frag and krak grenade, As he finished gearing up he silently made a final check over his gear before placing his helmet over his head the helmet hissing as it sealed to his head, Herchel chose to listen instead of making up a plan of his own to first see what the others would make then see what there sergeant would see, one of them getting punished with a bolt pistol whipped across the face and others with tactical repremendatnd, Keeping silent then he began thinking on there new 'Witch blood' that would be with them he knew little of them and wondered about there powers and what the sergeant said about them maybe he would have to have a talk with there witch blood before or during deployment for more information gathering.
<Briefing> Piercing emerald eyes watch the strategium hololith with an unblinking stare as their owner listens to Brumdar's ORBAT brief without comment, the majority of it having nothing to do with him directly. Yet, it never hurt to pay attention and learn. In the arid uplands of Achamenaea, where he had come from, paying attention and learning from everything was survival. The observant and circumspect lived, the careless and reckless died - of enemy ambush, thirst, starvation, exposure or beast attack, it mattered not. The ability to see and predict patterns was life - a lesson that had been drilled into him early on in life as a water-finder and tracker for his tribe. And so Xerxes Kaianidion paid careful attention to every portion of the briefing, memorising and analysing every detail as though he were an ops officer on Principal Staff, expected to produce tactical and logistical summaries for the Warsmith himself. He had always been good at seeing patterns, so good that most folk could not even begin to imagine the patterns he read and negotiated every hour of every day, waking and sleeping alike. When the Legion came for him, it turned out he was more than just a little luckier, a little sharper of eye and mind than most. He was Gifted...and cursed. The Legion Librarius had taken him, spiriting him away in his scant hours of rest between training sessions and assessed him - relentlessly, exhaustively, brutally - to determine the nature and magnitude of his talent, as well as his strength of character. Their soulfires had been different from the godspeakers, shamans and seers of his people. Those were things of the wild world, reflections of earth, air, water and fire, of the birds of the air and beasts of the field, of the turning of the seasons and the cycles of the starry firmament. The minds of the Legion were cold, bright and sharp - all hard angles and complex geometric shapes - the minds of machines, every bit as exacting and precise, and every bit as devoid of warmth and mercy. The Legion Librarius regarded the Gift in terms of science, reducing and categorising it to Empyreal Capacities, Warp Dynamics, Trans-Barrier Resonances, Immaterial Dissonance and so forth. Strategos Nostradamus, the Warsmith's Principal Psychic Ops Officer, had taken him under his tutelage and drilled him relentlessly to think in the same terms, giving him reams of literature to study and testing him mercilessly. Dutifully, he had complied. That had always been the life of one Gifted in his tribe - to be useful to the tribe. The IVth was his tribe now. It had also helped that he had always loved to read. The power of the written word had always fascinated him. To record an event was to preserve it against the ravages of time. To name a thing - to categorise its shape, nature and relationships with other things - was to gain power over it. His father hsd certainly been a great believer in the value of education, and his dream for his son had always been to send him to one of the great Academies of Shiraz, in so doing elevating the family above the status of dirt-poor nomads. As the briefing concludes and the gathered Legionaries file away to the Armoury, Xerxes reflects on how his father's dream died the day he was torn from his family, whereas he himself had been raised far beyond the man's humble aspiration of having a man of letters for a son. <Armoury> @DeranVendar Xerxes takes his time poring over the equipment available to him - precious little, as it turns out. Instead of longung after extra weapons, he instead picks out a portable field vox-caster with built-in cartographic functions - a radioman's pack, in other words, with enhanced hexagrammatic encryption and enough power to speak right across the system if planetary or orbital boosters went down. Along with that go a set of good-quality field magnoculars, as well as a sextant and compass - time-honoured tools of the scout and the architect alike. As his eyes roam the shelves, they light upon a Mk III/c sharpshooter's scope - basic but functional. Picking it up, he approaches the Techmarine to ask for permission to draw it for his own use. "Just remember, fresh meat - you sign for it, you bring it back, or I'm going to take it out of your hide," comes the dismissive reply. Taking it as permission granted, Xerxes spends the next few minutes mounting it on the Picatinny rail of his bolter, dry-zeroing it as best as he can. In the process, he misses much of Sergeant Akar's rather unpleasant tactical quizzing, though he overhears it quite clearly from behind the shelves. Emerging just as the sergeant begins to turn away, he finds himself in a bit of a quandary as to whether to contribute his two cents, or to keep quiet. Both seem likely to earn him a pistol whip across the face, but he decides that the sergeant would prefer things blunt and upfront - much like his own nature. "Tactical postulation, by your permission, Sergeant," he says, clearing his throat politely as he salutes with fist to chest, "Regarding deployment of psychic assets - said deployment should occur in three phases. Phase One - upon planetfall, immediate prognosticative assessment of LZ to determine most likely routes of enemy attack, directing attached friendly units to appropriate chokepoints. Phase Two - psychic reconnaissance of inbound enemy forces and establishment of tactical telepathic network in AO [OOC: Area of Operations] to coordinate defensive efforts between units. Phase Three - environmental assessment, directing labour as necessary to clear difficult ground and customise construction to local environment so as to ensure optimal expansion rates and structural integrity for fortifications in our AO. Postulation ends, Sergeant."
@DeranVendar Dyzek, noting the response from the sergeant, would brace himself for the oncoming berating he had no doubt was coming his way. It was as such, that he was almost completely surprised to find the sergeant not only avoiding ripping into him, but actually playing a very minor compliment. Despite himself, he'd feel his back move straighter, his lips curving into a smile, as he felt a bit of pride for himself, before swiftly ensuring he did not let it show to much. Didn't want people to think a preening Third Legionnaire had infiltrated his way into their ranks. Keeping silent for the time being, Dyzek would follow along with the unit, checking over his gear as he went, listening to the sergeant's words. Truthfully, he wished to accept his advancement and not risk another mistake. However, he'd come to a realization, speaking up from where he walked. "Sergeant, what is our air support for this deployment?" It had been a factor he'd realized none had seemed to consider so far, and he almost smacked himself for such a simple mistake. Any self respecting battle force would require dominance over the skies, and if The Legion planned on launching an invasion against the defending Greenskins, they'd need to control the heavens. "We should probably begin drawing up plans for an airfield, incase it becomes clear that we will need to house the needed aircraft at our forward operating base. Can we expect mortal vehicles to be joining our engagement, or simply legion assault craft?"
"Ugh, that hurts..." Seth grunted as he massaged the sore spot on his face, it would swell no doubt but it was a lesson in humility nonetheless. Too bad Seth was a bad learner, especially when it came to such things. He was always rash and a bit reckless, but perhaps time in this new home would teach him a thing or two about discipline. "My bad Brother Sergeant, will do my best not to disappoint you again," he added before straightening up, fighting as hard as he could to not let pain show on his face (which was turning blue now). Obeying the command he didn't add anything new, for in truth he didn't know what to add that would sound proper now. Instead, he focused on listening to what others had to say and see their view on the topic so he could further enhance his own knowledge and become better for it.
Akar lead them from the armory with plasma cannon held low and steady, as if navigating the halls of an enemy fortress and expecting a new obstacle or barricade around every corner. At the forefront of everything his expression was invisible to them all, not that it was liable to turn toward anything surprising or out of character. The back of the man's head was as emotive as his actual face most the time. "Fine enough Xerxes. You will be our master of communications within the squad and among our immediate operating units. On that note I will remind all of you that the Army units operating at our side have their own command and hierarchy that they wish to adhere to. Whatever physical superiority we have does not allow us to simply order them around on a whim. " They approached an elevator large enough and sturdily constructed such that it could deliver multiple Dreadnoughts along its axis. "You might need to do a bit of growling, brandish your weapons, make examples. That's for the line troops though, otherwise just yell at their command and things should get done. " Another gem of wisdom from the Sergeant. As Dyzek raised the issue of aerial assets at their disposal Akar hummed. "The majority of our aircraft will be embroiled in either void warfare, or transport. We will have very little, if any, fire support once we're on the ground. Our base will have to make due with erecting suitable anti-air emplacements in the mean time, until we've gained superiority in the 'heavens'. " Thankfully the demands of ship-to-ship action and void assaults weren't as accommodating of the Iron Warriors' slow and grinding approach to warfare, and they likely wouldn't have to go without control of the skies for too long. "We can anticipate a pair of Stormbirds for delivery of ourselves and mechanical assets, and whatever the Army has to spare. Low altitude support may include Valkyrie, Speeders, and Jet Bikes if we're lucky, but I recall Captain Brumdar assigning most of our squads heavy in assault specialist and pilots to breaking the Freebooter fleets buzzing around the planet. " Loading up onto the elevator alongside a dozen Servitors, their Minder, and a Sentinel Lifter they began the noisy descent toward one of the primary hangars. Not once was acknowledgement spared for Seth's apology.
"Sarge, I have a question," Seth once again spoke up, the previous disagreement already forgotten. "Are there more squads like ours out there? The fresh ones consigned to building duties I mean?"
"Perhaps the second line company present will be deploying some of their younger warriors in similiar fashion, but I believe they will be establishing a second toe-hold on the world, after they have finished committing to the breaking of the enemy fleet. They're taking the lions share of the duties up here in space, third squad was deploying to counter a single large cruiser in our sector. We may have some individual support from the likes of Techmarine Iundar, but for the most part we'll be the only footslogging marines in our sector until the initial security operations are completed. Look on the bright side, if we're lucky there might be a spare land raider around we can go patrolling in. " He shrugged for a moment, coming from another legion Sergeant or perhaps even another Iron Warrior it might of sounded entertaining. "Least, I think that's what a 'fun' Sergeant would say. " The elevator ground on with its throaty choke of gears turning and cables shifting quickly becoming background noise for the legionnaires. The Servitors remained distant from them out of ignorant respect, overseer managing them too busy coordinating a hundred different actions all over his sector of the ship and maintaining the integrity of his transporting unit to offer any acknowledgement of them. The Sentinel Lifter unit, bereft of any cargo at the moment, stood idle with engine growling low like an agitated predator looking to warn everyone off. The mortal pilot though, made little effort to hide his eyeing over of the marines. Akar didn't bother to acknowledge this, not even revealing any sort of personal thought through facial expression or body language. When at last the elevator came to a halt with multiple, simultaneous devastating clangs the massive doors sealing them in began to open with the intense effort of machinery. Steam poured through gaps in the walls as they marched out and into the halls, taking a brief trek among the oppressive confines of their ship's arteries before at last emerging into the chaos of a hangar being prepared for war. Seventy more marines stood scattered around the hangar. Some were lined up by squad and engaged in pre-combat drills and weapons checks. Many more were scattered in loose groups to converse. Akar stopped briefly and cast his gaze across those awaiting deployment, body momentarily stilling from its grim march. He pounded a fist to his breastplate after locking eyes with another Iron Warrior across the way. It took a moment to spot, but anyone paying enough attention might notice the iron cast helm on a storm backdrop emblazoned on a small shield bound to the warrior's chest, just beneath the guard. One of many identifying badges for the Iron Havocs. It certainly explained the Volkite Culverin firmly entrenched in his hands. Seems even the elite heavy support of the unit weren't immune to being split up as part of Captain Brumdar's gambit. With a deep inhale meant to suppress a frustrated sigh Akar raised a fist and signaled with several fingers that they circle up. "We're not too far out from deployment now, chances are the xenos are already firing at us even though they'll sooner hit Terra than they will our ships. Our opening battle plan is as follows: Grunvil and Vilhelm will remain in proximity to our Rhinos and coordinate the construction of the inner most layers of our foothold while providing critical fire support to the forward lines. Linemen you all will be deployed to the middle ground where you will oversee the construction of our secondary defenses and first layer of bunkers and earthworks. Once the greenskins begin showing up you'll be responsible for maintaining our defenses in the front and reinforcing our back field in the event of enemy assault troops or infiltrators. " The last word was said without any hint of irony or amusement, despite the fact they were fighting greenskins. "Seth, since you're so eager to get to grips with the enemy you'll be coordinating our assault elements. The lot of you will make sure that the trenches and forward emplacements are being established at a suitable rate, whether this means you have to motivate the auxiliary or kill every single damn greenskin in the LZ. Xerxes, as an addendum, you will be given free reign to move freely between the sectors and focus on your tasks of spec-recon and communication. Is this all clear?" @Draconion @Valonox @Grall_Stonefist @Colapse @BruticusTheGoreHound @Vlayden @Redthirst @Vulpas
Listening to everything Akar said, Seth simply nodded back to him as he clasped his helmet on. He also spotted that the man had some sort of a connection with the other Devastator, given the Akar's current armament it would be logical to assume he was also one of those Iron Havocs, although how did he ended up with this new job was perhaps a question better not asked at the moment. Turning away from the Sergeant and towards Dyzek (@BruticusTheGoreHound ), Seth immediately started cooking up the plan and proceeding with the given orders. "Hail Brother, looks like we'll be going in together down there. If you have any ideas how to proceed shoot, but I was thinking...when we get down on the surface, we pick up the fastest troops the Army has to offer and we spread out, away from the LZ, so we can scout the perimeter and map most of the nearest area for any possible points of entrance." "When we find the Orks, we either take them out if there's not enough of them to cause any real damage, however if there's indeed loads of them, we stay put, not alarm the damned aliens and give our guys time to build the fortifications. Of course, if they still spot us and attack, we use old "attack then retreat" tactics and wear them down as much as we can in order to slow their advance before we inevitably lead them up to our big guns."
Marcus did little more than scoff at Dyzek and Seth, hefting his boltgun as he stepped over. "Retreating doesn't help when the air is filled with lead; you'd have to keep yourself near the ground and skip around with the jump packs. Last I checked, orks were known for shooting, and anti-air counts as that." "And if you need to retreat, you just sit and relax beside me while I do all the work, why don't you?" He said with some teasing attitude; he didn't seem to be so much being cocky as much as just joking around. His tone got a bit more serious a few seconds after as he spoke out. "Don't push too far; I'll be keeping cover fire on whatever I can see; but I'm no lascannon; can't let you two have all the fun."
"Little bit of hit and run action never hurt anyone Brother," Seth replied, "And it gives you around zero honor points, but hey, somebody have to do that so you lot can claim all the glory by killing the Greenskins from afar. As for Orks hitting us from range with anti-air fire, well if I make the fight such that they have to count on their aiming to win them the day, then they already lost the battle." "What I'm saying is, don't worry, we got this," he finished, loading a bolt in his pistol's chamber as if to enhance the point. "You better focus on your task else good Sarge over there might smack you as well!"
