@DeranVendar Beneath the sun of an alien planet, Dyzek's world would be aflame. He knew not how the foul xenos had managed to simple disappear and manifest at will, only that it had managed to get the drop on him. With his brother pinned beneath a pile of greenskins to his side, and his mortal support eradicated, he felt the situation growing more and more dire. Warning runes would pop up on his helmet's display, as he felt the metal of his plate begin to glow with the heat, his body burning within, before impacts after impact would come from the support of the other kommando. Despite the infamous inaccuracy of the orks, at this range, it would be difficult for even one of their number to miss, and so, he felt himself juddering with each shot that connected, agony spreading through his limbs as he was completely engulfed in enemy fire. The pain searing through him, Dyzek would feel himself fall back, his leg giving out beneath him. Coming down to a knee, raising his arms in an attempt to protect his head, the marine would suffer the worst of the attack upon him. Letting out a cry of pain, the voice from his helmet's speakers would distort the shout into something inhuman all together. However, the shout, would soon begin to shift, from pain, into laughter. Within his own personal inferno, locked under constant fire, the ignition of his own jump pack would be difficult to notice. Surrounded by the thick sounds of fire, artillery, mortars, even the arms in the hands of the greenskins themselves, the roar of it's engines would be drowned out. Yet, from where he knelt, Dyzek would lunge forth with all the inhuman speed of the Astartes, activating his thrusters at the same moment, so that he'd ascend into the heavens. And at this range, he would not be alone. Speeding forth, the marine would spread his arms wide, blasting full force into the ork burna directly before him. Should he hit, he'd lock his arms around the beast's waist, before rocketing into the skies above. Gaining altitude quickly, Dyzek, still aflame, would rise up above like the proverbial phoenix of ancient legend, still clutching the ork in his arms. Upon reaching a point where he could survey the entire battlefield, the combatants looking as ants below scurrying about, he'd release the ork, looking to let it drop down. Letting gravity do the rest, the kommando would be sent back to join it's comrades, albeit at a much swiftly velocity then it would probably enjoy. Upon the wind, the greenskin would be barred, for The Emperor's Chosen would rule these skies. And the Orks would not be welcome here. Actions: Attack on Ork Kommando (Burna)
Feeling the pain of the stab wound, Seth grunted in pain. And now, the damned Greenskins tried one of the basest of tactics to take him out! That cannot go unanswered, not as long as the others were watching - it would be so bad to die at the hands of these aliens by getting tossed in a dogpile and stabbed to death. "Perhaps you are better at wrestling then me," he squeezed through his teeth, "But I'm sure as hell better at flying!" pressing the button to activate his jump pack while simultaneously grabbing the Kommando (wherever he could) so he couldn't let go. The idea was to get loose of the attackers by using the push of his jump pack and flying high in the air where, if any of the Orks was still clinging on, he would simply drop them from the sky and into the dirt below. OOC Actions - activating jump pack in order to shake off the Orks and get clear of the immediate threat. Not sure how many actions are needed for that so I'm using both for it.
Vilhelm had only a few moments to admire the work his Frag Missile did before a giant Ork was already attacking him. Realizing that his chances in melee are fairly low, Devastators attempts a rather risky move - he would jump back to put some distance between himself and the Ork, and then fire a Krak Missile point-blank - being an anti-armor missile, it didn't have much of a blast, but directly hits could be devastating. OOC: Defense of myself to put some distance, then Krak Missile point-blank into Nob that assaults me.
“SCUZE YOO AZSTARTEES!” Marcus found his arm locked in a green fingered vice-grip, Nob reaching back and grasping limb even after the grenade had already been punched through the back and into a lung. “WOT YOOZ FINK YA---“Swinging the legionnaire around with impressive strength the greenskin unwittingly saved Marcus from his own grenade. Explosive went off and ork was blown apart from within and line marine sent somersaulting through the air for several feet thanks to the combined force of grenade and Nob muscle. Finding his footing after the flight Marcus found that the battle against the Kommandos was rapidly shifting in their favor. Dyzek had flown free of the inferno and swept upward with a struggling Ork wrapped tight in his arms. Rocketing higher and higher the assault marine abandoned his passenger and sent him plummeting to a messy end below. Splattered Kommando remains were cooked along with those that yet lived as Herchel advanced steadily on the group and doused them in promethium fueled justice. Seth saw all this from above as the pile he had been a part of precious seconds before cooked and crackled. Orks engaged in the much beloved ‘burny dance’ that their kind liked to rave about. A single infiltrator remained, shoota spitting out rounds at everything in sight as the alien was backed up against a section of razor wire. Descending Seth used falling momentum to take his chain axe down through the ork’s skull and out between the legs; severed halves slapping wetly to the ground. A sea of flame had consumed a large part of the central trenches, and it was here Xerxes made his own stand. With a ripple of unnatural forces the flames retreated from his armor, whilst the Nob was not so lucky and remained a living torch. Even engulfed in fire the towering xeno wasn’t going to leave Librarian with an easy fight. Shoota was whipped around by its barrel like a bat and legionnaire sunk beneath it, bolt pistol placing itself squarely against the enemy’s hip and unloading several times. On fire and with mass reactive rounds impact from point blank range the Nob dies with its waist partially blown in half, a fair chunk of the spine having ceased to be after the last shot as well. Far afield the drop pod had landed and their enemies’ big guns had gone silent. Nice as this was, it was probably little comfort to the trio of heavy weapons troopers locked in close combat. Grunvil and Vilhelm seemed to of both had the same idea about securing just enough room to try and plant shots into the assailing Nobs. Vilhelm continued to prove himself a crack shot with a krak shot, missile streaking into the masked alien and sending the upper body scattering several yards in every direction. Nob didn’t even get to scream at him or make some sort of witty rebuttal about his stupid helmet not being colorful like an Imperial Fist’s. Grunvil was having a tougher time of getting some firing room on his own target. Nob was relentless and every sweep of its choppa brought it barreling forward reclaiming any ground the Iron Warrior gained. It looked like a chase that their enemy would win, but an astartes was rarely ever really alone. Wilson used his advantageous position off to the side to light up the Nob’s flank, a chunk of its right leg blown wide open revealing bone beneath what steaming strands of muscle still clung to it. Collapsing as leg gave out, greenskin was put down at last as Grunvil seized the moment to put a bolt from his own pistol through thick skull and into the brain. Enemy kannons had resumed firing now, yet keen eyes that looked further afield realized that they were manned by larger, heavily armored figures now. Artillery was leveled as low as possible to fire right into the back of the dwindling Ork horde. Caught in the proverbial jaws of the defenders to the fore and now their own guns to the back morale began to waver. Even Big Boss Choppateef’s presence didn’t seem to hold things together seamlessly; a number of war bikers opting to break off and ride out of there before they got krumped. “Give it up ‘umie! “ Power klaw gouged another hole in Akar’s chest. Several deep gashes had been carved into the Sergeant, each blow met with grim silence as Iron Warrior tried to hold out just a bit longer for relief. The alien was clearly leagues beyond Seventh squad’s leader and were it not for the effects of Xerxe’s possibility shield, which even now were tapering off, death might have already claimed the warrior. Freeing himself of the link to his plasma cannon Akar used his bolt pistol to take several snap shots at the big bosses’ face while backpedaling to freedom. With a snort of disgust Choppateef lunged forward and bit down on Akar’s arm, trapping the limb momentarily before ripping the gun out of the man’s grip with a vicious head toss. “Had enuff uv ya! Yer weak wivout yer dakka! “Power klaw extended and snapped shut on the same limb. A ceramite wrapped arm fell to the ground, armor marred by shallow grooves from the metal plated teeth of Choppateef. “Seth, Dyzek! Engage! “Tone terse with pain it was impressive enough that Akar could even get the words out. Big boss distracted ever so briefly by the satisfaction of disarming one of the Emperor’s finest he wasn’t prepared for the pair of assault marines closing in. Chain sword and chain axe tore at the thick, leathery hide of Choppateef. Bloody furrows opened up alongside the handful of gashes made by combat knife. “OIY, OIY, I WILL KILL ALL OF YOOZ IN GOOD TIME! “ Klaw swept back and Seth found himself struck across the face for the second time that day, young marine spinning away from the titanic force present in even the most mundane of blows. Dyzek wouldn’t get off easy either, a boot smashing down on his armored knee. Staggered by such a blow he couldn’t escape Choppateef giving him the choppy end of his claw, a blade anchored in his stomach while the upper half of the weapon began to close in on his side. “Fire! “ Then the bolts came. So many Emperor damned bolts. Xerxes, Vilhelm, Grunvil, Marcus, Herchel, Wilson, and Akar turning bolters and pistols upon the xeno in a storm of brass. Withering hail surged through the air and in a twenty strong chain of mass reactive detonations Choppateef disintegrated into a whirlwind of gore. It had been violent, undeniably so, and normally this would have been quite the glorious moment to the greenskins; except for the fact it was their boss and not the enemies’ that had his shredded and liquefied guts plastered across the field and Dyzek’s armor. “WEEZ ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIIIE!” “ZOG IT BOYZ, FINGS GONE NAFF!” A dozen different orkish translations of F.U.B.A.R were roared in those moments. Fun as yelling was for them it would not change their fates. Not one bit. Kannons and a squad of legionnaires met those trying to turn face and run, while the overwhelming number of guns still holding the trenches blew open alien backs. Chimaeras loaded with penal troopers surged forward to continue the pursuit and reinforce the squad that had been dropped in from orbit.When at last the killing was done Akar stepped over to his arm, half buried in the dirt and spat on it before moving to re-attach his plasma cannon to the back mounted flask unit and heft it up with his lone hand. "Seventh squad, disperse and begin repairing our trenches. Direct the auxiliary as needed. I will organize clean up teams and prepare to greet Third squad. " Several seconds passed with an awkward pause. Standing there without an arm Akar made for an interesting sight, and for the freshest meat of the legion it might of been impressive even; were they that tough by right of being space marines? Or was there even more to it? "Congratulations on holding the line. Get it repaired in good time, and I'll make sure you don't have to deal with any lip from Third. " @Draconion @Redthirst @Valonox @Vulpas @Colapse @Vlayden @BruticusTheGoreHound @Grall_Stonefist
Staggering to his feet from fighting the Nob, Xerxes is just in time to behold Akar fighting for his life against the Ork Boss. Running to close the gap, he stows away his pistol and knife, drawing his bolter right in time for the order to open fire, which he does with a will, emptying a full magazine into the Ork Boss and slapping another into the breech before realising the giant Ork is now bloody mud. Without missing a beat, he joins his squad brothers in turning his weapon on the backs of the fleeing Orks until only silence reigns over the trench lines. Exhaling long and slow to calm his racing hearts, Xerxes realises this is what victory looks like - a temporary reprieve before the next battle. Nothing more. Peace is fleeting, illusory. War is the natural state of existence - immutable, eternal. As Akar finishes giving his orders, Xerxes shakes out his entrenching tool and complies, initially in silence. As he begins clearing out a collapsed section of trench, some impulse in him - unknowable, yet as familiar and old as the trade of soldiering itself - causes him to raise his voice in song. Perhaps it is a celebration of survival, a gesture of defiance, as if to say to an uncaring universe, "After all that, we're still here. We don't know how for how much longer, but while we're around, we're going to sing about it." The song itself, a running and work cadence taught to all recruits of the IVth from their very first day, celebrating the crushing grind and humble glories that have come to define their legion. O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, gotta work all day! Up in the mornin', it's a brand new day! Hard work-work! Legion sergeants kicked me outta my hay! Hard work-work! They filled my heart with righteous hate! Hard work-work! And dressed me up in Legion plate! Hard work-work! O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, gotta work all day! Zero hour over Two-Four-Nine! Hard work-work! First to drop and feelin' fine! Hard work-work! Iron Fourth, first on alien soil! Hard work-work! First to danger, first to toil! Hard work-work! O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, hard work! Hard work-work! O hard work, gotta work all day!
@DeranVendar Pain would flash across Dyzek's body, as with a grunt, and a pull, he'd remove the claw of the ork from his body, casting aside the now useless fragment of metal to the ground. The fire upon his armour, long having gone out, would make it's mark known from the darkened, partially warped ceremite that covered him. It was to the point where the sigil of the Legion would be misshapen into a crude imitation of the real thing. His body would ache, blistered skin covering him from head to toe, his wound, for the moment, still seeping blood into the dirt around him. Blinking away warning runes, the marine would swiftly run a diagnostic of his armour, to ensure everything was still in working order. Thankfully, his jump pack remained in good condition, and while parts of his plate has been somewhat melted beneath the hellish torrent of the burna, overall, everything was still working. Even with all the orks had thrown at him, he'd emerged on the other side of the proverbial blender, mostly intact. It would only be now, that Dyzek would let loose a soft laughter, turning, and striding back out towards the trench line. Flexing his body, to ensure his mobility was not hampered, the marine would open upon again a roster of the surviving Penal Legion soldiers, swiftly assuming direct command of several squadrons. Opening up a comm link, he'd offer up quick orders. "On my selected position, we have some work to do." Jumping over to where he'd decided to perform his duties, spreading himself out among his brothers, to maximize their efficiency among the mortals, He'd reach to his hip, withdrawing a link of teeth for his chainsword, noting that in combat, he'd already lost quite a few. Taking a moment, he'd wait for the arrival of the Penal Legion squads by replacing the metal fangs of his blade, finishing up just as they arrived. Gunning the engine of the weapon, he'd turn to face the soldiers, trying to get a measure of their disheveled figures. Their taskmaster, waiting exactingly with his whip, would get a brief nod, as Dyzek spoke through his helmet's grill. "You all know your place here, what it has cost us to drive away the orks, and secure our position. I won't pretend to sympathize with your plight, for there is not a man here who hasn't earned his position among your company. With that being said however, if we do our job, diligently, and with some pride, then I will be more then happy to enjoy your company. Now, lets get to work." With that, the marine, coated in black and battle damage from the skirmish, would sheath his blade, and would draw his entrenching tool. Giving a few directives, while sending the plans he had for their defenses to the squad leaders, he'd begin getting to work. He knew it would be a long day ahead of them, but for the most part, the storm had passed for the time being, and they would have to make the best of the break they had.
In spite of Xerxe's status as an Iron Warrior, and thus one of the bigger assholes an auxiliary could end up working under, the song became popular as some of the quicker minds and sharper ears among the penal troopers took up the song. A rhythm helped when doing busy work, movements fell in line a little quicker, and time passed a smidge faster. Dyzek ended up playing a slightly more traditional role meeting those units in his immediate area with orders and work, though the fact he addressed the troops directly and with something that could of been construed as kindness made him a significantly better day shift manager than many of his peers. A Rhino dispatched to retrieve the squad further afield came trundling up to the base. Weaving a passage around the hundred or so penal auxiliary currently responsible for confirming that many times their number in orks were actually dead. Black smoke and the stink of burning alien flesh consumed everything nearby. Bereft of re-breathers coughing and gagging helped form a trinity of sensory misery. Sergeant Akar would meet the transport just beyond the line of tanks freshly bedded down and dug in. As promised none of them would be bothered by whatever exchange took place, the entire lot of veteran soldiers making for the budding apothecarion and medical compound nearest to them. Sun had set when at last their company returned in strength. It had been an arduous march back, but judging by the formation's size casualties hadn't been too high. Wounds were in abundance, but nothing that wouldn't be survived. The overall mood seemed to of taken a turn for the better: Grim satisfaction over just grim. Perhaps it was because of this that when Captain Brumdar summoned the squad to the central command bunker they found him wearing a satisfied grin; something that seemed to place their Sergeant at ease, whom had joined them still bereft of an arm. "Squad Akar, excellent work establishing, and holding, our fortifications. All construction seems to be carrying on as scheduled and I appreciate the decorations you put up. Glad to know things weren't too boring for your squad either. Truly. " The Olympian raised a gauntlet and beckoned the whole lot of them closer to a large tactical map that dominated the center of the bunker's third sub-level. "Come, since you all saw to it the base was raised and remained standing, I wish your thoughts on how we should expand. There is a surplus of supplies and we should not waste them. We're fighting far below our usual strength for an operation of this size, and with Captain Eptherion establishing his forces elsewhere on the world I believe it prudent to focus on building up a single headquarters; as opposed to trying to crawl our defenses up to the walls of the Ork factory-bastion. " "Tell me men of the seventh, what do you advise we do with our base?" Three different layouts of their base had been formed upon the map. Three dimensional models outlined in a projector mesh of dark orange. Each one was the same at its core with only a single major notable difference between them. Dark Sky Artillery Battery: The first expansion was perhaps the most aggressive and visibly striking of the three. A large area of the southern ridge was outline in green to help its modification stand out. Heavily entrenched long guns deployed in strength would allow for heavier bombardments on the Orks' own battlements and defenses many miles away. Several smaller batteries arranged around the encampment would also reinforce the primary approaches to the base. (Choosing this option will allow the squad to call in two highly destructive artillery strikes next mission) Iron Wing Airfield: Second option made heavy use of their elevated terrain and the nearby cliffs. In short an expanded series of runways, landing pads, and heavier gun emplacements in the surrounding terrain to solidify security would grant them the ability to support more aircraft and expand aerial operations in their sector. (Choosing this option will allow the squad to call in two aerial support actions next mission. Each one can either be the deployment of reinforcing NPCs, or a gunship that will remain for the length of an engagement. ) More of the Same: Uninspired and proven murderously effective by the Iron Warriors a hundred times over. The base would be fortified to the highest degree possible and larger portions of the defense given over to turrets, traps, walls, trenches, and automated weaponry. This would allow for more bodies in the field, plain and simple. (Choosing this option will allow the squad to receive an additional attachment of NPCs at the start of the next mission. Allies granted by this decision will be of higher quality than those deployed by air support. ) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Once the matter of how their base should be specialized and expanded was decided upon the squad was dismissed. With the bulk of the company present there was little need for seventh squad to deal with the penal troopers and oversee construction now. Those legionnaires who hadn't been gravely injured had been given a brief period of time to recuperate and re-arm before manning the defenses and ensuring that nothing was amiss. Due to their time spent in deliberation with the Captain, the squad would be granted a period of relief as well. Enough time to see any persistent wounds tended to, missing limbs addressed, and perhaps if they were feeling brave, some bonding managed with their battle brothers. "Marcus, you're coming to medical unit one with me." Sergeant Akar looked pointedly at the line warrior before starting to march toward another squat bunker entrance a half-mile to the north of them. The only one among them who would be robbed of freedom was Marcus it seemed. ( @Vlayden ) @Draconion @Valonox @Colapse @BruticusTheGoreHound @Redthirst @Vulpas @Grall_Stonefist
Seth was happy that they received personal summons from their Captain. It definitely meant that they did something right and that in fact, the 7th had much to be proud of. Going to the meeting alongside his brothers, Seth cleaned some of the dirt from his armor as well as pieces of gore that still clung to his axe's adamantium teeth, wanting to have a proper look when addressing the Captain for the first time. Listening to Brumdar's exposition as well as his praises, Seth look at the display in front of him, trying to memorize as much as he could and learn stuff or two about laying siege, before the Captain asked a question. "Dark Sky artillery battery - that's what we need. Why, simple - the biggest number of the Orks are holding up in their fortress at the moment and what better way to flush them out in the open then to bombard the hell out of them until there is nothing left of their base. Clean and simple, yet effective. It would be the quickest way to deal with these aliens and purge the planet of their foul touch." OOC vote for Dark Sky Artillery Battery Once the meeting was over, Seth would grab his chainaxe and head towards the training area (or if there was not one present, he would make one himself by expanding a part of the trenches to suit his needs) in order to continue practicing. Always training, always improving - that was his personal motto. Of course, besides that another reason to find a place where himself and others were training was to also find the members of the 3rd squad and especially that loudmouth Devastator from before, and see what he has to say now. Maybe he would even get a chance to fight him and prove his and 7th superiority. Seth's intention was to be the best at what he does and everyone who said otherwise better start watching their backs.
<Briefing> When Seth finishes speaking his piece, Xerxes takes his turn to speak up. Snapping to attention with a salute, he says, "Sir. While Brother Seth has a point, I postulate that enhanced air ops make more sense in our situation. Under-strength as we are, additional flexibility and mobility are what we need to maintain the advantage over the foe. With the faster turnaround time that comes from increased air support, ten men can have the tactical impact of a hundred, or even a thousand. Furthermore, more aircraft in the air means more fire support as well, and a close support gunship is more precise than any artillery strike. Tactical postulation ends, Brother-Captain, sir." [OOC: Vote for Iron Wing Airfield.] <Post-Debrief> Out on the trenches, Xerxes takes it upon himself to keep watch over the squad's section of the redoubts and make it homely in the way of soldiers since the time of Caesar, if not before. Easily carving out a squad-sized dugout in next to no time, with packed-earth benches and tables, he proceeds to start a fire in a small firepit to boil some water for tanna. Pulling out a data slate, he begins to work on his Librarius examination assignments, while keeping an eye and ear on the local and planetary battle-net through his vox-caster for major developments, not to mention popping up on the breastworks every fifteen minutes for a scan of his sector through magnoculars.
To say the least, Marcus was quite glad he was thrown aside - even if it was a comically large distance thanks to the Nob's own strength combined with his frag's shockwave - landing in the dirt with a groan. As he raised himself to check what else was to be fought he saw that the orks had fled. Oh... Joyous, he thought to himself and let his head hang back for a moment as he relaxed. It was for less than half a minute of course before he got up and reloaded his boltgun. ---- <Briefing> He gave a nod at the compliments for holding the base, doing little aside from listening now. Though once he was asked of his opinion he did indeed speak up after the other two Astartes did. "On the contrary; you said this was to be a singular headquarters, correct? Then if that's to be the case, fortifying it would be our top priority. If we're going to have time later we can get to building the artillery batteries; as it is, orks are going to have some form of air firepower for a bastion like this, flak guns and whatnot. And if they do any charges like the one we just endured, a base like this is going to be hard-pressed." He explained now, shrugging his shoulders. "As it is, it may let us bring in more troops anyway; from there we can get sappers, heavy support, any infantryman we'd need. Air support may be countered by the ork's flak defenses, and the artillery has limited range, and the terrain may block shots." OOC; More of the Same When the Sergeant called for him, Marcus turned over and blinked once, before jogging to the man's side. He certainly wasn't going to argue, even if a small bit of 'deflation' occured in his mind at the thought of potential punishment, or 'rewards' (He hoped that it wouldn't be 'patrol duty' or any bland thing of the sort). Of course, he did his best to ignore the mild irritation in his chest from the shoota shots; he wasn't in true pain like the first seconds of the impacts, but it was akin to a bee sting at this point. The punctured chestplate may prove a problem, though...
