The Kriegsmen had finished and now they are picking up the buckets and mopsthat they used to clean the Chimera. While his men are doing that Janssen see that suddendly many troopers are moving back and forth as if they where readying themselves. "Hurry up guys..., something its happening and i want you ready for anything". Schmidtt stops and also looks at the troops "Almost done just need to put the cleaning kits back to the depot, our battle gear its ready we just need to pick it up..."
Beck assessed the situation at hand firstly they had to leave the dangerous but perk filled duty as the missionary guard, on the other hand they were now a command squad so it wasn’t all bad. Ellen approached Beck and held out her hand “sir what are we going to do with these” in her hand were the hand written litanies that the sisters had left with them upon their separation. “I don’t know corporal” Beck replied “just give them to me” he took the pile of paper and started to walk down the hall toward puller’s office with Ellen in tow. Upon arriving he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and stepped in “hello sir” he said “would you like some hand written litanies to spruce up the office”?
((OOC: sorry for not posting folks my new job is hell and I don’t get much sleep))
How many days had it been? Skive craned his neck upwards, gazing painfully towards the sun in an attempt to discern it's position in the sky, his fingers forming a protective blind across his forehead to ward off the harsh beams of light, ignorant to the fact that his lenses made this a wholly unnecessary ritual. There was a particularly violent gust of wind that had been harassing him for the better half of the day, and the chatter of sporadic gunfire still peppered off in the distance, evidence that the turncoats were still very much a presence in the area. Dust swirled in miniature tempests around his boots, caking at the heels and toes.
The rifle was heavy on his arm, and a rash was beginning to form around the area where the sling had pinched his skin. Skive's eyes tracked down from the sky lazily and rested themselves upon the footpath in front of him, traveling along it from his vantage point on the ridge just outside the hive and down to the hinterlands in front of him. Somewhere in the expanse of battle-scarred landscape before him, there was an AWOL Savlar who had stolen as much ammunition and as many chems as his stubby little arms could carry.
A harsh snort escaped his nostrils, expelling a vicious hiss from the respirator that obscured the lower half of his face. Ammo was one thing, but you did not [/******** with a man's drugs. The comm channel went live.
"Bastion, this is Wild Card. No sign of the ********' chem thief and I'm all outta sunblock. Advise?"
The Vostroyan Vox Op answered Skive as he did everyone else. That same sardonic tone of hearing the dying, panic filled cries of men looking for support that would never come had hardened him it would seem. "Wild Card, Bastion copies, but orders stay the same. Find the b*****d, frag the b*****d return the stolen items. Iron Side relays items to vital to write off."
Puller looked up at his new sergeant, and the lead of his command squad. "Unless you've got a litany in there for infinite ammo, that actually works I'll have to decline. They aren't much use to us right now. A simple prayer to the All Mighty has always been all I ever required. That said, feel free to tag them to your personal gear if you wish. Get squared away something big is about to happen. Call to Tac Com and let them know I'm ordering an immediate RTB of all units. Also find Sergeant Geoffoeries, I'd like to speak to her personally about what's to come. If you can't find a Sergeant Geoffoeries, look for a BUG."
Puller thought for a second to make contact with his psyker. "Enter my office, business is a foot."
The airborne squad was bailed out by several units, which in the end equaled out to a platoon's worth of support. Then pulled back to the base.
All across the Hive units were falling back towards central command and quickly as they could. If the Colonel was calling them back like this it had to be urgent or serious.
(Now for my big list of excuses and shtuff. In short work and repainting my army eats up time. In other news: I got me some plagueys!)
Tavish stirred the pot of "stew" a favorite of his, "Carrion Stew" mix in a few pieces of "battle meat" and sliced up ration sticks and it smelled like heaven. The ratling scooped up a bowlful using a dull pieces of scrap. Tavish felt he had something to do, maybe it had to do with his last haul and reporting it or something... He shrugged and took a sip from the "bowl". A few guardsmen around the base sniffed the air before deciding the food wasn't worth it. The true customers were those returning to camp from their mission, their noses were still smelling charred flesh so the stew wouldn't be any different, right?
Jarlaxle was scrubbing the counters in the med bay for the tenth time, everything had to be sterile. He made a lot of mistakes but none of them related to his medical practice, it was the one redeeming quality in a luck smeared career. He waited for the next briefing hoping they got some action soon.
Victor sat in the armory cleaning his weapons zealously, it kept him sane in the down time. Puller had called in the scouts which meant something was brewing.
The squad of Airborne soldiers thanked the people who saved them and started off, carrying their supplies towards what looked to be the Unit PX "Quartermaster sir, my squad have supplies to give the unit as thanks for saving us and all." after leaving the crates of Medical and food supplies they went off to find or create a barracks to call home.
As the message reached his mind Eric nodded to himself and briskly made his way Puller. The soldiers eyed him dangerously, and instinctively he kept his had on the laspistol in his hip holster. Should trouble break loose, if ever it did, he knew he would need to rely on more than just his aim. As he reached puller office he knocked three times and then entered, knowing he was expected.
Janssen and his men reach their tents and move picking his gear "Check everything, ammo, etc. etc..." "Dont worry Sir, we already had the gear ready, just need to pick it up and get out" "Check it anyway Schmidtt, I dont want mistakes, our gear battle ready, guns clean and oiled, knifes sharpened..." "All right... all right, checking it... again..." After some minutes Janssen calls them back "OK, we go ready or not...!!!" Janssen and his men leave the tent coming back to the base to wait for orders.
There was something to be said of the raw cathartic power of conducting routine weapons maintenance. The process was rigid in it's linearity, lawful in the constancy of its rituals and the habits it instilled in a man. It was an activity that consumed a large part of Armitage's idle time due in large part to the state of mindlessness it allowed him to slip into, making it a useful activity in a respect that was twofold; on one hand, it permitted Armitage to pass a great deal of time with diminishing returns of effort expended versus enjoyment derived. On the other, maintaining one's weapon was not only mandated in the Primer, but also an activity of great practicality when seeking to preserve one's life.
It was an undeniable truth that the difference between glorious victory and a bloody death was often determined by three factors:
- Effective command structure
- An ethos of unflinching loyalty and savage valor
- Proper weapons maintenance
While the hulking Armitage was far and away one of the guardsmen least disposed to leadership or savagery, he was always the one looked to when a model of care towards one's arms was sought.
Since the dissolution of the 3rd Bast in the recent weeks, Armitage had found himself thrust into strange company of certain roughness. Accusatory eyes and derogatory remarks lurked around every corner, between every bunk, forcing the towering man to recluse into his own private corner of the barracks where he did the only thing he could to pass the time and avoid the unfamiliar glowering of his fellow guardsmen; Disassembling, inspecting, cleaning, reassembling, and re-inspecting his stubber. Over and over and over again.
For twelve days.
On the thirteenth and current day, Armitage rose from his too small bunk and strode out of the barracks with his weapon, heading nowhere in particular until something of consequence would occur to him.
Khasiq and his squad of Tallarn scouts entered the inner base tired and frustrated. With Command calling in all of the outer parties they again found themselves wholly out of their element and with little to do. Inactivity was one thing, but inactivity without good reason was another entirely. Through distress calls and intercepted communications they'd plotted a rough estimation of the enemy positions and were distressed to find out they were more or less surrounded. This being the case, withdrawing the scouts seemed like one of the worst possible decisions to make. Perhaps Puller had some information the Corporal did not, but seeing as scouts fed the information Khasiq found that unlike. Regardless, he could do nothing but grudgingly follow orders and try to find some way to occupy his time. He waved his squad off to find somewhere to stash their gear while Khasiq himself walked towards the armory, somewhat hoping Bug would be there. Familiar faces offered a semblance of comfort the scout needed right now.
The Kriegsmen return to the HQ. now there are troops everywhere, coming and going, " Sir?, this looks to be big... seem like all were called back, its almost like when the battle started..." Janssen nods "Not alike... we had heavy losses, our forces are very disminished, few ammo and almost no vehicles, but we still have the faith in our glorious Emperor to do his holy work... cleanse this world through fire and blood..."
The Kriegsmen gather near the HQ along the other troops that are also gathering there.
"How far is the resupply ship out? I am assuming you've been in contact with the Astropath. And this will seem strange, but have you any strange feelings in the warp? This sudden upswing in traitorous activity I do not see as a coincidence."
As the troops gather, Janssen at last notice how distinct are the remaining forces, they have spent time in the camp, but never had seen all the troops at the same time, Schmidtt looks around nervously. "Nothing more than scraps, thats what we are..." Janssen stare at him "No, we are Emperors men, his shield and sword, we fight and die for Him, so stop talking nonsense, if you are nervous pray..."