Fortune's Favored
Imperial Carrack Class Troop Transport
Crew: 3000 Naval personnel
400 Naval Armsmen
8,000 Savlar 66th Chem-Dogs
Status: Currently Awaiting Assignment
The Fortune's Favored was, by all accounts, a flying prison. Its sole purpose was to ferry its dangerous cargo from warzone to warzone. Armed naval security officers stood guard at every major junction at the fore of the ship. Aft was largely given over to the Savlar 66th Chem-Dogs and their cells. Murderers, thieves and anarchists from the prisons of Savlar, sent out into the galaxy's worst toxic nightmares to fight and die for the Emperor.
"Attention Savlar 66th. Armed patrols will be coming through your decks. You know the routine. Strip down to skivvies, move to the back of your cell, and remain still. Any sudden movement will be met with lethal force. When cell inspections have finished, and the security teams have left your section, you are free to move around again. Until then, remain still."
A chorus of moans and curses rose up from the aft of the ship as the blue warning lights flickered on in each cell. Sergeant Seravin Corr tossed his handful of cards onto the small folding table, stood and sighed as he pulled off his undershirt and tossed it over by the front of the cell.
"You know the drill. Sooner they're done, the sooner we can get back to our game."
His squad groaned loudly as they deposited their cards on the table before standing and peeling off their grimy clothing and added it to the pile started by Corr.
"We ain't been off this can for weeks. Where in da hell we 'sposed to get anything?" grunted Callahan as he sauntered toward the back of the cell.
"You forget Cally. There's a whole army of navy boys to steal from here." Briggs called from her cell across the room. She ignored the leering gazes of the men across from her as she peeled off her clothing and moved to the back of her cell. A deep laugh made eyes turn to the cell next to Corr's. A large meaty frame leaned against the bars and arms like tree trunks stuck through, gesturing while the man talked.
"Whole army o' navy." Mason, the heavy gunner chuckled. "I hate myself for likin' that one."
"We all hate you Mason, now get back against the wall!" Corr shouted.
"Yup, yup. Sure thing, boss." The muscular arms disappeared within their cell once more. Corr rubbed his temple.
"Idiots… I'm surrounded by idiots…"
Less than three hours later the armsmen finished their routine security sweep, returned to their half of the ship and the warning lights went dead. Corr sighed, running a hand over his shaved skull and bent to pick up his shirt.
"Deal a new hand Cally."
"Figures, I had great cards too." He muttered as he sat and started shuffling.
"Course you did. You cheat." Stakely hissed through broken, yellowed teeth as he plopped himself down into his seat.
A clanging at the bars of the cell interrupted the conversation and drew their attention. Two armsmen and a commissar stood there.
"You. Sergeant. Come with me." The commissar hissed. The way he said Corr's rank sounded like he was spitting poison.
Stakely flashed a noxious grin.
"You're in trouble, Sarge." He said. Corr glared at him sidelong and kicked his chair out from under him. There was a satisfying crack as the man's jaw connected with the card table before he hit the floor in a whimpering mess. The commissar eyed him briefly before turning away as the armsmen opened the cell.
"This way." The commissar repeated as he walked down the corridor.
"Help Stakely find his teeth Cally, I'll be back." Corr said as he stepped out of the cell and followed the commissar, flanked by the two armsmen, the barrels of their shotcannons aimed at his back, encouraging continued compliance.
After long minutes of silence, the small group arrived at a blast door. Corr shivered. He was all too familiar with interrogation chambers. The door hissed opened and the commissar eyed Corr from under his cap.
"Sit." He ordered. Corr swallowed the fear building in his throat, and moved forward to sit in the chair on the far end of the table. He hadn't done anything wrong. At least, not recently. The mere touch of the cold metal chair sent chills down his spine, his mind instantly dredging up the interrogation chamber after his little...
"Sergeant Seravin Corr."
Corr blinked, drawn from his little reverie by the commissar's stern voice. It took him entirely too long to realize he hadn't been strapped down. The commissar looked up from a dataslate, staring at Corr with cold, unblinking eyes.
"Born on Heidrun. Orphaned at age three, parents killed in action. Attended the Schola Progenium at age four. Quickly overcame your classmates and graduated with honors. Murdered your fellow graduates in cold blood the morning after graduation. Sentenced to life on Savlar for your crime. Quickly snatched up by the Chem-Dogs for your Progena training." The commissar set the dataslate on the table.
"That's me." Corr said, hoping his show of bravado hid his nervousness.
"What did you specialize in at the Schola, Sergeant?"
"I was to be a storm trooper. My skills laid heavily in force-multiplied deconstruction."
"You mean demolitions?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" The commissar's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"I have a mission. One that requires the level of skill that, let's face it, is largely absent from anything Savlar can dredge up."
"Stop, your flattery is going to make me blush." Corr said. He saw the commissar twitch, but through sheer force of will, the commissar maintained his composure. He leaned forward and steepled his gloved fingers. His head turned ever so slightly to the side and one of the two armsmen stepped forward and cracked the butt of his shotcannon into the side of Corr's head. He reeled but managed to remain both in his seat and conscious.
"Look, filth. I don't like you. If I had my way I would render you and your entire regiment into so much fine paste against the bulkhead. But you serve a purpose for the Imperium and for that you are spared from your deserved fate." Corr rubbed at his throbbing head, feeling his own sticky blood running down his temple.
"So order me already. Ain't like I can refuse you, can I, Sir." Corr hissed through clenched teeth. The commissar leaned back, and appeared to smirk for almost a full second.
"There's trouble on a backwater planet known as Strontius Prime, the local rabble has incited a minor rebellion. It's perfect for you lot. Air is toxic, mostly swampland across the main continent, you'll feel right at home with all that scum."
Corr smirked and pointed at the datapad.
"There any intel on that?" he asked. The commissar paused, taken somewhat by surprise by Corr's question, before handing him the datapad.
"What's my target?" he asked as he skimmed the planetary information.
"What we believe to be the rebel base of power, the governor's mansion. It fell early on in the rebellion and seems a likely place to house the rebel leaders.
"Why not bomb it? Why send in us mud-sloggers?" he asked.
"They have surrounded the mansion with anti-air. The risk to the pilots is simply too great."
"But the risk to me-"
"-Is perfectly acceptable."
Corr sat in silence for a moment before sliding the slate back across the table.
"I'll need a team." The commissar looked skeptical. "It'll improve chances for completing the mission." The commissar thought on it for a moment, before nodding.
"You may take your current squad, but that is all. No further assistance, no equipment beyond your typical gear." Corr's jaw fell open.
"How do you expect me to blow up a mansion without an explosive?!" he asked, jabbing a finger at the dataslate. "You read the intel, that place is massive!"
"I have no doubt you'll figure it out." The commissar said as he stood. He nodded at the guards who took up position behind Corr. "Return him to his cell." He ordered. "Select your team and discuss a plan, you have until we drop out of warp." Corr was quickly grabbed by the arms and lifted bodily from his seat as the commissar quickly made his exit. Corr snarled and pulled his arms free and stepped into the corridor.
"Wait! What about the rest of the 66th?" he called. The commissar stopped and peered back over his shoulder.
"They will be providing the distraction for your insurgency. Don't let their deaths be a complete waste." The armsmen moved to grab Corr again, and he sighed.
"I can walk. I know the way." He hissed. "Frakkin' fools…" He shrugged his arms free and muttered under his breath all the way back to the hold.