Cowboy didn't know what to make of the Cadians, or perhaps just these particular Cadians. The one on his left smoked a foul smelling cigar and grinned like a rogue, his stubble dark in contrast to his thinning blonde hair, which he had gelled back. His dark green armor contrasted to his wrinkled, khaki pants as he leaned back in his chair, an elbow over the back of it. Cowboy didn't like the look. He didn't like the smell. He didn't like his constant, jovial attitude that mocked him.

And above all, he didn't like losing another hand of Emperor's Tarot.

"Full Throne boys!" the cigar smoking man shouted, his cheeks dimpling with his smile. He laid the four cards of the Golden Throne on the table with a sense of satisfaction that vexed Cowboy.

"That's gukin' the third time you've beaten us," Felix moaned as he slapped his lousy Astartes pair on the table. Felix's new augmented lung probably filtered out the effects of the smoke, but he didn't like the smell either.

"What the warp is your name already?" Grayson asked as he slide his few cubits towards the Cadian Sergeant. This man had simply wandered over to the Harakoni Warhawk's bunking area and plopped down with a handful of cubits. Cowboy, lost in his greed to win more after a string of wins against earlier Cadians, accepted the man's challenge. He hadn't even introduced himself, and Grayson was starting to think that Cowboy's suggestion of 'sucker' was not about to stick.

"Tell you what, you win a round and I'll tell you," the Cadian said. His smirk made Grayson's eye twitch in exasperation.

"You're on. Deal dammit!"

Felix flapped the hexagonal shaped cards into a pile, dividing a hand of six cards to everyone starting from his left. As he slapped the card deck down, Felix eagerly scooped up his cards to find out what he had, taking the card of Saint Ionole and setting it on the right side of his hand.

The Cadian lifted his cigar up and puffed smoke to the ceiling, using his left hand to scratch his chin with a sound like sandpaper being petted. Cowboy tipped his hat slightly. Grayson drew the side of his mouth towards his ear, a definite sign the man was thinking. If the Cadian noticed it, then he didn't care in the least.

Slowly, cards were cast in the center and Felix reached down to hand out new ones in order. The men took their cards and remained solemn as they bemused their hands. A long second passed before Felix spoke, "We ready?"

The Cadian bit his cigar. Grayson nodded while Cowboy said nothing.

"Three Guards," Felix replied, laying down a hand consisting of Saint Ionole, three cards which included pictures of Catachan, Valhallan and Cadian regiments in action against some unseen foes. The remaining two cards were one of the Throne and a strike cruiser, a symbol of the Imperial Navy.

Grayson sighed and let his hands drop the cards on the table, "Shadows and dust here."

Cowboy grinned, almost matching the Cadian. "One Crusade," He wasn't bluffing of course. Cowboy laid down a hand which consisted of two Guards, two Naval ships and an Astartes chapter. His expectant eyes watched the Cadian who said nothing.

"Tsk, guess my name's anonymous," the stranger said before laying out a hand of three Saints and two Thrones, "Imperial Edict."

Grayson slammed his forehead onto the table while Felix and Cowboy could only stare with their mouths opened, fully mortified at their loss.

The Cadian Sergeant turned to his right and laid his black boots on the table. Leaning back, he drew a long breath of his nearly gone cigar and breathed smoke into the air victoriously. But in the moment of celebration, a firm knock struck the doors of the den room, followed by a sharp cry from Corporal Keyes, "Attention on deck!"

The four soldiers shot up from their seating arrangements as a young man in a peaked khaki cap entered and took steps towards the game instantly, slowing down as he stood next to the Sergeant. He wore the insignia of a Cadian Lieutenant on his shoulder as he stared down at the hand of his subordinate. His face was young, strands of long dark hair peeped out from beneath his cap, making Felix wonder if they constantly tickled the man's sharp features. The Lieutenant drew his lips up the sides of his cheek as he looked, "Depriving Harakonians of their cash Sergeant Duke?"

"Well sir, the bet was for my name, so I guess they won this round," Duke replied sharply. He struggled to hide an insubordinate grin trying to form on his face.

"Well, then you won't mind giving them their cubits back and getting to your squad for equipment checks since we're pulling out in ten hours," Lieutenant Brokkenien commented. His face was not assertive, angry, endearing, benevolent nor benign. To Felix, the young man was simply all logic with a voice as monotone as a taught line of string.

"Understood sir," Duke replied, still standing at attention.

"Keep the money," Cowboy stated coldly.

Brokkenien turned towards Cowboy with a cold stare. A moment of tension passed as Cowboy stared at the Lieutenant who could do or say nothing to a man not even of his division or company, "I appreciate the generosity to this undeserving slob, but he is here without permission and should not have come anyway. I would appreciate you not contradicting me with regards to one of my men."

There was a degree of hostility in the Lieutenant's voice now. Grayson realized that in giving Duke the money, Cowboy had undermined the officer's authority. Technically there was nothing Brokkenien could do against the supposedly kind comment made by Cowboy except lodge of discipline complaint with Colonel Grummerveik through his own superior officer, Major Calon. Theoretically, Cowboy didn't even have to stand at attention, and the man's defiant manner came out in the form of a smirk to the young officer.

"No no. I insist," Cowboy said. His smirked widened and was mirrored by Duke who stood behind Brokkenien, completely oblivious.

Brokkenien's jaw clenched a few times while his pale face flushed a few degrees rouge. A moment later, the colors faded back into their pallor, "Thank you then, Corporal?" The question lingered.

"Cowboy, sir," Cowboy smiled, "A pleasure."

"Likewise," Brokkenien stated coldly before turning back towards Duke, who quickly killed his smile. "Get to your squad immediately, dismissed."

"Sir," Duke shot the man a salute before doing an about-face and stepping sharply towards the door. Brokkenien gave Cowboy a final stare before following the Cadian Sergeant.

Felix shot air from his mouth with a hooting motion of his lips, as though he were imitating the rapid fire of a slug auto-rifle, "A fine way to start cooperative efforts, Cowboy."

"Yep, we're goin' ta good friends," Cowboy stated with a cold sarcastic etch to his voice.

Jull groaned and rolled over in his bunk, opening one eye to the still standing group, completely oblivious as to what happened after he passed out a few hours ago. With a powerful stretch and yawn, the giant of a man posed the question, "So what did you guys win?"

- - -

Major Ikarus Calon sighed powerfully, his blue eyes on the data-slate outlining what little tactical information remained relevant to the mission. The drop was scarcely eight hours away, and somewhere in that time he needed to make sure his gear was properly stowed, final checks were made with his regiment, a watered down version of the briefing was handed to every squad sergeant, all gear checks were handed in, the armored division was properly armed and prepared for combat drop, and if there was time, to ensure that he and his regiment got a meal and a few hours sleep before the operation was initiated.

On the couch and floor, Timith laid out the necessary weapons and armor that the Major was going to need. Calon smiled. It was confusing to him, but the young lad who had no ability to remember sweetener for a cup of recaff was still one of the most amazing preparation managers in his staff. The young lad had still gotten the word out to all the platoon officers and their command staff. He had taken care of ammunition, ration, medical supply requisition and all other criteria already, and ensured that the chefs would be preparing a final meal of something decent for the men of Cadia's 33rd regiment to dine on before battle.

The bitter sip of recaff reminded Calon that perhaps it was the Emperor's way of saying that no one was perfect. A knock on the door took Calon's mind off the mindless paper work and pre-deployment chores, "Come in."

Commissar Duval strode into the Major's office, a gloved hand on his glasses, "Ikarus."

"Erik, have a seat," Calon indicated the lone chair that would allow Timith to continue to work.

The Commissar lifted his coat slightly as not to jerk it down as he sat. His elbows on the arm rests, Duval removed his cap to reveal a salt and pepper colored array of hair matted down on top of his long face, "I trust Brokkenien has had a word with you already."

"He has, and I deemed the incident as irrelevant and a waste of valuable time. We cannot afford to get caught up in petty matters before combat, especially when these are our allies we're talking about," the Major replied firmly. With a deft toss, the data-slate clapped his desk as Calon leaned back in his swivel chair, "The Harakoni are going in first, and I'm not about to step on Grummerveik's toes right before combat."

"A wise decision," Duval noted. "And from what little I know of Grummerveik's personality, I would say it would not be treated well."

"I've dealt with enough ego cases to know, but the man seems as solid and determined as any man I've ever met. I doubt he'd be a Colonel for nothing," Calon rebuttal before changing the subject, "But I doubt this is why you came here."

"I just wanted to get the small talk out of the way," Duval said with a smile.

Calon chuckled once, "The operation itself?"

Duval nodded, "If this plague is causing this mass rioting, have we made sufficient preparations for biological warfare?"

"As best we could," Calon raised a hand to indicate his adjutant. "Timith has already made medical care preparations as best to our ability. There isn't much to go on for countering warfare of this nature, and if nothing else we can buckle tight with the reported resistance on Komaal II and hold tight for the Imperial Fists to arrive in sixteen days."

Duval nodded, but still looked at the Major expectedly.

Calon stared at his friend, "I can't read your mind."

"Can we trust them?" Duval asked dryly.

Calon's pursed his lips thinking. The success or failure of this mission pended upon the combined might of two Imperial Guard forces to work together, as well as any remaining PDF forces still on the planet. The ability for the two regiments to work together was an important issue that would be the deciding factor as to whether they succeeded or failed here on this dying planet.

Once deployed, the Harakoni 42nd and Cadian 33rd would be committed.