While the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man will be up to, but you can say with precision what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages remain constant. So says the statistician."- Arthur Conan Doyle
Captain Norland had been a pilot nearing nine years of his life; in his battle-mech affectionately dubbed 'The Clanker' he had always felt invincible. He had been through twelve tours, ranging from simple peacekeeping operations in the south to full-scale wars during the energy rebellions five years prior in the west under his belt. Now though, with the invaders bearing down on them he felt nigh helpless, even as he ruptured their armor with his cannon, or stomped their troopers into paste beneath his mechs feet.
Despite the losses they were inflicting on the invaders they were losing ground and resources quickly, the Endurholdgun United Defense Force couldn't hold the city much longer. Not with the forces they had at their disposal now, as it was they were losing people and equipment faster than they could field them. The invaders technology might not be up to snuff compared to theirs, but they had the numbers, and he begrudgingly had to admit a very talented commander.
There was talk among the ranks, he knew his own command over his troops was slipping, they were fighting for their homes sure, but there was only so much they could take. None of them were used to an enemy like this, not one that would butcher entire populations of surrendering civilians. But despite that there seemed to be persistent rumors about a big attempt to placate the invaders.
Intelligence had leaked out early on, it hadn't helped that the invaders had all but broadcast their ultimatum over public loudspeakers. There was a way out of the war, it just required the sacrifice of around half of Endurholdgun's inhabitants, more precisely all of its non-human inhabitants. Norland understood that there were already desertions and even full-scale rebellions in other regions of the continent, people throwing in their lot with the enemy, worse yet the invaders seemed to be accepting these traitors, giving further incentive to betray their own world. Thankfully these were few in number so far, but it was cause for concern with recent rumors, and the way the war was going.
He was pulled from these brief thoughts as his battle group came upon more of the enemy, three platoons bolstering ten of the enemy's tanks. Norland had five war-mechs—including his own command mech—along with his infantry support numbering roughly one third of the enemy's own troopers, or one standard platoon. He'd have to make it work, the invaders were skilled at worst, or simply tenacious at the best, ergo fighting them was never an easy feat per-say.
Training kicked in, Norland and his direct subordinate pilots formed a wall before their ground troopers and began to lay into the enemy tanks with their cannon fire. Their frontal armor was tough and angled enough to deflect all but the most direct hits, but his pilots were exceptional and already they had taken two of the enemy's tanks out of commission. That didn't stop the bastards from focusing fire on Ayle's 'Songbird' billows of fire spouting out of the hole made in the mech's massive chassis.
The enemy troopers provided assistance with their anti-armor weapons, loaning valuable firepower to take down the tough reflector shields cocooning the war-mechs. Norland switched his canon into its rapid-fire mode, the internal converter would shave off smaller projectiles from the ammunition block and fire them as hyper-velocity flechettes, the smaller rounds lacked any ability whatsoever to penetrate the enemy tank armor, but they would shred enemy infantry.
A high-pitched whine replaced the cannon's previous rhythmic booms as is sent rapid hails of razor-sharp metal screaming into the poorly armored enemy. Bodies flew to pieces, what was left puffing through the air like macabre confetti, blood acting like streamers arcing in bright red. Another of his pilots went down, his mech's legs blown out from under him followed by the chassis seeming to concave in under pressure from an enemy explosive. Then another took a hit, two rounds, the sound of shearing metal filled the air in an agonized screech, though thankfully his pilot still had operation of the main systems and was reporting in as okay.
His troopers had been taking casualties from enemy heavy weapons, some sort of archaic looking plasma-guns that nonetheless melted through their armor with ease. Norland knew this was going to be a lost battle, they were down two mech's, another badly compromised if the missing arm, and ragged gouge out of its side was any indication.
"Pull back, all troopers pull back," he blared over his intercom. They would fallback in standard fighting retreat, and gain a hopefully more advantageous position further back where they had passed a dug-in light-weapons nest. Their comrades pouring on the extra weapons-fire would help a great deal to dissuade the enemy infantry from using their anti-armor weapons. They had taken out a total of at least five tanks, though those were very bad odds, usually in past battles Norland and his averaged three to four enemy tanks to every one of their own. Luck wasn't on his side today, or the enemy was getting better at counteracting their mechs.
Norland and his mechs fell back last providing moving cover for their squishier comrades. Unfortunately the tactic lost him another pilot, the already compromised Jorgen. His mech took a tank round to the knee just as its shield flickered out, it fell flat on its back, Jorgen hadn't been quick enough to catch himself, and now an enemy tank was rolling straight for him, it didn't even seem to slow as its treads found purchase on the broken war-machine. He could hear the screaming over the comm as it rolled over the chassis, crushing it and the man inside like a tin-can under its considerable mass.
Despite the added fire support of their retreating troopers the invaders advanced relentlessly, it was madness, they just marched practically in ordered lines ignoring their injured and seemingly oblivious to their casualties as they advanced to capitalize on the retreat. Norland had seen such tactics work before in other cities he had participated in the defense of, it was frighteningly effective.
Norland and what was left of his pilots made it to the nest and it was obvious to the troopers operating the emplaced weapons what was going on as they sprayed fire into the oncoming enemy, the rest of the platoon that was with him had already set up behind what cover was available. They poured fire into the oncoming advance which now seemed to pick up speed as the tanks and ground troops moved in for close quarters battle ignoring cover in favor of speed. The troopers used the tanks to ignore the small arms fire, and Norland and his pilots had a hard time getting direct hits on the speedily moving targets.
Norland watched as the enemy tanks seemingly went for broke, ramming into his own mech and that of his last pilot. It was five tanks against two mechs, their shields had already taken a battering, and so when the tons of enemy armor plowed into their mechs vulnerable legs the towering war-machines fell over from the force of the collision. Norland grimaced as he viewed a few friendly signatures from troopers that had been near him blink out from his tactical display, signaling that they had been crushed under his fallen bulk.
He watched as the signature of his last pilot winked out as his mech was finally destroyed as well, he tried to move his mechs arms, but they were unresponsive the connection having been cut or they were too extensively damaged. His tactical display was trying to give him a fit with all of the flashing from the displays, all of it signaling that his men were getting decimated. His gambit had failed, the invaders using sheer numbers and blitz tactics to overwhelm the defenders.
Warning signals played on his display as the forward hatch was being cut open by the enemy, he didn't even bother to pick up his sidearm to try and defend himself. Norland was just tired, things he decided, he would just let fall as they may. He threw up his hands, as the protective hatch was finally peeled away revealing the featureless red visors of the enemy that had defeated him.
One of them, a woman by the sound of her voice began to bark at him in their guttural sounding language—he hadn't bothered getting the translation software installed into his neural wetware—motioning for him to come out with the muzzle of her weapon. He complied exiting his ruined mech slowly, hands still up, the woman spoke again grabbing him roughly by his upper arm always careful to keep her weapon trained on him as she did so.
Looking around briefly he took in the destruction and carnage around him, his troopers being slaughtered in the street, any that were still alive had surrendered, though these were being executed systematically by different gas-mask-clad enemy troopers in long coats. More guttural language assaulted his ears and had him turn toward the woman who seemed to speak even more insistently, keeping her weapon leveled at his face she quickly pulled his sidearm from its holster.
Having disarmed him she pulled him along until he was off the wreckage of his mech and surrounded by more red-armor and faceless visors. She brought him before what he assumed to be her commanding officer, also a woman by the look of the figure. The officer said something to him, he tried to appear confused by what she was saying, to give an indication that he couldn't understand. He got a kick to the back of his legs for the trouble by his captor, the force bringing him to his knees before the officer in front of him.
He felt his wrists and even ankles being bound together roughly, but efficiently and tightly, and then he knew what was going on. Somehow they figured out that he was an officer, or at least someone with valuable information. The butt of the woman's weapon was the last thing he saw, it grew larger in his field of vision before he was knocked unconscious.
"Bout time we got one of these snetches," Sunra hauled the unconscious man up, Raltia came to her aid grabbing the prisoner's right shoulder to help her with the burden.
"Good work troopers, just voxed in the news, a valkyrie should be here momentarily for recovery of the package and us. He'll be going off to interrogation back behind friendly lines and we get to head deeper in with a good sized force to back us up for a major drop." Sergeant Joss announced easily, despite their limitations early on in the assault of the city now the Randon were using their rapid air deployment tactics to their fullest.
The Endurholdgun forces were now too bogged down in the ground war to coordinate any paltry air defenses they may have had left.
"Watchmaster, Commander its been a pleasure, hope to see you further in," Joss threw a wave at the other two officers her squad had been attached to for the objective. Randon troopers use of valkyrie's made them the bag-boys for most snatch operations as the Guard liked to call them, that is prisoner grabs. The Watchmaster gave a stiff nod before returning his attention to his korpsmen, while the rather eccentric Celk tank Commander actually waved a handkerchief at her. Their respective battle group and platoons would be moving forward while the Randon waited for their transport. Joss for her part gave them a friendly salute in return before they finally moved out and pressed on with the main battle-wave.
Raltia was thankfully more used to the inter-regimental operations now that she had been through a whole campaign with these same people and even did some more training with them on the Ipsum in-route to Endurholdgun. Accepting her life in the Guard had been much easier after Tartarius, being blooded by Randon standards made her much more approachable than before. Whereas before she was mostly given the cold shoulder and treated like a dog now she was actually included in conversations and her fellow troopers in general seemed to be more friendly with her.
It helped even more that she had become a fast friend with Sunra and had already been on good terms with the Sergeant and Corporal Barach. Now all she had to focus on was not screwing up, which she had learned very early on was synonymous with survival, as if that hadn't been obvious when she had gotten the conscription notice. Speaking of focus, she heard the distinctive sound of a valkyrie's engines as the aerial vehicle descended from the heavens.
Playfully stenciled onto its side the motto 'we were going there anyway,' in bright red. The flyboy gave them a thumbs up and the squad embarked onto their most trusted form of transport. Raltia and Sunra strapped the prisoner into on of the transport seats, securing his unconscious form a bit more tightly than strictly necessary. That done they took seats themselves, one on each side of him, both opting to hold the overhanging safety straps instead on strapping in. It was a bad habit that all in the Randon 145th seemed to pick up over time, if there was ever a crash then they would be thrown all over the place like rag-dolls, but that was far from anyone's mind.
"So the Corporal maybe drop a hint about what exactly it is we're doing," Sunra asked once they took off and started moving. Raltia knew that it was apparently common knowledge in the squad that she was unusually close to the Sergeant and Corporal Barach, especially unusual given her still somewhat new status. Though from what she knew about Randon culture none of the men would question it due to their place, even with the freedom they found in the Guard.
"No, it's really being kept hush, hush, other than the grab-op they're quieter than a windless day on Surris," she replied back, stretching her neck and feeling the satisfying pops of her vertebrae.
"Get the feeling lately that nobody's telling us anything? I mean it's usually like that sure, but ever since landing planetside anyone with any kind of rank seems like they're tiptoeing around everything with us grunts," Sunra mused.
"Yeah, but don't expect me to bring it up to the Sergeant, I'm not getting my head bit off for your curiosity's sake." Raltia replied steadily while studying the unconscious man beside her. She had seen the dead bodies from the purges, thankfully never having to take part in one being that Randon companies were used for precision attacks. Getting a view close up of a living enemy that wasn't attacking you was a rare opportunity.
"They don't look like heretical xenos lovers when they're not shooting back at us," She said idly, attempting to derail Sunra's current line of inquiry. She had learned early on in their friendship that her fellow drop-trooper was one given to gossip and absolutely relentless when it came to getting details about something, even if the person she was grilling genuinely had no idea about what she was curious about.
"Don't try that now Ral, if you know something spill, no one in the squad save Barach usually knows about mission details except you. Now come on you have to have heard something," the Randon woman pleaded hands clasped before her.
"The Sergeant might like me more than the norm, but that doesn't mean she'd trust me with valuable information Sun. I don't know anymore than you and that's the end of it," Raltia closed her down, her expression leaving no more room for questioning on the subject.
Sunra sighed in defeat, not wishing to pursue the subject any further lest they attract attention from their squad-mates anymore than they already had. "Yeah, okay fine, but you'd tell me if you did know right? Fire-forged friends right?"
Raltia gave her own sigh in return, apparently it was considered a matter of extreme honor on Randon to be truthful with those you had blooded with, fire-forged friends was indicative of your designated battle-buddy, which Sunra was to her by the end of the Tartarius campaign. Despite being from a different world she couldn't help being a little fascinated and drawn to the concept and so she would take it seriously.
"Course I would tell you Sun, but for the last kecking time there is nothing to tell. I'm just as blind about this as everyone else," her statement seemed to be punctuated by the sudden flashing of lights indicating the upcoming drop-zone, Raltia had learned that to be in a Randon regiment you had to embrace the madness, and so with a grin in her tone she asked her friend. "So, ready to find out why we've been kept in the dark?"
"Oh warp yes!" Her maniacal friend whooped back.
There was a clatter of boots as everyone stood up and began to prep themselves for the jump, the prisoner would continue on without them, the gun crew of the valkyrie sufficient for the rest of his trip. They would be departing for yet another hot landing zone most likely, once on the ground the Sergeant would most likely finally tell them what was what, Raltia admittedly was just as curious as her friend.
Doors opening up and go siren blaring no one wasted time making their way to the open exits with near wild abandon. Raltia still didn't get the insane rush her comrades got from jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft, though she had embraced the madness to a point her stomach still tightened when it came time to jump. Lucky for her any attempts at stalling were always met with a push from behind and once again she would find herself plummeting from very high-up in the air.
From there the training thankfully always seemed to kick in for her, it was becoming second nature by now, first you gauged distance to the ground, then you kept the fall count in your head. By the end of your fall count you would right yourself to properly deploy your gravchute, finally when you were approaching the ground it was time to ease your landing. Depending on how ballsy you were you could rapidly decelerated yourself from a mere few hundred meters up and land soft as a feather. Many of her comrades were liable to do just this, she on the other hand tried to avoid it in light of her obvious reservations.
They all landed without a hitch, the reason becoming obvious why once Raltia got a good look around their landing zone. There had to be at least a few platoons worth of the 145th securing the area around them and beyond that, harder to see but still there, was a good number of Hoarfell advance scout elements joining them. The Hoarfell had been deployed heavily ahead of the main battle-force, meaning that she and her squad was now most likely behind enemy lines.
"Alright people listen up, now I've been pretty quiet about what exactly we've been doing for the past couple of ops. Now I get to make up for it," Sergeant Joss made quick progress in addressing them, her voice clear to the whole squad. "Command wants some enemy installation right bad not too far from here, vitally important we capture it they say. Our job is to get there and hold it until the main wave gets to us, word has it storm-troopers have already begun the assault, but it seems the glory boys are gonna need some back up because our squad gets to be part of the group going in after them to pull their asses out of the fire, now let's get moving."
The Sergeant turned quickly and began to lead the way for them, following the main body of guardsmen as they went toward their objective at a brisk pace. Raltia noticed the Hoarfell troopers trailing along the outer edges of the Randon formations like wraiths shadowing their brightly colored allies.
"So how's that for an op Sun, backup for storm-troopers, an important enemy base. I'm thinking we just hit the most important operation of the campaign for us," Raltia breathed out as they kept pace with the formation.
"Sounds good to me, just give me something to shoot at, but what makes you think this is so important? We've been on some missions that seemed more high-profile than this," Sunra shot back.
"Well other than the storm-troopers who from all I've ever heard only ever take the most secret, or tough missions the Guard gets let's just say I can feel it in my bones. This is gonna be something else," Raltia stated with conviction.
Picking off the targets available to her was like breathing at this point, Fenria did so practically by reflex and simply continued to for as long as was necessary. Sight in, breath, fire, it was her mantra helping her ignore the unimportant things, such as the stray enemy rounds that went past her every once in a while. Sighting in on what looked to be an officer she watched as the xenos helmet-less head burst from a hotshot round, though that hadn't been her.
It was Lieutenant Virtanen, the strangely garbed guardswoman was as the Inquisitor put it an excellent shot, in-fact Fenria was under the suspicion that she was in some sort of competition with the woman given the self satisfied smirks the tri-fold hat wearing Lieutenant threw her way after a particularly good shot.
She paid the woman little mind in light of these small looks, and continued to focus on her own targets, another of which went down from a clean head-shot, the lasbolt cooking his brain inside the helmet.
Meanwhile she occasionally glanced down at the advancing line of storm-troopers and her own comrades, not surprisingly Jericus was of particular interest for her. He had a way of getting into bad situations, specifically too close and personal with enemy combatants when he could take them out much easier and safer from a distance. If it weren't for his competence in CQC then she would have to constantly be saving her friend.
No such issue at the moment though as the Imperial line was advancing, they kept on the constant fire, plasma-guns melting away the enemy's portable cover sheets and allowing hellgun fire to find its mark. Combined with her and the Inquisitorial agent's own precision fire and elimination of suspected enemy field leaders they were doing better than they ought to be.
Making headway the Imperial line finally closed with the enemy firing positions, Fenria and Virtanen had eliminated the dedicated heavy weapon emplacements, though at that point they would be nigh useless at the pointblank fighting range with their large construction. Fenria settled down on her shots as Aryn crashed first into the enemy line followed closely by the rest of their comrades, the large abhuman manhandling enemy troopers left and right with his shield and his ripper-gun tearing limbs off at the enemy armors weak joints, if that failed he used the overbuilt weapon and his shield to simply shatter bodies.
Sighting in on Jericus she watched as he fought alongside the agent Schmidt, the bearded man was about as vicious as her friend in close-quarters, favoring a rather wicked pair of knuckle-knives, one of which was currently stuck in an enemy's groin. The man screaming audibly and bleeding out soon after when Schmidt drove his other knife into his neck.
Jericus on his own end parried with his lasgun expertly, finishing off enemies with mono-edged bayonet to vulnerable areas, and striking out with his other limbs when he could to give himself advantage and create openings.
He wasn't in much danger so she panned her view over to B-80, worried their weakened Corporal wouldn't be doing as well given his condition. He was holding his own luckily enough, using every dirty trick the korps favored when training their troops, but he was too focused on his single opponent and hadn't noticed the man charging up to him and ready to club him over the head with his weapon. Fenria placed two well aimed shots into the enemy trooper's head, the first weaken his armor enough for the second to ensure a kill if the first hadn't already.
The feminine form dropped like a sack of bricks, its control center obliterated by the powerful light energy. B-80 hardly noticed and continued to knee his opponent in the solar-plexus before throwing the man to the ground and stomping on his neck. Fenria swore she could hear the snap of vertebrae even from her distance away and above the sound of battle. She noted from her peripheral vision that Virtanen was snapping off accurate shots every few moments, each one dropping an enemy. It was very impressive, though she felt confident in her marksmanship Fenria was still cautious with her shots due to her comrades close proximity.
One fraction off and the shot would wing a friendly, and that was not something she would take lightly. Virtanen by conclusion was one hell of a shot, and confident in her abilities to a nigh ridiculous degree, still Fenria had to admit excellent didn't do the woman's skills justice.
Once again Fenria focused, panning her view back toward Jericus and noting he was having trouble, a rather large enemy, a xeno if the face was anything to go by was overpowering him. Its knife was dangerously close to stabbing down into the vulnerable gap between his neck and carapace armor. She didn't have to think, the calculations for the shot came to her on instinct alone with her friends life on the line. As though watching her body move on its own whim she took the shot, the bolt of energy instantly connecting with the xenos' head.
Jericus threw the limp body from himself covered in the xenos' gray-matter and blood as its head blew apart. He didn't acknowledge the save, instead focusing on the fight and going one to stab another enemy that was getting the better of Schmidt through the kidney. Her work done Fenria continued to take careful shots, the skirmish coming to a close as the Inquisitor blasted the last surviving enemy into bits with his exotic pistol.
Storm-troopers began the post fight clean-up, swiftly killing remaining enemy casualties with their bayonets, afterwards they recovered the valuable gear of their fallen, that done they quickly began to move out, Aryn going with them most likely as a precaution. His valuable shield would ward off any further casualties if he took point.
"We shouldn't keep his Lordship waiting, come windup," Virtanen said tersely, her haughty attitude coming through in spades. She straightened herself and strode forward with what Fenria could tell was a breed air of confidence and grace. Ignoring the barb and overall attitude she followed obediently after, after all in the Korps one never disobeyed or questioned their superiors, and Lieutenant throne agent Virtanen was by and far her superior.
"Ah what a rush, wouldn't you say so Lieutenant? And think this is only a momentary high compared to what awaits us further in. I daresay we are close now, I can taste it in the air," Dauntless stated enthusiastically. "Shall we continue on? I believe the Captain will be wanting our company."
The Inquisitor turned away from them not waiting for any replies and continued on his way, the Arbitrator and Virtanen went after the man readily, as did Schmidt and Gunther. B-80 gave a nod to Fenria before he left with B-63, Kerelia, and most of the rest of the squad, leaving her Jericus to take the rear. They kept the appropriate distance, not too far away, but enough to keep eyes on the path behind them to give warning should an enemy rear their head from a hidden position and try to flank.
"Thanks for the save," he said immediately, it was a welcome and expected gratitude. At this point it just worked that way between the two of them and was really more a formality than a necessity, still she had to admit it was appreciated.
"Anytime," her reply was filled wit muted sincerity, but it was more than enough. They walked on in amiable silence, following the others and keeping an eye on their flank, the current hall they had enter directly after the enemy position was getting progressively smaller. Up ahead she could see what looked to be the end of the line as they approached a rather important looking doorway, some storm-troopers were placing melta-charges at key points of its construction. The rest of the red-clad professionals had set up a perimeter in the immediate area leading to the door.
They allowed her and Jericus through last of the group, keeping the flank covered as everyone else started to stand about and get ready for whatever would be behind the doors. She and Jericus made their way to the squad, Watchmaster B-63 having a hushed conversation with Dauntless and Kerelia. The rest of their companions seemed to form a loose circle around the trio keeping an appropriate distance.
"So do you think this will be it?" She asked Jericus lowly.
"Sure as a grox's arse!" Schmidt if she remembered right beat Jericus to the punch. The amiable bearded man and his equally bearded comrade making their way over to the two of them.
"Apologies," her response was immediate, they probably should be wondering about what the objective of the mission was, not when it was important enough for the Inquisition to be involved.
"Ah, no need for that Miss, we may be agents of the Inquisition but we're not gonna kill you just for being a little curious. Not Dauntless' style to kill all witnesses and all that garbage, right fine man for an Inquisitor he is, and trust us we've seen many of the bad types to know the difference," Gunther supplemented.
"Aye, ain't that the truth... so you two wanna know about what's behind that there door? Cause we've got the inside scoop and we're none too scared to share seein' as you'll be findin' out in a moment anyway," Schmidt added.
In the background they heard the distinct hiss-bang of the melta-charges going off followed by an order to bring out the lascutters. Apparently the door was made of some tough stuff, as most everything else they had encountered, they heard the hum of the lascutters as they powered up and went to work. Gunther and Schmidt looked to the door eyebrows raised as they watched the slow progress.
"Well, maybe not a moment," Gunther stated sheepishly.
"Anyway, what do ya say friends?" Schmidt finished.
"It would be nice to know what we've been fighting for," Jericus surprised her from her right, he had been on the side of caution regarding inquiry into the current mission after all. Schmidt and Gunther gave them both broad grins when they heard the answer, like two boys about to steal from a cookie jar. Casting their gazes as one over their shoulders they motioned for them both to come closer, she and Jericus did so automatically.
"Either of you know what an STC is?" Schmidt asked lowly.
Now both she and Jericus being from Surris they had of course heard of STC's, after all the magos in the manufactorums were the Surris populations primary source of education. Though lowly line workers they had been privy to what had been little more than legend and speculation heard from lower ranked magos that still deigned to talk with the baseline workers. Thus their response was understandable, both had wide eyes and open mouths under their obscuring masks.
"There's one of them here?" Fenria was the first to recover from the surprise.
"Aye, and accordin' to all the evidence and speculation we've gathered it's the mother-load. Everythin' you poor sods haves been fighting against on this rock is grade-A ancient Imperial technology, and we're about to gain the key to making it all," Gunther answered, his grin still present.
"Omnissiah's cogs," Jericus' unconscious exclamation drew forth smothered laughter from the two bearded men.
"Aye, that'd be the appropriate response to the situation. I wouldn't worry too much though, the Captain and his troopers have the biggest adamantium balls I've ever seen, if anyone can get us through this it'll be them, mark my words," Schmidt assured them.
The sound of the doors crashing to the metallic floor reverberated loudly through the air punctuating his statement, Fenria could practically feel the vibration in her bones. Everyone turned toward the noise and peered into the room beyond like dumbstruck birds... under other circumstances it would be comical if what lay beyond wasn't so awe-inspiring.
A few hours ago they had been resting in their hide, still cautious due to their previous run-in with the enemy. Now Xavier and his squad found themselves apart of what was one truly massive deployment of guardsmen behind enemy lines heading toward some vague objective with orders to simply secure a supposedly very important enemy base. He had received and relayed the vox-call himself to Sergeant Grimes who had taken the call and the orders relayed with trademark weary-but-ready attitude.
They had to sneak through some very heavily occupied enemy territory to get to the rally point where they found platoons of Randon dropping in from the sky and their own mustered recon elements ready to move out. Hooking up with Raltia's squad had been a blessing as they had already worked with them previously and Xavier and the others had a soft spot for their fellow Surrin.
Going through the enemy territory to the base hadn't been as bad as he had thought it would, mostly they found the cooling remains of enemy troopers, taken out with some of the most precise lasgun fire he had ever seen. Either that or they seemed to be melted or half vaporized from what he guessed had to be plasma-guns and melta weapons-fire. The entrance to the base was very low-key, it looked like any other hab-complex, though that turned out to be a facade as they entered, a platoon or two staying behind to secure the entrance.
"Feel like I'm in some sort of spy-vid," Cain joked as they made their way through an honest-to-Emperor hidden entrance in the basement of the hab-building. Soon they were splitting up by squad and heading down the many different corridors leading to parts unknown. Xavier felt his nerves act up as they went down their own assign corridor, they had at least a platoon strength compliment include their own and Raltia's squad, but he had the feeling that whatever they were going to find was not going to be good.
"This place is giving me the heebie-jebbies," Eli muttered.
"I second that," Cain put in quickly.
"Omnissiah take me, cause I'm agreeing with you two," Hack added.
"Yeah, I'm getting it too," Xavier voiced last.
A/N: Okay then here it is, I'd like to know how you're all feeling about this here. I know it's most likely a forgone conclusion that things with the STC are going to go south, but how about the lead up? Any concerns, how do you guys like the Inquisitor and his crew so far?
Anyway, I'd like thank all of my readers and hope that you're enjoying the story. Apologies about any issues, please point out any grammatical discrepancies, my laptop has crapped out recently and I have to get used to a new writing program, so this chap may be a little rushed. I will go back and revise any errors, though it may take some time. Kindly review if you please.
Shout-outs:
JohnDoeSIGMA1- Hope the bit at the beginning sated some of your desire for enemy POV. There'll be more to come before the end.
Shootdahoop- Thanks kindly for faving the story, hope you've been enjoying it so far.
In conclusion, see you all next week, two at the most.
300-709.