06.30.990 M40 Aerobolian sector, Kalis system. On board the imperial transport ship, the "iron chariot".
Jeffrey Hiram had been called many things in life, failure, waste of space, underachiever, and even the ever so eloquent "bastard". Now however, he had a different label associated with his name, one which bothered him far more than any other, that was being called a "hero".
He certainly didn't feel like a hero, in fact he chalked his survival up far more to luck than skill and daring. It was "luck" that saved him from the claws of the deff dreads when the rest of his crew died, it was luck that saved him from the looted Russ' in his first engagement. And it was a monumental amount of luck that covered his ass against the Ork warboss Azurk, for their numerous ways that he could have and probably should have died that particular day.
He still had nightmares about the battle for Sebastopol, in reality it felt less like a battle and more like a hellscape of carnage and death. He could still smell the smoke and burnt flesh whenever he thought back on it. Worse were graphic images that came to mind such as men buying alive in their vehicles or being ripped limb from limb by the greenskins or being crushed under treads. It was enough to churn his stomach and make him sick to his core.
The fact that he had slain the Ork warboss did little to alleviate that revulsion. Especially considering the fact he was now on his way to face even more carnage and devastation. The greenskin threat was far from over, for WAAGH Kurg was still ravaging the sector. Despite receiving reinforcements, the Orks were still advancing and had by now reportedly taken over a dozen systems.
Jeffrey suspected that they might have taken more, it wouldn't surprise him to hear the Imperium "embellished" certain information. Information is power as they say, and the Imperium would likely stop at nothing to preserve morale. Which is likely why he was being touted as a hero and the campaign in Kheive was being as a grand success when it a minor victory if anything.
And that train of thought brought him full circle. For now here he was, a lifelong failure and "waste of potential", with not even a years worth of service, now in charge of not one, but twelve tanks. He was now both Captain and commanding officer for 122nd Aerobolian Armored regiment, a regiment which didn't even exist just a month ago. If that wasn't a recipe for disaster he didn't know what was, but he kept such thoughts to himself.
To fill this new regiment, recruits were taken this time almost entirely from his home world of Aerbolia. That would certainly help smooth over many of the culture clashes that were common in many of the hodgepodge regiment scrambled from a mix of different worlds, or so he had heard from other officers complaining about it. There was an unexpected upside as well, since most of the recruits hailed from Aerobolia they knew of him, or well his family and took his order even more seriously. Whether that was from some sort of social conditioning or out of fear, he didn't really know or care.
Lucky for him as well, the recruits had already received most of their basic training already and this allowed Jeffrey to focus on other matters. Namely he had to learn platoon and company level tactics and strategies, which was far from easy. First problem being that they were stuck on a transport vessel and thus they couldn't practice on the field. The second being that the "tactica imperialis" was long, exhaustive and kept his attention about as well as watching paint dry.
With a dry yawn he set down the heavy tone and leaned back in his seat in his private quarters. Being an officer did have its privileges, one of them being better accommodations. He thought about going to sleep early tonight, arguing with himself that all training and preparation might not actually mean anything. How many crews had died in that previous battle? How many of them had veteran crews and officers, and yet all the training in the world didn't save them.
He sighed and yawned deeply, instead choosing to stand up and stretch before dropping and doing some push ups to get his blood pumping. The fact he would willingly exercise in order to wake himself up for more studying was certainly a strange thought. It was only less than six months ago he would have rather done anything else. So little time and yet he had changed so much, war did have the tendency of doing that to people.
As did so, he heard the alarms going off and a cascade of footsteps outside his quarters. He quickly opened the door and followed a bunch of sailors and soldiers to battle stations. Apparently the ship was under attack by Orks, while he didn't know the whole situation it didn't bode well. Amidst all the yelling he confusion he heard tell of the ship taking several hits. He then heard the dull sounds of explosions from further inside the ship. He cursed as he received orders to brace for emergency descent, he quickly set about spreading that information as everyone scrambled to find cover.
He prayed to the Emperor in desperation as the ship began its crash onto the desert planet of Kalis beloved them. The ship began to shake violently and heat up as it passed into the atmosphere. Jeffrey held on as long as he could before the darkness overtook him…
—--
(Ork POV)
On board the Ork battleship the "Da silver smasha"
Kaptin Barok grinned from ear to ear as he saw the human battleship crippled and falling to the planet below. As satisfying as that was, he looked forward even more to watching it explode in the vacuum of space. Watching his enemies met a fiery end was part of what made him a good Kaptin after all, so he ordered his boys to keep engaging the ship. That was until another Ork entered his command bridge, "stop firing ya lazy gitz" the Ork ordered as the Boyz looked around confused as to who to listen to.
In frustration Barok turned to who this upstart git was and to put him into place. He stopped as he saw it was an Ork in a crimson cloak with tons of cybernetics and four mechadendrites which seemed to move with a mind of their own. Barons cursed under his breath, punching a nearby grot to vent his anger. He had always hated this big Mek, named Vok "iron skull", for being un orky and for being an arrogant sod.
Barons held his tongue because he had seen other boyz are try and step up to Vok only to meet their end as lobotomized servants. The fact that he also had the favor of the big boss Kurg, also made even more untouchable. A fact which made him even less of an Ork in Barok's eyes as an Ork should be able to fight his own battles and not hide behind technology or friends in high positions. His anger burned up more and thus he demanded an explanation,
"But why, we can smash da humies here and now?"
Vok didn't like being questioned apparently, for the mechadendrites lashed violently around, slashing several boys and grots unlucky enough to be close. Badok chuckled lightly at unnerving him, a glare from Vok put an end to that, as the red glare of his biotics flared to life.
'If wez blow em up now then we don't get da scrap, nor do we get ta fite lik real Orks. 'Sides I haz some toyz to test out" he finally replied, his voice a mix of deep Orkish and mechanical static. Vok then lifted turn his attention to the rest of the command bridge, "If any of gitz have problem with da, then ya have a problem wit me". Vok waited in silence, sparing Badok a side glance for a few moments before leaving the deck.
With Vok gone for the moment, Badok called over one of his boyz and tasked them with relaying a message to the "stormboyz" on board. Yes, Vok would be getting his ground fight but soon he would learn that this was his ship and no buddy questioned him in front of his boyz and get away with it.
There is a fight coming up and it was looking like it would be a hell of a show….
