Having firmly established a position between the vital roadways supplying the rebels on Haikk, the Leopards begin intelligence gathering, but not just from a military standpoint in Rogers case. He learns some disturbing facts about the Eldar way of war, how to get rid of a stalker, and how far an overbearing parent will go to keep an eye on their child. He is then assigned, much to his confusion, to a seemingly uneventful patrol that has more than a few surprises...

"Twelve convoys a day? Into the city alone?"

"Yes, my lord. We're looking at about 10 trucks in a single convoy, so given the average weight of a full capacity truck, we're looking at about…"

Roger Wessyng lowered the handset of the radio and looked over the notes he had written, Kallen sitting in one of the Wave Serpents seats, Cruniach standing near the rear door, and Moire sitting on the floor in front of him. Roger nervously looked up, seeing he had forgotten to write the number. Moire raised her hand slightly and mouthed the words if he wanted daily or weekly cargo loads. He mouthed daily back, leaving D'Uxford in silence. She lifted her hand, five fingers sticking out.

"Five thousand tons of food, six thousand max. Probably less, and that's assuming they are only transporting hard crops, wheat, corn, et cetera. Livestock is more of a guess."

"They're transporting livestock?"

"Food is food my lord. We have observed wheat trucks, livestock carriers, we've even seen what seemed to be refrigerated trailers, possibly fish."

D'Uxford thought this over for a moment.

"I understand. You have gathered this in what, three days' observation?"

"They run this like clockwork. It's very organized. At night, they only run a few patrols, mostly of former PDF local troops, judging by how sloppy they are. "

"I see. We have old almanacs and production reports provided to the Administratum before Haikk rebelled. I'll have some of my clerk's look over their numbers and compare. Is the Chevauchee working in your warrior's opinion?"

Roger blinked and rubbed his nose. He cringed as he felt something wet come out. The harshness of the desert was wreaking hell on his body, the constant changes of insufferable heat and miserable cold making him ill. Thankfully he hadn't been getting the migraines that had tortured his mother when the fall came, the sudden switches from the start of winter and the last gasps of summer making the weather unpredictable.

"Let me ask them."

Lowering the handset, he got the attention of all three.

"All of you, I want opinions. Do you think the Chevauchee is working?"

Cruniach answered first.

"We don't have enough data to confirm it. If we compared the numbers before it started, I would have an answer."

"Yes, D'Uxford is looking into that now. Moire?"

"I agree with Cruniach. We can't assume when we have barely any comparable data."

"Kallen?"

The Scorpion lifted himself out of the seat and stretched, giving his characteristic grin.

"We're obviously far enough in their territory that they don't feel threatened. They don't defend their convoys. We could start ambushing today and it would probably be a month before they would start seriously defending them. I'd say try to hit the storage centers the trucks are heading to."

Roger nodded and put the handset back to his ear.

"We need that data you're looking for before we can really give an answer. One of my men is saying you should hit the storage centers."

Even through the static and crackling, he heard the annoyance of Edmunds spymaster rising.

"We have looked into that, but the storage areas are better defended than the cities. Fortresses guarded by well armed garrisons and even with anti-air weapons."

"We could raid them."

"Don't give me ideas Roger. Just keep watch. I'll get that data as soon as possible. I know you've only been there half a week, but your report is promising. Keep up the good work. Lions Den out."

"Copy Lions Den, Leopard One out."

The handset crackled and went silent. Putting it back onto the vox set, Roger sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Well?" Moire asked.

"D'Uxford has found old data sheets about the food production around here from before the rebellion. They'll compare our info. He'll want us to stay longer and be sure for certain, so don't think we're leaving any sooner."

Kallen smiled.

"As if we would want to leave this paradise."

"At least we solved the bathing issue. All credit to you serjeant," Cruniach grunted.

"Incredible what a human mind and a few buckets can do."

"If only the water was a little cooler," Moire said with disappointment.

"It's fine for me. By the way Kallen, D'Uxford liked your idea of raiding the storage areas. We'll only have to go through a fortress level set of defenses, hardened garrisons, and no air support, or any support given its distance from the frontline."

"Sounds easy enough, but I do wonder," Kallen said as his brow furrowed. "Why haven't your troops faced any opponents during their raids? If they have garrisons and such, why don't they spare troops to attack them and stop the destruction?"

"Hell if I know, mate. I'm only here to count trucks."

The four laughed, Cruniach opening the door as Roger stood and cracked his neck. The night chill flooded the compartment as the four prepared to exit.

"Ishas bones," Moire complained.

"I think the weather is getting worse," Cruniach added.

"The weather is only good shortly after dawn or sundown as far as I can tell," Roger said as he shivered.

"Well as long as I can bathe during the day I should be fine," Kallen chuckled.

"Speaking of which, I think you need one serjeant, I can smell you."

"Thank you, Moire, for your concern about my personal health and hygiene. I would but I have some… reservations about it."

"You have nothing to be afraid or envious of, I've never seen them, but i'm sure compared to your kin, your genitals-"

"Stop! It has nothing to do with that. It's more of a privacy issue."

"I won't stare," Kallen said.

"Now if I was worried about someone being envious…"

Kallen threw his head back and laughed.

XXXXXX

Dug into the side of a handful of dunes near the roads, watchpoints had been created to keep a lookout on the convoys, while keeping those inside in relative comfort from the blazing and unending heat. Even with their advanced armor, the Eldari would start to overheat very quickly. The human body would handle it even worse. Watching from the concealed dug out and lying on his stomach, Roger saw the oncoming trucks, trying to ignore the fact he was starting to sweat. It was the middle of the day, so the heat was reaching its zenith, but even when buried under the sand and with more than a little support from some kind of Eldar technology, it was getting very uncomfortable. He put the binoculars up and looked through.

"Same as the last convoy. Exactly one hour apart."

Anxo, the actor who had achieved the seemingly impossible at Al-Madin, was beside him, confirming the assessment. Watchpoints had teams of two at all times, to confirm any observations and to give a bit more of a fighting chance should worse case scenarios arise.

"Confirmed. Why would they drive through this heat? Wouldn't it make more sense to drive at night?"

It was a very good point, Roger thought. He wiped a bead of sweat away and made a guess.

"If we're sweating under here with all the cooling we can get, imagine what it's like on the surface."

Anxo grunted in understanding.

"They think no one would come out this far and attack when it's so damn hot."

"My best guess. You doing alright?"

"Sweating a bit, but nothing unmanageable. I have some water if you need it."

"I'll be fine. But now I am certain that they schedule it every hour and during the hottest time to avoid attack."

"What kind of idiot would attack a convoy in this heat?" Anxo said, his sarcasm biting into the assessment.

"Thirty one idiots, only one of them human," Roger muttered as he watched the convoy go by.

"Three crop carriers, two livestock, and…"

A sudden roar and screech came over them, sand shaking free of its packed state and shimmering into the dug out. Anxo cursed in Eldari, Roger lowering his binoculars, cursing and slamming his fist on the ground.

"What in the name of Khaine was that?"

"Son of a bitch!"

"Are you all right serjeant?"

Roger rolled on his side, hitting his forehead gently with a curled fist.

"Yes, but I know why they are so poorly defended."

"Very well, but what was that noise?"

"That my friend was a Valkyrie VTOL. Flying troop carrier. God dammit."

"Apologies, serjeant, but what does that mean?"

"It means the moment we try to attack a convoy, either best case scenario, a Valkyrie swoops in with infantry to secure it and attack us, or worse, it's a gunship and will tear us to shreds as we try to strike. D'Uxford and the rest of Corps intelligence dropped the bloody ball on us."

"So no raids?"

"Not unless you want to be killed. Kallens going to love this."

He tapped the comm bead in his ear and sighed as it connected.

"Kallen, I have some bad-"

"We heard it. Thankfully we were not visible. I take it the raid plans are off?"

Roger tapped the side of his binoculars, one finger at a time in a wavy motion.

"Not exactly. We can use the Serpents to assist us. But a simple raid is no longer possible. It will be a nightmare. But we have to try it once. We'll plan it out. Carry on keeping hidden. Stay cool."

"You as well."

"Anya, how are you and Shae holding on the other side?"

"Serjeant, we have no changes from previous observation. The convoys on this side seem to be half an hour behind yours. Its very scheduled. And we observed the craft closely."

"Describe it."

"Serjeant?"

"Please."

He heard a sigh.

"Sleek."

"Was there a large circle behind the cockpit?"

Silence followed.

"No."

"Good. Just a transport. If you do see one with weapons protruding and a circle behind the cockpit, let me know immediately. That's a goddamn gunship and we do not need to face one of those. That goes for everyone. Tell the next watch shift the same."

"Understood."

The comms bead went dead, and Roger turned to Anxo.

"Well we got another hour. Tell me a bit about Eldar plays."

Anxo looked surprised and tried to tell if Roger was serious.

"Well, serjeant, I actually have read one of your species plays. I think the best way to put it is that we rely more on emotion than telling the story. Your plays are frankly… too wordy, is the best way to put it in your tongue."

"Interesting. We use the words to let out the emotions in the story. What do your people do?"

"We focus more on the emotion itself. We are more aware than your kind, if that makes sense."

Roger shrugged and rolled on his back, moving his rucksack under his head and looking into the dugouts thin material that created a ceiling.

"Maybe I'm just a stupid Mon-Keigh who understands nothing, as usual."

Anxo softly laughed.

"Believe me serjeant, you are better than most of your kind, in my opinion. It's a shame I won't remember you or any of this when I return to Ducaish."

Roger processed this for a moment and sat up.

"What do you mean, "you won't remember?" Is your people that faulty with memory?"

Anxo looked at him as if he said the sky was yellow and Haikks' two suns were blue. He shook his head and realized what happened.

"No one told you?"

"About what?"

"The war mask?"

Roger shook his head, now concerned with the idea that everyone he fought with would completely forget him. Anxos' face turned sallow and thought of how to explain such an important and essential part of Eldar life.

"Well, the best way to explain it is, as I said, my people process emotions differently than you do. The horrors of war can lead to… unpleasant results, as I'm sure you have seen. I understand that your kind deals with such stresses similar to ours."

"Yes, but is it actually a mask?"

"It's a bit hard to explain. Imagine that you are not you, but a you that is able to withstand the stresses and damage war can have on one's psyche. You don't remember what happened when you were fighting, what you did, any of it."

"So am I actually seeing the real versions of our friends?"

"The War Mask works in strange ways. Some become almost complete copies of themselves. I've heard stories of Eldari who become complete opposites, kind on the Craftworld, brutal in the field, introvert on Ducaish, social in battle. There is no set way that one will act under the mask as far as I can tell. And for some, it works better than… others."

Roger thought for a second, thinking of all his troops. He blinked when he realized who Anxo was talking about.

"Kallen."

"He remembers better than most. He is only a few breaks away from becoming an Exarch. Don'tr tell him or anyone I said that."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"To follow the truest path of a warrior is both the greatest honor and curse an Eldar could have. To be a master of warfare, to defeat the enemies of his home, to show the true superiority of our people even in this dark age, comes with a heavy price. An exarch's soul will never find peace, only lust for battle."

"I remember hearing about that. Buiran couldn't join your infinity circuit."

"Correct."

Roger sat and thought about this. The people he had learned so much about, the friends and acquaintances, all of it would be lost, barely remembered, trapped behind a mental maze to defend its owner.

"Is every warrior wearing a mask?"

Anxo shook his head.

"The Scorpions and Avengers are. Rangers do not."

"That explains why their personalities and quirks are more… eccentric."

"That's one way to put it, but yes. But it is common for most Eldari warriors to become single-minded and devoid of kindness or empathy. You may have noticed that is not the case with our people. It is something fellow craftworlders have noticed."

"Why is that?"

"Isha knows why. Maybe our people are more emotional and the protection isn't as effective. Maybe the infinity circuit on Ducaish affects us in ways that we don't notice."

"Does that bother you?"

Anxo sat back and thought for a few moments.

"Honestly? Not at all. There is a comfort in knowing that when I go to battle, I do not become a soulless… machine."

"Machines do have souls," Roger added.

"What?"

"Our machines have spirits in them. They have to be pleased or they don't work."

Anxo laughed.

"You think that machines are living things?"

"I know they have some form of life. I remember once, we were heading out in a Chimera, ran perfectly fine. Got stuck in a rut. Driver gets so mad he kicks it. Whole thing goes out. Three hours sitting in the rain later, techpriest comes up, apologizes to it, and rubs some oil. Kicks back to life next time they try starting it up."

"Humanity has more issues to deal with than I thought. Can't trust yourselves, not even your warmachines."

"You wouldn't know half of it. But you were saying about not being bothered by a weak war mask?"

The Scorpion nodded.

"It is of some comfort before I get into battle once again that I am… me. It's rather hard to explain."

"I may be a dumb Mon-Keigh, but I can understand wanting to be yourself. Very human thing actually."

Anxo smiled, but it slowly faded as he thought.

"Something I always envied about you Mon-Keighs. You can choose your own destiny."

"Curse and a blessing," Roger said as he laid back to get some rest. "Curse and a blessing."

XXXXXX

Returning to the camp after yet another uneventful observation mission, Roger felt more distant than he had before to the Eldar, even though he was barely comfortable already. Now that he knew most of the people he had spent the last month with were barely themselves, it was more than a bit… sad. He felt as if all the work he had made trying to earn their trust had turned out to be entirely a waste of time. At least the Rangers were real. But then that made him more uncomfortable about one Ranger in particular, whose actions could not be some glitch in the war mask. Taking his armor off, he started to once again crawl into his sleeping bag and try not to freeze to death. He heard footsteps and looked up to find a dark-skinned Avenger above him.

"Morgyn! How can I help you?"

She smiled at him briefly and bowed her head slightly.

"I wanted to make you aware that our observation and patrol schedule has shifted. You and I will be together tomorrow on late night patrol around the camp."

"Really? I didn't know we were even doing camp patrols. Well then, I'll look forward to tomorrow night," Roger said with a slight chuckle.

"I… as well," Morgyn said, before bowing her head again in farewell, almost skipping away.

Roger was getting ready to go back to sleep before he felt a chill that certainly wasn't the desert. He rolled over slightly to see an unhappy Ranger crouched near him.

"Anya."

"Getting friendly with you, isn't she?" Anya said acidly.

"Am I not allowed to interact with other members of the Leopards? You aren't the only Eldar around here."

"Well she is being quite… flagrant."

"At least she didn't follow me around constantly without my consent."

"You didn't nearly die for her! Why are you paying attention to her more than me?"

Roger winced and looked at her.

"What do you mean by that?"

He saw her face was turning red and her lips quivered, seeming to realize what she said.

"I-I have to go!"

"Anya, wait! What did you-"

She was already vanishing into the foliage of the oasis.

He sat in silence for a few moments before putting his head back on his pillow. At least he was getting plenty of sleep so he could stay up late tomorrow. But what the hell had Anya meant by that?

XXXXXX

The next day, as he got some more rest in and prepared for his late night patrol, Roger found himself, for the first time in a long while, not being watched. Whatever Anya had done last night had rattled her to the point that he was now being totally avoided. Part of him was relaxed that he could do whatever he wanted in private, but there was a certain disappointment. He almost laughed at the thought that he was being ignored. Unable to sleep anymore, he simply sat and read, the desert heat getting more and more stifling as the suns rose higher. He was surprised to see Cruniach approaching. Compared to Moire and Kallen, he was almost never anywhere close to Roger.

"Cruniach."

"Serjeant. I want to know what happened last night."

"What?"

"Something must have happened, because Anya has volunteered to almost constantly be on watch. It's almost as if she wants to be nowhere near camp."

"I was unaware of this. What can I do about it though?"

"I was merely wondering if anyone reported to you what could have caused this odd change for her."

Roger thought for a second, weighing what to say.

"Can't tell you, i'm afraid."

Cruniach nodded.

"She's an odd one, isn't she?"

"What, Anya? That's one way of putting it."

"I… don't talk about my subordinates, but…"

Cruniach frowned, trying to think about what to say.

"It's not gossip if you are reporting to your commander, is it?" Roger said.

"Ha! I guess not."

The Ranger, wrinkled and scarred with age, having seen and done more than probably all of the Leopards combined, if even half the rumors Roger heard were true, sat down across from the serjeant.

"How did she come into your group, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I owed her mother a favor. She was already following the path of the Outcast when she joined the Rangers, but I think Alwyn worries about her. Surprising given her age."

"How old is Farseer?"

"Oh, maybe three thousand Terran years, I think."

Rogers eyebrows shot up.

"Three thousand years old! Bloody hell, I wish I could look that good in a quarter of that time."

"As did I once, but…"

Cruniach ran a hand across a scar that went down his cheek to his nape.

"What's that Mon-Keigh term? "Shit happens," I believe."

Roger laughed and nodded.

"At least someone else here gets some human terms."

"You watch your kind long enough…"

"Anyway, why is Anya here?"

"Alwyn has had more than ten children in her life, with multiple partners. Anya is her youngest, and from what I believe, it's not fact, but her father was Alwyns favorite of her partners. It's bad enough to have your favorite child go on the path of the outcast, but if you had her close, it's not as bad."

"So Farseer Alwyn pulled strings to keep her kid close? Not that uncommon on the human side of things."

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Roger asked the obvious.

"If she's a Farseers daughter, why is she a Ranger?"

"A very good question, which I have never found an answer for. My best guess? Well, pardon my crude language, and never repeat this to anyone, mommy wants babies life her way, and she isn't tolerating that nonsense. The Rangers are, as a whole, a melting pot of the undecided, the unwanted or the unbowed. If you want to live your own way, and aren't afraid of the risks, Rangers are the only way to go."

"And you and your troops are appreciated all the more for it, Cruniach."

The old Ranger stood up and dusted his cloak off a bit.

"I hear you are on patrol with Morgyn tonight. She is as unique as Anya, so be prepared."

"Thanks for the advice," Roger muttered as Cruniach walked away, trying to read his book again.

He was filled with plenty of thoughts, trying to figure out the mysterious Ranger that had become his stalker. Was she just little more than a rebellious teenager, or the nearest Eldar equivalent? Was saving his life nothing more than a way to get at her mother? As typical with the Eldar, he asked a question, and got maybe one answer and thirteen more questions.

"Bloody typical," he grunted as he focused on the book for the third time, finally with success.

XXXXXX

As the suns lowered, he stood in the middle of the main camp, wearing his flak armor, but camouflaged for the desert operations he was embarking on. It somewhat pained him to leave the red and blue surcoat that marked him as a man of Anglerre, but he was not proud or stupid enough to risk blowing his entire operation over something as silly as a colored coat. He spent some time waiting for his new partner talking to some of his warriors, inquiring about their status and morale. As usual, it was unchanged. He wondered if they were lying to make him feel better, or if they had no morale problems thanks to the war mask. Then, moving with almost no sound or notice, he barely caught sight of a black armor clad Avenger moving towards him. The silver hair and brown skin were unmistakable, the figure holding her helmet under her arm, a Shuriken Thrower slung over one shoulder.

"Serjeant!" she said cheerfully, much to Rogers surprise.

"Hello Morgyn, ready to move around some sand dunes and not get seen?"

"Of course. I see you are bringing your own weapon as well."

Roger had left his sword, clunky and not very useful given the job ahead of them, and took his trusty Lasgun, standard Kantrael pattern with a homemade adornment, a golden Leopard roaring down the end of the barrel. Roger had already owned the rifle before he had joined the Leopards, but he kept it as a symbol of his command, as silly as it was. He also had five fully charged laspacks, more than was necessary, but considering their light weight and not wanting to be caught with his pants down, a comfort. He left his trademark kettle helmet with his equipment as well, preferring a headwrap. All in all, he looked like the desert warrior he wanted to be.

"No reason to be caught flat footed, right? So how are we doing this?"

Morgyn unfolded a rather basic looking map, the center being a recreation of the oasis, with black lines forming multiple circles of varying sizes surrounding it.

"Our patrol paths. We're just making sure that the camp hasn't been discovered."

"And we're doing this, why?"

"Because we are staying hidden? I thought our objective was to not be detected by the enemy."

"We're in the middle of the bloody desert, no one is coming anywhere around here, I guarantee it."

"But-"

Roger held a hand up and thought for a second.

"You and I will go out, but we're not doing a patrol. I want a close up look at those roads."

"Even from one of our outposts, that has to be four or so kilometers!"

"And?"

Morgyn gave him a small frown and shook her head.

"That's a lot of walking, especially on something as infirm as sand."

"Are you complaining, Morgyn?"

"No, it's just… I don't know if the human frame can handle that as well as we Eldar can."

Roger straightened his back and guffawed.

"I take that as a challenge. Come on, suns almost set, we've got plenty of ground to cover and we have the night protecting us."

"No arguments serjeant."

"Let's go," he said as he motioned his arm forward, letting the Avenger take the lead.

XXXXXX

Pride can do many things. It can drive great men to disaster, lowly men to their apex, and find one everywhere in between. For Roger Wessyng, pride led him into the middle of a God-Emperor forsaken desert, trying not to trip with every single step, moving up sand dunes that seemed to get taller and taller with every climb. He tried to make small talk, desperate to ignore the fact that he should have never taken Morgyn up on the challenge.

"So what do you think of the mission?"

Already at the top of the dune, she was looking down at the floundering human below.

"I feel that we would be better used in a combat role."

"Agreed, but we are the best to do an infiltration mission, especially one this long. Don't take nearly as many resources as my kind would. Food and the like."

"Watching you Mon-Keighs eat is very sickening. You devour so much and very quickly need the same amount."

"What can I say? We need a lot to do a lot. Help me up, will you?"

He stuck out his hand, nearly topping the Dune. He felt the firm grasp of the Avenger, and found himself pulled to the top.

"Cheers," he said, but then felt his other foot start to slip, the sand giving way.

He let out an involuntary yelp and swung his arms out. Just as suddenly, he felt himself dragged forward, suddenly pressed against something hard and firm. He also felt an arm wrapped around his back, tightly pulling him into armor.

"Are you all right?" Morgyn asked.

He pulled his head off her armor, embarrassed to find himself face first in the cleavage of her breast plate. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

"Better."

"Let us move a bit away from the edge."

Roger agreed, but instead of being let go, found himself in an awkward almost dance, moving slowly into the desert.

"You can let me go now."

They kept moving on.

"Morgyn?"

She didn't stop.

"Bloody hell, can you let go?"

A few more steps and Roger finally lost his patience.

"MORGYN!"

His yell startled her, letting him go and found herself stumbling backwards. Seeing her starting to fall over, he quickly darted his arm, grabbing hers and digging his heels into the sand. Thankfully, the Eldars deceptively light weight, given their abilities, came into his favor. He held her still, keeping her at a forty five degree angle.

"Payback for helping me," he said, before winking and pulling her back up.

He lifted his feet, now an inch or two under the sand.

"Sorry for scaring you."

Morgyn seemed to be more than a bit unfocused, gently shaking her head before answering.

"It's alright. I…"

She swallowed and looked to the ground.

"Never mind. We're almost to the road, serjeant."

"Excellent! Let's get over there."

True to her word, they were barely a few hundred feet away from the pitch black tarmac. It was still hot, not surprising given the amount of time it sat in the desert, under two blazing suns.

"What exactly are we looking for, serjeant?"

"I want to see how we can use their own roads to our advantage."

He walked up and moved to the center of the massive road, a four lane stretch of human engineering that cut through a part of nature deemed inhabitable.

"Well, that's the first problem. We can shut down a lane, but that will just mean they can close it and run in another lane. Or even worse, they'll just use the other two lanes. So we'd have to blow the whole damn thing. So that's great."

Walking on the firm ground, Roger spent a few minutes trying to think of what to do. Morgyn was watching from the side of the road, watching for any possible threats. She suddenly walked up to him and pointed to one of the road's white lines.

"We could paint some that color."

"What do you mean?"

"Explosives. Paint them that color of white, make it blend in. I'm sure that those drivers are so complacent, they wouldn't notice anyway. We could string them out and wipe out the whole convoy if we do it smart."

Roger rubbed his chin, thinking it over. Rather simple, but if they could figure out the spacing, a nightmare scenario for the rebels.

"I like that idea."

"We could get good measurements from our outposts. I don't see why it wouldn't work. I would also say get an attack group to go after any survivors. We could also use it as a way to gauge their response to an attack. We could even take down one of those aircraft you were upset about."

"Correct on all counts. Now, I would suggest we attack the more distant outpost from our camp. Let them sweat a little and not figure out what's going on."

"I'm sure I could convince Moire, and Kallen is already on board. Cruniach may call it risky, knowing him, but I'm sure the plan is good enough for him to support it."

"We could also figure out some good attack positions on these dunes. See that lip right there?"

He pointed to a massive wave of sand.

"We could put a combined group there and let them really have it."

"With the Shurikens, rifles, and… we could hide Scorpions over there."

Roger nodded. He had his ambush site.

"I'll look around and get a better idea of what to do."

Morgyn nodded.

"I'll inspect these lines and try to figure out how to replicate their color. We have some artists in our ranks."

"I'm aware," Roger chuckled as he moved down a roadside ditch.

Plenty of ditches, towering dunes, hiding spots… it was a heaven for anyone interested in ambushes, and no one had thought of this before? He could see it in his minds eye: fifteen or so Leopards and himself waiting patiently for the bombs to go off. A roar of fire, the screech of tires, and just as sudden as the explosion, Shurikens and rifles tearing the survivors to pieces. A destroyed convoy, a terrified PDF response arriving. Soon they would be suffering the same fate as their unfortunate charges. It was perfect. He could hear the roar of engines coming to save the convoy. One roaring engine coming to them. But that wouldn't make sense. They would send a whole group probably as a quick reaction force. Still one engine. Why just-

"Bloody hell!"

He turned and saw Morgyn still focused intently on the painted line, facing him. How couldn't those long, pointy ears hear the vehicle coming straight their way, tearing at full speed by the sound of it. He saw the growing light coming towards them.

"MORGYN!" Roger yelled.

The Eldar stood up and looked up at him, confused. He was certain that given the vehicle's speed, even with Eldar response times being higher than humans, she would be spotted or run over. Sprinting from the ditch at full speed, he tackled her, tossing them both into the roadside, below a massive dune. He surprisingly didn't feel any pain as he landed on top of her. The vehicle, probably a Tauros by the sound of it, roared past without stopping, Roger thanking the Emperor for small mercies. He lifted himself off her and opened his eyes, finding him face to face with Morgyn, flat on her back. He lifted his legs off her and placed his knees next to her sides, looking up and staying dead still, his back straight as a rod.

"You all right?"

The Eldar was visibly flustered, which he chalked up to being nearly taken by surprise. Probably not a very common feeling for Eldar. She nodded slowly.

"Nothing broken? Did I hurt you? I apologize in advance."

"It's-I-fine."

Roger looked away from her and watched the road, listening for the screech of brakes or if they were coming back. For a minute or two, they were both in nervous silence, trying to hear for any sign they had been detected. None came.

"I think we're alright. Sorry again."

"Serjeant?"

"Yeah?" Roger said, still watching the road for any lights coming their way.

"I want to apologize in advance."

Roger laughed a little.

"For what?" he said, suddenly feeling two hands on the sides of his skull, which swung him face to face with the Eldar.

Morgyn then quickly pulled his head down and kissed him.