|
Post by halonachos on Aug 1, 2016 15:26:25 GMT
Nathanial began an inspection of the vehicle to see how well it would run and did his best to remember as much Ork engineering as he could from previous encounters with it. "The Emperor wants us to succeed, so we will.". Then he remembered the altercation in the tunnels and the one in the weapon's cache. "You were so determined to not die in those sewers but you lose a hand and you want to end your life. I threatened to kill you, yes, but you're the one who jumped down into the sewers after I told you to climb. Rook, I didn't let you die then and I wish you would just listen to me. You've failed to listen to me at nearly every chance you could and you've suffered for it, if you had climbed up when I told you to then maybe you'd be at the extraction by now, if you had listened to me tell you to leave through that hole in the wall then maybe we could've used this battlewagon to kill those Orks and not suffered as much harm as we did. You tried to blame me in those sewers for getting in the way of your survival but by the throne you've been the one getting in the way of your own survival since I've met you. You may be asking yourself why and the reason is simple, the Imperium needs heroes to inspire it. I nor Korina can have our actions released to the galaxy, however the story of a plucky conscript and a clandestine sniper recovering an artifact, or whatever they'll call it, from an Ork Waagh will."
He watched Rook for any such reaction to anything he had said, hoping that eventually something would sink into the thick soldier's skull. "Do you want to survive and sip amasec on a veranda for the rest of your life, or do you want to die on this planet and have that sniper take all the glory with her?"
|
|
|
Post by Warork on Aug 1, 2016 15:50:06 GMT
"I think I'd settle for you not talking about things you don't know about." Rook grunted from the shade of the vehicle's troop compartment where he was securing all the weapons and gear they were bringing with them. The orks sure did shove a lot of empty gear boxes in a lot of strange places on this tub, Rook noticed.
"Back there in the sewer...It wasn't about you or me, it was about what was right." He leaned over the wagon's side so his voice could be more easily heard. "Twelve years I've spent in the Guard...nearly half my life. I've been in two different regiments, I've been promoted, demoted, then promoted and demoted again. Twelve years...practically half my damn life."
Rook stopped and fished a lho stick out of the carton he kept in the inner lining of his helmet and clamped it between his lips while he brought out his lighter.
"The first thing they drill into you from day one; never leave a man behind. The second is to never flee in the face of the enemy. Or are you gonna sit there and tell me you don't remember that part of the primer?"
Rook chuckled and blew out a cloud of smoke, tapping the ash from the end of his stick.
"Yeah, that's right glory boy, I know the primer too. Something you need to learn that no penal legion or inquisitor is gonna teach you...In war, you make your own rules. Get as far as you can with as much as you can and live for as long as you can. Those are the only rules...everything else is a guideline."
Rook held out the lho pack, proffering one to Yorck.
"Want one or am I gonna have to smoke another one for ya?"
|
|
|
Post by halonachos on Aug 1, 2016 16:02:02 GMT
"You should also never jeopardize the mission nor ignore the orders of a superior." Nathanial replied, "If you are ordered to move to higher ground to secure a better position for the mission then you do as such. It will keep you alive and keep the mission successful. Smoke your lho and don't dare attempt to apply the primer to an Inquisitorial stormtrooper, we have different rules that you will be blessed to never know."
|
|
|
Post by Warork on Aug 1, 2016 16:11:19 GMT
"Oh, a different rulebook for the glory boy is it?" Rook laughed ruefully as he slid back down into the troop compartment. With nothing else to do, he stretched out his legs and tilted his helmet over his eyes as he sat with his back to the vehicle's flank.
"Well...suit your fuckin self then. Or, you know...shoot your fuckin self. Whichever's more convenient for you."
|
|
|
Post by Darko on Aug 1, 2016 18:21:33 GMT
The two wounded guardsmen focused their attention toward their newly captured prize. The battlewagon was a large, almost impressive feat of ork engineering - truly fit for a warlord with a dread reputation such as Gorkanak Fleshtearer. Its rear was an up-armoured, cramped cargo and transport compartment filled with extra ammunition and shells for the main kannon. It featured a surprisingly complex autoloader, likely scavenged from a more advanced Imperial vehicle, yet it seemed to have been installed well. This compartment featured several firing ports with armoured hatches, as well as a heavy machine gun on each facing. The fact it was not open-topped like most ork transports meant it was a veritable bunker on wheels. A ladder lead up to the turret, featuring simplistic controls and looted targeting augurs that seemed to work... for the most part. On top of the turret was a large, grandiose banner with frayed edges in the colours of the Waaagh! Next to it, spikes with the heads of guardsmen, civilians and space marines alike sent a clear message to those who laid eyes on it. The weapon itself appeared to be a looted Russ cannon, and above it an unstable Zzap gun was mounted in front of the commander's hatch. Walking through the interior past crates of surplus ammo and fuel canisters, a small passageway allowed access to the front cabin, with two locked side hatches for hasty exits. The crew compartment had a gigantic central chair - far too large for a human to sit in without looking comically small, like a child. Two smaller, metal seats on swiveling pivots were at the front by all of the controls. One was clearly for the driver, with a steering wheel sporting a large orkish symbol bolted onto the centre. A number of other controls and switches across various panels had all manner of unknown purposes, however a few were quite obvious. To the left of the steering wheel, a large and painfully obvious red button with simple lightning symbols around it would no doubt activate some form of nitro boost. The other seat appeared to be for someone to control the front-facing weaponry of the battlewagon; a great spiked roller held in position by pneumatic pistons that could be raised or lowered by levers and set in motion at the push of a button to crush everything in its path, as well as remote triggers to fire hull-mounted flamethrowers and an amalgamation of various different looted guns mounted above the driver's cabin. A plethora of other controls would cause who-knew-what to happen, perhaps activating other hidden surprises that only the orks were aware of. Also inside the front cabin were two curious racks. One held various vicious ork weapons of great prestige, such as giant chain-blade axes the height of a man with rocket boosters to increase the blunt impact when striking a target. A bulky, misshapen two-handed weapon with multiple barrels also caught the eye, no doubt capable of slaughtering numerous enemies provided one could actually heft its sheer mass. The other rack contained an assortment of different items - from squigskin containers full of liquid that smelled fouler that rotgut brew, to trophies from slain foes. A commissar's cap and greatcoat with honourifics indicating it belonged to a commissar lord of some renown, were covered in bullet holes and blood stains, but were mostly intact. A humongous greatsword of exquisite craftmanship, appropriate to be wielded only by a space marine, lay shattered in two halves. Various other miscellaneous items were littered across the rack, but what caught Rook's eye was a surprisingly intact and sealed bottle of high-grade amasec, bearing the insignia of the pleasure planet Victoris IX - its ransacking two years prior was reportedly the stuff of nightmares. The bottle was nearly five-hundred years old, a prime vintage, covered in a thick layer of dust. Meanwhile, Yorck was focused on deciphering the controls. He sat in the driver's seat, a razor sharp jolt of pain from his leg and bloodied chest causing him to wince ever so slightly under his helmet. He flipped what appeared to be the ignition switch, and to his satisfaction the great contraption's engine boomed into life. The whole vehicle rattled with barely contained power, the fumes exuding from the numerous ostentatious exhaust pipes around the engine and jutting out between the wheels and rear treads noticeably rank even next to the already polluted air of the forge world. The tinted windscreen only provided a small field of view, but it also prevented anyone from seeing their quite clearly un-orkish heads. Judging by a couple of small tell-tale cracks, the screen was at least somewhat bullet-proof. Yorck drove the wagon around the now empty mustering ground a few times to get a feel for the controls, finding them shockingly intuitive. Their simplicity was commendable... for debased xenos technology. On Rook's suggestion, they stopped outside the burned out command centre and he jumped out to haul a few more weapons into the cargo bay - the lascannon, a plasma gun and some spare lasguns and autoguns. He would have brought more on board but Yorck yelled something about the need for haste and the importance of finding the others, or failing that their corpses, and reclaiming the precious box they had been entrusted with. He wanted to complain but realised his energy was faltering, so he dragged himself back into the wagon and sealed the rear door, apparently retro-fitted from the back of a chimera, and slumped down to catch his breath. Yorck spun the wheel and turned the wagon, changing gear - it only had three, labelled fast, fasta and megafasta - as he drove onto the upward road leading out of the area and into the rest of the city. The streets were full with an overwhelming number of orks looting hab blocks, shops and manufactorums, as well as a worrying number of their crude vehicles. However, orks on foot and vehicles alike scurried out of the way at the sight of the battlewagon. The only question was how they were going to find the others. Yorck had a hunch that following the sound of gunshots and explosions might be a safe bet, but there were gunshots and explosions coming from most directions. Some more than others, however, and he kept going in the rough direction he thought was correct. Time would tell if his instinct was right, but for now it seemed they had a reprieve from the constant violence and risk of imminent death inside the relative safety of their stolen ride.
|
|
|
Post by halonachos on Aug 1, 2016 18:52:01 GMT
Every jostle of the rough terrain sent pain through his broken leg, yet he remained ever determined to reach his comrades. "We'll have some element of surprise and we could probably ram through some of the smaller vehicles and still not be found out. Warbosses like to assert their authority and let's just say that running over a few smaller vehicles wouldn't be surprising for them.". He heard Rook mutter something but went about his business driving the gargantuan machine."We get to the others, most likely save them, and then we ride this out of here. Almost easy."
|
|
coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
|
Post by coolyo294 on Aug 1, 2016 19:57:37 GMT
"Hostiles, six o'clock," Bastille piped up. Sure enough, another mob was approaching - this time storm boyz with hap-hazardous rocket packs strapped to their backs in a crude imitation of Imperial assault troops. "Those orks will negate the Sisters' cover, and they'll chase us down like dogs if they spot us. Either we move into that complex to support them or we escape while we still can - either way, we do it now. I may be a General but you're Inquisition and this is your team, so I'll defer to your judgement. But those are the first friendlies I've seen since I was captured, besides yourselves. We may not stumble upon more any time soon. I say we get in there and give those xenos bastards hell, and show them Caedis Five still belongs to the Emperor." "It's good to know captivity hasn't dimmed your spirit, Lord-General." Korina said. "I agree. If we can help these Sisters and secure their aid our primary objective will become much easier to achieve." She turned to the sniper. "Balalaika, I'll defer to your judgement how you deploy yourself. Bastille, stay close to me. In the Emperor's name we'll cleanse this complex of their Xenos filth."
|
|
|
Post by Darko on Aug 2, 2016 21:28:59 GMT
"On the contrary," grinned the General, "My captivity has only heightened my hatred for the xenos. I have learned over the past few days that they worship their own form of false gods... Gork and Mork... if they are truly faithful to their heretical creed, they will be glad when we send them straight to their blasphemous deities."
Korina listened but did not respond as they sprinted through the abandoned and burning civilian vehicles, weaving between their plasteel carcasses toward the compound. Her hands and arms still burned with a cold pain but she suppressed the sensation, her mental conditioning and natural resilience keeping her focused. The pair got close, slowing their pace and going low, sneaking around the orks' flank. It seemed the Sisters' were surrounded and close to being overrun, but holding their ground for the time being. Only six remained. A seventh figure wore the red robes of Mars and was in the centre of the formation, protected by the battle sisters. Their boltguns spat death, one carrying a heavy bolter that decimated several greenskins with each volley. The obvious leader was wielding a glowing two-handed power sword, a burning brazier on her armour's power pack filled the air with the sweet scent of holy incense.
"Slay them where they stand my sisters, smite them from the Emperor's sight for they are unfit to walk on His worlds! Cast them back into the darkness that spawned them!" She bellowed, her voice projected loudly by an augmented vox unit on the side of her helmet. Her raven black armour and pure white tabard, marred by scorch marks, bullet holes and cuts that had evidently failed to pierce her vaunted protection, told Korina that they belonged to the order of the Ebon Chalice. She knew that the Imperium had mobilized all available forces to defend Caedis V, even Adeptus Astartes, but she had not heard that the Adeptus Sororitas would be present. Perhaps they were reinforcements that joined the fray only a few days ago rather than being deployed with the rest of the troops from the start.
The sisters had mostly dispatched their foes, ork bodies piled three deep at the highest. Most were starting to retreat and were mercilessly cut down. However, a far fence smashed apart as an ork truck screeched into view, hurtling at full speed into the sisters' position. One turned, a meltagun raised but it was too late - the truck hit her directly and her broken body disappeared underneath the wheels. The truck crashed into the up-turned rhino, the driver's compartment and engine suddenly crushed by the sheer force. From the back, three hulking, heavily-armoured figures - each the height and width of a Terminator - with heavy guns and crackling power klaws jumped out of the wrecked truck.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
The arrival of the mega-armoured nobz rallied the fleeing orks, and the fifteen or so remaining boyz turned, weapons raised and war chants spewing from their gobs.
"To me, sisters! If we die this day, we die with the Emperor smiling on us! For Terra, for victory, charge!" The leader of the sisters shouted, sword raised as she began to run toward the trio of elite orks, evidently preferring to meet the enemy head on than wait to be slaughtered. Four of them joined the charge, however the one with the heavy bolter did not move from her position beside the Tech Priest, himself carrying a bolt pistol and power axe. They stood like solitary statues next to a number of large, sealed crates, seemingly defending them with their lives.
The Interrogator and General crouched behind a few burning barrels. "We could take pot-shots at those rallying orks or try to join the sisters in close-combat, although I do not favour our chances against those monstrosities. Perhaps we should join those two over there, guarding those crates. They seem to be important," said the General, laspistol held in both hands as he surveyed the situation.
Balalaika was not so foolish as to remain out in the open. She had been left with the hapless acolyte Quinn who followed her as she hurried from cover to cover. The other woman was slowing her down, blatantly not an experienced combatant.
"Could... could you slow down please... I'm out of breath... c-c-can't breathe..." she panted, one arm awkwardly half-raised as if she hoped to pull Balalaika back, although it was nothing more than an empty gesture. The hand was caked with semi-dry blood and missing several fingers from her torture. Balalaika looked over her shoulder - the mob of storm boyz were approaching fast, and she spied something else in the distance. Pausing to look through her scope, she spotted half a dozen ork vehicles at the limit of her sight, but they were closing fast. The two of them reached the small sentry station just outside the broken gates to the compound and Balalaika hurriedly shoved the acolyte inside. She looked around quickly to assess her options. She could either remain and hide with Quinn, hoping the orks would not spot them, or she could abandon the exhausted savant and head to one of several vantage points and pray to the Emperor that the greenskins would not find the defenseless woman - there was no way she could drag her any further without them both inevitably getting killed. A fire escape on the side of the nearest manufactorum about a hundred meters away led straight to the building's roof, or a wrecked but not destroyed chimera APC just outside one of the warehouses would provide tough cover from a distance. Much closer was a ladder to the top of a small loading bay, presumably for the off-loading of items in peace time. It was exposed and close to the action but within clear view of the sentry post, and it would allow her to keep an eye on Quinn through her rifle scope but would leave her dangerously close to the approaching orks when they arrived. If they spotted her... no doubt she could be easily overrun.
|
|
|
Post by Warork on Aug 3, 2016 2:05:43 GMT
Rook had learned a long time ago that one of the most important things in the brutal and often short life of a guardsman was to enjoy the little things. Right now, sitting up in the wagon's main turret, he was currently enjoying not being able to hear a damn thing Yorck was saying. The ambient noise in that dark, cramped space inside the vehicle was almost enough to crack his eardrums; the engine roared and spat, the tracks clanked and rumbled as they went along. It was all so loud that Rook couldn't even hear his own piss filling up the empty ammo can sat between his legs as he relived himself.
One of the more annoying things in Rook's life right now was his tendency to try to reach for things with a hand that was no longer there. He squirmed as he pulled his uniform trousers back up and dumped the half full ammo can out of the turret's side hatch where the gunner would normally shovel the brass casings from the shells fired by the wagon's main gun. Rook smiled as he leaned on the firing mechanism of the weapon in question. It had been a long time since he'd seen a Leman Russ battle cannon and even longer still since he'd seen such a fine specimen of an autoloader assembly. With a setup like this even a cripple like himself could use the gun on this thing.
Which was just as well, since Rook would probably have to before this was all over.
"You sure you don't want any of this stuff, Yorck? Its fuckin great!" Rook called out over the noise inside the cabin as he climbed down from the turret, the oversized bottle of amasec in his hand. The room inside the vehicle was actually more spacious than Rook had expected for the inside of an armored vehicle. But it made sense; orks were big bastards so they needed more room to scramble around in their rolling shit piles than men did.
The bottle was another matter. Rook had cracked the seal on it almost as soon as he'd found it. He didn't plan to drink the whole thing of course but someone had to test it to make sure the damned orks hadn't poisoned it and that was a duty Rook had no trouble at all obliging. The Stormtrooper apparently didn't hear Rook because he made nothing in the way of a response...which suited Rook who probably wouldn't have shared anyway.
Rook went to lean on one of the cabin's sides when he was suddenly reminded that the hand he was going to use to lean wasn't there anymore. Rook looked at his stump ruefully.
'What good are ya if I can't use you for anything, you bastard?'
That was when Rook's eye caught some interesting things within the gear racks of the cabin and an air of mischief slowly crept over his features.
'This might work...'
Minutes passed in silence within the wagon as it continued to trundle down streets and through abandoned yards. If Yorck found this sudden period of calm at all suspicious he didn't seem to be too worried.
That probably changed as an unfamiliar figure came to stand next to him in the driver's seat...
Yorck looked up at a figure in a high peaked commissar's cap, his shoulders cloaked in a black, bullet hole riddled greatcoat with shining gold embroidered epaulets. In front of him, the figure held an arm severed at the wrist but now sporting the top half of a giant sword bound to his forearm with criss crossing leather straps with his other hand which was now encased in a bright red power fist. The figure rested his blade arm's tip on the floor and stood there like a warrior at rest.
"Rook?" Yorck asked, obviously confused at what was going on. The stormtrooper suddenly had the pleasure of having the figure's sword arm pointed at him.
"THAT'S COMMISSAR RUKOWSKI TO YOU, TROOPER!" Rook yelled over the roar of the vehicle.
"What in the hell do you think--" Yorck started but was cut off.
"IS THAT ANY WAY TO SPEAK TO A MEMBER OF THE EMPEROR'S MOST HOLY COMMISSARIATE?! I OUGHT TO HAVE YOU FLOGGED FOR SUCH IMPUDENCE!"
"I'm trying to drive here!" Yorck protested in vain.
"THAT'S NO EXCUSE FOR BREAKING REGS, TROOPER." Rook continued, shouting in his best attempt at authoritative entitlement. "BY THE GOLDEN LIGHT OF TERRA LOOK AT THIS VEHICLE, ITS FILTHY ENOUGH TO PASS FOR ONE OF THOSE DAMNED ORK ABOMINATIONS!"
Every time Yorck tried to protest, Rook just shouted louder. This time he pointed his power fist hand towards Yorck's soiled fatigues and bloody bandages
"AND WHAT ABOUT YOU, TROOPER?! ARTICLE TWO THREE SIX SIX SLASH ZERO FOUR E; FAILURE TO MAINTAIN UNIFORM IN A MANNER BEFITTING THE IMPERIAL GUARD! THAT'S A SHOOTING OFFENSE!"
"ARE YOU QUITE DONE?!" Yorck yelled, his patience finally at an end. Rook laughed like a madman.
"I could go on." He admitted as he climbed up to the vehicle's command chair and slouched into it. "As the only standing Commissar its my duty to make sure you lot are doing your jobs." The grin he had on his face could only be described as "shit eating."
It was about the time Rook sat in the command chair that he noticed the vox control assembly hanging over it. Suddenly sober again, he quickly began to try raise any Imperial channels on it; if they could contact any remaining pockets of Imperial resistance it might prove to be their salvation. Disappointingly, the vox seemed to be slaved to non imperial channels, probably done by the Big Meks to prevent the orks from accidentally giving away their plans on the radio...
But perhaps the ork channels could still prove useful...
|
|
|
Post by halonachos on Aug 3, 2016 13:52:47 GMT
Nathanial sighed, "Well Rook, I may not have a leg to stand on but I do have to hand it to you. You do a mean impression of a commissar." he chuckled internally. "However I do believe that failure to maintain your arms according to regulation is also a floggable and then shootable offense." With that Yorck slammed his good foot on the brakes and the entire wagon came to a screeching halt, Yorck had already braced himself for the sudden decrease in momentum, Rook on the other hand had not. The hapless trooper flew off the large chair and slammed into the floor of the cabin, just as he was about to recover Yorck then slammed on the gas and Rook found himself sliding back and hitting his body against the leg of the chair he was just sitting in moments ago.
"Well technically they don't use the word arms, they use weapon." he thought to himself.
"I also prevented you from killing yourself, that's a punishable offense as well. After all you don't want your next of kin to have to pay for everything you've had with you, correct?" Yorck continued, "You see, I don't have that problem. Growing up in an orphanarium has it's benefits it seems. But speaking to the task at hand, I'm going to follow these Orks and see if they lead us to the others, knowing their combat prowess I do believe that the Orks would indeed be going to go fight them and we shall rescue them from this horde before making our way off this rock."
|
|