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[I will likely update this post with more information about the planet etc. over time, for now let's just beginn to set the stage]
The planet Skrynne
The colonial death world of Skrynne in the Spinward Front has long struggled with Ork infestation, that was already present when humanity first discovered the world. Centuries ago the Xenos where thoroughly cleansed by the Space Marines of the Storm Wardens Chapter followed by the colonization predominantly of the southern continent of the planet. As common with the greenskins, the Orks have reappeared several times since then, mostly setting out from the wild northern continent, yet so far the planet's small garrison was always able to best the Xenos, at times reducing them enough for several peaceful decades or even centuries but never able to completely eradicate the threat. Since the last of these cleansings 145 years ago, the colony has grown to nearly 10 million souls with the main tithe of the ressource poor world being exotic ailments and ingridients from the death world's jungles.
This promised to change drastically as ten years ago vast promethium reserves were discovered in Skrynne - estimated so enormous that they might be sufficient to fuel the hunger of the sectors core worlds for acentury, if they could be exploited. Unfortunatly, the initial celebrations were cut short - or rather crushed another incursion of the indigenous Orks that were once more thriving on the northern continent. Between orbital bombardments and carefully coordinated tactical strikes, the planet’s human defenders once morepushed the Ork infestation to the brink of annihilation.
Things were looking hopeful for the colony, once more rid of their greenskinned plague as well as blessed by a future of potential wealth and prosperity.
Soon however an armada of Ork ships of arrived insystem, led by Grimsnikk Tufgob, a prominent Warboss in Waaagh! Grimtoof, who delivered a proclamation that his forces
were seizing the world and looked forward to destroying all traces of human civilisation. Devoid of any serious naval opposition, outnumbered and time not facing feral orks with sticks and stones but Xenos armed with shooters and even equipped with tanks, the colonists soon found themselves at the brink of total defeat. Just in time several regiments of Brontian Longknives light infantry were assigned to the warzone, as well as a small squadron of imperial cruisers that engaged the ork fleet, to secure the valuable promethium or at leat prevent it from falling into the hands of the Imperiums enemies.
regiment.
Over the next year, Imperial and Ork forces have fought each other to a bloody and brutal stalemate. Meanwhile the colonists are believed to have been reduced to only a few hundred thousand survivors - more often then not mentally and physically scarred by loss. Both sides have suffered significant losses, but neither has faltered. Regimental command has sent repeated requests for Imperial reinforcements, which have been stonewalled until recently, when High Command finally agreed to commit
additional forces to Skrynne.
Imperial Dropship CVD-7782
The almost unrecognizable shaking that had announced your transports entrance into the upper atmosphere a minute ago had by now become a really shaky ride, bumping the craft up and down, while the vibrations of the roaring engines make everything apart from screamed conversations as good as impossible. Devoid of any windows or port holes, none of you has any idea yet what the world you are send to looks like - or if the turbulences slamming your ship here and there are just natural or in fact the product of enemy fire peppering the thick hull of the Lander. Be it as it may, the whole machine creaks, cracks and moans as some giant creature in his dying throwes. More then one of the soldiers on board is parting with his meager lunch or praying fervently, fully expecting to see their maker soon and hoping to get some extra credit on the last leg.
During transit, the interior is only lighted by series of dim, flickering red lights, that put everything in an eery glow. Here and there the lights get hazy from smoke or vapor hissing from the dropships mysterious mechanical wonders. The craft has two decks, the upper one accompanying around 200 something infantrymen and women in long, narrow lanes, while a hand full of chimeras are clamped down in the lower tag - together with some horses from one of the regiments. Even though those animals have been fastened in their own crash webbing and received at least some tranquilizer for the trip, the smell comming up from down there exclaims that they sure are not having a good time.
All of you are strapped into their creash seats, shoulder to shoulder like sardines in a can. What personal gear does interfere with you being packaged this way is stowed in a box under your seat, while everything else is on your body - ready to jump out into the fray immediatly upon landing. In between the rows, Commissars and drill sergants with shock maces patrol, holding steady by magboots, safety lines and handholds, ready to put the fear of the emperor into any soldier that looks like swaying in his duty to him on earth. A task that seems specifically important as you are amongst the "lucky few" that had the honor to "volunteer" for one of the first transports arriving on the battlefield - a redemption platoon. Each and everyone of you has slagged or failed in his duty to the imperium, adherence to orders, respect towards authority or even just dress discipline and the like, the only thing common is, that none of these failures was severe enough to warrant an outright execution. Instead you have been removed from your regiments that are approaching on the other transports and put together here to redeem yourself in the eyes of the emperor before you are allowed to return to your units. A cynical might also think of it as "spending the emperors coin sensibly" as instead of wasting your ammonution on a failing soldier, you might as well waste your enemies.
Be it as it may, you have witnessed people returning from the redemption platoons before, so most of the soldiers in the lander seem pretty motivated to do their best for the meagre hope to return to normality. Quite up front, near the exit ramp, a peculiar mix of armsmen find themselves facing each other.
Two of these are Tambo and M'Gele, from the Thoth Askaris. The former seems to be an older veteran in his early fifthies and the clear leader of the duo. They wear a kind of woven garment wrapped around the body and colored in an intense red-blueish tartan design that according to them is excellent camouflage on their homeworld. Instead of a common flak vest they have a large hardwood shield with a geometrical white-black-red pattern for body protection that they hold between their legs together with a rugged and rustic looking lascarbine and a machete-like sword. Tambo is more the old-senewy type, and while he doesn't look like it huddled together, his long legs and slim body make him just under 6'6'' tall.
From what you heard of their regiment so far they are a light infantry hailing from a jungle and desert world and have not yet made a name for themselves. Definitly not having the reputation of being the emperors finest, those infantrymen inclined that way know, that if you need something special - maybe even from stocks not assigned to your own regiment - the Askaris are the adress to go, if you have something to trade.
Just now Tambo is looking over to Njal Pietrson, nodding in a conspiratory way when he catches his eye, as he remembers him from the interrogation waiting room in the commissariat. And the fact that both of them were now here instead of one going free and the other finding himself in front of a firing squad likely meant that his new "comrad" knows when to shut up just like Tambo did. Next his gaze curiously wanders over to the Krieg Grenadier sitting just on the other side of the aisle, the soldiers to his right and left uncomfortably avoiding eye contact with the Death Worlder. All kinds of rumors have been sweeping through the platoon as to what he might have done to warrant being here as no one can remember a Krieger ever getting into disciplinary trouble...
Spoiler:
[I imagine them looking like these dudes]:
]
This message was edited 6 times. Last update was at 2022/10/07 12:40:09
Simond Silvertree raked his fingers through his dark hair. He wasn't a tall man flat on 5ft 4' he was wearing the strange vest they had given him, (they had told him it would stop shot which in itself was remarkable) but he did not want to put it to the test, what's more it fitted poorly over his chainmail shirt and he'd had to wear an additional belt under the vest just to support the chain mail. It was stiff and a poor swap for his comfortable brigandine. His javelins and buckler clattered together at his side opposite the chainsword and his sallet. The chainsword was a most marvelous weapon.
The rattling and shaking of the dropship soon became boring so he grabbed his chest strapping and leaned forwards to address the towering darkskinned fellow name Tambo next to him. Tambo was an interesting man, told some good stories, never as good as Simond's own of course.
"Tell me again Tambo, is this man an oathbreaker? Why else do the others hold him with such apprehension?" Surely it could not have been for having a disciplinary action. These people got carried away with their disciplinary charges. There was something unsettling about the corpse faced man on the other side of the dropship, but Simond would never admit to feeling unsettled by the man's deathly pale skin.
This message was edited 4 times. Last update was at 2022/10/07 20:31:45
This wasn't Njal's first drop, hopefully it wouldn't be his last either. Compared to the back of a Chimera, being on a dropship was down right spacious! Whenever he could, he would take the time to stretch his legs or arms out. The back of a Chimera was no place for a tall, large man, and Njal wasn't one. The seats were just as uncomfortable as ever though.
Unlike most of the other guardsman, his regiment encouraged you to sport a beard. Not too large, as it needed to fit inside a re-breather; but large enough to keep your skin from being exposed to the cold. His dark beard, bushy eyebrows, and dark eyes gave gave him an inscrutable look, but all geared up he was just another faceless trooper.
This drop, it didn't seem like he had to worry about being cold. Rumor had it where they were going Njal would be plenty warm, a jungle deathworld. How a mechanized infantry regiment from a ice planet had gotten assigned to a jungle deathworld.... well..... that's the guard for you!
He nodded at Tambo. The Saint Paulus 4th Mechanized Regiment had been traveling with the Thoth Askari's in system. Those Thoth seemed to be able to get their hands on anything. His squad's ride had been like sitting on a cold, bare steel, outhouse and that was bad for morale. He had hoped the Thoth could help him get something to make his squad's ride tolerable. Bad timing though as the Black Hat's goons busted up the deal.
They had sweated him for a few hours, but Njal kept his ice. He enjoyed being under the hot lights for a bit, refreshing. He rode it out fine, but the Black Hat's shipped him over to a new squad with a bunch of stern talk.
Well, that was fine. He barely knew the others anyway. He always seemed to be getting new mates as the old ones died, got hurt, or were shipped off to other crates. That was the guard for you.
Some new fish was prattling on with Tambo, but it was too loud to make out what they were saying. Some over-excited gibberish probably. He was glad Tambo had to deal with it and not him.
Instead, he took his time checking and re-checking his weapon. Everything was fine. and for the fifth time he made sure it was fine again. In the guard, your only true mate was your las-gun. No matter where you went, it went with you. What use were you without it anyway? He tucked it back between his legs, stretched his legs out one more time, and stifled a yawn with his hand.
Just another day in the guard.
Some minis representing the Regiment.....
Spoiler:
The Only War Stats I tried to through together from the copy of the book I could get my hands on:
Spoiler:
Njal Peitrson
Dragoon of the 4th St. Paulus Mechanized Infantry Regiment- The Tundra Wolves
- Imperial World, Mech-Infantry, Die-Hards, Fixed Commander - Captain Hans Hymdahlson
Talents:
Rapid Re-load
Technical Knock
Weapon Training (Las)
Weapons:
M36 Lasgun - 1d10+3E, Single, Burst of 3
- 4 charges
2 Frag Grenades- 2d10X
3 Krak Grenades- 2d10+4X, Concussive (0)
Las-pistol - 1d10 +2E, Single, Burst of 3
- two charge packs
Brontian Combat Knife - 1d5 R
Armor:
Flak Vest - AP3 (+1 vs Blasts)
Equipment:
Auspex
Common Mind Impulse Link
Combi-tool
Data-slate
Las-cutter
1 Uniform
1 set of Cold Weather Survival Suit
1 Set of poor weather gear
1 rucksack
1 sleep bag
1 rechargeable Lamp
1 mess kit
1 set of basic tools
1 Infantryman's Uplifting Primer
1 canteen
2 weeks rations
1 set of Cognum tags
1 Photovisor
I used a random dice roller for stats, and method 1 down the list. Hopefully, I did the XP correct as there was a lot of flipping around in the book!
This message was edited 4 times. Last update was at 2022/11/29 15:17:45
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The Krieg Grenadier looked around the ship's bay. His face was a gaunt thing, deathly pale, fitting the name of the regiment he came from. His mask was actually off his face, it wasn't needed for most of the drop, after all. The Carapace helmet covered his hair. Brown eyes darted this way and that, looking at the other troopers with little emotion, save for those he caught starring at him. A flash of a grin crept on his features, revealing white teeth and breaking the stoic façade for a second before he looked away. His nose was crooked, the result of a battle injury, perhaps? His lips were thin. His Hellgun was pressed on his chest, with the rebreather's canister resting on his shoulders.
Trooper 5-6-56-5... no. The Catachans had called him Poncho, on account of the bulky greatcoat he wore that looked like one. That's what they said, anyway. The drop held little care for the Krieg veteran, it wasn't his first, and death, was, ultimately, a reward unto... hm. No, right, better to live and fight another day, the half naked soldiers had suggested that as an alternative to the redemption by fire that his regiment had favored. It had seemed to make sense, you can kill a lot more of the Emperor's foes by living.
''It would be a shame if we all died before we could serve our Imperium now would it? The problem with our enemy is that we can't rely on them for anything, let alone them dying easily!'' The Kriegsman laughed at what passed for a grim joke, it might not have landed well. Following that, ''Poncho'' brought up a metal canteen to his lips, and spat some brown sludge into it. A shame, he was running low on lho-leaves, good luck tokens given to him once more by those lively fellow Deathworlders, always good to chew on those before a drop, they said.
The lazaret had been improvised right between the counters were just a 2 years ago merchants, administratum clerks and other visitors had been processed upon arriving. Which meant that it looked kind of... disturbingly sterile, clean and luxurius. Obviously the cleaning servitors had kept on with their work even after all civilian traffic to Skrynne had long seized, oblivious of the futility of it all...
So far they had only a hand full of soldiers here, wounded in earlier clashes to the south. All of them Bronthian Long knifes - but mostly because there was little left anymore of Skrynnes PDF forces - or it's population if it came to that. As a med student and one of "the future of Skrynne", Teodor had been excempt fom the draft up until only recently, working double shifts and weekends in several hospitals, up until those got destroyed by the Greenskins too. He had seen his fair share of blood and bones, but when he finally had gotten his draft letter, he had still shaken of fear of what was to come. There was so little civilian population left, what medical staff remained might as well be "used" on the frontline. He understood that on an intellectual level - it was still scary.
So they had rowed him and the few - to few - others up and send them to "boot camp". A week of running around, crawling through mud and being shouted all the time. Than they had put some flak armor on them, pressed a gun or pistol in their hand and congratulated them on joining the Imperiums proud defenders. Teodor took his helmet in his hand and looked at the inside again. One could still see where the former owner had a picture of his family glued in. It was slightly to big, but a bit of padding had taken care of it. The same with his uniform. A thorough investigation had brought up a couple of mended holes in the back of the shirt, which concluded his suspicions about most of their gear. On the bright side the provisional situation of those that remained was not to bad. Their were enough guns to go round and the few paramedics like himself could have their pick of the best diagnostors and other goodies there where - if they didn't mind to clean up a bit of blood and gore beforehand... Just thinking of it Teodor had to fight to not throw up his breakfast.
This morning had have some good news. One of the older veterans had heard from a Ministorum clerk, who had dined with a navy armsmen ... etc.... that finally some reinforcements were underway. And from the busy look of the Navy personal in the landing fields tower all morning, that seemed to be true. Teodor had not found the time to look himself, but just now looking towards the landing field he could see a couple of Troopers shadowing their eyes and pointing to the sky.
But not all was well on Teta-7. Word around the defenders was that another Ork Warband was right on his way to them and by now one could already hear explosions and the sound of autogun fire drawing closer.
He was snapped from his thoughts by the shouting of a one armed drill sergant going through the hall "ALL RIGHT EVERYONE! GET YOUR LITTLE PRINCESS A**ES UP AND LOOK LIVELY! WE GOT SOME COMPANY AT THE SOUTHERS BORDER OF THE LANDING STRIP! AND SOME FRIENDLIES INBOUND. SO LETS TAKE OUR FRIENDS IN AND KICK SOME XENO BUTT!"
[I will add something for those in the lander soon]
Teodore shuffled along, moving as slow as he thought he could get away with...without attracting the attention of the drill sergeant.
In his mind he kept thinking about how wrong everything was going for him. He was from a relatively well off family. He was talented, smart, on his way to a bright future and then it all went side ways. Now all he could think about was what he needed to do to survive this mess. Not being on the front line seemed like the obvious move.
In the back of his mind he thought about what would be the best way to "get injured" so he could get off the front. Of course, there were always the Commissars to worry about...and the drill instructor.
Also...was there any place that wasn't the front line at this point? Maybe it's time I start thinking of how to stowaway on a transport or something, he thought to himself.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/09 02:06:55
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa
Tambo leaned over to Simond, listening to his question and making a special gesture while answering, whose meaning eluded everybody except thos from his own backwater planet. "His home is a world called Krieg. Long ago there was a war there, a war that raged for 500 years. Their world is dead - poinoned, wrecked by artillery and riddled in trenches. But they raise some of the fiercest warriors the stars have ever seen. They are admired as they are feared. The Kriegers wear gas masks all the time and seldom speak a word, so our friend here is quite likely the first and last anyone of us will ever see the real face of. And that scares them..."
He turned his attention towards the Deathworlder in a nod of respect, taking up eye contact that the others around them avoided. Shouting over the engines he exclaimed "When my world was about to burn, the skyfather send the sons and daughters of Krieg. You fought with us... bled with us... We are kin! We owe you!" which he again acompanied by a kind of gesture, laying his hands overcrossed on his chest before stretching them out towards poncho, palms up. That seemed to mean something for the dark skinned soldier, whatever it was.
Spoiler:
I'll leave it up to you if Poncho has heard of it. Thoth was target of a mid sized attack of heretics (still much to big for them to handle) half a century ago. Two regiments of Kriegers were the only defenders that arrived in time, but they were able to hold the planet together with the indigenous tribal warriors until a fleet arrived and saved the day. They still hold the Kriegers in highest regard for that and feel in kind of an honor dept.
Njal happened to sit nearest to one of the comm-speakers and thus was amongst the few who - between the endless crackle of static - could make out the muffled shout of the pilots up front "Brace! Brace! Brace!" The next moment the whole craft lurched sideways as if hit by a giant, throwing equpiment and some troopers that had been careless with their crash harness around, while the lights went out for a moment and only came back blinking in the right half of the drop ship. Someone had been thrown right on top of the Saint Paulus Trooper and in between the flickers of red light he could make him out as one of the Junior Commissars. The boy had been hit pretty hard, with some blood running down his scalp and a dizzy, unfocussed look upon his face.
All around soldiers screamt, as the ship dropped into a steep dive that everyone could feel in their stomach... Was that it? Damn it, what wouldn't you give for a window...
Teta-7:
Herded by the drill sergant, everyone around was busy getting into a couple of trucks from skyport authority that were heading out towards the outer landing fields where the drop ships were expected to arrive. But Teodor attempt of stalling and shuffling around as much as he could get away with turned out to be surprisingly successful, as the trucks filled up nicely before he even reached the door area and ran off into the distance. To his misfortune drill sergant Wyona, an older woman with a jaw like an anvil and ears that looked like those of a prize boxer was still around and caught sight of him "Teodor you useless bag of gak! What are you still doing here!" she shouted at him, already loosening the rolled up belt she kept at her for "disciplinary purposes" as both of you heard - or rather more felt - a massive collision a couple of hundred meters over your heads. Up there one of the three dropships decending from the skies had been hit by something - a missile maybe or one of the Ork flyers buzzing around and dogfigting with the imperial escorts. The middle ship had been almost ripped open and while its engines still worked, they were tearing the warped and twisted frame apart through their force. In his dying throws the giant had hit one of the other dropships and smashed it to the side, damaging its starboard engines and forcing it to a steep dive towards the surface in the slim hope of making a crash landing. To Teodors displeasure it looked suspiciously like it was to hit the ground immediatly in front - or maybe even on the building they were standing at right now instead of arriving at the planned landing point a good two kilometers to the east. And to make things even better they became aware of the sound of gunfire and screaming from the western wing of the Administrativum building. By the throne, how did the greenskinned mennace have gotten there so fast?
Wyona smilled at him and pinched his cheek "Oh, the God Emperor smiles at us today. You lucky little bast*** will have so much opportunity to be a hero today."
Eye contact was made, Poncho grinned, it was the grin of someone not used to showing his face, and looked overdone, almost fake in nature, as the Kriegsman listened to Tambo's words closely, doing his best to hear the words spoken. He caught some.
''Kin? Where is your mask, brother, I wonder! Ah ah ha!'' *The pale faced man laughed* ''Fitting that we will die together then!'' *Poncho seemed amused, but his expression turned serious when the Aquila was made, and he returned the gesture with vehemence. Right under his right armor, the man's serial number was stenciled on his sturdy carapace. It read 5-6-56-5. A simple string of numbers that denoted his position in a regiment that had no need for him anymore. His coat was a faded green, perhaps a makeshift attempt at camouflage to fit the lush planet the penals were assigned to, his armor was a dark grey of ceramite and armaplas. The mask that hung on the top plate was tan, and covered by a plasteel skull shaped piece of metal.
He missed the call to brace, focused on the conversation, and his mask was almost flung out from where it lay when the ship lurched, the brown hose preventing the Kriegsman from losing his second face, which was the color of bone. A hand reached to grab hold of it, and Poncho decided that yes, it was time to put his regiment's signature piece of gear on. It was dark, but masking drills were something everyone on Krieg learned very quickly, and it wasn't long before his face was covered by metal and fabric, the rebreather filtering the air some more which each breath the Grenadier took.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/09 21:32:14
Simond heard the call to brace and quickly took the opportunity to buckle his black, white and red painted sallet on, the paint was scuffed and worn since he'd had it painted. The well worn leather strap buckled quickly despite its stiffness and he was able to get his hands around his weapons again before the ship lurched.
This was no way to go into battle, no way at all to go into battle at all, sitting down and not astride a horse, he'd had to unbuckle the chainsword and its sheath just to sit down and his buckler was pressing against the chain maile on his hip.
He rode the shaking and juddering of the craft out like a bolting horse. A bolting horse he could not rein in.
That was not something he liked either.
Simond watched as the Kreig man recovered his mask and pulled it on.
The man's face was more akin to a plague corpse or night stalker than that of what a man should have. He made the sign of aquila to ward off evil and touched the small golden rose laced into the chainmail collar at his throat.
'Saint Hildegarde of the hospital, protect us, keep us pure and clean in the emperor's light.' He whispered under his breath.
He shuddered at the thought of the walking plague.
Ten years he had fought in the King's army, he'd slain men in duels, brusniks, balgorns and night stalkers but the very thought of the walking plague made him shudder inside and the thought of their stench, their vile miasma turned his stomach over.
The thought was too much, and perhaps too much of that skin of the firey spirit Tambo had sold him and too little food had contibuted, he doubled over, he made sure his fine red riding boots were well clear and vomited onto the floor in front of himself.
Simond blew chunks from his nose, took the skin in a practiced hand, popped the cap out and took a hit to clean the taste of acid from his mouth.
He swished the strong spirit around in his mouth and swallowed it. No point in wasting it. Tambo was one of those indispensible people you found on campaign, the ones that had or could find what you wanted or needed, and he had seen that conspiratorial glance between the man and the one named Njall. Simond did not know yet if Njall fell into the same category, it was something to feel out, much like that glance between the two of them.
Simond turned to the young soldier on his other side, brand new, young and pale faced at the prospect of his first battle. The boy was also part of the Elendine Tithe and wore his much better fitting flak vest over a thick quilted gamberson and wore a neatly and freshly painted kettle helmet, painted like his own sallet to hide the rough unground forge blackened steel. It was not the armour a knight would be seen dead in.
Balwin had been a tailor's apprentice before he had been selected in the tithe, he wasn't really a horseman, but he could ride. The boy was much too straight laced; he was still trying to puzzle out how the boy had ended up in the unit.
Still he should probably say something to the boy.
"Don't worry about these greenskins. They are nothing to a brusnik or a balgorn. I will carve a bloody swathe through these beasts, keep your horse behind me." He had no idea if one of these orks was more or less formidible than a brusnik or balgorn, but it sounded right for the hardened campainger to say to the fresh faced new lad.
At the very mention of the beasts the lad only paled further and Simond groaned inwardly. If the boy paled at the mention of brusniks and balgorns he was glad the boy was young enough not to remember the walking plague. He himself had only been a boy when the Sisters of the Hospital of Saint Hildegard had brought cleansing fire, imperial steel and their healing to the Kingdom of Kitheria.
"They will be no match for Kitherian steel and fury," he slapped a hand onto his chansword, "And they will be no match to imperial steel in my hands."
This message was edited 17 times. Last update was at 2022/10/09 22:44:43
That's all he needed, a frosted Black Hat in his lap. He wanted to avoid any further attention from them. He tried his best to secure the man as the floor dropped out and the dropship began to crash dive. He gripped the Junior Commissar as best he could. The glazed look in the man's eyes was not a great sign, but Njal snapped his fingers in his face and yelled,
"Junior Commissar? Are you all right sir?"
He glanced up at the doorway, and saw the light above it was still red. Once it turned green, there would be a mad scramble to get out of this giant coffin. How many exits did this thing have on the troop deck? It looked like all their lights were red still. He glanced around the dropship, looking for the way to the hold, where the armor was. He didn't fancy jumping out into a hail of enemy gunfire, at least not without some ceramite between him and the Greenskins.
Njal pointed to to the light above the door. "What's the plan gentleman?" He tried to shout over the chaos.
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Teodore winced as the woman grabbed his cheek. "Right Seargent. Lead on. I'm right behind you." He looked out at the crashing drop ships and ensuing carnage in the sky.
So much for stowing away on a drop ship. He thought to himself grimly.
And now a song from my favorite Imperial Guard movie that's not really an Imperial Guard movie. Good drop ship music.
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa
Simond heard Njall's strained shout above the tumult and saw the man's eyes going to the red lights, that surely meant something.
They were moments before impact then.
That strange composure came over him, riding onto the field again, riding into the unknown.
He had seen enough of this imperial army to know that it worked the same way as the king's army.
Things did not always turn out well and he would bet his last gilder that positions that the imperial army held on paper, or on one of their magic maps would not always be in fact in imperial hands.
War afteral was universal. And the enemy always had his say.
"We will not know the situation till we leave this... ship!" He bellowed in his battle voice. "We should precede as if the landing area is already overrun. From there feel out what is happening."
He adjusted himself on the seat so that he was only half sitting in it and could buckle on the sword.
Nearly all of the other men carried forms of imperial hand gonnes. A nagging part of him hoped he would not need one.
He had the imperial blasting eggs carefully packed in the pouch on his belt anyway, they should suffice.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/10 01:26:46
The Junior commissar in Njalls lap takes some seconds, but as he snapps and tries to shake some live back into him, the young man's gaze starts to focus again and he struggles back up to his feet, clinging to the St. Paulus soldiers crash webbing. Back up he re-attaches his security line to the above hand hold, blushing about his fumble, that could have left him out cold and seriously bruised and battered, had not Njall hold on to him during the worst of the shaking. Without even aknowledging you at all, the black hat hurries over along the hand holds to his own seat. A bit ungrateful maybe, but you have the impression as if right now, the man who was in charge of your section avoides eye contact with you, not free from the very human emotion of shame.
Spoiler:
meaning: right now for the exit from the ship, I'll cut you some slack if you don't storm right out with the others but choose something more... discrete
Tambo and M'Gele had also not heard the brace warning in time and got knocked around pretty roughly, hitting their heads and knees a bit and cursing fervently in a very foreign native dialect that had little in common with low gothic. While M'Gele shouted over to someone along the line to kick his shield, that had slid along the line back over to him, Tambo faces Njall and Simond, who had a small exchange, what the plan is. "Grab our stuff, and get out of here! Preferably without being shot at. Kill the bad guys, find a bar with good music and nice ladies... and wait for all of this to blow over."
The uttered plan was not a secret one between them though and Poncho could well hear it.
A couple of moments later all of you feel like getting kicked in the lower back forcefully as the landing trusters of your craft kick in with all emergency power to try and turn the rapid decent into as much of a "landing" as was possible. The loud sounds of the engines and machinery around you that has accompanied you the last hours has also changed worryingly and you can hear creaking and the screaming of metal grinding on metal from some places outside where you deem the engines to be - which does little to calm your thoughts.
Teta-7
Wyona falls into a brisk jog, leading the way, but always with an eye on Teodor to make sure her charge does not fall behind "by accident". As you leave the building for the landing field, you suddenly get a much better view of what's going on in the western wing. Two of the lower floors of the skyport hotel are burning and there seem to be intense firefights going on between some squads of Brontian Longknifes that have entrenched themselves behind a huddle of containers and concrete obstacles and routs of greenskins of varying sizes, firing their curde weapons all around them without even the attempt of aiming and charging through the fire towards the human defenders. Other groups seem to turn up everywhere - some of the smaller Gretchin creatures crawling out of a sewage manhole a hundred yards to your left, some of the bigger ones just pushing themselves up after climbing from somewhere lowere - the lower parking decks maybe? - unto the border of the landing field etc.
At this rate the defenders right here will likely be overrun soon, as most of the Brontians have just been send away towards the suspected main thrust of the Xenos.
But of course, there were reinforcements "inbound", which a huge shadow on the runway getting bigger every fraction of a second reminded Teodor of, together with the screaming of tortured machinery. At least Wyona is rational enough to dive for the cover and pull Teodor with her behind a rockcrete blast shield protecting the buildings from the trusters of starting ships on a better day.
From there you see an adventurous greenskin that seemed to have outrun his mates by quite a considerable distance running towards you with a mix of happiness and ferocious murder in his eyes, wielding a large, two handed axe around. A moment later he is suddenly turned to a very messy - and very flat - corpse, as the emergency landing trusters of the dropship above you kick in, flattening everything under it and even leaving some cracks and craters on the runway itself.
With an earshattering crash the craft comes down, hitting the ground and sliding to a slow and agonizing halt. The Landing gear on port has given in a bit, so that it tilted a hand full of degrees, but these ships are build to take a punishment, so overall, it seems intact, but the cockpit has taken quite a beating and one of its engines is aflame.
A moment later the big hatch in front drops down, and some dozen Guardsmen stumble into the open, obviously shaken around badly and still dizzy on their feet. They are immediatly greeted by gunfire from the mates of the unlucky greenskin that had been smeered to paste by the thrusters. And even if it is as wild and unaimed as from the other Xenos, the sheer amount of "Dakka" flying around fells three of them. The others instinctivly try to get back into the safety of the lander - which is a hopeless endevour as the soldiers behind them press outwards too. So they have little choice other than to run down the ramp through the hail of fire, throw themselves flat into one of the depressions formed on the ramp by the deformation of the landing or risk a jump from the 4 yards high ramp unto the rockcrete in full gear... So far, the Imperials inside are pinned.
From your position you can also see a secondary ramp in the back of the craft, which the Greenskins so far seem unaware of. It has begun to open but seems to be jammed half way.
Spoiler:
Tech use: roll successful. Teodor believes to understand enough about the hydraulic system involved to guess that cutting or shooting through the hydraulic tubing on the upper cylinder holding the ramp would drop it down permanently, if those inside do not manage to solve the problem another way.
Dropship
With a boneshattering crash, you lift sets down on the ground, lurching and hopping a bit, before it finally slides to a halt with another agonizing scream of metal. To your utmost surprise and pleasure, each of you belongs to the lucky half of soldiers inside, that get away with no more than bruises and the odd little cut or bloddy nose. With a friendly little "ping" sound, the lights along the walls - meaning those still intact - switch to green and the forward ramp begins to lower itself down, the strong hydraulic pushing trough the deformed metal. Everyone in any state to do so is opening their crash harness, grabbing his gun and making ready to run for the exit, the more aware of them pulling out the boxes with their additional gear from under their seats. As you grab your stuff, like Tambo and M'Gele who also gear up on quite a number of the "imperial blasting eggs" Simond knew, you start to hear weapons fire comming from outside the front ramp, which is responded in kind by the soldiers in front of you. Still soon you realize that you are pinned in the wreckage of your craft, the bullets flying around the crammed front exit to numerous to let this be a tempting way out.
Tambo looked around, finally pointing over to a hatch with a ladder at the end of your lane to the right that seemes to go down to the lower level. "Your horses are down there. We must get them out before this thing starts to burn or some gak. I... I think there also where some large doors at starboard when we boarded" His tone implied that he was not sure about that, or if those were big enough to get a horse through, but looking at the teeming mass of soldiers around you on the brink of panick, with guns and all aiming for the main ramp of this deck, the idea did not sound too bad.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/10 11:11:35
Teodor is in combat now. He feels his muscles start to freeze up as adrenalin starts to pump through his veins. He forces himself to focus and that is when he notices the stuck hatch on the drop ship. He taps Wynona on the shoulder and gestures to the hydraulics.
"The hatch is stuck. If we got someone up here with a blow torch we could cut through the hydraulics and open the hatch up!"
He hoped he was shouting loud enough to be heard over the general chaos going on all around.
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa
Simond takes a moment to observe how the others free themselves from the accursed cage that had locked each of them in. Then he stumbles to the hatch Tambo has indicated.
"Balwin get down there and calm the horses!" He bellowed. Last thing he wanted was to start the battle with a good sized bruise or a broken rib.
All the soldiers faced that open ramp with their gonnes. They were like the first few attackers into a breach. They'd be cut to ribbons as soon as that ramp lowered. That was not the direction that lead to a fabled end.
Besides he'd have to run the gauntlet to the foe anyway, the horse's speed might be the difference between life and death.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/10 12:19:22
Njal nodded at Tambo, and didn't wait around. He jammed the release clasp on his harness and grabbed his ruck. Just like in the old unit!
He jumped up and dashed to the ladder Tambo referenced, dropped his ruck, and slid down the ladder after it. He cleared the way, and looked around in the green combat light to get his bearings.
There were definitely animals down here. They were shrieking like mad, and the smell was worse than the conscript barracks.
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''Being shot at is one way to serve the Emperor, after all, wasting the enemy ammo is one way that will victory'' Poncho commented while working the release, his carapace helmet had banged left and right, but the heavier piece of armor did its purpose. ''But then again, so is killing them'' The Kriegsman mused, his words ending in a grunt and a few choice words about large insects and their relation to someone's mother. His Hellgun, a far cry from the weapon he had used while serving with the Fifth, was a mess of tangled cable and power pack, gone were the attachments the Grenadier had used to his advantage back when he fought side by side with his fellow veterans, before him was a bare weapon, workable, but of lower quality than what he had been used to.
At least the ship stopped moving, and it gave time for Poncho to work on freeing his weapon, tempted as it was to just cut down the cables and use a spare, wasting gear tended to cut one's lift short, and so the ex-Grenadier took the long way around. It was, also, a rather convenient reason to avoid rushing out of the ship with the first wave.
Talk of horses made the Deathworlder turn around, slinging the freed back-mounted power pack's sling over one shoulder ''Horses? If they got in, there's a way to get out. We could use that to flank our foe's position, possibly?'' His voice was muffled by his rebreather as he spoke, and the last check ups were done on his weapon, the overpowered lasweapon hummed with stored power, charged up and ready, although kept on the ''safe'' setting for now.
Wyona gave Teodor a puzzled look "What?" before she looked back at the hatch he was gesturing towards and realizing what he meant. "Good idea! You got a blowtorch on you?" Hurrying over to the lander she crossed her fingers to give him a leg up, obviously taking his idea as volunteering to try and unjam the hydraulic. Regardless of the existance or non existance of a blow torch in his equipment, this would at least give him the opportunity to look inside through the slightly opened hatch and talk with whoever was there. A first peek through the opening reveales some movement inside, a couple of troopers from the looks of it.
Inside, upper deck
Njall is the first at the ladder, immediatly followed by Balwin. The others follow them on their heels, but need a bit longer to get their stuff. Seeing that his powerful gun has gotten in the way a bit, Tambo comes over to Poncho and offers "Can I help you?" doing his best to untangle the Grenadier. While his first comment of service to the emperor seems to find not so much agreement with the Askari, the second makes him chuckle a bit. "Hear, hear!"
His remark regarding the horses earns an enthusiastic nod as Tambo exclaims "Of course. And they had to get the Chimeras on here somehow!"
Inside, lower deck
As Njall hits the lower floor, he is greeted by the same pulsating green light as above. As he already expected, the horses down here are definitly not having a good time. At least they had been fixated pretty good with a special crash harness and a lot of padding. They look uninjured as far as he could tell, but all but panicking, as they feel trapped inside the harness. The younger Feudal worlder that had been sitting next to Simond was dropping down the ladder just behind Njall and ran over to the animals, trying to calm them with soft wispers and a certain kind of body language. Looking around Njall can make out a lever at the side of each horse-crash harnish that is labeled "release", but might be unsure if it is wise to point Balwin towards it just yet.
The Chimeras inside are bolted to the floor for transport and will likely not move anywhere soon, as long as you don't have something like a lascutter at your disposal. One might be able to use their Heavy Bolter and Flamer though to defend the hatch. On topic of that: the big hatch the Chimeras must have entered through is jammed after having opened maybe 10 degrees. Maybe enough for an athletic trooper to climb up, wrangle through the opening and let himself drop down a couple of yards, but definitly no way out for the animals. directly beside it at port you find a small cogitator screen with lots of buttons that should have something to do with the hatch
Spoiler:
a succesful Operate +10 lets you hit the right runes immediatly that will lower the ramp at least to an angle that you foot soldiers might exit through and a talented rider might make his steed jump through. Else you would need some minutes to do another Operate +30 while thumbing through the menues.
At starboard you can make out a door, likely for maintenance or something that should lead outside, but seems to have a mechanical lock on it.
a couple of seconds later, the others - Tambo, Poncho, M'gele and Simond also come through the hatch downwards. Through the gap in the forward ramp you can see movement and hear human voices. The face of a young man appears shortly, peeking inside.
Poncho accepted the offer for help with a nod, and soon enough he was ready for war properly. However, given the bulk of his gear, he motioned for the others to descent the lower decks first, just in case the passage might prove a little too tight for the heavily armored man.
''This troop... I mean I, I am a person'' The Kriegsman began to speak when he joined them below ''I've not been given training in the arcane ways of the Mechanicum'' He said when he save the cogitator. ''But a Hotshot round should cut the lock on the side door? That would give us an option if we can't lower the ramp''
The others had pointed and talked about some large metal machinery near the door. It must have been the machinery responsible for lowering the ramp similar in some way to the chains and winches that raised and lowered a drawbridge.
As Balwin calmed the mounts he checked around for any piece of metal that could be used to lever the mechanism. If he could find sturdy chains or rope he could rig the animals up and attempt to lever the mechanism. The rigging would not be ideal but the animals would generate much more force than any of them ever could.
The alternative could be that he rigged a blasting egg into place and set it off from behind the "tank", he and balwin had waxed linnen thread in their kits for repairing leatherwork, it would be sturdy enough to work as a lanyard. But he was wont to waste any of his eggs here.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/10 21:11:20
Teodore peered through the gap and saw the troopers.
"Hey you got to get this hatch open quick. We're getting cut to pieces out here!"
He looked through his tools quickly but didn't see a las cutter or blow torch in them, so he quickly realizes the plan to cut the hydraulic wasn't going to work. Maybe the troopers inside could figure something out. "The front way is frakked! Just get the damn thing open and hurry up!"
After that bit of shouting, he gets down and takes up position. He nervously peers out behind the corner of the drop ship, auto gun at the ready.
If any gretchin or green skin comes into sight, he'll quickly take an unaimed shot at it before ducking back into cover.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/11 02:28:11
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa
Njal heard the voice, and knew it was true. He would let the others deal with the ramp for now.
Instead, he went and started releasing the Chimera from its transport locks. This was the kind of work the infantry had done while the crew stayed warm inside, and kept the beast's furnaces hot. He was able to do this even if had his choppers* on.
Spoiler:
OOC:
Are the Chimera's crewed, or are we going to have to operate them out of here?
*= Choppers are large winter mittens with thumbs and no separate fingers often used in extremely cold conditions.
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As he comes down, Tambo eyes the lock at the side door that Poncho mentioned and hurries over, pulling a set of slim metal tools from one of his pouches. Going down on one knee he slips them into the lock and begins finicking around in it. "Good idea. But give me a shot at it first and conserve your ammo... By the way, what's your name?" He adds, still slightly surprised about Ponchos comment about being a person. Did the Kriegers determination for duty really go that far, that they see themselves more as troops, than as humans? And if so, what changed the man in front of him?
Spoiler:
first security roll to open the lock missed. Tambo would need some time
Njal can see that the transport locks that hold the chimera in place are a set of 2 big clamps on each track-side that are fixed with large screws to the transports floor. Something one would usually need a power-screwdriver to loosen up, but on the other hand: a screw can't be tight if it's liquid, so Njal's lascutter might fix that problem. Unfortunatly the Chimeras Crew seems to be on the upper deck with the others, but just now another trooper from St. Paul in the same cold weather gear as your drops down the ladder, obviously after seeing you getting down there and hurries over to you to help.
Spoiler:
I'll leave the description to you. That's your comrad
As he exclaimes that they should get the hatch open, Teodore can hear a voice from inside "Would if we could. The darn thing is jammed!".
As he peer behind the corner he can see that a huge pile of rubble lays between him and the firefight going on on the other side of the dropship. The heap of debris is roughly 2 yards high, but looks stable enough that one could climb above it, if so inclined. The twisted metal might make for some good cover, but the sharp, serated metal is also some pretty dangerous ground. Further up is one of the big rockcrete blast shields of the landing field, almost 3 yards high and nigh immune to the weapons of the Greenskins, should one need cover against it.
Just now you can see two of the smaller Gretchin creatures peeking around the small opening left in between rubble and blast shield in a mischievous way. It seems they have gotten away from their bigger, cruel cousins and are just looking for a place to hide. On the other hand they might warn their tormentors if left unattended to. For now they don't seem aware of Teodore and Wyona.
Balwin finds some solid looking chains stored away on a big drum at the wall that might be used that way, but he has no real idea where to fix them too. By now Simond has also arrived and might help him out. Your horses are a bit calmed down now, but still in their crash harnesses. Looking around you can see a kind of lever beside each of them
Spoiler:
if you can read low gothic: it says "release" there.
This message was edited 5 times. Last update was at 2022/10/19 08:08:32
Simond sees the flaw in his plan. The horses are still in their harnesses, the mechanism is different to the cage that had held him into his seat up above in the dropship.
Obviously he can't use the blasting eggs to free the horses, it'd blow their heads off.
Simond attempts to investigate the harnesses as he can't read the imperial script upon a small lever that seems to be of no consequence.
Njal nods to his fellow St. Paulian. The man had his photovisor down, so he was just a scraggly, brown bearded chin at the moment. Now was not the time for small talk anyway, and Njal pointed at the chimera.
"Get in side and warm up the furnaces, I will cut us lose."
Njal opened his ruck and pulled out his las-cutter. He flipped down his own photo visor, and turned the device on.
As he bent to his work, Njal muttered to the restraining clamps, "I am sorry for the rough treatment friend, but you have strayed from the Omnissiah's light, and I need to return you to his glorious purpose."
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''This trooper desgination is 5-6-56-5. Er. Poncho, if you're a Catachan'' Maybe he hadn't meant to fall back so easily into the impersonal way which the Kriegsmen referred to themselves, but he did almost without thinking, and it took a moment to add that second part, perhpas with the distraction of combat, the Deathworlder fell into old habits all too easily.
''Damaging Imperial equipment is a serious offense, this... I would rather not break anything if it can be helped'' Pressure on someone trying to figure out how a cogitator worked was likely not the best course of action, and after speaking, the Kriegsman went to look for crates and storage chests, anything to build a barricade if such was needed, though, he would also use anything as additional height to look through the partially opened ramp and get a better insight of the situation outside the ship. As he's not expecting enemy contact, given there were no bullet impacts on that side of the ship, he is not ready to shoot at anything.
As he exclaimes that they should get the hatch open, Teodore can hear a voice from inside "Would if we could. The darn thing is jammed!".
As he peer behind the corner he can see that a huge pile of rubble lays between him and the firefight going on on the other side of the dropship. The heap of debris is roughly 2 yards high, but looks stable enough that one could climb above it, if so inclined. The twisted metal might make for some good cover, but the sharp, serated metal is also some pretty dangerous ground. Further up is one of the big rockcrete blast shields of the landing field, almost 3 yards high and nigh immune to the weapons of the Greenskins, should one need cover against it.
Just now you can see two of the smaller Gretchin creatures peeking around the small opening left in between rubble and blast shield in a mischievous way. It seems they have gotten away from their bigger, cruel cousins and are just looking for a place to hide. On the other hand they might warn their tormentors if left unattended to. For now they don't seem aware of Teodore and Wyona.
Teodore shudders in terror at the sight of the grots and feels himself freezing up in terror again. He gestures to Wyona and points to the grots and then to the nearby cover.
With his arms shaking, he takes aim at the grots and pulls the trigger...nothing happens.
He fumbles with the safety lever, takes aim quickly and opens fire, one single shot. (Auto Gun is shooting semi-automatic).
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa
Simond fails in his half hearted investigation of the horse harnesses and utters some curses under his breath. He has sort of decided to let everyone else deal with things for a while and see what happens.
Spoiler:
or in otherwords he slacks off because he has had time to feel they can't be in a life threatening situation, he hasn't heard anything to make him think the landing zone is contested, despite his earlier words
Whilst he does so Balwin decides to ask one of the closer guardsmen for help.
Spoiler:
i think Njall is closest
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2022/10/12 03:21:33
Wyona also peeks around the corner to look for the Gretchin and draws her sidearm - a brutal looking autostubber. As the Greenskins are still about 70 yards away she wants for them to get closer as she does not have the range. Teodore on the other hand manages to steady his shaking hands and get one of the buggers into his iron sights. But as he pulls the trigger, the kick back of the weapon he is still very much unaccustomed to lets the shot go completely off target while painfully smashing his colarbone. Even worse, the next round seems to be stuck, but a healthy shake and pull on the bolt lets it fly out, readying your weapon again.
Spoiler:
90 on the Ballistic test, so no hit and almost jammed result.
The two Gretchin cower down as they hear the shot whizzing through the air a yard above their heads and look for its source, making out Teodore and gesturing through the small open space they were peeking through. A moment later another two Gretchin appear and all four start running towards you, firing wildly, but far out of range.
Wyona gives Teodore a slap on the back of his head "Way to go, Wilhelm Tell..."
Behind you, you can hear the creak of a metal door opening and see the first troopers jumping out
Inside "Come on... yes!" Tambo exclaims, as his work with the lock seems to bear fruit and the side door creaks open. Not to soon as you all can hear an autogun shot from outside the hatch followed by some wild gunfire from somewhere else. Regarding Ponchos comment on damaging Imperial Equipment he gestures around "It's a heap of scrap anyway. But we need that ramp open!" Then he jumps out and hurries over to the two humans crouching in cover behind the shuttles bulk, paying attention to not be right under the ramp the others are still trying to open.
Njals comrad nods in agreement "Will do! " and scales up the Chimera, opening its drivershatch with some quick hits on the right runes before slipping inside. Moments later the engine starts up, coughing out small clouds of smoke and soot while the passenger door in the back unlocks audibly.
One by one the holding clamps succumb to the threatment of the lascutter - the Machine god seems to be appeased by Njals prayer, letting the device in his hands do the work quickly.
Simonds investigation of the horse crash harness reveals it to be a rather sturdy assortment of ropes and metal that would take some time to cut through, as M'Gele, the second Askari shouts over "The lever! You have to pull the lever!" before exiting the craft through the now open side door.
This message was edited 3 times. Last update was at 2022/10/12 09:23:36
Pyroalchi wrote: Wyona also peeks around the corner to look for the Gretchin and draws her sidearm - a brutal looking autostubber. As the Greenskins are still about 70 yards away she wants for them to get closer as she does not have the range. Teodore on the other hand manages to steady his shaking hands and get one of the buggers into his iron sights. But as he pulls the trigger, the kick back of the weapon he is still very much unaccustomed to lets the shot go completely off target while painfully smashing his colarbone. Even worse, the next round seems to be stuck, but a healthy shake and pull on the bolt lets it fly out, readying your weapon again.
Spoiler:
90 on the Ballistic test, so no hit and almost jammed result.
The two Gretchin cower down as they hear the shot whizzing through the air a yard above their heads and look for its source, making out Teodore and gesturing through the small open space they were peeking through. A moment later another two Gretchin appear and all four start running towards you, firing wildly, but far out of range.
Wyona gives Teodore a slap on the back of his head "Way to go, Wilhelm Tell..."
Behind you, you can hear the creak of a metal door opening and see the first troopers jumping out
Inside "Come on... yes!" Tambo exclaims, as his work with the lock seems to bear fruit and the side door creaks open. Not to soon as you all can hear an autogun shot from outside the hatch followed by some wild gunfire from somewhere else. Regarding Ponchos comment on damaging Imperial Equipment he gestures around "It's a heap of scrap anyway. But we need that ramp open!" Then he jumps out and hurries over to the two humans crouching in cover behind the shuttles bulk, paying attention to not be right under the ramp the others are still trying to open.
Njals comrad nods in agreement "Will do! " and scales up the Chimera, opening its drivershatch with some quick hits on the right runes before slipping inside. Moments later the engine starts up, coughing out small clouds of smoke and soot while the passenger door in the back unlocks audibly.
One by one the holding clamps succumb to the threatment of the lascutter - the Machine god seems to be appeased by Njals prayer, letting the device in his hands do the work quickly.
Simonds investigation of the horse crash harness reveals it to be a rather sturdy assortment of ropes and metal that would take some time to cut through, as M'Gele, the second Askari shouts over "The lever! You have to pull the lever!" before exiting the craft through the now open side door.
Teodore pulls himself back behind cover as the grots open fire on him, not realizing that the grot weapons had no realistic chance of hitting him. He breathes heavily and counts to himself one...two...three, then pops out, takes aim quickly and sends another auto gun round into one of the approaching gobbos. After that he pops back in and sees Tambo getting out of the transport. He nods his head slightly to the man, but is unable to get his adrenalin under control enough to speak coherently...not until the immediate threat is dealt with.
"Iz got a plan. We line up. Yell Waaagh, den krump them in the face. Den when we're done, we might yell Waagh one more time." Warboss Gutstompa