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Answering to Ponchos comment on the second in command Tambo replies "Good idea. And who do you think would best fit that role? In our own regiment we usually go with seniority, which pretty much equals combat experience. So..." he looks around "... I guess that would be me, but if someone else feels up to the task, I won't fight for it."
Meanwhile M'Gele has taken one of the other chairs and started to continue on some half finished kind of braiding work from leather stripes, that might be some kind of sling.



As Njal asks for some item on the list, the older Askari drops the paperbag with the cookies on the counter with an invitation for everybody to help themselves and skims through the list, half reading aloud, half giving a summary. "Photovisors... nice, always wanted one of these.... guns... more guns..." When he comes to the cache of grenades he exclaimes "uhh... a cache of claimore mines and ... what is a halucinogenic grenade?" from over at his seat, M'gele answers without looking up from his leatherwork "We had some of those on Ventris Teta. Like a smoke grenade, but instead of smoke its full of crazy drugs. Made the bastards see all kind of stuff and run around like lunatics. At least until they figured out to use respirators." "Sweet... But would it work on Greenskins?" M'Gele shruggs "No idea. They looked like some tough SoBs. But I saw a grox getting pretty trippy from one of those grenades." "In that case: dibbs on the grenade cache!" is Tambos comment and selection

On the specific question he asks back "What is a snow plow? Back home we sometimes fit our vehicles with dozer blades to push away tree trunks and similar stuff, do you mean something like that?" he files back and forth a bit through the list "... oh, yeah, that is available.
I'm not sure with the smoke launchers though. If the brutes we met on the landing field are anything to go by, our enemies don't seem like the type who puts a lot of effort into aiming. I might be wrong, but setting smoke might not really decrease their chance of hitting... something.
And with the weapon: in our own regiment we are pretty much set on lasweapons. Less problems with carrying tons of ammo around and if you have an enginseer worth his salt you can recharge them on a lot of sources. And from what we saw, that multilaser did quite some number on that Ork." he shruggs "In the end, your regiment is mechanized, so your choice, I guess."


Replying to Simonds comment that had a pretty noticable pronounciation on "the woman" he asks back with a smile and tone that for the Askari is nothing more than pulling someones leg a bit "You don't have mixed regiments where you come from? Afraid of a little competition?" But then answers the cavalrymans question: "Yeah, the explosive lance tips are one here. 2 Plasma or Melta tips - those are the types that can melt a tank if needs be - or 4 Krak, Fire, Poison or Shock tips. Good choice by the way"



As everyone seems to have agreed on her being the Sergeant, Wyona gets over to the "table" and takes up her new - and old - stripes. "Thanks, I'll not let you down." she vows, even though internally she is more than aware that wipping some frightened conscripts like Teodore into shape is worlds away from trying to keep a squad smashed together from basically 5 different regiments in any form of fighting shape. "So first things first... As Simond already said: we have almost no experience fighting together... hell we barely know each other. So I'd say everyone gives a quick heads-up who he is, what special training, skills or equipment he brings to the squad and what knowledge he has or hasn't that will be relevant to survive what's about to come. The sooner we figure out how we can help each other, the better..."


Nodding in agreement Tambo goes first "We are from the Thoth Askaris light infantry. So.... I guess the main thing we can bring to the table is that the region of our planet where we come from is a jungle, I would claim we know our way around it. Even though it is pretty strange that the foilage here is green instead of the normal red and magenta. We'll need some new camo I guess." which explains their red- and purple colored garments. He seems to hesitate a bit before he adds reluctantly "We have some deployments on our belt, but usually it was just reconnaissance and skirmishing. And... lets say we are neither snipers nor duelists with a blade. I promise you we'll do our best, but don't expect what you would expect from Poncho here.
When it comes to equipment: we have a bunch of grenades and some stummers. And lets say I know my way around when it comes to... getting stuff. You know, trading things or finding... stuff that was forgotten somewhere..." even though he not outright says "black market" it's pretty clear what he means.
"What else... yeah, we pretty much only ever fought Renegades before. I mean... Our whole regiment. So I have absolutely no idea what an Ork can or can't do apart from the things in the uplifting primer. And that is basically useless I guess."

Njal scratched his chin, this heat made him consider shaving it all off.... but he had never been without one before. Better leave it.

"My names Njal Peitrson, and that sack of ice sleeping up there is Erc Redhand. We are from cold weather Mechanized Units. This heat.... yeah.... not great."

"I was cross-trained to drive a Furnace, but I was mostly a Shiver.... ah.... infantryman. You know, run out the back, grab cover and shoot stuff. All that time holed up in the back of a Tug, I got friendly with the machine-spirits so I know my way around them."

"Erc, he's a dedicated Toasterhead. He can drive, he can operate the turret, but he can't do both at once. Not sure what his story is, but its not great."

"I've seen some action back home on St. Paulus, used to be PDF myself. Then, in the Guard I saw some soft action putting down uppity farmers and the like. Mostly lightly contested drops, roll ins, and waving the flag type operations. Never battled a xeno before."

"Tambo and I, we have a bit of history. He helped me acquire some improved cushions, but he Black Hats weren't too impressed with the mods."

Njal pulled himself to his feet and tossed a lazy salute to the new boss, "Sergeant, I recommend we outfit the Rig with a... dozer blade? It will help us get through the terrain, smash some greenskins, and ping some inbounds."

Teodore nodded in relief...somewhat. Now that Wyona was taking over. At least it meant she would be busy yelling at a whole group instead of just him all the time.

"I'm your medicae. I think the title explains itself."

"Now I don't know much about orcs, but having lived through this war and talked to people, I'm told that they favor close combat and are darned good at it too."

He gestured to the table of weapons. "So what's a good way to counter a charge? Flamers?"

Simond looked a bit put out by Tambo's reply.
"In the tithe, of course there are women. You can't expect men to go to war for years on end without the company and comfort of their wives or women. Besides who'd wash and darn the laundry? Next you'll be asking if our armies don't have children. Which is the natural result of an army having the former." "But for women to have to go into battle. It is a strange thing. But this is a strange place."
He gives a bit of an amused but friendly smile. "Perhaps some target practice is in order so that I may have some competition."
may

Most of what Njal has said has gone into one of Simond's ear and out the other, he understands the man comes from a snowy place but wonders what kind of crops someone would plant in snow, and why they'd put a plow on the front of the vehicle.

He frowns at Teodore and asks eagerly. "You say you are a healer, have you had an opportunity to train with the Sisters of the Hospital? Do they have a prescience on this world?"

"I can forage, scout. skirmish. And I can hit those brutes before they know I am there and hit them hard."
For the hundredth time he starts to bemoan the official story that the squad has been given, claiming that it's fanciful rubbish and it waters down what actually happened and his own glorious contribution to the battle. It seems by this telling the grots have somehow grown to full orks, the orks to nobs and the grotherd to a ork warcheiftan as he has learnt more about the creature's hierarchy.

The Kriegsman looked from speaker to speaker, settling on his little alcove to clean up the mask he so often wore

''I am 56-5-6-5. Or Poncho. I served with the Korps from Krieg. My regiment, the Fifth, had been deployed to fight an insurrection that spun out of hands. We fought them for so long, and are likely still fighting them. It was my first campaign, and I had been there for years, where I earned this'' Poncho tapped on the skull-shaped mask that protected his face in combat. ''But on my first mission as a Grenadier, my squad was separated, and I ended up finding Catachans that had been deployed with us. High Command did not like how they influenced me, so, here I am''

The Grenadier then lived up to his name, as he displayed a wide array of grenades that he had been issued. Frags, smokes, photon flash grenades. ''They at least let me keep most of this... my gear. And the carapace, of course, as well as the Hotshot. I've always been a good shot, and I may, in time, have earned the right to the squad's plasma gun'' After that, he reached for a cup of the coffee, it was drank as is, dark and bitter, as well as a cookie.

''From what I seen of our action against the Greenskins, you'd want to shoot them from afar, before they get close. Unless you're one of the Death Riders. Do we have Longlas available? Something to ensure they die quick, and far from us''

Most of what Njal has said has gone into one of Simond's ear and out the other, he understands the man comes from a snowy place but wonders what kind of crops someone would plant in snow, and why they'd put a plow on the front of the vehicle.

He frowns at Teodore and asks eagerly. "You say you are a healer, have you had an opportunity to train with the Sisters of the Hospital? Do they have a prescience on this world?"

Teodore frowned. "Prescience, that some kind of psyker thing? We stay well away from those folks around here mate. As for Sisters, I think there's a few of em here, but I don't know the exact orders. I'm sure you could ask a Priest about it the next time you go to Church."

"Right, well any chance we could get some administrative leave to head on over to the bar for some drinks? All this talk of war and killing has made me a bit thirsty."

Simond frowned at the word that had come of his own tongue first then off the tongue of the healer. "Presence." He corrected himself.

There was certainly an air of distaste about him at Teodore's mention of witchery.

He looks a little bit disappointed that the healer is not Hospitaler trained. But seems satisfied of hearing the presence of some of the orders on the planet.

"And I'd second going for a drink, we might even find a priest to ask at this bar." He sounds very brightened by the prospect and there is not a note of sarcasm in his voice.

As nobody disagrees, Tambo just assumes that him doing the second in command due to his age is agreed upon for now.

On Teodores first question on what is good against a charge the Askari shares his opinion "I guess the best is not to get caught in a charge. Shoot them from afar, preferably from ambush, set traps and don't get cocky. Don't rush in head first, pull back when confronted not completely on our terms. Take our time scouting and looking for weak spots and only fight when the odds are strongly in our favor. Call it coward if you want, but that's what let me survive into my fifties...

Against the smaller ones we seem to be fine..." which is accompanied by a hand gesture with thumb and middle finger touching and the others pointing towards Poncho and Teodore. You can only assume that this means more context for the Thoth-born soldier, even if you don't get it. "... but the big ones? Not sure flamers will bring us a long way. Only things that really worked reliably were Simonds Chainsword, Ponchos Hellgun and the Frag." he scratches the stubble on his chin as Poncho asks for a longlas "I know some snipers from our own regiment. Might be I can get my hands on one or two. Saw I guy exploding an Ogryns head with one once, so that should also do a number on a Greenskin I guess." he shruggs with his other hand swiffing over his had to imply that he is only guessing.
Ponchos presentation of his grenades earns him a broad smile accompanied by Tambos hand forming the aquila before his chest. "Nice... what kind is this one?" he asks regarding the photon flash and nods as the following explanation. He replies by pointing out M'Geles and his own collection: one each of frag, krak, smoke, fire and anti plant per soldier. Pointing on the Anti-plant grenade he explains "Haven't seen these around very often in other regiments. They basically just evaporate any plant within 3 yards radius. Nice to get rid of enemy cover and if you are careful these babys can fell any giant tree you want."


Simonds comment on the role of women in the army is answered by a chuckle - oblivious of Simond maybe taking that as insulting - "Each his own. Our women usually fight with us. But there are some tribes on Thoth who share your ways."


Wrapping up the introductions the Askari adds "So really not a single one of us has real practical experience with Orks beside the landing field? Maybe Coles idea to get another trooper for us is not too bad. The Brontians have been at the front quite a while, so those that are still alive should be professionals on the topic, don't you think?"
Leading over to Teodores and Simonds mention of getting a drink Tambo nods in agreement: "We got some chits for a splendid establishment called "the hole" within the confines of the supply depot here. From what I've been told it offers one drink per night and soldier. But I guess one might be able to get a refill for asking nicely. Being imperial heroes has to be worth something, doesn't it? And who knows, maybe we find our knife-obsessive guy or girl just there, slicing mangos for our drink..." he quips.




If general agreement on leaving for a drink is achieved, you lock up your stuff in the lockers and leave the building, which seems to also house the other survivors of the redemption platoon. Outside you get a better view of the supply depot Gamma 29
The hole area is protected by some high walls and watchtowers, alltogether... reasonably protected. Even though Poncho might find it rediculously lousy entrenched regarding how close you seem to be to the frontline and that the current phase of intense fighting has started a year ago. Had the Death Korps been fielded here all the time, the defense works would likely already stretch at miles in every direction. The walls and emplacements are manned by the remains of a Brontian regiment and PDF, the later being recognizable by their usage of armor from some local predators hide and their autoguns, while the Brontians can easily be distinguished by their proverbial love for all kinds of knifes and blades. Most of these men and women are walking wounded and you don't think you see anyone without bandages, casts or bionic replacements. Going through the streets you only get a first rough glimps, but from what you see, moral in the Brontians seem to still be kind of high, but the locals look... worn down to the point of total exhaustion. Your arrival therefore has risen the hope of finally being relieved and getting some time to recover - which may be vain depending on how things play out in the next weeks and how many more orks arrive from outer space or crawl out of the endless jungles.

As Imperial Garrisons go, you soon find your way around and can guess the position of an Ecclisiarchy chappel, a medicum, a large mess hall and a free standing building whose cleanliness, excellent craftsmenship and decent decoration almost scream "officers club", complete with a pair of guards on every entrance that will likely take care of you dreggs not entering.
In the centre of the walled city-within-a-city you can see a building with meters thick Rockcrete walls that looks a bit like an oversized bunker and might serve as a second defense line, should the outer walls be overrun. From the construction you can guess that the majority of the rooms are underground, while the visible parts are covered in crennelations, shooting slits and some automated defense turrets, more than half of them pointing their weapons to the skies. From a signpost you can guess that this building includes the supply depot itself, the Quartermaster as well as the local Administrativum presence.

Last but not least you pass five former warehouses - each larger then yours - now serving as garrison for one of your regiments as well as the Brontians. To the south of them is a huge former parking lot and recreational park that has been repurposed as improvised training and exercising ground, including a scrumball pitch where a game seems to go on at the moment. The too synchronized sound of shooting on the far side of the area, near the thickest part of the wall, imply that a shooting range has been set up there.

As you have to pass the ware houses to get to "the Hole" you can already get a rough glance at the regiments that already have settled in a bit, that might already tell you something about what you might expect from them. Where the Askaris are biletted you already see - not really surprising for a light infantry regiment - that they completely lack a motor pool. Only a couple of almost horse sized lemurs grasing imply at least some cavalry being around. Unfortunatly they don't seem to be very well equiped with infantry weapons either, as you almost exclusively see lascarbines - and not the most well produced as it came to that - and a very low amount of heavier weapons, mostly flamers, grenade launchers, long-lases and a hand full of tread fethers. Taken together you can already deduce that they will struggle heavily in taking on the Greenskins through firepower - which already sounded on in Tambo mentioning their tactics being pretty avoiding and relying on ambushes. On the other side quite a lot of them are in the process of dying their clothing and modifying it in various kinds of gillie-suits to blend in with the local flora. This together with a lot of them not looking like raw recruits implies that they might be a good adress if you try to get stuff needed for survival out there.

Edit: closer to the building itself, some improvised Barbecues and Outdoor cookeries have been set up where camp followers prepare some definitly not munitorum standard meals. The smells carrying over are pretty spicy and mouthwatering and have already attracted some customers from the other regiments.
In a half dark corner between the buildingsyou can also make outa couple of Askaris and other troopers engaged in the good old tradition of "exchanging gifts" of LHO sticks, Chris for the hole, magazines of questionable purity and other such goods that send always be in high demand amongst troopers.one of them waves over to Tambo who replies with a smile and one of his hand gestures.




Finally you reach a big, square tent, 25 x 25 yards in size, that bears a badly painted sign exclaiming "The Hole" - the recreation tent for enlisted Guardsmen. A Junior Commissar stand duty outside controlling the chits of the entering guardsmen and might have something to do with the sound from inside being a bit less intense than you would expect from such an establishment. Nonetheless you can definitly hear some bawling songs being sung, the clinking of Beer mugs and even the faint dice clicking, giggling and celebrating common to some game of chance going on.

As the squad walked past the various converted warehouses, the one Njal and Erc's old mates in was pretty obvious. It was surrounded by rigs, all pointing their weapons outward.

It looked more intimidating than it really was. To the trained eye, several of those vehicles were under maintenance. Hatches were open, and St. Paulus guardsman were hanging out of them. A cacophony of metal on metal, banging, engines rumbling, and cursing filled the air around the warehouse. Piles of winter weather gear were piled high on top of the Furnaces, and the guardsmen rambled around in undershirts and shorts, sweat pouring off their bodies.

A few pointed out Erc and Njal and gave them semi-insulting catcalls, "The Frosted Heroes are coming!" ,"What would we have done without them?", "Black Hat Kept, Comin' through" and the like. Njal just smiled and waved back at them, with only the occasional off-colored hand gesture here and there. Erc just kept staring straight ahead and marched past.

The squad got to "The Hole" and it looked about what Njal had come to expect. He scratched his chin, "By the Emperor's Frozen Throne, this looks like home. A small cut-away in the back of the drill rig, just large enough to squeeze a few workmen, a bar, and a tank or two of Shine." The walk over had left Njal sweating profusely, and a drink was starting to sound mighty good right now!

Malakai swirled the glass around the makeshift table, savoring the last of his drink for the day. He was alone in a dark corner. Just him and his thoughts. Not the best company as of late but better than the others at the hole. He spun the knife at the table, for the fourth time so far tonight it returned to him, blade first. Not a good omen, he wasn't terribly surprised either. A group of newcomers crowded the flap of the hole. Malakai was facing the exit and spotted them quickly. No surprises, not anymore. They were a mixture of different regiments, although he could not identify a number of them at first. Must of been the blessed reinforcements. The heroes Skyrnne desperately needed, while the Brontian's bled in the mud, guts and entrails.

He downed the rest of the glass and slammed it back down on the table. His hand shuddered slightly, he forced it firm. With his drink done and his reluctance to get drawn into any unnecessary conversation, Malakai rose to leave. A hand landed on his shoulder, he spun round frantically. "Hands off!" Adamo leered back, hands in the air "Easy Malakai, my skin ain't green" he smiled showing what was left of his teeth. "Your bloody teeth are Adamo, what you sneaking up on me like that for?" Adamo nodded towards the newcomers "What do you make of the stars? The ones in all the pict feeds."

Malakai turned back around to those who just entered, he thought he recognized that Krieg from somewhere..

Poncho nodded. Free time was a rare thing in the Korps, and on that single, long deployment not too far from Skrynne, he only had been rotated three times out of combat. He had taken the time to taste tehe local offerings in terms of alcohol, and so figured the Hole may be worth a visit. ''One drink, so near the frontlines, our commanders are generous''

With that, he went to lock up most of his gear, though keeping the bulky Hellgun, his armor, mask and knife. Passing the defences, however, his eyes twitched, and he shook his head ''Give me a squad of the Korps' Engineers and an Altas, and I'll show them a proper trench'' The ex-Grenadier's mood darkened at what he judged to be sub-par defences. The base didn't even have a battery of field guns to support the troops in there.

His head spun this way and that as they made their way to the improvised mess hall, taking in the sights, remembering the direction, silently noticing the amount of wounded the squad encountered on their way there. When they reached the large tent, he left his weapons, both the knife and Hellgun, under the care of the Commissar, at least, he was allowed to keep his armor, and the Carapace plated gloves that would serve as a pretty solid, if improvised, knuckle duster, just in case of a bar brawl.

His mask rested on top of the rebreather array that hung high on his back, his helmet was clipped to his belt. Poncho went to where the booze was being given, a chit in hand, ready to trade it in for whatever was on hand.

Teodore seemed somewhat glum as he plodded through the supply depot. He could see the traces of what the place had been before the war, feint echoes of a happier time, all gone now. That in turn led him to think about everything he had lost, that bright promising career...money, prestige, leisure. All gone away with it now. And that was really depressing...

His demeanor didn't improve much once he reached the bar, but he downed a large gulp of his beer willingly and eagerly.

He raised a glass to the Bronthian when he spotted him. "I'll drink to you lot. A toast, to the Bronthians. They're the real heroes of Skrynne. I'm just a lucky SOB."

He gestured to the others. "And if I could order a second, a third, a fourth drink I'd drink to each of your regiments and your home worlds in turn."

He thought about that for a minute before lowering his voice and muttering to his comrads.

"Just had an idea. We're requisitioning equipment right? What about something to rig up a still? Couldn't hurt to have something to keep our spirits up eh?"

Simond looked at the other camps that they passed with interest, he has been casually gulping spirirts for most of the trek to the hole. They approached the billet of the Elendine Tithe, it was located in a bare field, must have been some kind of sports area before hand. The wagons of the tithe were drawn up in a great ring.
Within was a miniature city of tents and pavilions of all colours, and at the entrances were bands of guards commanded by an armoured knight.
They wore a mixture of steel plate, mail, padded armour mixed and matched with flak and even carapace armour(particularly helmets and chestplates).
Chainswords are common, some have even been fitted to long hafts, the closest knight seems to have a power axe looped at his belt.

There is the ring of anvils and, the sound of music, talking and laughter of men and women.

They are not welly equipped with modern weapons, but they are a people intimate with war.

Simond does not look towards the camp, he seems uncharacteristically quiet as the group approaches and passes the camp. He looks sullen or sad even.

His mood gets better as they reach the Hole. As they enter he smiles as he looks around the interior. It feels very familiar, very comfortable.

He must have been in a hundred drinking dens like this and everyone of them had been trouble. He gets a drink sticks close to Teodore and Wynona.
Simond is very pointedly ignoring other members of the Elendine Tithe and they are ignoring him.


Simond takes a mouthful of the alcohol, it is not bad by the standards of what he has tried. One drink. He wanted to spit in disgust. It was a good thing he had the skin of spirits, he could have a proper drink. It is not long before he started talking to someone. And it it not long before he begins to tell the tale of himself pitted against an army of greenskins and how he'd lanced down the greenskin warcheiftan. All the while keeping an eye on the healer and the woman.

Malakai peers at Teodore's gesture with suspicion. He shrugs Adamo's hand from his shoulder, clearly irritated that he had in fact been drawn into a conversation. "All the heroes of this war are dead, the rest of us are just trying to walk in their boots."

Adamo clears his throat and steps between the two. "Apologies, Malakai is still grieving from..well it don't matter much. He ain't usually like this although he was always a bit-"

"Shut up Adamo!" Malakai snarled.

Ponchos comment that the Korps could turn this depot in a real bastion of humanity earns him a "hear, hear! And now that join in, who knows, maybe they'll get the opportunity..."

Inside the hole, Tambo rubs his hands in anticipation. One drink or not, that might become a nice evening. And if the smiling barkeep with the greedy blink in his bionic eye was anything to go by, the 1-drink limit might be negotiable...


Teodores question if they could requisition a destille raises a healthy, friendly laughter from both Askaris "I like how you think, Kid. We'll see what we can do. Until then..." he offers the medic his canteen from which he just gave a healthy swig into his beer. It smells vaguely of figs and... cacti? And might as well serve as paint removed in a pinch...

As Poncho settles in, Tambo leans closer, taking a good look at the rebreather mask. "You mentioned you earned that. What does it mean for your people and what is your story with it?"

M'Geles eyes have meanwhile become stuck on the game of dice going on at one of the tables, but just as he wants to go over, he is stopped by Tambo, who holds his open palm towards him. M'Gele theatrically rolls his eyes "Yeah, yeah, you old motherhenn" before he hands over his wristwatch and a couple of other things he should better not gamble away. "Says the man whom I once had to smuggle into the garrison butt naked..." replies the senior with a smile.
Then M'Gele is off to the dice table.

Edit: Simonds Boasting is also met by a smile from Tambo. The Feudal Worlder reminds him a lot of some other soldiers he met in his life who liked to tell tall tales, which always grew in size every time they told them.

Sensing Teodores gloomy mood Tambo tries to lift his spirits a bit. "It looks bad right now kid, but believe me, your people are Survivors. I know one when I see one. You survived on a Dead World for centuries, you survived the greenskins before... You will rebuild." He himself seems convinced of that, but tries to see in Teodores and Wyonas face, if he has hit the right note or not. "You know... we almost lost our own world too, a generation ago..."

His toast towards the Brontians is taken up by Tambo who sends a respectful bow towards them that is hopefully not taken amiss. Malakais bitter reply is met by a gesture with open hands on both sides of his body "And glory to them! So let us share a drink with you to celebrate their lives and mourn their deads! May they feast at the Skyfathers fires." He invites and gives the Barkeep a wave with some blinking thrones in the palm of his hand, trying to get themselves and the pair of brontians a refill

Simond who was previously wrapped up in his own world overhears Tambo's words to Teodore and sees the guy is in a bit of a glum mood.
He pushes through to the lad and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"This will not do. I will not have you regretting wasting this night in gloom. Here drink up." He offers Teodore his skin of spirits.
"Do not dwell on what is to come. There is always another battle, but you are here among friends. You're going to enjoy yourself, drink too much and maybe even find a woman to spend some of the night with." He pauses for only an instant. "Or a man."
"You have the advantage in this my friend." He smiles warmly " if they aremarried to an officer or a noble, what are they going to do? Banish you to a redemption battalion?" He gives a wink and a broad warm grin.

In the wake of the cheers of Tambo's toast he speaks up. "My friends." All eyes are upon him in a simple but brightly dyed red woolen coat and feathered cap that is equally brightly dyed. It seems he has taken the motto 'life is too short for dull clothes' to heart. "Whilst we lament our fallen comrades let us celebrate surving. Let tonight be a bright and joyous one. For we have survived and have been victorious.
He slaps a heavy gold coin down onto the counter.
"Drinks for all, and lets get some music!"

In the Guard, you had to live in the moment and appreciate what you had.... when you had it. Njal grabbed up his drink and settled in. He was particularly interested in what the Brontians had to say, as they had seen the snow falling.

For his part, Erc seemed less than interested in a drink. Instead, he wandered over to the gaming table with M'gele. He tapped his drink cred on the table, before throwing it into the pot.

"I go by Njal. What's your name guardsmen?" he asked the Brontians, "What's the sitrep?"

"Feel free to keep talking as long as the thrones keep flowing, along with the drink." Malakai declared to both Tambo and Simond.
Adamo raised his own glass along with the others in the toast. "Tell me, do they powder your nose before they film you or do you brave the camera as you are?" Adamo chuckled.

Malakai accepted his refill and drank it quickly, slamming the glass down on the table in triumph. "What sort of misfit squad are you lot anyway? Must be from half a dozen regiments, some I don't even recognize."

Simond was quite happy. He'd hit that nice warm spot with the spirits. That spot where everyone was your friend.

The one named Adamo's words went straight over his head. Powdering noses was an absurd idea, it'd just make you sneeze, and he'd never seen the point of snuff.

He looked to the other one. "We are the travelling circus. Performers of great..." he trails off as he forgets what he is about to say, "...we are the forlon hope, for our sins." He manages to radiate pride at the words somehow.

"I am Simond Silvertree, formerly light cavalryman of the King of Kitheria. Now banished, after being caught playing backgammon with the lady wife of one of the gentlemen of the court." He gives a wry smile to suggest perhaps an innocent spot of board gaming game it was not.
"Our commander is Sgt Wyona over there. She is tough and knows the country better than any of us. But open to listening to the more experienced hands."

Njal gave a good natured laugh at Adamo's joke.

"If powdering your nose equals crashing into this burning hell hole and being met by a hail of Xeno's lead, then yeah; we powdered our noses first.

This isn't our first trip to the drill hole. I had been in the PDF at home, and then saw some action in the Guard before coming here.

Never fought the Xenos before. What can you tell us about them?"

One sip of his drink, and Njal's face soured. This was no better than third rate Shine from the down holers. He pushed what was left of it over to the two Brontians. He might as well try to shake his own if that was what this place had to offer.

Malakai smears a few beads of sweat into his forehead and back into the Crop of hair remaining on his scalp. In the gloom of the hole ritualistic scars are visible in and around his ears. Listening to Simond and Njal, he accepts the third drink. "You seem like a circus alright, motley dressed too. But I appreciate the drinks, you take what comforts you can on this world." He raised the glass for a toast of his own "To ghosts and Martyr's, the lifeblood of the Imperium."

Adamo rasied to the toast, although his second glass was empty "What he means to say is thanks and pleasure to meet you all. We all saw your er..landing.It was impressive! Especially the horses, it made for quite a bet in our unit. Adamo grew quiet after that, lamenting on the fallen once more.

Teodore felt appreciative of the kind acts of his fellow soldiers, and graciously took a sip from Tambos's canteen.

At Simond's suggestion of trying to bed a woman, he smirked.

"For tonight I was thinking of something slightly less risky. You lads up for a game of dice or cards? I figure if we can't all get piss drunk we might as well pass the time by making a friendly wager or two. And the Bronthian is welcome to join in as well."

"But first, I'm going to pop a coin into this here ancient music cogitator. I think its time for you lads to enjoy some classic Skyrnne folk music."

He popped a coin into the music cogitator and after an awkward moment of odd noises and clanging, the machine spit out a classic tune from an age long past...

[BTW guys, this might also be a good time if anyone wants to sneak back out into the supply depot and try to requisition anything black market. Teodore will work on getting parts to make a still!]

As the music starts, as he makes his way to the sergeant he listens to the rhythm and beat. It was unconventional. He smiles his best smile and bows.
"My lady sergeant, would you care to give me the pleasure of a dance?"

As it comes to introductions, the dark skinned Soldier replies "I'm Tambo and that over there about to loose his monthly pay at cards is M'Gele. We are from the Thoth Askaris, light infantry. And our homeworld is way over in the segmentum Pacificus. Pretty backwater really, but a nice lush place.
Adding to the others comments on how they were brought together he shruggs "We were on the same transport and when things got ploin shaped, we just went with the flow. Got lucky, beat the Xenos and the black hats decided that we would make either a good or a deterent example. Either way they have smashed us together into a nice little Jambalaya and set us cooking. But there is still room in our Chimera for some guys knowing the lay of the land..." The last words implying an informal invitation

Baited by Simonds gold coin, the Barkeep is no slouch with the drinks, even though you might have a hard time to really get drunk here. But it is definitly enough to have a nice evening. Your generous offer of a house round and the music raise everyones spirits considerably. As Simond asks Wyona if she wants to dance she looks pretty puzzled and seems to consider, if that was appropiate between a sergeant and her subordinate before smiling and saying "why not, I'm not your Sarge until tomorrow!" befor she joins him on the dance floor. To Teodors surprise the women he had gotten to know as a strict and above all very loud drill instructor seems to be a quite capable dancer, even though she has to improvise a bit as Simond likely knows other dances than she is used to. Following their example some other patrons also join in, intrigued by the music from the juke box. This indeed promises to become a funny evening.

As Teodore proposes a game of cards, Tambo replies "sounds fun! But M'Gele is the better player. If you don't mind, I'll excuse myself for a moment or two... to do some... old men stuff, you know?" and with a smile, the Veteran uses the moment of general distracting amusement to leave for the back of the tent, were a couple of other senior Askaris are sitting around smoking some kind of water pipe. They converse in low voices, sitting just so, that they are hardly visible from the tent entrance with the Black Hat.
In contrast to the reactions of Simonds regiment, they don't seem to mind at all, that Tambo was on redemption currently and just include him like a normal comrad.

Adamo was drawn to the card game like an ork to a good scrap. He dug deep into his pockets, pulling out a crude necklace of ork teef and half a pack of Lho sticks. "What do ya think these are worth? That necklace took me weeks to make and the lho sticks are still dry!" He rubbed his hands together, eager to get into some mischief.

Malakai gathered his belongings and made to leave before things got too lively for his liking. A trio of Brontians entered the hole, he paused. He wasn't the most popular Longknife around at the minute and he didn't need anymore trouble with the Commissar out front. He turned to avoid attention and spotted the one who called himself Tambo hustling in the corner with others from his homeworld. He figured the old dog would be more bearable than the young Brontian's with something to prove and approached the old soldier...

As Adamo joins the card game he is greeted by a general round of nods. His wager is eyed by a scared PDF Sergeant with a bionic hand and a thick smoking cigar in the corner of his mouth who seems to be the appointed referee in the matter. "It will do. The game is High Lords and Ladies..." he begins to explain the rules in short. The wagers on the table are a wild assortment of things, LHO sticks of course, ration bars, a small but fine pelt, an old revolver... the Askari that Tambo mentioned just raised by a half full sugar dispenser - whereever he got that from.

As Malakai approaches the group of older Askaris, one of them says something in their dialect and the Brontian has the feeling the topic of the conversation is changed a bit, until they know what he wants. Still honoring the rules of hospitality they make some room for him at the waterpipe and offer him a puff. It smells like some roasted plant, flavored with cinamon. Tambo greets him with a friendly smile but waits if the Brontian wants to talk or if he prefers to just smoke in peace and quiet.
After some moments the seniors start conversing again, usings a lot of gestures accompanying their heavy accent. Still it is clear that some kind of negotiation is going on

Adamo digs deeper into his pockets, biting his lip. His forehead glistened like a lighthouse with sweat. This card game was not going as planned. A quick glance over his shoulder told him Malakai wasn't at the bar any longer. He had more immediate concerns. He fished out three thrones and put them on the table. There was too much in the pot, he couldn't back down now with the cards in his hand. The fact that he owed that money didn't matter...if he won.

Malakai accepted the offer and tasted the pipe, coughing instinctively he handed it back quickly. "That stuff's not for me I think" he glanced over his shoulder again and leaned in close to Tambo excusing himself to the other Askaris. "I was wondering if you could assist me with something, you seem like a man with ...connections." Malakai fiddles with a small blade restlessly, clearly something is making him anxious.

Erc looked at his cards, and over at the Brontian. The guardsman was sweating.... but so was everyone else in this Emperor-forsaken place. He wanted to see how this played out, so he rummaged into his pockets and found some matches, and tossed them into the pot too.

Njal was just happy to sit off to the side and listen to the other soldiers tell their tall tales. He was getting an earful about the Orks, and wasn't sure what to believe. He knew the Uplifting Primer was downplaying them.... but by how much exactly?

He didn't want to be caught out in the blizzard with his jacket open next time they ran across some of the big green aliens. He saw how tough they could be!

In the mess tent, Poncho was entirely out of his element, unsure what to do, he followed the other Guardsmen from his squad along, mostly keeping to himself, sampling his alcohol ration slowly, almost robotically. He peaked with some curiosity at the card game being played. Kriegsmen rarely did much other than train and fight, and while the Catachans that adopted him for a few months did introduce it to him, like many other things, it was something that didn't fully stuck with the emotionally stunted Grenadier.

Poncho looked almost uncomfortable at those drinking more than what their single ticket allowed them, although he had learned the value of silence, he looked around with a disapproving of expression, one armored hand reaching for his gasmask to ensure it was there, even if he could feel the weight of the breathing apartus over his shoulder. A blink of his eyes, and he settled for focusing on the game of cards, trying to understand what was happening.

No-one knew better than Simmond that you had to make the best of things when times were good. To take time and enjoy good things because another dark time of hardship and hunger was always ahead. The woman danced quite well, even if some things were a little bit improvised between them. Well she was familiar with the music, but the rhythm was good and he had enough instinct for the beat of it and that was what mattered.
She was smiling, any worries of the war forgotten, any worries for the morrow forgotten. There was a happiness in that.

They danced until he felt that she perhaps was close to having enough. "My lady sergeant, may I be so forward in suggesting we retire for the night? If that is your will of course."