Warhammer 40k: The Sisk Incident IC

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The tech priest said nothing as the rendezvous finally occurred. It was relieving knowing they'd not be without aid when it came to this backwoods rock. Gunpowder wasn't their ideal level of technology to use. Truthfully it was something they knew little about, which made it all the worse.

As the others spoke their eyes rose behind the metallic mask they wore. Clicks of shifting lenses brought the orbital skirmish into indistinct view. Lance batteries crossing the sky as the exhaust of fightercraft ionized in the upper atmosphere.

Finally breaking from the diminishing battle above they looked to the commissar. "Unwise to dismantle gear in this environment. Fine particle silicates blown by air currents cause extreme wear. Suggestion: Refrain from opening the housings to check until a later time.. Speak your litanies and pray the Omnissiah grants it the strength to handle your destructive use.." Those words were a bit more strained with irritation, though still quite mechanical.
Adrian replied to Zero. "While that is true, the salt water will cause longer term damage and while I may get find sand grains inside of it the chances of a component breaking entirely is lessened while the likelihood of a minor malfunction from sand that can be resolved quickly is higher, I am taking the risk of a temporary problem happening sooner rather than a permanent problem happening later. Also the lands around us will either turn to swamp due to the vegetation and it's proximity to the sea or be coated with blood if the sounds of combat are any indication both of which are much worse places to be doing maintenance than here."
The pilot glanced to their actual pilot. Perhaps he should have been at the helm, he had at least some knowledge of other craft, he could have figured it out. Or at least his narcissism thought so. Cracking his neck he withdrew his autopistol, dumping the mag into his spare hand and giving it a shake to clear the water. Far more simple, far easier to get to work. Chromium helped too.

"Well I'm here because someone called my regiment... Why? They didn't tell me. Why is that? Because I'm an armored sentinel pilot, it's my job to bring the hurt in advance of tanks..." He glanced to the sky. "Given that the tanks may start raining hurt as well as my sentinel... I'm just a man with a pistol who is going to find the grox lover that hit our ship and make him look like a catachan barking toad after it goes off."
He then turned to the pilot and spoke to him as well. "First I never caught your name pilot and it would be easier to call you by your birth name than just pilot, Also do you have any experience in other types of armor? I do not know what we will find here but we can't be sure a sentinel will be available and no offence to you but I would rather you be in some form of armor doing what you are best at rather than being forced to play guardsman and not operating at optimal levels." Adrian had finished putting back together his chain sword and was now opening up the bolt pistol while also reloading the magazines to let them dry while he worked on the bolt pistol, Adrian cursed and held up a small pin. "Do you all know what this is, well I know Zero knows but if you other two can't identify it this it is a firing pin and it goes to my bolt pistol but the problem is that their is a small crack in it and while I could use it the chances that a round will misfire and turn my bolt pistol into a grenade are increased to about a one hundred percent. *He looks and Zero* I don't suppose you have a solution to this little problem do you?"
 
"The omnissiah would find your lack of knowledge regarding his gifts lacking." The tech priest hissed out after a lingering few moments of silence.

Still the speaker rasped, but was beginning to clear with the warm air and brief uses. One of the mechadendrites slipped into the red robes while another lashed at the commissar before whipping back, in possession of the offending pin.

"Your gun can not become what it is not. The round would simply not fire if this were to become damaged. Should have been fixed upon vessel. Lack of proper maintence." They stated while the hiss of a small plasma torch held by a dendrites digits briefly passed over the offending piece of metal.

Soon the tiny piece glowed red hot as did the tips of the digits, cooling to red and then a burnt gray. The priests extension aimed to drop the minuscule part back into the commissars palm from which it took it. Any skin in contact would easily burn from the tiny piece still.
 
"Name? Lucius... I doubt my rank matters now that I haven't a squadron to command. I can pilot and drive most anything short of a super heavy... Then it gets a little murky in my ability." He spoke with a small sigh, shaking his head. "Air equipment is... Shaky at best but I could damn sure hit something smaller than a damned ocean!" His eyes shot to the mercenary resetting his jaw as he did so.

"Just find me a rifle... My pistol is next to useless unless you want to get real close..." A small chuckle escaped him. The "Hounds of Hel" were known for their ability up close, overwhelming firepower or laying men in wait in streams and creek beds. Veritable catachans with a penchant for massive armor and the brains to wear more than a vest in a fire field.
 
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It was times like this that Rayvius believed the Emperor had a sense of humor. There was likely never a group of people less inclined to get along than this one. He could just imagine how these men would interact. The commissar might be a bit of trouble if he thought he was better suited to command than Ray and would probably butt heads with the sentinel pilot, who looked like he wouldn't listen to anyone, much less the Commissariat. The cogboy seemed straight-laced like most of his kind, and might burst a gasket if he knew half of the things Ray could do. He sighed quietly to himself and rolled his eyes before another inhuman screech came from the forest, this time much closer, no more than a hundred meters off. They stood on the beach, weapons held ready for a while until a cry of fear came from the same direction in the woods. Ray charged into the woods, calling for the others to follow. They followed the man's wails, which sharply rose in pitch to the tune of pain.

By the time they found him, his cries had gone silent. A dead guardsman was attended by two creatures that were almost human. They were hairless freaks, with tiny heads, wide jaws and long limbs that seemed wrong for having too many joints. They wore ragged cloaks and tattered tunics. When Ray stepped out to get a better look, they looked up from their task of butchering the guardsman they had apparently just slain. One pulled a spear free from the guardsman's thigh, the other left a pilfered guard issue combat knife in the corpse to reach for his club; Ray blew his head off. The other took a deep breath and opened it's mouth to emit the shriek they had been hearing, only to have it cut off amid a gurgle of blood as Ray shot it in the neck. Mutants. Disgusting abominations. He put a round in the shrieker's head to finish it.

Ray was about to inspect the dead when he heard voices closing upon them. A band of about twenty entered sight, most human, wearing leathers and chainmail if any armor at all, wielding a wide variety of medieval weapons. A few were mutants like the ones Ray just killed. They baulked collectively baulked at the sight of the group, murmuring about iron golems and how the place was haunted until their leader raised his voice. “The Red Sergeant commands it! Kill all on the island!” Ray instinctively ducked behind a tree as an arrow whizzed past.
 
Lucius frowned, running at the cries of men only got you killed. He drew his knife, holding the blade against his forearm as he walked, autopistol in the other. The sound of the mercenary's weapon made him frown, the cries of the natives even more abhorrent.

As he parted the jungle an arrow came close enough to cut a shallow gash in his cheek, his pistol coming up and racking into the group at chest height, the ammo was a cruel build, meant for soft fleshy things, almost like a bolter shell without the explosion it broke up into nearly a dozen razor sharp bits within, even if it lacked instant knock down they only made it a few steps before they bled out. With a ten round magazine he provided supporting fire. "A moment when I'd kill for a lasgun..." He murmured, dropping the stamped metal to the ground as he ejected the spent mag and slid a fresh one in, this time putting two into their leader.
 
Sounds of human pain and agony were nothing new on the decks of a starship. It was cold and cruel, steel and recycled air meant to keep its flesh and blood inhabitants alive, it was only normal for some to go mad, rape, murder, then vanish into the vast holds. They'd seen it happen, slid back into the maintenance tunnels to avoid it. A priest of the mechanicus killing a crew member for any reason was enough to cause hidden prejudice to come forth. For that reason tech priests often ignored confrontation unless they were directly involved.

In this case it was an arrow zipping towards their chest.

The flash of polished steel whipped in front of it. Hard tip of local make stood no chance against the living machine. It was easily deflected.

That little chance was more than enough to cause the priest to take cover behind a thicker tree just inside the wooded line from the beach. Though they carried a standard issue las pistol for any altercations they'd not spoken any prayers or anointed it yet that day to please it's machine spirit.

For now they remained ducked, knocking away any stray projectiles that came their way.
 
Adrian narrowed his eye's at the dead guardsman, it was a waste but going out alone was always a risk. He heard the rustle and then the shout of the natives as several arrows flew in their direction, Adrian pivoted behind a tree as he heard the multiple thunks of arrows impacting his cover and another that buried itself into the ground near him, he reached out and grabbed it and looked at it and he was concerned by what he saw for the arrow head seemed to be made from the flak armor of a guards man though it had been polished and ground to a fine point but that shade of green was unmistakable. Adrian new that the primitive natives had probably encountered guardsmen before but he was banking on a shot from a bolt pistol to one of these men's arms would cause a lull in the fighting the others could take advantage of."Ray i'm going to do something so you all better be ready if it works because we probably won't have another one and I would rather avoid killing all of them if we can, it would be best to not have the whole local village after us." As Adrian said that he pulled out his bolt pistol and chambered a round before turning out of cover and aiming at the first native he saw, the round left the chamber letting the rocket motor fire and carry the round into the first man's leg which then detonated throwing him a few feet while it left his other comrades stunned giving the opening he had told Ray about.
 
“They aren't villagers.” Ray called back to Adrian. He opened his forearm compartment in his augmentic arm and pulled out a grenade. He nodded to the commissar, who leaned out of cover and took off a man's leg at the knee with a bolter round. He threw the grenade into the group charging them and called, “Flashbang!” The grenade stopped them in their tracks and Ray took the opportunity to gun them down while they were stunned, though a few managed to regain their composure and charge Ray. The first, Ray tossed his cogitator at. The man reflexively caught it and Ray put a las round through his eye. The second charged him with a sword; Ray held out his augmentic hand and caught the blade, ripping it free from his opponent's grasp and beat him, with the blade's pommel. The last threw down his axe and fled, only to fall from a las wound in the leg. In between their initial fear, the robust defense they came against and death of their leader, the remaining enemies broke and fled.

Upon seeing the battle was won, Ray turned to Adrian. “They were likely brigands or bandits; the mutants here are cannibals and are reviled for it...” he gestured to the dead guardsman, who had been halfway through being butchered like an animal. “...And rightly so. The only ones who would associate with them are criminals. Restrain those two,” he pointed towards the unconscious bandit he beat with his own sword and the one crawling away. “We need to know what is going on here.”
 
“They aren't villagers.” Ray called back to Adrian. He opened his forearm compartment in his augmentic arm and pulled out a grenade. He nodded to the commissar, who leaned out of cover and took off a man's leg at the knee with a bolter round. He threw the grenade into the group charging them and called, “Flashbang!” The grenade stopped them in their tracks and Ray took the opportunity to gun them down while they were stunned, though a few managed to regain their composure and charge Ray. The first, Ray tossed his cogitator at. The man reflexively caught it and Ray put a las round through his eye. The second charged him with a sword; Ray held out his augmentic hand and caught the blade, ripping it free from his opponent's grasp and beat him, with the blade's pommel. The last threw down his axe and fled, only to fall from a las wound in the leg. In between their initial fear, the robust defense they came against and death of their leader, the remaining enemies broke and fled.

Upon seeing the battle was won, Ray turned to Adrian. “They were likely brigands or bandits; the mutants here are cannibals and are reviled for it...” he gestured to the dead guardsman, who had been halfway through being butchered like an animal. “...And rightly so. The only ones who would associate with them are criminals. Restrain those two,” he pointed towards the unconscious bandit he beat with his own sword and the one crawling away. “We need to know what is going on here.”
Adrian threw Ray the arrow. "That arrow head is from flak armor look at the green tint of it, I'm thinking that we have a bigger problem here because I doubt the natives could wipe out a unit of guardsmen or at least killing enough to strip their armor to use for arrow heads so either the mutants are more plentiful or we have one of our many adversaries on this planet with us. Do you want to take interrogation or do you want me to, I've picked up a few new tricks since serving with the death korps and I would just love to try them out." As Adrian waited for him to answer he sat sown and started to go through his magazines and see what types of ammo he had on him, he had about five magazines of standard bolt rounds but as he looked he also found two magazines full kraken penatrator rounds. "Where did these come from?" Adrian wondered to himself but was no less grateful for them for he had a sinking feeling they would be very useful in the coming days.
 
Lucius had hung back, letting the commissar and the merc handle it. His autopistol in hand he knew he only had precious little ammo, he didn't plan on wasting it here when they seemed more than capable. His eyes shot to the tech priest for a moment, wishing he had that much metal around him, at least Las rounds tended to cauterize themselves, arrows, he hated mucking needles let alone arrows.

He only stepped out when it all stopped, a small sigh escaping him as he held his blade in a back handed grip, looking over the fallen trooper. A distasteful frown crossed him before he embedded the blade in the dirt, unbuckling the flak armor and putting it on. It was better than his overalls. Rising once more he sighed again, patting it. At least should stop an arrow, even one made of the same stuff. He holstered his weapons as he turned to the two. "Considering we are all alone so far I vote we try and find some form of help... Be if other pods, other troops, or just sane humanoid life..."
 
While the others had ended the fighting and the last arrow had flown amid the trees the AdMech priest had left their cover as casually as they had entered it. Leaf litter and fallen branches cracked and crumbled beneath their covered feet as they went to the bodies of the fallen guardsman.

A single mechandrite moved to lift one man who'd been rolled to his stomach and flipped him over. Standard issue flak-plates on his chest fell loose to reveal a gaping chest wound, the man's sternum a complete shattered wreck inside his torso. Soft hissing left the adept as they looked it over from the cover of their over-sized hood, the dendrite doing the prodding as another searched his pockets and collected his tags, adding them to an ever growing pouch somewhere beneath their robes. Clinking was beginning to become more noticeable if they moved with any sort of haste.

Mutants. They thought silently as their metallic visage rose to look at the others. The idea didn't last long as it was indiscernible to notice as it left the forefront of their thoughts.

As inhuman as the tech priest was they still felt pity for the men as they'd begun examining the mutants. Lacking any true sort of clothing and weapons and yet had still manage to cause such damage. Surprise showed as the dendrites twitched and seemed to all face something upon the body of the guardsman. In his dead arms he clutched something so tightly a few bones were snapped by the dendrites as it was yanked free.

A simple backpack with some survival rations and water purification tablets as well as a portable solar charger for a standard issue lasgun.

"This one has gear. Acquisition required." Their cold metallic vox stated, leaving it for another to carry.
 
Ray took a look at the arrowheads Adrian gave him. They do look to be made of flak armor. I seriously doubt they could produce as durable a ceramic here, though why make it into arrowheads and not use the armor as is? “Maybe our friend can tell us more about how they came into their possession.” Ray grabbed the man he crippled by the feet and dragged him, screaming in fear and pain, to the nearest tree.
“Mercy, skylord, sir.” The bandit pleaded, “Mercy.”
“What is your name?”
“Vagar Darkeye, milord skylord. Please, mercy.” He was a young man, hardly twenty, blonde and scared shitless.
“So, how did you get arrowheads like these? Answer truthfully, and there may be room in my heart to hear your pleas. And don't bother lying, my eye tell if you are.” A bluff, but he figured there was no way the bandit could understand the difference between the 'evil eye' and an augmentic.
“Th-three days ago, another flaming sky chariot landed in the sea not far from here, milord. The mutants found the skylords' bodies first, washed on the shore. They're scavengers by nature, and anything they can't use, they make into something they can. The armor didn't fit them and before we could see it, they had made them into arrowheads and other junk. Their fletchers are better than ours, so we traded for them.”
“Why are the mutants helping you?”
“They're excellent trackers and scouts, so long as they're fed. And they're not partial to what kind of meat they eat. So long as they're fed and outnumbered, they do as we say.”
“How many are you?”
“There are three score of us.” he looked at the carnage of battle. “Well, ten and two score now. And maybe a dozen mutants, and the Red Sergeant's retinue numbered ten.”
“Who is the Red Sergeant?”
“He's another skylord, like yourselves, milords. We call him the Red Sergeant but his name is Sergeant Krig or Crick or something. Six days ago, the sky palace burned,” he pointed in the general direction of the crippled Void Dock they passed entering orbit. “The next day, the Red Skylords landed, a whole army of them. They rounded us up and told us to take some of them to this island. We saw how powerful their weapons were and they promised to pay us, so we agreed. We landed here and sacked the fishing village and brought the prisoners to the Red Sergeant; he asked them about a shrine to the Iron Twin-”
“The Iron Twin?”
“The Holy King's Iron Twin, milord,” The Omnissiah, in terms a Feudal Worlder would understand. “And when they told him where it was, he ordered them all killed and took half his retinue with him to the shrine. The other half can still hear his orders and watch over us. They send us on patrols every now and then, and they sent us out when the other sky chariot landed in the sea here today. Your sky chariot, I guess.” Vagar gave directions to the shrine, the village and their camp, and then Ray asked his final question.
“What else do you know about the Red Skylords?”
“They said they was from a sky land called Thrax. That's all I can think of.” Thrax is a feudal world held by the Severan Dominate. The Red Sergeant and his retinue are without a doubt a Dominate squad.
The other prisoner, once he woke up, was not as forthcoming, despite the pleas of Vagar. Ray let the commissar interrogate that one. The few answers he gave correlated to what Vagar told them. They ended up executing him without knowing his name.
“So, what do we do with this one?” Ray asked about Vagar.
“Please let me live, I know how to get around this island, where the others are and I know good hiding places. I won't slow you down, you can kill me if I do.”
“You do realize you were working with Heretics, right?” Ray said.
Vagar's eyes grew wide at that, his pleas even more fervent. He began praying to the 'Holy King' and the 'Iron Twin' for forgiveness for unwittingly serving their enemies. Ray didn't trust him, knowing that a helpless man would say anything to escape death, but he thought he might prove useful and that his pleas seemed earnest.
“What do you guys think?” Ray addressed the rest of his companions. “What do we do with him, and what do we do next?”
 
Ray took a look at the arrowheads Adrian gave him. They do look to be made of flak armor. I seriously doubt they could produce as durable a ceramic here, though why make it into arrowheads and not use the armor as is? “Maybe our friend can tell us more about how they came into their possession.” Ray grabbed the man he crippled by the feet and dragged him, screaming in fear and pain, to the nearest tree.
“Mercy, skylord, sir.” The bandit pleaded, “Mercy.”
“What is your name?”
“Vagar Darkeye, milord skylord. Please, mercy.” He was a young man, hardly twenty, blonde and scared shitless.
“So, how did you get arrowheads like these? Answer truthfully, and there may be room in my heart to hear your pleas. And don't bother lying, my eye tell if you are.” A bluff, but he figured there was no way the bandit could understand the difference between the 'evil eye' and an augmentic.
“Th-three days ago, another flaming sky chariot landed in the sea not far from here, milord. The mutants found the skylords' bodies first, washed on the shore. They're scavengers by nature, and anything they can't use, they make into something they can. The armor didn't fit them and before we could see it, they had made them into arrowheads and other junk. Their fletchers are better than ours, so we traded for them.”
“Why are the mutants helping you?”
“They're excellent trackers and scouts, so long as they're fed. And they're not partial to what kind of meat they eat. So long as they're fed and outnumbered, they do as we say.”
“How many are you?”
“There are three score of us.” he looked at the carnage of battle. “Well, ten and two score now. And maybe a dozen mutants, and the Red Sergeant's retinue numbered ten.”
“Who is the Red Sergeant?”
“He's another skylord, like yourselves, milords. We call him the Red Sergeant but his name is Sergeant Krig or Crick or something. Six days ago, the sky palace burned,” he pointed in the general direction of the crippled Void Dock they passed entering orbit. “The next day, the Red Skylords landed, a whole army of them. They rounded us up and told us to take some of them to this island. We saw how powerful their weapons were and they promised to pay us, so we agreed. We landed here and sacked the fishing village and brought the prisoners to the Red Sergeant; he asked them about a shrine to the Iron Twin-”
“The Iron Twin?”
“The Holy King's Iron Twin, milord,” The Omnissiah, in terms a Feudal Worlder would understand. “And when they told him where it was, he ordered them all killed and took half his retinue with him to the shrine. The other half can still hear his orders and watch over us. They send us on patrols every now and then, and they sent us out when the other sky chariot landed in the sea here today. Your sky chariot, I guess.” Vagar gave directions to the shrine, the village and their camp, and then Ray asked his final question.
“What else do you know about the Red Skylords?”
“They said they was from a sky land called Thrax. That's all I can think of.” Thrax is a feudal world held by the Severan Dominate. The Red Sergeant and his retinue are without a doubt a Dominate squad.
The other prisoner, once he woke up, was not as forthcoming, despite the pleas of Vagar. Ray let the commissar interrogate that one. The few answers he gave correlated to what Vagar told them. They ended up executing him without knowing his name.
“So, what do we do with this one?” Ray asked about Vagar.
“Please let me live, I know how to get around this island, where the others are and I know good hiding places. I won't slow you down, you can kill me if I do.”
“You do realize you were working with Heretics, right?” Ray said.
Vagar's eyes grew wide at that, his pleas even more fervent. He began praying to the 'Holy King' and the 'Iron Twin' for forgiveness for unwittingly serving their enemies. Ray didn't trust him, knowing that a helpless man would say anything to escape death, but he thought he might prove useful and that his pleas seemed earnest.
“What do you guys think?” Ray addressed the rest of his companions. “What do we do with him, and what do we do next?”
Adrian was wiping the blood of of his coat from the other man they interrogated as he listened to this Vagar had to say, he had seen men like this in guardsmen regiments who had lost faith in the will of the emperor and thought that the fight was pointless and would choose to run instead of fight and they met the ground all the same. "He has made his choices and he must face the consequence for it and that is a bolt to the head and a corpse left here to rot." Adrian pulled the charging handle and put a bolt into the camber to put emphasis on his point but he then looked at Zero. "Unless our tech priest friend here can come up with a solution of the mechanical variety to keep our prisoner here intact but docile and willing to come with us and not take the first chance to run to the heretics but if that is not possible we must tie the loose end." Adrian sat and waited for the group to reach a consensuses on the matter.
 
"I'd sooner put a knife to him, saves us ammo..." The pilot spoke as he looked to the commissar. "I'd rather you have more rounds for that and use them on things of actual threat than to put discipline." He drew his blade, single edged, a seax like shape from old terra. His eyes darted to the others. "If he's willing to sell out his own masters and to attack imperial soldiers he'll be willing to out us to save his skin later." It was a cold but calculated thought as he looked on the pitiful man. His eyes locking on the males before he sighed, pulling a pack of lho sticks from his pocket, thankfully having stuffed them in a tin. At least some weren't soggy. Bringing one to his lips he lit it with an old lighter that had seen much too much use, the emblem of his unit, a rabid dog, embossed on the side.
 
The priest had nothing to say beyond a brief muttering in binary to themselves about the irritation of sand between biological and mechanical and severely desiring an oil submersion. In their mind though they were replaying the brief combat, picking and choose between the three men and making calculations on barely understood algorithms on who was the most suitable leader.

A commissar made a suitable leader, but the Krieg mask alienated him almost as much as the metallic mask did from the more human duo. The pilot seemed capable of following and independence, but that was fine. This Rayvius was in the lead by a far decimal point. All the thoughts came to a brief halt when they drew mention.

"Rope." They honestly lost a bit of faith in the Commissariat for somehow graduating this particular man. "I have none. Cable will do if available." As a proud member of the Adepticus Mechanicus they were above menial tasks of prisoner transport. Suddenly they felt an all too human pang in their gut, somewhere between the flesh and ceramite and steel that composed their innards. Homesickness, it was quickly categorized as. The red of their eyes rose to the sky beyond the canopy. They missed their home ship and the comfort it's creaks and groans once brought. Not this soil and earth with it's living plants and animals.
 
Ray huffed at the exchange between Commissar and the Techpriest. Adrian expected Zero's techno-sorcery to produce a bomb collar out of nothing, and Zero couldn't come up with any source for his two simple suggestions. Ray knelt over the dead bandits and started cutting strips of leather from their armor and clothing. He tied them into rope and bound their prisoner's hands, leaving one long strip hanging off to hold, to guide the prisoner and keep him from escape. “That should do.” Ray grunted. “He comes with us for now, but should he prove to be a burden for any reason, do as he suggested and kill him.” That should hold him well enough, and he knows the consequences. I seriously don't think he will try anything, if my instincts are right.

“We should find shelter for the night. Know any good spots?” Ray nudged Vagar.
“The fishing village should work. My former comrades won't bother looking there until at least tomorrow and the mutants will be too busy eating, or trying to eat, the ones you killed; the others will try to stop them. It's happened before.”

They arrived as evening began to fall. The village was surrounded by a stockade with several gaps, most caused by fire and one from what seemed like a krak grenade. “The Red Sergeant threw a thunderstone like you did and it tore the wall open.” Vagar confirmed. They settled in one of the least fire-damaged huts for the night, tying Vagar to a post.

“That 'Shrine' to the 'Iron Twin' sounds like one of the Governor's listening posts, if I had to guess. There seems little other reason to build any other kind of Mechanicus Shrine out here and leave it abandoned.” Ray had lit up another lho-stick and was puffing on it between bites of a ration bar. “If we can take it, we can probably use it to find out what's going on, and maybe call in reinforcements. Thoughts?” Ray usually asked his team for advice, though he was obligated to ask to fill his role as a mercenary turned de facto leader.
 
Ray huffed at the exchange between Commissar and the Techpriest. Adrian expected Zero's techno-sorcery to produce a bomb collar out of nothing, and Zero couldn't come up with any source for his two simple suggestions. Ray knelt over the dead bandits and started cutting strips of leather from their armor and clothing. He tied them into rope and bound their prisoner's hands, leaving one long strip hanging off to hold, to guide the prisoner and keep him from escape. “That should do.” Ray grunted. “He comes with us for now, but should he prove to be a burden for any reason, do as he suggested and kill him.” That should hold him well enough, and he knows the consequences. I seriously don't think he will try anything, if my instincts are right.

“We should find shelter for the night. Know any good spots?” Ray nudged Vagar.
“The fishing village should work. My former comrades won't bother looking there until at least tomorrow and the mutants will be too busy eating, or trying to eat, the ones you killed; the others will try to stop them. It's happened before.”

They arrived as evening began to fall. The village was surrounded by a stockade with several gaps, most caused by fire and one from what seemed like a krak grenade. “The Red Sergeant threw a thunderstone like you did and it tore the wall open.” Vagar confirmed. They settled in one of the least fire-damaged huts for the night, tying Vagar to a post.

“That 'Shrine' to the 'Iron Twin' sounds like one of the Governor's listening posts, if I had to guess. There seems little other reason to build any other kind of Mechanicus Shrine out here and leave it abandoned.” Ray had lit up another lho-stick and was puffing on it between bites of a ration bar. “If we can take it, we can probably use it to find out what's going on, and maybe call in reinforcements. Thoughts?” Ray usually asked his team for advice, though he was obligated to ask to fill his role as a mercenary turned de facto leader.
"I say a distraction, if someone goes to the front where most of any type of resistance would be and draw most of their attention the other three could make their way inside and focus on repairs and flank the rest of the opposing force. Zero would be best with the flanking team as he could get any repairs underway sooner rather than later *Adrian looked at Zero* or are the plans of a mortal such as me to ignorant for one such as you tech priest? *He looked back to ray* You, Ray could be the distraction but you're needed here if my assumptions are right but that remains to be seen and then their is our resident pilot Lucius but he is only equipped with and auto pistol so that would leave me if we go through with this plan." Adrian stood up and leaned against a wall. "While I am in this uniform I am highly noticeable and therefore not suited for stealth but if I were to walk up to the enemies front line they will respond with force and while I am all for going into combat it would be imperative we get this done with the least amount of munitions wasted, though this will give a chance to acquire heavier armament." Adrian stood strait waiting to see what the others would say but most importantly he was watching Ray as he was suspicious or at the very least hiding something, a mercenary taking command like this was unheard of when a commissar was present and that had tipped him off to something not quite being right so he had to find out Ray's true motives but to find these things he had to act like an ignorant fool unlike a commissar and much more like a green guardsman and as far as he could tell he had the tech priest fooled and as for the other two he was not so sure but alas he would need to keep this farce going until he ascertained if Ray was a faithful servant of the emperor or if he was something much more sinister.
 
At least the trek to the meager village was uneventful.

The uneven ground proved to be the most difficult part of locomotion upon the planet's surface for the member of the AdMech. This gravity was all wrong too, a bit too heavy from the micro-gravity that their former home had bequeathed them. Note after note was made upon a data slate hidden within their robes as the place grew into view.

For the first time in years the tech priest soon found themselves remembering a feeling thought no longer needed. They were growing fatigued.

A brief prayer went to the Omnissiah for the primitive technology to create flat land and shelter as Zero went with this ragtag band into the village. Something of a small reprieve than the treacherous jungle terrain. Some mention of an AdMech listening post brought a brief glint to their mechanical eyes but little else, biding their time was the best course of action. After all, they were soldiers, at best Zero was a mechanic.

"Prejudice noted." The priest stated through that grating vox speaker as the Commissar spoke. What repairs could they manage upon wood? Where was the plasteel and ceramite? What use would a seventy-two-thousand revolutions per minute blade be to fibrous wood? Or a torch meant to sheer through ship hull do against stone?
 
Ray simply frowned, looking between the men as he remained silent. He was rummaging through his pack, taking a tin for purification tablets and dumping the white tablets in his hand before stuffing them into his pocket. What followed was a sock, his only other pair, luckily water logged. With it he stuck the protruding muzzle of his pistol against the end and fired, the sound no more than a branch breaking, nothing noteworthy. It was just to put the whole through it. Shoving the end of his gun into the now perforated can he glanced to them all, not much liking any so far. "I'm inconspicuous enough..." He took a roll of tape, attaching makeshift supressor more firmly. "I'll let off a double shot when it's clear? You all owe me ammo."
 
“Maybe we should plan our attack once we see what we're up against.” Ray said to the commissar. He had to wonder what Schola he went to to produce such a green recruit, at odds with his behavior. Only commissars well attuned to their troops adopt their practices, and the amount of time needed to do so was long enough to beat the green out of any soldier. He wondered what game he was up to.

The pilot had made a makeshift silencer out of a sock and a tin can. “Good thinking.” He decided that he should do the same for his holdout pistol. “I'll take first watch. Get some sleep.” He crawled off to a corner with his cogitator and another tin can, fixing up the silencer while the cogitator booted up. He turned off the display screen, instead electing to link it to his MIU and read the data on his augmentic eye, so as not to bother them with the light and to keep his activities private. He called up the maps of the planet he had loaded onto the device before the mission and searched for the island they landed on. There wasn't much info available on it, but it was a lot more than some of the other islands. So, this island is called Besker's Mourning. Why do they always have to be named such dour things? Ray reviewed the listening post's location and blueprints; the corner of his mouth curled when he spotted a small ventilation shaft. How's that for a plan....

---​

The next morning came and Ray was awoken by whoever was on watch. He ate a quick breakfast and formed the team up. “Vagar and I will take point so he can lead us there, Adrian and Zero will take the middle, and Lucius will take rearguard. We move fast and quiet. We don't need to attract any more attention if we can help it.” And with that, they were off through the forest. And hopefully off this blasted island.

They had been walking for about two hours when Ray spotted a group of bandits. He motioned to the group to get down and drew his silenced pistol. Twelve of them. Too many to take out silently without at least one getting away. “We can't sneak past them. We'll have to take them out.” He whispered. “Get ready to take them on my mark.”
 
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