[@Father Hank][@DeadDrop][@Deadnaut][@Sola][@FrostedCaramel][@Oak7ree][@Drunken Conquistador][@CaptainBritton][@tech][@Katthaj]


[I]These aren't soldiers,[/i] thought Veteran Sergeant Bishal within the four metal walls of his barrack chambers - his rank allowing him the minor privilage of such personal space - [i]these are children, weaklings...volunteers.[/i]

In several weeks they had made their way through the Warp, alongside over a dozen other transport ships and their Naval escort vessels, hence at least twenty other regiments of the Militarum, and now the NCO narrowed his deep almond eyes to peer out into the barrack room (or more correctly barrack hangar) where the men and women of his company and regiment now slept.

Bishal was himself an inhabitant of the Vosmarth deserts, the wide expanses between hive cities and any other place, a short man from the upper mountain slopes of eastern Vosmarth where he and his people had settled (or been settled) many centuries ago. 

Now they clung to life only through a constant state of raiding and defense against feral Orks and other, more nomadic, peoples.

It would all end soon, and they would be arriving at their destination...maybe he should get some sleep.


[hr]Aboard Imperial transport ship [i]Divini Muneris[/i] - arrival in the Hokuhiri system 0500 HRS - ETA 1 HR until deployment.[hr]


Private Ruadhán checked the magazine of his lasgun [b]again[/b], having already checked it half-a-dozen times to make sure that it was there, his all-black armour (the helmet in particular) framing his pale skinned but freckled face and his expression of unease and nervousness.

Standing before the gaping maw of a fat-bellied lander - his comrades dressed in ranks two-abreast to his right side and both ahead and behind of him - he watched Sergeant Bashil stroll to the front of the squad once more. He was not sure what scared him more, the feeling currently present in his gut, the broad shouldered but smiling Sergeant, or the deafening noise of the hangar bay all around him; all-in-all it bought up within him an almost animal urge to turn, run, and burrow his way into a hole somewhere - the Commissar would not like that, not at all.

"Listen up," yelled the Veteran Sergeant from the front of Fourth Squad, straightening up his uniform and placing one hand on the curved knife he always carried at his hip, "we are going to make our way into this lander in an orderly fashion - our autocannon team to the rear, followed by medics and vox-troopers - the remaining squads of the platoon following in after us."

He paused for but a moment to make sure that they understood.

"It will take a matter of minutes to reach the planets surface, so make sure you've said your prayers to the God-Emperor and that your weapons are ready."

Where exactly were they going, now that was the question.

As far as anyone knew, and if scuttlebutt around the ship was to be believed, Dugatov - the capital planet of the Hokuhiri System - was the target of their particular fleet; they knew not precisely [i]who[/i] they would be fighting, nor their numbers, but did know that due to the planets importance to the Mechanicus they would need to go in on foot and slog in out in the dirt and gore.

Dugatov, or 18-24-19 to the boys in red, had indeed fallen to some force when the warp had split the Milky Way asunder...now the Imperium was going to take it back!

"Alright! Check your gear, stow your feelings, and follow me."

Stow weapon, check. Strap one, check. Strap two, check. Chest strap, check.

As the huge ramp began to close behind Ruadhán and his fellow soldiers, the interior of the lander lightning up only with a grim red light to see by, the red-haired boy began to shake uncontrollably in his seat.

[I]Oh God-Emperor help me.[/i]