The ship was taking fire. Corporal Tharn clung to his lasgun with one arm, the other hand white-knuckling the bench underneath him. The order came through. They were going to jump from the craft, a rolling bailout. It was, frankly, fething insane. Jumping from a moving air vehicle to the ground without so much as a strip of cloth to keep 'em safe? There was absolutely no way in the Warp they we-

Green light, everyone stood up. By the God-Emperor, they were actually doing it. Jumping out of a damn gunship with nothing but the clothes on their backs. This was mad. Every singe person here was absolutely mad. Mordecai clutched his rifle close as they stepped towards the gate. Surely this was a joke. Surely they'd be told to sit back down and-

And he was out. Tucked up in a rolling ball, one hand holding onto his flakweave cap, the other clutching his lasgun as close to his chest as possible. The rough jostling from the landing shook every bone in his body, and he was fairly certain he'd landed on a particularly sharp patch of dirt. Leaning up from laying on his back just enough to peer around him without exposing himself, he spotted the Krieger.

Quickly rolling over onto his stomach, Mordecai took a deep breath. And another. And another. And then he began to scrabble across the ground after the meltagunner, in a weird half-crawl half-walk, he pushed himself onward towards the rest of the command squad, scrabbling down into cover near them. He did his best to hold his rifle at the ready, though the amount of shaking coming from the Corporal was damn-near audible.