Most men had their eyes on the skies at that point, except the field medics that did impeccable work. Ten men were under careful supervision, some had IV drips and catheters whilst others received stitches when the blood loss was contained. Zeb did not know many of the intricacies of field medical knowledge, but by the end of the day, only one man died. Samson. Zeb would remember that name as the war continued. 

For now, he was just glad they had gotten there in time. The vehicles were getting refueled and restocked with what fuel they had carried and whatever scraps they could find amongst the dead and ruined. Stubbers were reloaded and power packs replaced. What precious water and food they had was rationed and everyone consumed their portions. Two men with flamers walked amongst them Ork bodies, igniting whatever green flesh they could to make certain the greenskins were dead whilst simultaneously purifying the ground from the micro-spores that would have landed on the soggy ground.

"Is this what's left of your drop?" Katia asked Zeb as he finished his rations, in the midst of taking a long draught of water. He looked at her, closing the container up and placing it back in the OSV's compartment. 

"No, but I can't say we made it out full strength, either. About half the regiment was killed or wounded. These were just the crazy bastards that decided it was a good idea to follow a green sergeant to find a commissar that was likely dead." He said. Katia didn't change her expression except for what he imagined was the slightest hint of a smile, though whether because they had relieved her or Zeb's gung-ho description, he couldn't tell.   

"Praxidii's dead." She told Zeb, which killed Zeb's momentary bid for hope. Zeb looked at her for three long seconds, and then closed his eyes, taking a moment. He didn't shed any tears, but he let the fact and grief wash over him for a few precious moments. Once he opened his eyes, he gave a stoic nod. "He fought well. Hell of a trooper and a friend." 

"Thank you," was all Zeb could say, gathering his thoughts. He would deal with it later. Some troopers would think she reported it coldly, but he had heard tales of the Valhallan Ice Warriors. He doubted anyone else could have held off the orks and kept their sanity. He needed to ask her sometime how she became a commissar. The lineage and the rank were a hell of a combination. "To that effect, I think we should keep going to Du-retour. There's men there that are under attack, and these men here need to get proper direction and cots. With your permission, Commissar."   

Zeb cleared his throat, awaiting her consent or new orders. He hoped De-retour was a haven for any civilians that had escaped the worst of it as well. Agri-worlds had just, hard working folk. Hagman sat in the driver's seat as well, just listening to their conversation. If it was just Zeb he would have interrupted thrice by now, but a Commissar always brought a bit of danger to that sort of thing.