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@Jbcool I've been hanging around, don't see why I'd stop now.
@Banzai Tracers So is this a Codex-Compliant Chapter or Non-Codex-Compliant Chapter? The answer will decide how I lay out my Company for this as long as it's still open.
@Jbcool one of my coworkers brothers passed away, so I’ve been picking up their shifts while they deal with that. I’ll try and get a response out but I’ve been grinding from 24 hours on to 12 off and then repeating for a few days now. Sorry for not saying anything sooner!
Think there might have been some confusion in the most recent reply about that fact.
@Jbcool alright. As well the fighting (other than artillery and tank shot) has yet to begin right? So no one around us should be dying just yet?
@Jbcool I imagine Mehl should stay close to the Sergeant as he’s the Vox Operator?
Going to get a reply out tomorrow if I have a chance at work!
Hamlin Mehl

The intense urge to check his casters settings was attempting to move his body without his minds consent and biting down on his tongue was the only thing he could do to keep his focus squarely on the effort of not disgracing himself in front of the entire formation by giving into his bodies untimely demands. He straightened himself out and bit hard enough to the point that he began to taste copper in his mouth as Sergeant Bashil gave something that he imagined was supposed to be a rousing speech before their first taste of war. Before their first taste of what life was really like in their beloved Imperium.

"Listen up, 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."

Mehl snapped himself out of his near-trance state and undid the vice grip that his teeth had on his tongue as the Sergeant neared what was the end of his short speech. Mehl weighed his options as the idea of being among the first aboard the impressive lander dawned on him. They'd ridden similar craft up to the Divini Muneris from their muster grounds on Vosmarth. They were unyielding beasts. Massive things that by all accounts should have been able to lift off the very deck they sat on, let alone come screaming into atmosphere under combat conditions. He swallowed back the bile that threatened him as he followed the Sergeant aboard and moved smartly to his place a the far end of the rows of seats. Unstrapping his caster from his back he'd quickly stow it in the slot specifically designed for it and get to securing the rest of his gear quickly after.

With his weapon and caster stowed he plopped into his seat and began to do up the straps about his chest. A solid and satisfying click signifying that he'd done it correctly he watched with morbid anticipation as the rest of Fourth Squad filed in and took their places, and ahead of them all the loadmaster at the mouth of the open bay of the lander. The man, done up in a flight suit and helmet completely masking his face from view, gave what looked like some urging shoves to the last few to enter the ship before grabbing at the intercom transmitter at his chest. The door began to close and the internal lights of the bay shifted from their warm, if not overly dingy, bright color to that of an eerie red, bathing them all in something that reminded him of death itself. He could see why, he'd used red lights during his time working the Hive, it preserved night vision, and was hard to see from far away, meaning he'd been able to work on things that would have otherwise disturbed the pompous Nobles of the Hive Towers had they been able to spot his work lights from their magnificent views. They were preserving their vision, and allow them the ability to be as undetected as one could remain when riding in a several thousand ton lander to the surface of an enemy held planet.

He shifted nervously in his seat before coming to something similar to comfort in his place. He peered down through the red light and the unnatural shadows it cast on the faces of his fellow Vosmarth. He could barely make out any of them, though a few were easier than others, the Sergeant being chief among those followed closely by the lithe and undersized Haellen. 'Hell she's too young for this.' he thought as she seemed to look his way and he offered her a smile in the gloom before he he continued down the row of practically unrecognizable faces. Trying to make out some of the farther troopers toward the front of the bay he gave up as the red gloom made it too hard to pick out faces he knew past a certain point.

Mehl's going to claim this random Autumn-esque color of #c56f18.
Mehl's place in the barrack deck was something of a blessing and a curse at the same time. Situated just a few meters from the entrance he had the easiest time of getting to the washrooms and the mess-decks before the majority of the First Vosmarth could even hope to be half way across the massive room that stored them, and on the other end he got to enjoy the near constant trundle of boots as they passed and was almost always one of the first members of the regiment to meet the incoming officers and other higher-ups that the massive transport carried along in it's cavernous holds. It had kept him on his feet to say the least, a constant feeling of dread at every sound of boots walking past the bulkhead to get to some unknown destination of the ship had kept him wondering when the next officer or worse would enter through the doors and start an impromptu inspection or drill him on his knowledge of the Uplifting Primer.

Mehl was by no means a small man, though he wasn't among the largest that the regiment had to offer he felt he struck a good middle ground of both compact and muscular. Coming in at a little over 180 cm and something around 88 kg of mostly muscle that he had been happy for when he'd been strapped with the rather heavy voxcaster set and it's peripherals on top of his standard kit. Though he couldn't argue that it hadn't gotten him a good position. He quietly turned over in his rack to make sure that his caster was still nestled neatly beneath the rack next to his combat boots and chest locker before turning back up with a feeling of relief that was quickly cut into by the sounds of boots approaching the bulkhead once more.

The pair of boots was making their way down the hall at a good clip and he couldn't help but to inspect himself quickly in the small mirror hanging from the side of his rack, he needed a bit of a shave as the inklings of a black beard were showing but his dark hair was solidly in regs as far as he could tell from his position, he clenched his teeth as the boots neared the door and then passed right on by without stopping. He cursed his nerves and wondered what he'd be like when the boots were even worse than a commissar, when they were the boots of a heretic or some vile Xeno out for his blood. Shaking his head to will the images away he'd recite a quick prayer to the God Emperor and once more take up his routine of listening for any footsteps coming his way as he diligently stared at the bottom of the bunk above his.

There was more sound in the compartment than the footsteps outside though. There was the occasional cough that as far as he could tell sounded a world away in the cavernous hold that was the regiments barracks, the constant drone of the air recyclers somewhere above them as the ship filtered out and back in air that had been breathed in more times than he was willing to even fathom, the slow sounds of his fellow Firsts breathing as they slept soundly without a care in the world for the footsteps outside the door, and to top it all off there was the near constant whisper of a prayer being said by one scared guardsmen or another somewhere in the room. They were too quiet to make out, or even get a general direction from, instead they were just the hint of words that seemed to come and go like the wind that didn't even exist on the transport ship outside of exhaust vents and fans. He rolled himself over in his rack and stared off into the rows upon rows of racks before hearing another set of footsteps closing in on the bulkhead. He pulled his sheet up and shut his eyes, mutter a few curses at his over imaginative mind as he tried to force himself to finally get some sleep.
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