Reconnaissance In Force (Imperium)

hawkes expression switched from frustrated to perplexed in light of this new information "a..what...that...sounds like something way above my pay grade...okay right so i owe you both a favour or two each"

with some trepidation she began to pull her hand out before stopping "this...isn't gonna hurt right? or cause any weird shit to happen to me later on yeah?" the last part made her mentally scoff as she said it, given weird has pretty much been what the last 6 years have been for her.

"frak it, lets do this"

abandoning any sense of caution she tightly grasped onto the psykers hand, putting krast in her minds eye as freely as she could - perhaps a little too freely - and kept the message simple and quick.

krast, delta 6, active black box located, enemy likely inbound.

[blinddeadmcjones Request: [4df+2] Roll: [+, , , -]: 2+2 for invoking aspect: We're gonna die young. Might as well live fast. Result:4][clever:clever, trying to picture krast in her mind]

As Hawke takes their hand, the psyker feels a sudden surge of second-hand anxiety and unease; Sam's deep distrust of having to rely on the pair can be felt overriding her desperation to deal with the beacon.
The medley of the day's stress and frustration hits like a hammer blow to the chest, and it's all Clacky can do not to wince.

But no disgust. Clacky blinks. That's... new. The lack of animosity about their being a psyker would be relieving if not for the second hand stress-nausea.

They meet eyes with Hawke and for for the first time, it's clear that they're being genuinely sympathetic, "You have my word, Miss, you're safe enough. No messing with anyone's heads. It might feel a little bit... Echoey? But it won't last. If it feels too strange, you can let go."

With that, Clacky concentrates, closing their eyes, and focuses on the image of Krast that Hawke forms. They watch as a shadow of the lieutenant solidifies in their mind's eye.

His voice. His height. His face. His eyes. His uniform. His-
Throne above, woman.
The psyker swallows, managing not to break concentration or blush. That's really on me for not specifying what to picture...

Turning back to face the market, and half opening their eyes, Clacky overlays the faint aura, scanning the area.

Until...

There.

They catch sight of the same soul in the midst of the crowds. Brighter, sharper.
...Throne, he's a big lad. Don't think about his-

Poor Krast will feel the equivalent of a polite, almost apologetic cough, and then a soft-spoken voice announces itself, "Pardon my intrusion, Lieutenant, there's a message for you."
Then, as clearly as if she were standing beside him, Krast can hear a familiar young woman's voice in his head, "Krast, delta 6, active black box located, enemy likely inbound... Nice arse, sir."

Clacky exhales, as they finish silently transmitting. Hawke's anxiety sits high in their chest, pushing their pulse up just as much, and for a just a moment, Hawke receives a small emotional backflow.
Not anywhere near as sharp as fear or stress, for a few seconds Sam experiences a strange, mellow kind of sadness. The double-edged sword of being constantly forgotten and therefore safe, but also isolated.

The psyker realises just a second too late that they've let something slip, and the odd feeling cuts off. They glance away, embarrassed, but gently retrieve their hand, "Done. He got yoir message."

(( Roll: Clever 3, Skill: Telepathic Psykana, Trouble: Suffer not the Witch to live
Request: `[4df+5]` Roll: `[+, -, -, -]` Result: `3` ))

Krast could practically feel the tension knotting up in the air as he stood his ground. Every instinct drilled into him by every instructor, commissar, officer, and primer told him he needed to strike first, kill the traitors, and get his team out. He bit down on that feeling, focusing on standing still. He didn’t need to loom, or use his height any more, he could see the stark panic in the woman’s eyes, as she stares him down. And he’s almost impressed by it, despite everything he can see himself having a drink or two with this woman if things were different.

Krast stops just short of actually signing with relief as she gives him the information about the centaur. He lets a long breath out, then gives her a firm but understanding smile.

“I know it can be hard making these calls, but trust me, you made the right one. I’ll have my men pick up the goods, quietly, and make sure nobody is hurt.” He pauses as he sees the woman’s hesitation at the end, and his face hardens up. If she was keeping something back, something serious, it could mean the victory, no matter how small, he had just won could be for nothing. He opened his mouth to speak when…



Every hair on his body seemed to shoot bolt up, his eyes growing wide as something pricked the back of his skull. He’d never experienced something like this, though he’d heard plenty of stories. Oh, there were stories on Cadia, from the Veterans of the Black Crusades. Words whispered from no mouth, feeling like someone was standing right by you when you knew you were alone.

Krast barely heard the latter part of the message, partly due to shock that somewhere there was a Psyker in this mess, and partly out of anger that the damn wytch had spoken in his head. But that woman’s voice, and more so that familiar Cadian accent got his attention.

“Oh this is just frakking great,” he snarled, and surprised himself by the heat in his voice. He blinked, the looked down at the Boss in front of him.

“Um, somethings come up. Psykarium support, uh, has found a piece your people missed. Tau black box, and it’s active. I think you may want to get your men ready for some of that company I mentioned.” He said, before turning towards the transports. The vox was still bleating out static in his ear, and he had men all over the market by this point. Frakking great. Now he had to gather up everyone and get ready before a tau attack dropped on them.

And he had an idea how, as much as he would hate it. Now he just had to find where Hawke had her psyker. And later ask her about his arse. He thought, and was a bit self conscious as he turned away from Alvira, and started towards the transports. Hawke would report in soon, he hoped, and he needed to get as many of his men in position as he could.

"Mhm." Clacky nods.
They reach into a pocket and pull out a wrapped peppermint, pressing it into Hawke's hand while she's briefly stationary, "The sugar, it helps after."

They glance back over to where Krast in the distance is responding, and suddenly starting to move. Without the context of where the Lieutenant is headed, Clacky just hopes the man took the message seriously. While Krast hadn't been resistant, the broadcast may not have been all that welcome.

"We'll catch up once you're over there, I guess?" they look at Yul, questioningly, noticing there's still no payment exchanged hands.
The psyker had no love for the Guard, but if this woman was right, it was better to be behind the people shooting than in front of them.

Realising they didn't actually know her name, "Uh, it's Clacky, or Kleckhe, if you want to be formal... Or I guess, correct." they gesture to themselves.

Patience and Rage Intermingle. The dead cry out for justice, all of these fools below are guilty. Why spare any? "Our Patience has run out. Spark the fire and let them kill each other. We will execute any who remain."




Quarry Edge


Not all of the relief force is within the quarry, of course. This would be foolhardy to pull all of your soldiers down into an almost literal shooting gallery. No, Domination, El Dorado and several squads of Draxin Light Infantry are spread around the quarry's edge in a perimeter defense, watching and waiting. Unfortunately, the vox is jammed and sightlines are not as good as they could have been. Across the Quarry, with the wind blowing and some small scatterings of snow blustering, who could have seen the brief and terrible close combat that took the life of several Draxins, bereft of support? Now a soldier garbed in ill-fitting Draxin outerwear moves and aims a particularly lethal long-las down into the quarry, searching for the designated focal point. Spark the Fire.


The Camp


For Clacky, Yul, and Hawke, the item that is the focus of their attention alters its behavior. Or in this case, rather. Ceases. The blinking goes out with a terrible, almost painful finality. For Clacky in particular, a feeling of dreadful solemnity emanates from it, like that of a weary soldier finally being relieved.



Krast is in a perfect position to see it happen. Seconds after turning away from Alvira, who herself was turning to call out to her fellows and tell them what Krast had warned her of. Fortunately he doesn't see the grisly outcome of the action, but there is a bright flash of red from on high, a hellish "snap" and "sizzle" sound from behind him.

A gasp.

A thud.

Alvira's now headless body slumps to the ground.



Silence stretches and takes on new expressions for a minuscule eternity. Market goers and what passes for camp security stand in shock, glancing fearfully towards the quarry edge above. And then the cry starts, can it be declared exactly from where? Does anyone mark out the youthful red-headed woman in scarf and jacket who cries out forcefully. "The Guard killed Alvira! They're going to kill us ALL. REMEMBER THE RAGES!!"

The screaming starts. Panic sets in. Everything goes to hell.



Deeper in the market, the cry reaches out and Pavel, head of camp security bellows in rage, pointing forcefully at any nearby Guard. Gunshots ring out, solid slug weapons and several lasguns start crackling as they open fire. A scattered squad of guards takes aim at Caerrick and Hoyt, spraying fire indiscriminately at the foes who executed the camp leader.

Somewhere in the din, the camp nurse starts shrieking in panic, trying to find her daughter as bullets start flying.



The Ramp


The three women, stunned by the bellow from MacVrenner, stammer and stutter, offering up words that are more mumble than anything else. "Just--trying to leave . . . We--we can pay?" And then of course, the gunfire starts. The women turn and glance back fearfully, hands gripping their bike handles tightly. And then they glance back at the tank, realizing they are too close. Something has gone terribly, horribly wrong. And they are too close to the tank. "Don't shoot us, we just want to leave!!" The second woman cries, throwing her hands in the air in terror.



A little ways away, the man who worked for Alvira stops and stares at Bruce and the Centaur. He glances back as the market behind starts lighting up like a Candlemas party. "Ah frak, take me with you!" He shrieks, trying to clamber aboard the vehicle.

Bruce, Bellicosa and Savin are in are perfect position to see two of the Cargo-4's the camp security has armed with bed-mounted cannons sputter to life, one is armed with the haphazard amalgamation of what was once some form of ground-based flak cannon, the other a more standard pair of heavy stubbers, and both are focusing on the ramp and the Leman Russ sitting atop it. More camp guards are running this way, trying to escape, or prevent the Guard from escaping, perhaps both at once.



The Convoy

At the main relief convoy, Lourn first hears the lone las-shot. And then the screaming, and more gunfire. Thanks to his care, his vox unit still has a connection to the orbital ship, as well as a tenuous connection to the squads in the marketplace. His ears hear the swearing and yells as the Guard patrols dive for cover. A few men and women go down, but comm checks reveal that their flak armor so far is holding true and no fatalities within the quarry on the Guard's side. Yet. Solid shells start pinging off the Chimera, and the multilaser in the turret rotates to return fire.



The Quarry Edge, once more.


The sponson gunner who ran to inform El Dorado of the sighting didn't know it when she got out. But she was roughly three seconds away from being the sole survivor of Domination. A Broadside Battlesuit, painted in whites and greens and browns, stands tall from where it had carefully crouched, hefting the railgun in its hands and firing, emitting a roar of anger, nay, a battlecry as it unleashed violence. Domination's attention had been stolen by the gunfire from behind and below, and never had a chance to see the danger. Seconds later and the Leman Russ explodes, cored through by the railgun, the sound echoing through the cold air and joining the maelstrom of noise in the Quarry. With agitated, angry movements, the Battlesuit turns towards El Dorado.


((Everyone, minor small arms fire is darting all around, the camp guard thinks the Imperial Guard just executed Alvira with a sniper atop the Quarry edge. Currently there is no vox connection between Imperial Guard forces at the top of the Quarry and those down inside. Attack rolls with results of 1+ from small arms will deal killing blows to Camp Guards, 3+ to damage vehicles. Heavier weapons require only a 1+ to damage or destroy camp vehicles. Caerrick and Hoyt, careful or quick rolls of 1+ to avoid damage from the camp guards firing at you. Make any other rolls you see fit, and good luck.))

Fire churns in the air, that only the psyker can feel, and their chest tightens as they catch only the emotions behind the Tau broadcast.

Savin emerges from the crowd just in time to hear the first shot. 
“Sniper!” She barks, pushing her little squad into the shelter of the idling centaur hauler. Any plans she has to look for the sniper are immediately countered by the wave of confusion and violence spreading across the quarry. 
“Mais, boys, we need to get usselves out of this hole and up where we can be of use.” 


Savin listens to this exchange, then clambers up the side of the centaur. “It’s sure a fine thing to hear loyal citizens of the Imperium still flourish in a place like this. Y’all want to get up the ramp? Bonne chance, mes amis, that’s exactly where we’re going. How bout a ride, cher?”

Without waiting for an answer, the four other guardsmen climb on as well. Savin holds up a finger to forestall any reply, “Quick-quick sec.” She turns and snaps up the lascarbine and puts a burst into the heavy stubbers mounted on one of the oncoming trucks.

(( Careful roll to shoot, 3 +2 from aspect Shoot Sharp, Then Scarper for 5 total to disable the gun))

“Right, let’s get outta here”