File: 1339277975174.jpg-(2.82 MB, 4200x2722, Victorum Sector Cartography Lo(...).jpg)

“It’s alright, sergeant. You and your men can stand down now,” you reply as the twisted wreckage of the Aquila’s port wing is lifted away by one of the hangar’s ceiling cranes. The sergeant nods and salutes you before heading back to his squad, the lot of them walking over towards the small dispensary next to the hangar bay’s trapezoidal blast doors. You watch them as they greet the small group of curious pilots, then turn your attention back to the half-complete shape of the shuttlecraft. Without the ruined port wing, it looks much better, almost whole. Well, apart from the missing cockpit canopy and crushed nose armor that is now being stripped off.

“He’ll be alright. The chirurgeon’s stitching him up in a cast right now, and starting him on the regrowth regimen. Once he’s stable, we can transport him back to your ship.” Sub-lieutenant Henrietta Arys’ soft voice interrupts your thoughts. You turn your eyes to look at her, her arms held close to her body and her face both sympathetic and nervous. She bites her lower lip as she watches the servitors saw into the ferrosteel plate protecting the most vulnerable systems of the lander, her green eyes glinting with the blue-white sparks thrown up by the adamantium chainsaws. The fire that dances in them goes well with her green Battlefleet uniform, adorned with silver piping and a single gold braid upon the wrist.

>What now?
[ ] Join your armsmen?
[ ] Talk to the sub-lieutenant?
[ ] Other?

>[X] Talk to the sub-lieutenant

It cant hurt to make contacts throughout the fleet. Maybe comment any recent action the fleet has seen and then shift the conversation to her.

>Also, any questions you want answered?

>>19422788

Why is our lander being taken apart?

>>19422787
Will I be able to romance an eldar?

>>19422833
>Who knows?

>>19422727
[X] Talk to the sub-lieutenant?

>>19422727
[x] Talk to the sub-lieutenant?

You think back to the chaos that had filled the hangar bay when you’d walked in a short while ago. The banks of white extinguisher foam, the medicae setting bones and bandaging cuts, the techpriests and servitors swarming over the twisted, smoking form of your Aquila. While you might have saved yourself from humiliation, the reputation of the 38th Enforcer Squadron has gone deep into the shitter.

Your pilot might have been expected to spend the half-hour trip getting the lander refueled and turned around, perhaps spend some time chatting to his counterparts aboard the Dominus Nova. Instead, he took the opportunity to put his feet up and take a drink. Your enginseers might have been expected to follow the proper maintenance rituals, especially when replacing a damaged cockpit console, instead of jury-rigging a pseudo-connection with a Sentinel servo and a las-cell. If they had done their job properly, the port turbine wouldn’t have gone off from the sudden jolt of the pilot’s boots, though it probably could have been triggered by any sudden vibration or weight. The tipsy pilot and the lazy enginseer, two more affirmations of the worthless drivel occupying the Enforcer squadron. You sincerely hope that Commissar Jellybelly has got that vicious whip of his ready, because these men deserve it.

“Well, that’s a blessing for him then,” your say, somewhat viciously.

>What do you guys want to talk about/ask?
>Last time we said we'd ask for her contact info, will do that.

>>19423068
>>19423068
[x] Flirt

we are using the bioware dialogue wheel, right?

>>19423052
maybe ask her how long she has been assigned to this post and if she has seen any action yet.

>>19423081
>Uh, not really. But I'll take that option into account as I write up the next post.

>>19423068
So Sub-lieutenant Arys, what do you think of your first look into the 38th Enforcer Squadron. Impressive isn't it?

How long have you been on this post and who did you piss off enough to be the one who received me?

“So, sub-lieutenant Arys, what do you think of your first look at the 38th Enforcer Squadron? Impressive how incompetent we can be, eh?” The sub-lieutenant flinches at the harshness in your voice, and you instantly regret saying it.

“Ah, well…” She looks down, not meeting your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just so, so aggravating when you can’t put that reputation behind you.” You know that there are good men and women in the 38th, at all levels. But the bad apples like these, the few who are truly incapable of performing to the standards of His Imperial Navy, tar you all with the same brush.

“It’s alright. I know how you feel.” Shit. This isn’t going to go anywhere you want it to. Let’s try a change of subject. You’ve been wondering for awhile, but what exactly does the sub-lieutenant do? And why was she the one welcoming you, instead of some lowly ensign on punishment duty?

“So, are scenes like this normal for a garrison fleet?”

“Hm? What do you mean?” She looks back up, tilting her head.

“Well, have you seen a lot of action down here? We ran into a rok on the way in, surely you must’ve seen some of them yourself.”

“Well, yes, of course. To be honest, I’ve actually seen quite a bit, actually.” She combs a wavy strand of blond hair back behind her ear and straightens up a bit. “This sort of scene isn’t exactly uncommon, but most of the time we’re out in the fringes of the system, screening the Swords and monitors.”

>>19423303
Sounds interesting. We should show her the Orc Nob tooth we acquired if we have it on us. Swap a few war stories back and forth. Then ask why she was on greeting duty?

>>19423303
“Screening? You’re a fighter pilot?”

“Second-in-command of the 192nd, the Blue Lines.” That small smile of hers comes out again. “We don’t find ourselves up against Ork fighters all that often, but I’m a double-ace. My bird’s down the hangar over there, waiting for the next patrol.” For the first time since you met her, you see a sign of confidence, of pride. She looks less like a shy wallflower, and more like the swaggering pilots you see in the holo-dramas. You’re tempted to pull out the Ork tusk and swap war stories, once you’ve answered the obvious question.

“What were you doing being sent to meet me, then? You’re second-in-command of the fighter squadron; I can’t see you being a sacrificial lamb for that Officer of the Watch.” You point over to a convenient pile of munitions crates, and the two of you walk over as the enginseers light the incense.

“It’s a complicated situation,” she says as you sit down. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be a lamb to him, but it’s not like I can just ignore an order. And, I guess I’m sort of an easy target for him. If I was, a more confident officer, I wouldn’t be here. But because I’m here, I’ve already got a black mark on my record.” It’s true, a double-ace would normally be transferred out to the front-lines. The sub-lieutenant is clearly skilled, but her attitude might be what’s holding her back. The nervous young woman who forgot Battlefleet protocols that welcomed you aboard wouldn’t be tolerated out on the frontlines, you think. But someone doesn’t become the second-in-command of a Navy fighter squadron by being timid, and certainly doesn’t become a double-ace without taking risks.

>Sorry for the slowness, multitasking stupidly.

>>19423513
Look on the bright side, you aren't in the 38th.

So how is it that a double ace swaggering fighter pilot ends up as timid and shy? Those two don't really seem to mesh, I'm betting once you're in your bird you aren't anyone's sacrificial lamb.

Swap war stories and show her the tooth.

>>19423513
“But what about you?” Hm? Suddenly, the conversation shifts. “I heard about the rok; what was that like for you?”

“Well…” The Ork tusk comes out, you regale her with the slightly-embellished truth, and you find the hours passing as you trade stories about the war and academy days. Arys never seems to question you as to your presence in the 38th, and you find yourself reluctant to pursue her ‘complicated situation.’ Once or twice, she brings up her father and her face stiffens, but you’re not sure whether it’s the thought of him or his actions which make her withdraw.

You find yourself trading vox codes and promising to write as you step aboard the Aquila, your armsmen strapping themselves in as you wave goodbye to the sub-lieutenant. With a replacement pilot from the Dominus Nova’s flight crews, you return to the CT-381 confident that you’ve taken the first steps towards climbing the ladder of rank. And it seems that your hard work has paid off; Lord-Captain Belgrano is waiting for you as you land, armsmen saluting him as he walks forward, human hand outstretched.

“How’d it go, ensign?”

>>19423686
"Without a hitch, Sir. Defenitely not what they expected."

>>19423686
It went as well as could be expected, the hand off went as smooth as could be.

Getting back was harder and took longer than expected because Aquila caught on fire and exploded.

>>19423686

"Sir, the message safely delivered. It seemed that the officer of the watch of the Dominus Nova wasnt very firm in his Battlefleet security regulations, though. I took the liberty to remind him."

And tell him about the aquila accident.

File: 1339285852429.jpg-(276 KB, 1027x495, uglycobra.jpg)

"Almost perfectly, sir. There was a bit of a hitch regarding the transfer, but I took the opportunity to remind the Officer of the Watch of proper Battlefleet regulations and he seemed to understand. I believe Lord-Captain Raymes got the message. The explosion of the Aquila was a bit of a surprise, though.”

The captain nods, his bearded face frowning slightly as you tell him about the Aquila. “Yes, comms passed on the Dominus Nova’s incident report. It seems as if we’ll be needing a new enginseer; good thing Vyan’s Wall is practically crawling with them. I’ve already spoken to Commissar Hirst about the pilot and he’ll see that discipline is maintained.” You doubt that, but you keep it from your face as the captain, the Emperor-blessed captain, shakes your hand.

“I can’t promote you for simply delivering a package, ensign, but your name is definitely one we’ll be watching up on the bridge.”

==]+[==

>>19423892
Thank you sir. It is appreciated.

When are we on shift for our normal duties and for our Astropath duties? How much time do we have between now and then?

>>19423933
You are on First Shift for macrocannon duty, Second Shift for Astropath duty. That runs from 0600-1800.

You've spend little over three hours on the Dominus Nova, so you've got something like nine hours before you're on duty again.

>>19423993
Socialise with our firends over supper. Get half an hour of training done and then hit the hay.

>>19423993
Cool, get some grub, hang out with some of our new friends. Then keep up on our skills, training and reading and go to bed after that.

You walk back to your quarters tired but elated. It seems that the Astropath’s tower was the right choice after all, and you wonder how Elim and Marius are doing working with Fleet Confessor Barrin. As you open the door, you guess they must’ve been sent to the other ships in the squadron. Normally they’d be waiting there, chatting with Theresa and Eusius before turning in for the shift, but their empty coat hooks tell you that they’re probably on official Navy business elsewhere, and the confessor’s work is the only thing you can think of.

Theresa is there though, her close-cut red hair and porcelain skin reminding you of the servitor-dolls that you saw in the hive spires of your youth. You never saw those delicate constructs with such hard eyes though, that seem to glare at the world and dare it to try…anything, really. She looks up from her naval primer as you walk in.

“Yo. Where’s Eusius?”

“Walking down to the mess, far as I know. Seems the Magos needed him to stay behind for something. I was gonna go down and meet him once I finished here. Where’ve you been, anyway?” You always wonder just how a girl with a voice as delicate as Theresa’s manages to shout like a fat old sergeant at her armsmen, but you’ve never really thought to ask. It’s a voice that doesn’t belong to a Battlefleet armswoman, but to a noble girl or weening courtesan, high and clear like the frigid up-hive air.

“Oh, just started a double-shift rotation today, got sent to the Dominus Nova with our logs, met a fighter ace and shook the captain’s hand. Nothing special, really. I think I’ll go ahead first and grab a table for us.” You walk into the bathroom to wash your face as Theresa stares dumbfounded.

>>19424203
It's not really a big deal Theresa just business as usual. Though they never tell you how cold it gets in the Astropath's tower. The Astropaths seem nice though, so far I've met one that seems like a bit of a grumpy old grandpa and one that feels like everyone's favorite grandma, I half expect her to bring cookies on shift rotation..

>>19424203
“…Emperor on high, that is dumb.” Eusius puts his face into his palm as you finish describing the jury-rigged repair that caused the Aquila’s spontaneous activation. Theresa looks a little out of her depth but nods along with him, a stick of bruallki still hanging on the fork that stopped moving as you’d started to describe the wild burn of the Aquila along the Dominus Nova’s starboard hangar bay. Ensign Jowells, whose first name you’ve learned is Bernard, just shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, that’s what the pilot said once they’d told him. ‘Course the enginseers on the Dominus were just pissed about it, you should’ve heard them. I’ve never heard a techpriest swear before, and I still haven’t, but that tech-gibberish seems to be good enough for them.” The brualkii is crunchy and slightly sweet, as it should be, but you’re somewhat put off by the fact that it’s stalk and florets are a vibrant turquoise rather than earthy green.

“Well, of course it is. I tell you, working with them is weird enough, but half the time they don’t even speak basic Gothic. It’s like listening to servitors gossiping or something.” Eusius takes a sip from his drink, a thick, hot tea the same gold-brown color as his skin.

“At least you aren’t in the tower with those astropaths. Psykers gimme the creeps, never mind how kind or old they are. And at least those reactors are warm; I couldn’t stand the cold, not for a million Thrones.” Theresa jabs her still-occupied fork at Eusius, nearly flicking the bruallki off onto the table. It disappears with a chomp into her mouth.

I must ask, OP.

did you make that sector map yourself?

because it is awesome.

>>19424416
I did, thanks.

>>19424392
I haven't talked with them much yet but I haven't had any problems with them. As for the cold, I just wear a nice coat.

The annoying part is transcribing, you've got 6 different terminals each spitting out partially redundant information and you have to collate it.

Still not that bad once you get used to it.

>>19424392
It would be really nice if you could end posts where you expect input from us with
>wat do
Or something along those lines.

So we know if you're still writing or want some replies.

>>19424392
“Well, it’s not so bad. They’re cooped up in those isolation cages for most of the time, and the bonded armsmen don’t bother you. And you get used to the collating pretty quickly, once you find your rhythm. Once Tristan brings his winter coat to the tower, it’ll be almost cozy at that console.” Eusius and Theresa look at Bernard as if he were crazy, who just shrugs and takes a tentative bite of the spiced grox slice on his tray.

“Speaking of, I haven’t met any of the astropaths yet. They didn’t change shifts when I did, you know? I wonder if they work on a different schedule than us.” Bernard winces as he swallows, his reddening face almost as bright as his flaming-orange hair.

“It’s possible. The scriptures say that psykers sometimes have odd rules owing to their special condition. Something happens to them on holy Terra that changes them, reorders them into the Emperor’s plans.” You think that Eusius should have gone to the Confessor instead of Elim or Marius. Coming from Pillar, one of the greatest shrineworlds in the sector, it would’ve been a natural position for him, but his technical aptitude saw him working closely with the enginseers and techmagos of the Enginarium instead.

“Could be. I might ask the astropaths the next time I see them, if there’s enough time. But getting back to the story…”

As you finish your meal, you start to ponder what to do next. You have eight hours until your shift starts, and you’re used to six-hour nights.

[ ] Study up on gunnery tactics.
[ ] Head to the gymnasia.
[ ] Visit Roswald in the medicae deck.
[ ] Get an early night’s sleep.
[ ] Other?

>>19424440
Not the guy you were replying to, but holy fuck, good job.
I initially thought that you took it from some rogue trader supplement I'm unfamiliar with.

>[ ] Visit Roswald in the medicae deck.

I'm voting for this

>>19424525
Well, what are we actually good at?

I'd favour a short visit to Roswald followed by visiting the gymnasia, though.

>>19424525
[X] Study up on gunnery tactics.

That is our main job, we need to get even better at it.

>>19424440

would you be put-off if I did a cheap copy of it for my own quest? I'd rather not copy something so nice without asking.

oh, and are the enginseers responsible for that ork-rigging on the lander servitors yet?

>>19424574
No prob, go ahead. The enginseer is probably being processed right now.

>>19424561
As a minor sector noble, you were trained in the art of dueling with sword and gun, as well as jousting. In the naval academy, however, you found out that your somewhat intellectual style of combat wasn't well-suited for the brutality of boarding actions, though it served you well when you took on that ork nob. Your gunnery skills are decent, though you haven't had much chance to practice them. As the ensign in charge of Macrocannon Three, you are a skilled leader, knowing when and how to push your men to their limits and when to back off.

So right now it's 2 for Roswald, 1 for gymnasia and 1 for gunnery?

>>19424680
Looks like it, yes

God-dammit, girlfriend wants to watch Life of Brian so I can't participate.

Nevertheless, excellent quest. Keep goin' and maybe I'll catch you after.

>Sorry, Internet crapped out here.

You part with Bernard and Eusius after the meal, heading for the medicae deck. Not surprisingly, Theresa follows you. She and Roswald had always been close, ever since they had been in the Academy with you and Elim. Roswald had always come to her for help in physical training, and he’d improved a little bit over the years. Theresa, for her part, seemed to regard Roswald as a younger sibling and was always endeavoring to protect him and make sure he was alright. It’s no surprise that she would check up on him every chance she got.

The medicae is much less crowded today, and much quieter. The beds next to Roswald are empty and clean, a hopeful sign that the chirurgeon is doing a good job. Roswald has his attention buried in a dataslate, as usual. Theresa surprises him with a hug, pulling back as Roswald gives a soft gasp.

“I’m so sorry, Rose! Are you okay? The wounds haven’t opened up, have they?” You once saw Theresa slap an armsman around for complaining about a sprained ankle, and she’s never worried about any injuries Marius might have picked up from the beatings she delivered him. But with Rosey she’s an absolute softie. You sometimes found yourself wishing she’d act like that towards you after a hard sparring session, but the image of her KO-ing an Ogryn on Valltorum would always push that away.

“No, no, it’s alright, Theresa. I’m fine. But what are you and Tristan doing here?” Rosey brushes his hair back and pushes his glasses back up.

“We just got done eating and thought, well, we have some time, might as well see how you were doing,” you reply.

>>19425078
“Fine, thanks. The chirurgeon says I can be out of here in a week, if I don’t exert myself too much. Ha, not much chance of that, I said. I’ve spent the day pulling up after-action reports on my slate, seeing how the war is doing. What about you two? Have you keeping busy?”

Roswald is surprised by your tale, though perhaps not as much as Theresa was, and smiles as you recount the encounter with the elderly astropaths. When you describe meeting sub-lieutenant Arys, his eyes knit together in thought, and pressed for an answer he replies that he’d heard the name somewhere before, though he wasn’t sure where. Promising to tell you once he remembered, you continue on to the tragedy of the lander and some of Arys’ war stories. The next hour goes by quickly, and as you say goodbye to Roswald you find yourself yawning. Theresa claims the bathroom ahead of you, and you fall into your bunk without a care after carefully removing your uniform jacket and boots.

==]+[==

>I need to head out and help out at work for a bit, but I'll be back in perhaps an hour or so.

>>19425093
Well, we've got Macrocannon duty first thing in the morning, so we'll probably get up, shower if we can, get some quick grub then get to our job.

>>19425380
second this.

File: 1339297766370.jpg-(266 KB, 943x1491, Firedrake_final-copy1.jpg)

>>19422727

>Dat starmap
>motherofgod.jpg

I'm going to have to step up my game.

>>19425836
It is one hell of an impressive star map.

So right now we're in orbit around Vyan's Wall in the south westish area, the edge of Moloch Sector.

Where do our duties usually take us?

>>19425836
It's not too bad if you have CS5; only four hours of work, and most of that was either making sure the world key was kept intact (types of worlds, trailing/rimward boxes, etc) or deciding how to design the sector.

File: 1339299306516.jpg-(66 KB, 800x298, enforcers.jpg)

>>19425953
From Vyan's Wall to Port Fury to Canus Line, then back along the edge of the Sector to Zannemann's Seat, up to Gonnech, down to Blessing of Saint Castor, then to Cao Cao before Vyan's Wall again.

>>19425093
A week orbiting Vyan’s Wall has passed without incident, and you awaken to the hum of CT-381’s mighty engines running at cruising speed. You can hear Elim rolling around in the bunk above you, while the muffled sound of the shower must be Marius. Somewhere between that and the hum of the engines are the night sounds of your other bunkmates: Theresa’s purring snore, the soft sussurations of Roswald, and Eusius’ silent breath. You lever yourself out of your bunk and start mentally going over your to-do list as you grab your toothbrush. It’s going to be another long day.

The sink is a polished metal box, surrounded by the various cups and mugs you and your friends have stacked onto the steel counter around it. There is a devotional mug of Saint Castor, engraved with a hundred of her benedictions in micro-script, belonging to Eusius. Elim’s duckquila cup, only blasphemous to the Redemptionists and self-flagellants that haunt the lower hives, sits in the back right corner. You reach for your own, a tin cup stamped with the insignia of House Scathach and Battlefleet Victorum, and fill it with the slightly cloudy water from the tap.

Marius walks out of the shower as you start shaving and puts his cup in the back left corner, the simple white mug unmarked except for a slight chip on the bottom. “And a good morning to you too, Tristan.”

“Morning.” You take care as you angle the straight razor along your upper lip, barely moving it as you speak.

>>19426131
“Still tired? You shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.” Celebrating Rowland’s return from the medicae started from the end of the second shift and became a section-wide affair, with bands of junior midshipmen and ensigns you both knew and didn’t congratulating him on his new ork ear. As far as you knew, it was still going when you passed out in your bunk.

“That’s not it. I’ll have you know, I drank three times that at my sister’s birthday party and came away none the worse for it. I’m not looking forward to another lazy shift, that’s all.” The razor flings foam around the sink as you point at Marius’ reflection, who simply nods his head in agreement.

By the time you, Elim and Marius strike out for the mess, you’re feeling a little more upbeat. Sub-lieutenant Yvegnny, who mans the fourth shift in the astropath tower, promised to leave a little something for you and ensign Jowells for your next shift. And Captain Belgrano asked you to meet with him and Astropath Seniorus Diao during first shift to discuss permanently switching your station. And most satisfyingly, you’ve been given a medal for your efforts during the boarding action. It’s only the Trident War medal, a simple sign that you served in a battle considered part of the war, but you know it is only the first of many to come.

The whole crew seems eager to finally continue their patrol. The mess hall is the liveliest you’ve seen in days, and you wonder just how sub-lieutenant Arys, or Etta, as you’re starting to call her, deals with the monotony of it all. Then again, she gets to fly amongst the dense planetary rings and through the comet cloud; it’s nowhere near as boring as watching hundreds of men open up and scrub down the macrocannons or replace the deckplate in the turret.

File: 1339299508653.jpg-(190 KB, 726x656, Warhammer__Evil_Sunz_Ork_Ship_(...).jpg)

>>19426147
It takes you quite some time to grab your trays of food, and ensign Jowells and sub-lieutenant Sakai wave you over to their table as you stand dumbfounded, searching for an open seat.

“It’s your boys’ first time patrolling the edge of the Trident Warzone, so I guess you weren’t prepared for it,” Sakai remarks as you tell him your observations of the crew. “The squadron spends a week in every system it patrols along the warzone, instead of the usual two or three days, so that we can react to any Battlefleet call to arms or reinforce a region under assault.”

“But can’t they think up something more interesting for us to do while we wait?” Elim moans as he struggles to cut the leather-hard buron slice laid out next to his fried eggs. “A week watching macrocannon maintenance and deck plate repairs and equipment tests! It was so boring!”

“Well, we’ll be doing all sorts of drills and maintenance along the patrol, especially once we get closer to the warzone. Vyan’s Wall is still pretty far away; barring the odd Ork rock, you don’t see too much action this far trailing.” The old sub-lieutenant sips his recaf as Marius looks over at him.

“Well then, why don’t you help me and Elim find something to do? The confessor’s given us all the spare work he had, and now we’re stuck back in our shifts again. Did you hear anything new, sub-lieutenant?”

“Well-” As the sub-lieutenant puts down his mug, the klaxon rings. Three loud, blaring calls, that capture everyone’s attention.

“All hands, we have detected an Ork force moving in-system. Report to your battle stations. I repeat, battle stations.”

>>19426131
Wow, that's a pretty long loop we've got going there.

>>19426179
Well, looks like we're going to battle stations right about now.

>>19426179
You skid into the macrocannon turret just behind Elim and see the squads of gun crew slowly being milled into order by their captains. It’s slow work, and you can see that a lot of the men are moving sluggishly, as if they aren’t sure what to do.

>What do you want to do?

>>19426210
We're a skilled leader aren't we?

Take charge and start directing people to where they should be, there's Orks about, we can't be lollygagging or moving sluggishly. Give them a voice to look for and some order and direction in the chaos.

Get people into position, say that this is what we have been preparing for. That this is a chance for the Macrocannons to shine and show our worth. For the Emperor.

>>19426210
im assuming we are in charge of these crews (sorry if im wrong on that)

Take charge of the situation. Act the inspiring leader. maybe greet a few individuals by name on the way in and then say a few words.

"Alright crews listen up, we may not get the same kill numbers those torpedo fuckers do, but i'll be damned if we miss a chance at one today. I don't know about you but I've had enough sitting around. Lets kill some orks! the Emperor protects!"

>>19426320
"roight you gits! LISSEN UP!! Thers some humies about that needs some good krumpin. AN NOBODY KRUMPS BETTER'N ORKS CAUSE WES THE BIGGEST!! NO MOR MUCKIN ABOUT!! WAAAAAAAAAAGGGHH!!!"

File: 1339301067266.jpg-(206 KB, 1609x269, macrobattery.jpg)

>>19426210
“Gunnery chiefs, to me!” Your voice cuts through the disorderly hubbub. The two chiefs, Mr. Ables and Mr. Smyth, direct their sergeants to keep the press of men moving and run over to you, saluting as they stop in front of you.

“Yessir?”

“Why are the men not in battlestations, Mr. Ables?”

“Well sir, most of ‘m are scared about what’ll happen if we get boarded again, sir. And even those that aren’t don’ think it’ll do ‘m much good. We’re gun-crew, not torpedo.”

“I understand that, Chief. But we need these men to get in line and prepare for battle, no matter what ends up happening. They can’t preoccupy themselves with concerns about the future.”

“Yessir, we know sir. Shall I call up the commissar then, sir?” Ables looks decidedly unhappy about that prospect, and you know it wouldn’t do you much good.

“I’m sure the commissar is busy with his own preparations for battle. I’d like to address the men in his stead. If your sergeants could ask them to focus on me…” The gunnery chiefs salute you and head back to their crews as you and Elim walk up to the turret command console, which rises above the deck so as to give the gun captain and his officer’s a full view of the gun crews as they work.

“You know what you’re going to say, Trist?” Elim pulls on the collar of his uniform as he walks alongside you, though his tone is light and unworried. The two of you start climbing the bare metal stair that leads up to it.

“Well, I thought I’d appeal to their baser instincts. Glory, survival, the chance to purge the xenos.” You stop talking as you reach the top of the stairs and turn towards the waiting gun crews, still not in battle position but huddled and looking up at you.

>Roll 1d20

rolled 5 = 5

>>19426459
Men, look at this tooth I took from the corpse of an Ork. This was managed with a sword and human guts.

IMAGINE WHAT WE CAN DO WITH THESE GUNS!

rolled 8 = 8

>>19426459
Rolling to inspire the men.

>>19426488
>>19426482
God-Emperor on his Throne...

rolled 9 = 9

>>19426495
Why can't we inspire anyone? We're supposed to be good at this. Have we displeased the Emperor somehow?

rolled 2 = 2

>>19426510
Apparently so...

rolled 6 = 6

>>19426543
can't make the rolls any worse

>>19426510
>>19426543
Well okay then, I guess I'll let you guys make 2 more rolls and see what we get...

rolled 17 = 17

>>19426549
Dear god, we haven't gotten a single one above 10. What the hell.

rolled 15 = 15

>>19426549
I'll roll and hope for a 20.

... I can't help but imagine that we just gave the "inspiration" speech from Snow White and the Huntsman, randomly yelling words mixed in with speaking them normally.

I assume that the crews are so confused that they obey us before the crazy spreads.

Your stomach feels like its full of butterflies as you look at the hundreds, hundreds of waiting faces. You realize you’ve never spoken to them like this before, with all of them at full and rapt attention. You open your mouth to speak, and realize in an instant that this was the wrong choice. You really did drink too much at the party last night, and that combined with your nervousness is making you feel as queasy and dizzy as a seasick sailor. But you’ve made your bed; now you have to sleep in it.

“Men of Macrocannon Three! I look upon you and I see strength! I look upon you and I see fury! Strength and fury, wasted! I hear your words, your concerns! Your chiefs say that you are afraid of being boarded! Your chiefs say that you don’t believe you will ever fight! I say, you are wrong! Wrong to fear the xenos! Wrong to feel useless!”

“See this tooth? I ripped this from an Ork, not ten days ago! He was here, on this deck, with his horde of beasts! Defiling the purity of Man’s creation! And I slew him, and our armsmen slew his beasts! Be no afraid of the xenos! Hate the xenos! Stoke that hate, and if you cannot use it then hold it! For surely, the Emperor as my witness, you will need it someday. And when you do, you will be glad. Glad that you stood ready, to vent your holy fury upon the impure and the alien!”

“You are proud voidsmen of the Imperial Navy! The Emperor’s Shield! Your duty is to Him on Earth, to the untold billions of the worlds below us, to your ship, to your captain, to your crew! Do not falter in this moment of doubt! For the moment of war draws ever closer, and you must be ready! Ready to perform your sacred duty!”

>>19426671
Sounds terrible.

>>19426687
“Bridge, this is Macro Three. We stand ready and await your orders.”

“Acknowledged, Three. Good work, you’re the second to report in.” The unseen operator has a deep voice, sonorous and operatic.

“Second? Who was first?”

“Macro One, as always. Your orders will follow shortly.” The vox clicks off and you turn towards the gunnery chiefs standing behind you and Elim.

“Well done, Mr. Ables, Mr. Smyth. I hope the men remember this the next time we sound the klaxon.”

“Oh, ‘m sure they will, sir.”

>>19426770
Well we've got the men together, everyone is in position and we have Orcs to kill. Let's do this. Maybe we'll outshine those torpedo fuckers this time.

>>19426770
The crews wait as the rest of the vessel reports ready to the bridge. As a minor officer, you aren’t privy to the plans of the Lord-Captain, but Battlefleet doctrine is to engage any enemy force inferior in force to your own, stalk those stronger than your own, and engage the enemy when sufficient force has been gathered. As you study the console, you find the display of the CT-381’s auspex. The Enforcer Squadron, five Cobras srong, is arrayed in an aggressive arrow-formation, slightly tighter than normal. You notice the speed the squadron has made leaving the system has taken you to the outer reaches of the system, skirting the planetary rings of Vyan’s eighth planet.

You scroll out to the edges of the auspex’s range and quickly locate the Ork fleet. And fleet it most certainly is. Eight of their ramshackle roks are traveling in a tight box formation behind a large kroozer, while a veritable swarm of escorts and attack craft range around the fleet like a miasmic cloud. It takes you a while to pinpoint the seven escort craft, which continuously dart in and out of the fleet like fish in a school. The rest of the contacts, at least fifty, are Ork attack craft of unknown types, at least at this range.

“What’s the captain thinking?” Elim whispers to you as he leans over the screen, fiddling with the controls to zoom the image out to its maximum resolution.

“Hm?”

“There’s no way we can take on a force of that size by ourselves!” Elim’s right; standard Battlefleet tactics call for a squadron of Cobras to maintain their distance and attack with torpedo salvos, but unless the captain changed course now the squadron would be caught by the Orks. Yet Lord-Captain Belgrano was holding steady on his course.

>And here I have to stop. I thought I had more time, but I don't. I'll be back Sunday at 18:00 again.

>>19426982
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bOKVguQpaY

Outnumbered? More trophies for the wall more like it

>>19426982
Actually, major change of plans, I'm going to have to postpone this to 17:00 on Monday.