Author Notes:
Good old GSS... Feel like it's been a while since I last written a GSS chapter, although it's really not the case as I still keep it update regularly. Goes to say how my brain is so packed with ideas that my sense of time is disrupted.
That said, shout out Kasper Vinther for your one-off donation! And salutation to Captain balmung1989 for your stint with us! The Captain is retiring, but hopefully he will return to the fold on a later date!
Now, as per usual, don't forget that we have a 25% discount running from now to the 22nd of May for all newcomers on Patreon. So grab it while it's hot and enjoy either your first month or first year off and get access to multiple Early Access chapters across all three stories!
Right now, Mom and I really need all the help we can get to search for a new home, again... Sigh.
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For my fics:
https://discord.gg/cVZxJ29ruh
https://www.webnovel.com/book/reich-marshal-of-the-belkan-reich_23809095505377305
https://www.webnovel.com/book/in-the-grimdark-sector-with-a-system_31596105108346205
https://www.webnovel.com/book/my-soul.-occupied-body---please-the-other-me...!_35377211308783905
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/2271569/reich-marshal-of-the-belkan-reich/
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With a low hiss and rumbling, the rear ramp of Roughneck 1-1's Valkyrie is lowered, allowing us to set out feet on more stable ground at last. And near immediately, 3rd Platoon starts making ourselves comfortable around some empty crates by the side of the rudimentary landing pads. Soon enough, the pilots from Roughneck Section join us as we watch an Arvus Lighter, bearing the markings of the Orders Hospitaller, touch down upon a larger landing zone. From there, we watch in silence as our injured are carried off to receive better treatment. Our friend, Drake, is among them, pale-faced on a stretcher.
I sigh, sitting down on an empty crate with a Long-las slung behind my shoulder, and Black Steel propped just in front of me.
"It's over, for now..." I reach a hand to open up my rebreather, allowing the polluted ocean wind to caress my face. "Heh. Raise your hand if your trigger finger ain't aching."
At my words, only the pilots from Roughneck Section raise their hands, whereas the remaining members of 3rd Platoon can only laugh wryly as tension leaves their shoulders. Johnson pulls out a cigarette with ashen fingers, and it takes him three tries to light up the uneven stick. Scorpin sits on the ground with her back against a stack of crates while her girlfriends lean on her shoulders, doing their best to catch their breath. Weiss shifts uncomfortably on her legs before finally taking her seat next to me, resting her Lasrifle across her lap with its depleted power pack pulled out.
The sun is setting, and we have fought nearly continuously for almost a day. It's only through sheer grit, experience, and Battle Meditation keeping them fueled that they didn't collapse outright, going from one battle to another. Still, it's clear that 3rd Platoon is now experiencing battle fatigue. While 3rd Platoon is more than capable of continuing to fight the good fight, it's tactically unsound to keep placing us on high-risk deployments. A fatigued unit is more at risk of incurring unnecessary losses on the battlefield. Since we weren't supposed to be deployed on this decapitation ops in the first place, we might very well be grounded after this, for a variety of reasons. Regardless, I look forward to the subsequent debrief, but I would rather avoid the wrath from my Mom and the others, if that is responsibly possible.
"Froggers!" Hearing the familiar tone, we all stand up and come to attention, lining ourselves up properly in two neat rows, facing in the direction of the voice.
Lieutenant Kult has been the one to call us out. The one-eyed second-in-command of our First Company is flanked by two Whiteshields who have clearly seen blood. Seeing the Whiteshields' walking postures and the way they hold their firearms, I reckon it will take only a piece of paper and a stamp for them to be promoted to join the ranks of us Regulars.
"Lieutenant!" Johnson snaps a salute, prompting the rest of us to mirror his action.
The Lieutenant returns the gesture crisply before gesturing with her hand.
"At ease, everyone. The Emperor knows you all will need that after all the mess you kept jumping into."
"Glad to be of use, ma'am." Johnson gives a confident, if a bit proud, smirk.
"That wasn't really a compliment, John." Lieutenant Kult rolls her one good eye, hearing the utterly unrepentant tone in our Sergeant's tone. "In a way, you all are just like Captain Rogers, always going feet first into Hell. Keeping you all alive is a challenge and a half. Anyway..."
The Lieutenant fixes us with a gaze.
"Words have it that the decapitation force, what's left of us anyway, will be taking a back seat for reorganization after debrief. We will have two to three days to recuperate and accept new blood from the Whiteshields before redeployment. The Lucifer Blacks will fill the gaps in firepower in the interim."
"Two to three days?" Johnson raises an eyebrow. "We would be halfway finished gutting Installation 08 of its internal holdings then. Heck, things may be over by the time we get back out here! Pretty sure we didn't get hit that hard, right? But then again, the Captain did get knocked out..."
Lieutenant Kult shrugs at Johnson's minor bout of confusion.
"If I were you, I would accept that grace period for your wounded, John."
"Don't get me wrong, I would gladly keep my guys accompanied, but it's weird, you know? We're still combat effective." Johnson opens his helmet and scratches his head.
"You know how often it is the brass has called upon us while we're supposed to be resting. This could be a repeat." Lieutenant Kult replies with a matter-of-fact tone.
"Touche." Johnson chuckles wryly. "I will take all the off-the-field time I can get for the team. When is the debrief, Lieutenant?"
"Half an hour from now. You know where to go."
"Alright, be seeing you in half an hour then, Lieutenant."
The one-eyed Lieutenant gives Johnson a nod before turning to look at me, offering a compliment.
"That was some fine shooting, Corporal. Keep up the good work."
"Yes, ma'am!" I give her a salute before the Lieutenant departs with her escort.
Afterward, we all let out a collective exhale. 3rd Platoon shares a look with members of Roughneck Section, with Scorpin asking aloud.
"Well, now what? We have 30 minutes of free time."
Blake hums before crossing her arms, before turning toward her Section's Valkyrie.
"Well, we will hang around here, have the Mechanicus give our machines a lookover. It will be a bit boring for you here if you stick around, as it will be all prayers and inspection works."
"Platoon," Johnson interjects. "Consider this thirty minutes and counting your free time. Hit the shed or hit the meds, your choice, but meet up for debrief in time."
A chorus of affirmation can be heard when Johnson grants us the leave, for now. We bid goodbye to the pilots, one clearly more energetic than the others, before heading to the armory to relinquish our special weapons. Afterward, 3rd Platoon disperses in smaller groups, with Weiss alone accompanying me ever so dutifully.
Standing outside the armory, Weiss offers me a curious look, parroting Scorpin's words from before.
"Well, now what?"
I hum with my fingers on my chin.
"Weiss, what are your thoughts about cyborgs?"
My question is so out of the blue that Weiss, bless her, has her mouth agape.
"Huh?"
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For the better part of that half an hour, Weiss has seen me pulling out a pen and a stack of papers from who knows where and starting to draw one schematic after another. Co-opting a largely intact crate as my desk, I pen down the rough outline of what Robocop Design Knowledge gave me. My drawing speed must have come as a complete shock to the Rookie, seeing how she spent much of the time forgetting how to voice her bewilderment.
After some minutes well spent in productive idleness, a quick check of a timepiece notifies us that it's time to move on. Weiss and I then make our way to the gathering area, and the neatly bound stack of design drafts I painted is tucked securely against my body. Though I can't help but let out a small smile of amusement whenever Weiss looks at me with her confused blue eyes while we walk. It's obvious that she is still reeling from what I've shown her, and from her point of view, what I just conjured may as well be infringing upon the Adeptus Mechanicus' territory.
Perhaps it's not that far off, considering how mechanical modifications of the human body have been the purview of the Mechanicus for countless years. Still, I think my ideas are certainly a tad more elegant and less intrusive on the participant's body. After all, Robocop has a much more pleasant aesthetic. The only issue is getting something that is predominantly 2nd millennium technology and making it fit into the 40K period. You can't just straight up use a space-era alloy in lieu of an ancient, lost recipe, after all. Having gained some experience with updating the Droideka design, I believe I can more easily tackle this task and will present a concrete proposal for alternative sets of military-grade prosthetics that will give disabled war veterans a better chance at reintegrating into the Imperial Guards. At the very least, they won't be lugging around an uncomfortable mass of bronze alloy as a limb replacement.
But well, that's a story for the near future.
When Weiss and I get to the same gathering area where we last stayed for the initial briefing for the decapitation force, we come to see that it now has a rudimentary artillery shelter built over it. In the shadow cast by the newly fabricated roof, we see that the gathering area is mostly full of familiar faces. Nonetheless, a cursory glance is all it takes for me to understand that some acquaintances aren't around anymore.
But such is life.
Of 3rd Platoon, Weiss and I are the first to arrive, it would seem. As such, we pick a good enough spot among the meandering groups of JTF combatants and wait for the others to come. As the seconds tick away, Johnson and Scorpin lead their respective groups to join us. Some seem to have taken a chance at freshening themselves with wet towels. Others have taken to using their recaf rations as a means of swift recharge.
Speaking of recaf, I need to take some time and enjoy the beverage later. Nonetheless, I have a feeling my recaf allowance will be slashed by Mama soon, which will be a sad, sad day for this Corporal right here.
To kill time, Johnson initiates an internal review of the individual elements of 3rd Platoon, citing his observations of our actions and offering some reminders here and there. He also takes in inputs from the others as well, laughing with pride when Scorpin jokes at his expense, referring to the time he spent playing whac-a-mole with that Enchanted Ogryn. Eventually, the top brass of the JTF arrives, causing a curtain of order to befall the once chatty gathering area. On ingrained instincts, all combatants form up orderly rows and columns, divided into specific brackets, depending on our branches of service.
While I don't know exactly why they chose him in particular, Colonel Mustahim of the Cadian 8th tends to be the guy with the speeches in mind for the whole JTF. So it's not exactly a surprise for all of us when he takes to a small podium, formed out of a half-sunken and destroyed Taurox APC.
"Servants of the Imperium," His voice, enhanced by Vox, can be heard clearly beneath the artillery shelter. "Today, your services have made the Emperor proud."
The Colonel pans his steely gaze among all of us: the Cadians, Tech-priests, Sisters of Battle, and Salamander Astartes.
"There have been losses. There have been bittersweet moments. But there are also moments of selfless valor and pivotal interventions that define the very success of the mission you all undertook. You all have bravely stepped into the belly of the beasts, sacrificing your very existence to ensure whoever comes after you can slay the very monster we hate with every drop of our burning blood!" Colonel Mustahim says the last few words with gusto and reddened cheeks. He very much emphasizes the hate part.
With the affirming nods of Mama Elyzabeth and Chapter Master Tu'shan next to him, the Colonel continues.
"And for that, the Imperium of Man acknowledges your deeds, your bravery, your ingenuity, and most important of all, your loyalty. You're the building blocks upon which the Emperor will build the final temple of ultimate victory." The words sure strike a chord in all of us, that's for sure. "As leaders, you all are the finest warriors any of us has had the opportunity to lead. As servants to the Emperor, it's our honor to serve with you, our brothers and sisters in arms."
In a smooth manner, Colonel Mustahim leads the salute. "For the Emperor!"
"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!" In one cohesive manner, the multiple dozens of us all collectively raise the battle cry.
Gotta admit, that's one heck of a short speech. I have heard worse from others, but don't ask me how I know about them.
"Thanks to your effort, we are getting closer to achieving total aerial and orbital supremacy over Installation 08." The Cadian Colonel continues when our roar stops echoing. "The glory of the day belongs to you all. Now get some rest, recuperate your wounds, check your gears, and await further orders. Let others take their own bite at our hateful enemy."
"Dismiss!"