Capítulo 19: Chapter: 3.5
Chapter: Accazius II
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Part: 5
Onboard Departmento Munitorum: Imperial Transport 'Gauntlet'
Hanger WW-004 (West Wing Hanger number 004)
With their short briefing of impending doom concluded, Greybrand dismissed the strike team, giving them time to gather the necessary equipment and ordinance that would likely be required to dissemble a lance battery from the inside. Which was not really that much but they still had to rush back to their Regiment's armory to get the stuff.
Consequently, the time limit she imposed on them was a generous twenty minutes after which those left behind would have to waddle through space with a space suit on because the Inquisitor promised to toss them out when she returned or if she returned from the mission.
With that out of the way, she turned her attention back to the tech priests, or as she had taken to call them, Rusties.
Most of them were busy spraying what looked like holy oil at the Thunderhawk's exterior, which was something she never quite understood. But that was likely the finishing touch for their flight preparation, but since she had twenty minutes to kill, she still asked anyway,
"Is the gunship ready for launch?"
The lead tech-priest nodded, his mechadendrites twitching in excitement.
"Yes, Inquisitor. The Thunderhawk is primed and ready for flight. All systems are green, and the machine spirits are compliant."
"Good,"
Greybrand replied, not getting a whole lot more he said about praising the Omnissiah and the Machine God which should be the same thing. Maybe? She didn't give a Frak of course. Still, she waited for him to finish before giving the final commands,
"Prepare for immediate departure. We launch as soon as the strike teams are aboard."
The tech priest had a surprised look on his face, no doubt he was not used to having someone withstand his fanaticism speech for so long, but still bowed his head in acknowledgment and led his fellow tin cans to do the final checks.
To her pleasant surprise, the Rusties had somehow managed to procure a Multilas for the Thunderhawk's nose cannon, forcing her to reconsider her initial impression of the tin cans only to realize that their motivation was not concern for her but the blasphemy to their nut-and-bolt god by the lack of weapon on a 'gunship.'
After about fifteen minutes and a couple of seething glares from the Sisters of Battle, before they boarded the Thunderhawk later, the Inquisitor sent a message out through her comm-bead, asking the troopers to hurry the frak up.
The Light Infantry's commanding officer, Sergeant Gadiel Teliordatus, a grizzled NCO, marched back into the hanger followed by his men who began to board the Thunderhawk after a hasty salute towards the Inquisitor.
"Ma'am. Fourth Squad, Seventh Platoon, Beta Company, 541st Light Infantry Regiment!"
The man halted a few meters away from her, saluted, and spoke in a voice that emphasized his damaged throat. There was probably a story behind the wound, but she didn't give about it.
He was followed shortly by the Mechanized Infantry Squad's commanding officer, Sergeant Seagoma 'Steel Bolt' Krandido, a bulky Catachan woman. Somehow their commanding officer decided to leave her in charge of this squad, which was a surprise since Catachans were usually kept away from higher-ups who had a knack for showing off their authority.
Good to know that she hadn't been dubbed as a snub-nosed officer by someone at least... or it might just be completely opposite. Truth be told, she had no idea.
"Ma'am. First Squad, First Patrol Detachment, First Company, 332nd Mechanized Infantry Regiment."
The Catachan saluted in an obnoxiously loud voice that drew the attention of almost everyone in the hangar before they returned to their work. Her squad, unlike the Gadiel's men, stayed short of the gunship and waited for the Inquisitor's command.
Now that she had a proper look at the squad, she recognized most of their origin from small details of their homeworlds or... well... if you can count disproportionately large blades, winter clothes, and a drugged haze in a couple of their eyes as small details.
Yep, this reeked of trouble.
As the last of the strike teams boarded the Thunderhawk, Greybrand joined them, taking her place alongside her Honor Guard. The aircraft's engines roared to life, filling the hangar with a deafening roar as it prepared for takeoff.
With a final glance around the hangar, Greybrand nodded to the tech priests, signaling that they were ready to depart. The tech priests made a hasty retreat as the hangar's door slowly began to open, revealing the vast expanse of space beyond the ship's safety.
"Emperor protect us,"
Greybrand heard one of the battle sisters mutter under her breath and fought back a retort, far too busy securing a rebreather on her face as the Thunderhawk lifted off the hangar floor, soaring into the void of the space.
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Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder