Carde and Ains:
The Tau sentry continues scanning with his googles none-the-wiser to your individual locations.
The magnoculars fix on the tree stumps and rocks your colleagues are hidden behind, peering. From this distance through the systems in our own helms, you can spot the very distinctive shuffle of the Fire Warrior's knuckle as he zooms in.
I will update fully on Friday to allow others to get their rolls in if possible.
The Khamsin pattern Land Speeders take off in a roar of engines and buzzing of anti-grav plates. Soon you are whipping over the terrain at breakneck speed, knuckles gripping the handles of the twin-linked heavy bolter mounted in front of you. Kraevus is an excellent pilot, the bob and flit of the Land Speeder easy to compensate for, even for the humans in the back and hanging off the sides with their magboots. Extra pouches of boltgun ammunition are hung around the cockpit. You won't be running short any time soon.
The thought makes you wonder as to your colleagues, and the pilot next to you, do you think to address him as Ironbreaker before you realise he is not? How easy to be cut from brotherhood - yet you know this all too well. Maybe you think of the Space Wolf far to the North, pursuing his own Wyrd.
Irrelevant now. You skip over the Imperial Guard lines and Kraevus patches you into the IG battle-net. The chatter is ecstatic, nothing but excitement at the strange turn of events, yet, as a Chapter practiced in hit-and-run, and knowing the Tau for what they do, maybe the exuberance is premature...the Red Hunter's voice breaks you from the cyclical reverie.
+Predator Two-Five, Viper One. We will engage the first targets in five minutes, over.+
You work the action on the guns and test the pintle. This is going to be interesting.
Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins
Fuel-oils and the scent of burned exhaust metal greeted the back of his nose and throat. The horrible stink of scorched plasteel, where the naked sun had touched it in space, lingered in the air - a delicate cross between extinguished candles, burnt plastic and molten solder. It was a truly awful concoction. "Smells like home," he winked at Tyrell.
The giant stood across from him, visor opened and mask withdrawn. He pointedly sniffed. "You lived in a fart-bottling plant?"
Arron Owen, The Ares Gambit.