The bark of an Exitus rifle marked the end of the leader of the enforcers, and then hell broke loose.

In an instant, the air was filled with the revving of machines, the yells of soldiers and the steady, constant cracks and rattles of autogun fire. Before the commander's headless corpse had hit the ground, lascannons hummed, lethal charges deposited into the air towards the massed forces around the manor, and any civilians that had been sticking around now rapidly ran for cover. The arbites, being the most prominently exposed, would find themselves under a hailstorm of bullets, the Lockshields holding up admirably well considering the calibre that was raining down onto them.

The guard would face equally stiff resistance. An autogun chattered out a reply, one of the vehicles wrecked as its heavy rounds smashed the steel and tore apart the engine. The fortress walls shuddered at the impact but held steady, even as more enforcers began to throw grenades or light up any guardsman that seemed too exposed.

"They have snipers." The assassin's voice crackled out over the comms, before his exitus rifle would cough out its muffled shots and he would amend his sentence. "They had snipers. The Emperor protect your assault. We'll handle our targets."

---

As the firing patterns were uploaded, there came a response from inside the foundry. Adjustments, tweaks here and there, the introduction of new shooters that the squad did not have. As if to answer why this was, the heavy blast door would open with surprising celerity, a series of servitors shambling out lead by a single red-robed figure and several shirtless, augmented workers carrying the sort of personal firearms that was common among the hives. The gangers outside, clearly having not anticipated such a ferocious alpha strike fell like wheat did against the scythe, their blood ignobly trickling out onto the street.

Foreman Talos at your service. The red-robed figure's brass-shod staff, the end proudly displaying a faintly illuminated mechanicus skull showed his rank, the techpriest barely inclining his head in a sign of respect. Please, come with me. I have learnt of the loyal mission here, and there are many things of urgency to show you.

---

Could silence be aggressive? It seemed silly, but this silence certainly did. As the squad moved through the pitch black hallways, lights swinging about, there came an open doorway. It didn't seem to be crucial, it was slender and cheaply constructed, so certainly not a bulkhead, but that didn't reduce the number of questions it raised. Until, of course, the squad stepped through the doorway. Hardly had their lights begun to illuminate this new room when one of them fell onto a figure, dark cloak hiding them in the crook of the room. In a single movement and with barely a rustle of sound a gunbarrel would emerge, and then the entire room would blossom with light.

A shotgun blast tore its way out, even as the multicoloured hues of differently-aligned las capacitor silently signalled death. Just how many figures were in this room? In the hailstorm of fire, it was impossible to tell, but none of them appeared to have sympathies for these new trespassers.

The magos noted the alterations and additions of secondary shooting patterns and lanes of fire, altering the Skitarii patterns to account for this as well, and as the well timed forge workers, servitors, and Foreman struck outwards, the practiced, focused fire of the Skitarii Alphas made mincemeat of the gangers. Typical of unaugmented scum, unaware and unready for an unrelenting, unannounced strike of overwhelming force. The appropriate protocol for the task leads to appropriate results, and once the gangers were dead and their blood pooling in the street, the Skitarii reformed ranks. From firing positions and locations to a moving pattern once again similar to prior. Volkite Caliver to the Magos' left, Rotary Cannon to the right, ranks filling out to the left and right respectively. The Magos was taking the lead now, with the Ranger Alpha Primus filling his spot between the Rotary Cannon and Volkite Caliver wielding Skitarii Alphas.

"Well met, Foreman. Lead the way, and show what is needed to be shown." The Skitarii would fall in behind the Magos without a word or single unnecessary sound. They were on constant vigil, as was RT-A-221 with his Omnispex, whilst the Magos would focus most of his non occupied resources on the Foreman and the situation at hand. It was not a leap of logic for a servant of the Omnissiah to divine the purpose of the Rangers and Magos here, probes for heresy had returned nothing of note, and as such the usefulness of the Foreman and his, albeit far less blessed, troops had been noted. Once the primary objective had been located, secondary objectives could be generated and logged as appropriate. That would come upon securing of Primary Objective, however, and it was likely this was one of the things the Foreman wished to show. Ideally, means to move the munitions would be available as well, and should be, but given the state the forge had been in when approached by his Skitarii, he could not operate under standard operating information with acceptable accuracy.

---

"Inquisition, identif-!"
The stormtrooper sergeant's yelling was interrupted by a violent cascade of small arms fire. Munitions slammed against and ricocheted from Crusader Mellem's suppression shield mercilessly. Many of the concentrated shots that missed or bounced from the shield slammed into the three leading team members: Enginseer von Toor was struck mostly harmlessly, the damage being reduced to sparks between excessive augmentation and armour, but the less comprehensive carapace armour of the crusader and the stormtrooper offered less protection. What shots did not find flesh directly bruised and battered through armour, affecting almost exclusively limbs with due thanks to the suppression shield.

But that was only the first volley. The gunfire continued, pounding the crusader back through the doorway. Half of a burst from a boarding shotgun - some ricocheted, some direct hits - struck into Agletdinovas side, prompting cries of pain to seep through his teeth. His cuirass took the force of the blow about as much as his ribcage. Lifting his meltagun to take a snapshot, Agletdinova fired through the gap between the suppression shield and the frame of the door at one of the robed men with a boarding shotgun, which he barely missed. Wisps of smoke even rose from the robes of the shotgunner from the proximity of the blast.

By all accounts, it was a textbook ambush: both well-positioned and well-executed. A quick glance between Stanislaus and Bruna established that quite promptly.

"Fury, zero-two!" yelled Stanislaus, as the stormtrooper and the enginseer both peeled back into cover. Parasha pressed up the column as she snatched a stubpistol into her off-hand, where she swiped a grenade from the air tossed underarm to her from the jogging Sister Hellenboldus. As Parasha lifted a finger from her pistol to grasp the pin of the grenade, Hellenboldus ducked behind the crusader, narrowly avoiding the torrent of gunfire to take up a position on the other side of the doorway.

Only the rattling of the grenade lever betrayed the greater meaning of Stanislaus' theatrics.
"Rejoice!"



The live grenade, nursed to within mere moments of its detonation, flew elegantly live a dove over the suppression shield and through the doorway. Its detonation, which wreaked havoc before it could even hit the ground, was not elegant. With synchronized fury, as the explosion racked the room, Hellenboldus tilted around the corner to present her left forearm, a sliver of her helmet, and the barrel of her combiflamer. From the darkness came holy light: light from the flamer of the firearm and light from the cloaked men in the left half of the room, many of which set ablaze by the sister's judgment. It was almost poetic: for their crimes, they would be used as live, burning torches to illuminate the path for the inquisition.

While gritting his teeth, Agletdinova peered from the doorway to fire a second time at the same shotgunner he missed. The sheer heat of the blast turned the recovering shotgunner from cloth to ash in mere moments.
"Inject!" the Sergeant ordered as he put a hand to the crusader's shoulder and leaned in towards him. With thunderous footsteps and now strobing flashlights, the party pushed into the room.

Crusader Mellem, Sergeant Agletdinova, and Enginseer von Toor stormed the flaming left side of the room like hammers. The suppression shield endured the brunt of scattered gunfire while the trio descended onto their quarries. In their own ways, the power sword and meltagun were elegant. One cut cleanly through flesh and armour alike, scattering blood across the flame-lit walls, while the meltagun simply turned men to ash. The Omnissian power axe, on the other hand, was not nearly so subtle. What men were not simply cleaved in two were splayed open in a churn of blood and gore. One assailant managed to evade a strike from the haftstrike, only to have his robed grasped by the servoarm and crushed like mere fruit. The enginseer didn't even break his stride.

The survivors of the blast on the other side of the room, as well as the assailants still in position in the centre, found little mercy themselves. As the wrecking ball of men swept through the left side of the room, Hellenboldus and Stanislaus both took position on either side of the doorway. Disciplined firing arcs .75 explosive bolter fire did horrible things to men and marines both - but in this case, as the duo rained bolter fire and literal fire both on the robed assailants, it was especially horrible to men.

At the rear of the party, Parasha took her second stubpistol in her main hand as she knelt by the navigator and the autosavant. It was an honoured role to be trusted with the rear of the advance, even if it was not a glamorous one. Meanwhile, Birgitte hammered furiously at her cogitator-tome, document all accounts of the battle that she could perceive while Bruna stood still, steeling her focus. Her duty, much like Parashas, was likewise underappreciated: it was her task to mask Stanislaus' presence from the warp, lest malign beings interrupt their blessed work. Notably, one was absent from the rear guard.

The last shotgunner, who had to fumble to thumb a slug from the shotgun sling to the shotgun, lifted his firearm to level it with the exposed stormtrooper sergeant. Had he not glimpsed a glimmer of movement and a splash of blood from where his two comrades once were, he may have even finished the deed. Instead, he twisted about to present the shotgun at the flurry of movement, where the muzzle flash illuminated open air. It was only the faint breath on the assailants neck that betrayed the Third Thorn, as she plunged a power sword through each arm and forced the voidsman to a kneel with a knee to the back.

The last assailant averted his gaze when faced with harsh strobing light, to only be slammed to the floor next to his crucified comrade with a blast from the suppression shield. The sensory assault that was burning flesh, strobe lights, and the lingering shock of the suppression shield, only added to the horror of what felt like a vice bearing down onto his skull, or a drill being driven through his head. It was no doubt made worse by his own hands taking his firearm before him, acting on their own accord before his very eyes, and lifted towards the crucified robed assailant. Fighting the malign force only made the vice grips on his head clamp tighter. From the corner of his sight, seemingly too controlled by the malign force, a man in witch hunters robes slowly strode into the room, shadowed by three other figures from the hallway, with a hand clamped in a fist while an assembly of men formed a permit around the event.

Mechanic whirring in the hallway prompted the stormtrooper sergeant, who was already mended by Parasha while in the defensive harbor, to yell:
"More activity, Interrogator, presumably hostile!" he called, keeping his aim focused on a doorway. "Make it fast!"
"Very well," sighed Stanislaus, as he stepped up to the two half-live robed assailants. Through his psychic will made manifest, he forced the downed assailant to point his autogun square at the crucified assailant's face. "Redeem yourself now, or you will kill him by your own hand. Who do you work for, and which direction are the engines from here?"

Meanwhile, as the complete Inquisitorial retinue settled into their defensive harbor, von Toor began his pace around the inside of the harbour, scouring through the corpses of men for voxbeads or documents, or any other useful tidbit that he could read or tap into.

No positive response. What a pity.

The order to fire was taken by the Assassins; consequently, their leader's death was taken poorly by the Enforcers, and Hektor and his two companions were engulfed in a storm of autocannon fire. This was not precisely what they were designed for, but it was nonetheless more than sufficient to keep them alive and well for the time being, even if shooting back was tricky. The Repressor, by contrast, was quite well-suited to enduring modest weapons fire, and those within retaliated accordingly: it pressed forward just behind the infantry formation even as that moved to one side to let it pass, unleashing a storm of autopistol fire and shotgun shells from its sides, and a combination of tear gas grenades launched over the walls and disorienting blasts from the water cannons, not to mention both the Marshal's heavy stubber and the Magistrate's bolt cannon unleashing hell upon those on the wall.

What really did the trick, at least from Hektor's perspective, were the Judge's homing Executioner shells - no shotgun was precisely engineered to hit targets with both a height and distance advantage, but the Judge sharing a locked formation with him managed to get several clean shots in, taking out at least three Enforcers before reloading. Not to say either himself or the Arbitrator failed in their positions either, the Arbitrator's shotgun offering a fairly wide spread to at least ensure damage, if not precisely kills, whilst his own bolt pistol hammered out rounds that, more often than not, pierced armour and blew apart flesh.

But they couldn't get all of them. Suffice to say, the Guard's support was much appreciated here even if it was as good as covering fire, and the Assassins handling both enemy snipers and dealing with their own targets would be an easy enough procedure for them. The problem was that, even after the Lockshield formation moved to take proper cover behind the Repressor, and even as that moved in close enough for the cannons to stop being merely confusing and start being enough to push targets back and to a fatal drop, there was far too much firepower coming their way even if it was slowing gradually. They had to be much more efficient: if they moved that lascannon over to this side, then never mind the Lockshields - it could very well eradicate the vehicle and everybody inside it with contemptuous ease in very short order.

Which made it a very good thing when the sound of mechanical baying began to be heard, followed not long after by yells of surprise, and then screams of pain and fear. The cavalry had found a way on to the barricade.

---

Victoria had to be honest: Michael's relative lack of talk with her was annoying. He and his fellow Verispexii had a vox connection running, and he was using the opportunity to chat with them a lot more than he was chatting with her. She liked having people to run her mouth with when she wasn't actively controlling the hounds, and somebody doing so without her was, honestly, frustrating.

But, it did leave her with plenty of room to keep her eyes open for a doorway into the facility, as well as keeping the cyber-mastiffs on track alongside the bike. She had to keep a good deal of distance and a few buildings between the Rumbler and the estate proper, just to make sure she wasn't pinged along the way, but that made actually finding a door-like object that much harder. It was armoured, but it wasn't perfect.

Then again, Mikey was apparently just an expert when it came to peripherals - quite abruptly, mid-sentence even, he called out 'Stop!', and by the time Victoria had slammed the brakes on the bike and called the mastiffs to a stop, they'd gone an alley past where they wanted to be, seemingly. It didn't take too long for her to bring the Rumbler back around, though, and... well, there it was. A door. Heavily reinforced, and clearly difficult to break into, but it was a weakpoint! They had their in!

Now they just had to break it open. That would be the job of the assault cannons. But with Enforcers already beginning to mill up top, they'd have no time to do this even semi-subtly... busting through it was, apparently.

'Hold on tight, love,' she suggested rather than ordered, giving Michael a chance to cling to her waist before she slammed down on the accelerator, charging the closed-off opening with increasing exhilaration and ever more gunfire aimed toward them. To any layperson's eyes, this would just look like a suicidal charge - but as they got in range, she pressed a button, and unleashed hell in the form of a wall of sound and light, and hundreds of assault cannon rounds per second straight toward the doorway.

Michael screeched. Vickie laughed. The door... well, it might have been made of adamantium for all she knew, but assault cannons had been known to melt Guard-grade armour for sheer output, and she had two going at once. The door stood no chance - though it was still standing as she drew close, it was riddled. One more big impact...

'Wait NO- WUAAGH!'

She'd slowed a little bit before halting the fire and pulling the bike back on one wheel. That was so she didn't just crash straight into a wall. Or, for that matter, the door. But with all the Rumbler's energy focused at the top, crashing through it was less a matter of brute force, and more of extremely potent leverage. It snapped off the top hinge like a gunshot, and the bottom like a lawbreaker's arm being twisted beyond integrity. The end result was a very heavy bike smashing through a perforated door, skidding sideways and barely slowing itself in time to turn a fatal impact with the wall not far opposite into an unpleasantly hard knock for the passengers.

'Attack mode, lethal force! Go go go!' Victoria yelled back through the doorway, instinctive command rather than any conscious will, the cyber-mastiffs charging into the ruined doorway even as both humans struggled to regain their bearings after such a heavy impact. Had Michael been knocked out? She knew she hadn't, he was more lightly armoured though... her arm felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer even through the carapace, though. She hoped he didn't die on her account, the Justicar would have her head for that.

Nonetheless, as the carnage audibly began, and the mastiffs began to kill, Victoria smacked herself once across the jaw, then leapt out the clear side, shotgun in hand and firing over and over at the first Enforcers she saw, managing to clip one's arm before she took cover behind a nearby pillar. Thank the God-Emperor most of them were occupied with the defense from the forces out front right now, because it made her job so much easier! Even Michael was getting involved with his own weapon from inside the bike, bless him, but the real force multiplier was the hounds. Busker and Vaudeville were top of the line when it came to cyber-mastiffs - top-end tracking equipment, sure, but more pertinently a good deal of armour for their size, enough agility and posture to become very difficult targets for incoming fire, and an array of incredibly lethal hidden "teeth". Right now, both had the chain-threshers out, easily capable of gnashing through carapace, muscle and bone in one fell swoop. And that was a huge psychological factor as well: these untrained clowns could barely handle a single real Arbitrator, she suspected, which made a pair of mechanical mutts with chainsword maws all the more insurmountable, not to mention all the more terrifying for them.

They'd started with five opponents in the hallway. It took maybe fifteen seconds to take that down to zero, but with more coming from the right-hand corridor. Ordering the mastiffs to heel, she dragged Michael out of the bike and carried on left of the Rumbler's entry point. The key, of course, was with her, and any Enforcer stupid enough to try and force it to start would be unpleasantly surprised when the engine blew out on them. Not that having it blow was a good thing, but then who would try to drive a bike through a pretty narrow corridor?

'Alright, Michael, we need to find some stairs,' she announced, reloading the shotgun swiftly. 'Any idea where they-'

'One hundred seven meters ahead, spiral stairwell, likely accesses the top wall.' Oh, wow, she didn't know she had a Tech-priest for a partner now. What was with that emotionless voice, anyway?

Sure enough, about a hundred meters into that corridor, they spotted another doorway, this one connected to a conspicuous half-tower embedded in the wall. And, yep, it opened on to a spiralling staircase, an ascending square running up the inside of the embankment, to what looked like somewhere up the top of the wall. And from up top... that sure did sound like the enemy starting to come down.

'Stealth mode, combo pin-execute, up the stairs,' she murmured. The dogs went silent very quickly - unnervingly so as they charged up, actually. For this one, Busker got the piercing spikes, whilst Vaudeville took out the monoblade; SOP was for the former to snare the target's limbs and drag them down, whilst the latter went for the throat, almost always a poorly-guarded weakpoint between helmet and chestplate. And they'd still need a distraction - luckily, Victoria had Enforcers to shoot up at.

She did, but not before climbing to the point that she and Michael were first noticed. Or was that the mastiffs? Didn't matter; the Enforcers were quickly distracted by a minor fusillade of autopistol fire, their own rounds being deflected by the lockshields she and Michael put between them and their foes. And not long after that, the cyber-mastiffs found their way to their targets, starting to turn them into mincemeat one by one. She trusted Vaudeville to take out the weapon hands of anyone trying to aim at them directly, of course, just as much as she trusted Busker to keep the body he was wrangling between himself and the enemies trying to shoot him; after all, that's how she's programmed them to act in a scene like this.

Suffice to say, only one Enforcer was left by the time Handler and Verispex made it to the top; Vaudeville had taken some hits to one side, but he was still raring to go, snapping at the hand of the last opponent even as he desperately tried to keep it away from the dog and aim at it at the same time. A burst of autofire to his face quickly put an end to those aspirations, and no further resistance met them before they made it up.

They were there. The top of the wall was visible - and so too were quite a lot of big gun installations.

'Lascannon spotted,' Michael intoned, pointing off in the mid-distance of the wall. Yep, that was big and heavy and sure looked like it had a big honking energy pack moving with it. Toward the bulk of the fighting, at that.

'Michael, shields up, cover our back,' she announced, before turning to the cyber-mastiffs again. 'Attack mode, full lethal, prioritise heavy weapon operators. Forward!' With those orders, out came the thresher-maws again, the mastiffs charging ahead along the wide passage, Victoria charging along with them with her autopistol raised and ready to open fire, and Michael taking up the rear with the lockshield in one hand. He'd know before she did if they were about to be attacked, either way. She'd just focus on taking out the heavy weapons.

"These are the weapons we have made. The weapons we must keep. Techpriest-junior, ignite the rad-incense. Runepriest, are the spirits asleep?" Talos's arm indicated only vaguely towards the people as he spoke to them, and speak he did for it was clear one of them was unmodified enough to require it. Calling them a 'techpriest-junior' was a compliment, for they hardly seemed to have replaced any of their form at all, and they certainly bore no red robes.

"Yes, brother-foreman." Incense burners would be brought out, Talos igniting his with the plasma igniter of a mechandrite, swinging the censer back and forth slowly. The irritating, purifying stench of the chemical concoction within the skull shaped vessel would fill the air, and the small group would descend, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the foundry. Security doors would pull aside as if a sea parted, until finally, in a reinforced blast room at the centre of the facility, they would halt. "Brothers. Bear forth the weapons we have created. Do not wake them." A hymn of tranquillity would start throughout the room, red robed figures carefully lifting out dozens of warheads and aligning them carefully for inspection.

It was not difficult to see what kind of weaponry they were. Each and every warhead had an angel-like trefoil emblazoned on the side of it, and the Magos' in built Geiger counter would imperceptibly begin to tick up as more of the weapons were unveiled. "Behold brother," Talos would electronically send. Blessed Atomics.

---

Stanislaus would have sensed the briefest of hesitations in the two men, but almost as one they acted. It was a small move; so tiny, so innocent... And so difficult to stop. A push of the lounge, a crunch of the jaws, and their lives would slip away, the foam around their mouths the only sign of what they'd done. That, of course, simply intensified the mysteries of this site. Specially operating armsmen, with night vision goggles and fanatical devotion enough to kill themselves for the cause on a remote black site in the upper atmosphere? Their voxbeads were no use either- they ran on a closed circuit with each other and nothing else. It was like the whole station had been designed to blind invaders. The men and women carried little on them; extra ammunition, flak jackets, one or two held explosives they had clearly been cautious to use for fear of damaging the hull of the ship. Whatever personal effects they had lay elsewhere aboard the ship, the room that the squad found themselves in scorched and shot apart to the extent that it was hard to tell what its original purpose was.

No further sound came from the hallway. The whirring was still there- a constant, steady sound, without interruption or pause, but there was no tramping of feet, no half-muffled orders, not even a whisper to imply that there were more of these shadowy armsmen preparing to push the squad out of their temporary respite. Of course, it wasn't as if they needed to; for the moment, the Tombstone was still firmly in enemy hands, and the only way that would change was if Stanislaus' forces made it so.

---

"ARBITERS BROUGHT THEIR BITCHES!" One of the enforcers howled out a warning, and suddenly the cyber-mastiffs were receiving an awful lot of attention. An enforcer in bulkier armour and with a tattered cape around his shoulders would level a plasma pistol towards the two baying mechanical hounds. The magnetic field spooled up with lethal energy, but just before it could be released the officer would stumble, half-decapitated by an exitus round to the neck. The assassins hadn't quite given up their position just yet it seemed. Nonetheless, one man was not the entire resistance against these invaders. More and more small arms fire would be poured onto them, and a particularly enterprising individual would scoop the plasma weapon up, hunkering down and firing until the monoblade punctured his sternum.

Then, came an unusual command. "PULL BACK. OUTER WALLS HAVE BEEN LOST. WE'LL HOLD THE SECOND LINE OF DEFENCE!"

"That's our cue to be entering the facility. Our thanks for penetrating the first line." XXIII's words came smooth over the vox, and then the channel fell silent once more. Alpha, Beta and Gamma now had mere minutes left before their lives were ended... But if they weren't careful, so did the arbites and guard.

The conditions of the augmentation among those who bore even junior titles was a sorry thing indeed, however, the Magos did not interfere with the rituals and soothing of machine spirits present, allowing the foundry personnel to handle their operations. Moving down into the depths of the foundry, it was clear that production had been undertaken regardless of orders, altering mission parameters appropriately and noting the subtle details and specifics of the rituals. The lack of proper attire was also noted, though given its a hiveworld foundry and a far cry from the glory of the Omnissiah's explorator fleets, let alone the Forge Worlds themselves, it was likely a byproduct of their resources.

Finally, they reached the most secure depths of the foundry, and the weapons were brought forth for his personal inspection. The subtle clicking and ticking of built in counters would announce what these blessed munitions were before even visual data could be collected and gathered. If such munitions had been known to be here, instead of mere melta munitions, Vanugard forces would have likely been tasked with deployment. Still, the weapons would surpass any dreams the Inquisitor might have had, though she likely would have preferred melta torpedoes instead. It was...unlikely the location being secured could safely store atomics, given the ticking of the counter already, and inspection would commence with such things in mind. He was no Vanguard, but radiation meant little to the Magos who had so little flesh left. "Praise be unto the Omnissiah, such blessed munitions will serve well."

"How soon can the blessed atomics be prepared for relocation? Reports and plans must be made to accommodate these armaments, and what status is your foundry in?" Once sufficient information and time tables could be gathered from the Foreman, the Magos would have to see to contacting the Inquisitor and ensuring she was aware of the new development and resources that had been put at her fortunate disposal. Should the shielded depths of the foundry prevent communications, the Magos would relocate as necessary to inform the Inquisitor of current goings on and status of the foundry mission. The mechanicus forces present had not proven heretical in nature, despite their lack of augmentation, and would prove useful. Doubly so should the foundry be able to remain secure and continue producing munitions and armaments for the Omnissiah.

---

Between the

The roadblock was set up, two trojan carriers lined up on either side of the road, a mortar in the pit of one, and the trailer with the autocannon on it. They were mainly there to resupply any unit in the nearby operations area that was running low on ammunition, as well as to be a light fire support team if needed. Over the vox, there was plenty of comms communication coming from the units behind them closer to the manor. Adrian listened to the battle that raged further up the hive towards the governor's manor that the Arbites were at.

But there was a small crowd of about fifteen people on the trailer trojan looking at the radio, and the mortar team was in the trojan also listening to their vox.

"I bet the General is glad the newest regiment of soldiers is currently playing whack a palace today," Corporal Baum said staring at the radio. "Nat, you've been in the guard for a while, what do you think it is?"

The Seargent turned his head up at the man, and shrugged, "I've fought in the war, not in political stuff... We weren't in the briefing like the other regiment was... If anything it's some guy who wanted to try ruling his planet without the Emperor's light. I've fought in two wars against traitors. I guess this time, someone wanted to stop a war before it happened. But, if the traitors knew we were coming, fourth and fifth will likely have to be called, and we will likely take place for the second and first down the road."

Nat's hand raised down the road they were facing, "If need be we can always fall back to the operation area and have hottie over there can clear the way for the arbites to finish with whatever is left of those other guardsmen."

"Okay Seargent depressing, say that first company gets sent in and demolished and we get sent up there, what are we going to do. We are half strength at best, our only redeeming quality is the heavy weapons and fast armored logistics vehicles we have. Oh, also the fact that if we die, who is cooking dinner for all the other platoons?" Tilly spoke out.

"The fact that we have armored vehicles, the trojan is meant for logistics in inhospitable and hostile environments. Once we get there, we can set up triage for our wounded, as well as set up supporting fire. Once the fourth and fifth get closer, our flanks should be clear. The second has the only way up here right now. We are just here in case if someone starts getting their asses kicked harder than they can handle." Adrian said at the back of the pack. "Now, get back to watching the road... and be prepared to move out in a minute."

Adrian climbed aboard the trojan and entered through the cargo hatch on the roof of the hull, and moved behind the driver, Private Less. The lieutenant was smushed between a large number of standard laspacks, as well as a portable cooker. On the other side were several cots, a few tents, and some medical supplies. Just standard stuff for the logistics people to have. He listened to the vox broadcasts and closed his eyes listening to the voices.

He decided that it was time to start packing up, he felt like they were fixing to have to move soon enough, "Mount up!" he yelled out as he moved his head out of the cargo hatch. "We are going to be moving out shortly, tie down the autocannon, and hold on!"

"Mount Up!" was an immediate response from everyone in the small area.

As soon as he said to mount up, everyone was moving, the mortar team was pretty much in place, Corporal Cel just closed the driver's hatch. Gunner Laws and Corpswoman Dennve had also hopped inside the mortar pit of that vehicle, to split the group up somewhat more evenly. Meanwhile, Less had closed his hatch too, turning the engine over as black smoke poured from the exhaust for a moment before the sputtering engine decided it wanted to even itself out. There were ropes on the trailer keeping the wheels firmly planted on the trailer, but its crew was crouched next to it, waiting to grab hold when they moved out.

The rest of the squad had piled in with the Lieutenant, Corpsman Long was beside him and Lord across from him leaning on the cooker. The other guardsmen probably could handle it if everything went all right, but he had felt something to be off. Hopefully, no plea for reinforcements would come, but he was ready to set out from the small road that he was asked to sit in. They were logistics, they had tents and shit, not bodies for something like that. They could set up a triage center and bomb the living hell out of something from a short distance, but storming something was likely to be on the list this group of individuals was keen on doing. Maybe they could do something like make that triage center, or make sure that the inside of the palace was reduced to large chunks of rubble.

The outer wall was secure. It was inevitable, frankly - the rogues had numbers, but much like the Imperium against any other barbarian horde, discipline and superiority of equipment proved their might over those who would pit themselves against humanity, even other humans. And when it came to what amounted to thugs in carapace armour against the true upholders of the Lex Imperialis...

Well, it was an inevitability regardless. The Guard's melta bomb bought them the entrance, opening it up for the vehicles to enter through; the cyber-mastiff handler bought them the parapets, ending the threat of heavy weaponry for the time being. The assassins declared their intent to enter at this stage, leaving the men and women on the ground to plan the second level of the siege.

'Arbites, regroup at my position!' Hektor called out through his shield-vox, the men and women of the Adeptus Arbites moving to him behind one of the buildings in the structure as the last of the Enforcers fled into their inner keep. Amongst them, Handler Ceras and Adept Frea appeared, along with the two cyber-mastiffs - though they were both clearly quite battered, marks and dents scarring their outer shells, and on one of them the telltale signs of plasma burn, they certainly weren't destroyed yet.

'Good work thus far,' the Justicar addressed the team. 'The facility is breached, but it is yet to be taken back in full. From here forward, we will likely need to approach on foot; the Rumblers don't have an angle on the mansion, and the Repressor will need to be brought in later, unless some of you want to risk being caught in a fresh crossfire to open the door.' Kowl and Lance glanced at each other, Hektor could only assume debating with themselves whether they could get the other to do it, but when they said nothing, he turned to the breaching team. 'Handler, Verispex, your role was well-executed. Anything to report?'

'Sir, we've gotten a Rumbler into the inner walls,' the brighter woman announced, smiling with just a hint of worry. Worry? 'Incidentally, some fresh welding may be needed at the access point later.' Ah. And by "got the Rumbler in", she presumably meant "used it as a battering ram". Hektor sighed with minor annoyance. Those weren't indestructible, for the Emperor's sake.

'Additionally, sir,' Michael added, 'we have secured the majority of heavy weapons on the outer wall, including the lascannon and a plasma pistol. I would recommend relaying these to the Imperial Guard; they will see more use under them, I suspect.'

'Sir! Permission to equip Verispex Adept Michael with the plasma pistol?' Victoria asked, utterly out of step and clearly unexpected on his end.

'Denied. We don't know whether it's been properly maintained or engineered, and if it overheats, it'd likely kill any of us, let alone him. And watch when you speak, Handler.'

'...wul- well I can throw it-'

'Denied, Verispex. You can examine it later if you're still intent.' The enthusiasm was appreciated, but like a plasma pistol's power, it needed to be directed. And he suspected Michael just wanted to try and back up Victoria, rather than actually putting himself at risk.

'Magistrate Kowl,' he continued, seeking to proceed with the matter rather than giving the Enforcers more time to regroup than necessary, 'lead half the Arbitrators plus Handler Ceras to the Guard Captain, inform them that they are recommended to take control of the autocannon and lascannon installations for the next phase of the operation. Marshal Lance, everybody else, you're with me. Lockshields primed for movement.'

'Yes, sir!' the team replied - Rheanna in particular with a growl of enthusiasm, and Darius much less so. That rivalry really needed to remain unencouraged as far as possible, in his mind. Nonetheless, the split was made: the Magistrate's team of six moved out in the direction of the Imperial Guard's forces, cyber-mastiffs and all, whilst the Justicar led his party of nine in the opposite direction, moving quickly between structures to minimise exposure to the Enforcers and get as close as possible. Should any show their faces, of course, he'd do what he could to put rounds in them, but then one could only do so much at a distance.