Eisenhorn

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

“Attention all hands, we’ve got a little bit of unfriendly behavior. Teg, get to the port turret. I’ll man the starboard. Socket, get me warp right now. Andrea, evasive maneuvers."

"Oh, aye, ah can just work a god's damned miracle an' magic everythin' back to normal!" The sarcasm was dripping even through the comms, though this was also audible over the sounds of the mechanic grabbing the necessary tools to effect rather abrupt emergency repairs, so it was apparent he was obeying the orders. Grabbing a large pipe, kept on hand for emergencies, he hauled it over to the ruined fuel line, continuing to mutter and grumble under his breath, ignoring the attack on the ship until he could get things running only so he could bitch the vultures out good and proper instead of half assing it while working on something else. With a grunt he wedged the pipe, just a touch too large, into place, and began welding, a pair of goggles protecting his eyes from the sparks. The rumbling and hits from the enemy ship caused the pipe to shudder, nearly giving under its own weight, but with some quick welding and judicious application of duct tape to keep it in place, he was able to get the fix patched into place.

"All 'ands! Fuel line repair is in, give 'er a go. An' if I start hollerin', well, y' won't 'ave time to notice if I do." Ansgar had a handful of patch kits and the welder on hand still just in case he needed to jump in and fix something in a hurry. Plus a fresh roll of tape, since the last one had been used up on the pipe job. If it wasn't for the fact that it would both be ineffective and restrict him from fixing engine damage as it came up again, he'd try to put a few holes in the bastards chasing them. With that, he braced himself and had to trust in his patch work, and the fact this old bitch of a ship was a lot tougher than some might credit her at a glance.

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

Ansgar kept his silence when the planetary governor made the 'show of force' by sending escorts to guide the gunship into the atmosphere and towards the planetary governor's personal headquarters, a massive complex of classic Imperial Gothic design. That was something that the Kreiger never truly understood was why there was such an obsession with building higher and higher into a planet's atmosphere. They were massive, easy targets, that would draw attention from any sort of planetary invader. The mention of close quarters fighting potential got a brief nod from the Krieger. Between the heavy duty shotgun he carried, various close quarters kit, and carapace, he was very well equipped for close quarters fighting. "If they intended to intelligently eliminate us, it would have been a strike before we landed. If they try to do it once we're landed, they are being 'subtle' at the expense of success."

Once the shuttle was landed, Ansgar rose from his seat and unslung the shotgun, he always carried the weapon even in 'safe' areas. Natural state of affairs, and he would be choosing to follow the party, likely positioning himself alongside whoever took the lead. Likely the Sister of Battle, but he would not judge all the same. The planetary governor greeted them as locally posted Arbites were tending the gates. That was a concerning development, having them personally posted instead of private guards was an indication the Arbites were possibly already under the personal thumb of the Governor. He had nothing to say to the man, as he was not the one personally dealing with him outside of necessity, he would leave the talking to the more socially adept among the retinue. Unless the governor wanted to discuss how much of a target he made his personal headquarters into. Maybe.

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

I'll try and have one out either before I sleep, or sometime during Sunday.

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

"By all means ma'am. I've no problem talking about anything I'm not forbidden from speaking of. I may probe you for information as well, if the situation warrants it." Ansgar returned the soft smile with a brief, polite nod before returning to a neutral, and more comfortable, seating position. It left him staring at the opposing bulkhead, mulling over the fact that he hated flying. Every descent, atmospherically, had ended with the craft in question being in no condition to return back to its hanger. Be it from anti air fire, or the sheer stress of entering into the atmosphere of the planet as it was twisted and tortured by the forces of Chaos. Her lack of reaction to the tyranids told him enough, she had never faced them, and he considered her blessed in that regard. He'd been informed that the lack of sanctioned psykers, upon the arrival of his regiment, had been because most had gone mad and required summary execution for their own safety shortly after the splinter fleet arrival. Something about a shadow that the tyranid cast over the sector. A high cost campaign, given the tyranids were the least of the problems, but that was considerations for another day, for now, further briefing was being given.

The briefing raised all sorts of red flags in the Krieger's head when considering the situation at hand. Likely infiltration by the forces of Chaos in the various echelons of the government. After action reports had indicated, before his reassignment to this retinue, that it had been internal infiltration and corruption, like a cancer, and then it erupted into the system wide conflict that drew in the Ordos Malleus. A slowly tightening grip on his shotgun was the only betrayal of his inner thoughts to those perceptive enough to notice the subtle tightening of a grip, and the sound of his gloves over their entry into the planet's atmosphere and descent. Using a central point of power in the system as a spring board to corrupt and invade the rest, this time to include the Imperium farther abroad? All the signs pointed to another retreading of his not so distant past.

"Ma'am, how much singular power does the planetary governor still hold? Coupled with that, how steadfast are the local guard and arbites forces? PDF should be written off if we suspect infiltrators have already arrived. If the planetary governor relies on a network of individuals of note, we have to identify the most vital to planetary operation and security and ensure they remain loyal." The krieger was already mentally planning a worse case scenario. Guard and Arbite forces, proper Guard, not PDF, could provide instrumental manpower in a worse case scenario where martial law and lockdowns would need to be implemented. Which was where the Arbites came in then as well, as they would be able to utilize the Guard manpower in forming effective cordons and lock downs. Coupled with having to look into ganger and other activity, and evaluate whether they were corrupted by Chaos, or simply criminals that could be employed as irregulars. Facing against the tyranids had forced the Guard commanders to employ irregular forces, who were more than happy to do so once it was apparent the tyranid wouldn't be taking prisoners.

"Also, we are not exactly equipped for subtle, undercover activities ma'am. I pray you have a plan to address that, or the sight of a Sister of Battle, mercenary, the tallest psyker in the sector, and the shortest krieger in the sector is going to rumble things rather quickly."

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

If it wasn't for their captain stepping in, Ansgar might have marched right up to the bridge and gave that damn fool a proper talking to. And shove one of those damn fool trinkets of hers so far up her arse that she'd have to open her mouth to crow over the damned things. Seething in his thoughts as he was, the pat on his shoulder by Teg got a glance from the typically irritated mechanic. She wanted to sift through the mess and see if she could figure out the details of what blew their fuel line in half? Sure, long as she stayed out of his damn way, far as he was concerned though, the damage was done and it wasn't likely that, even if the bastard who had shoved a bomb in their fuel lines had left a calling card, it would have survived the fuel and explosion itself. "Aye. fine, jus' stay out of m' way. Th' Lass 'as a point, ah need t' get us runnin' full speed. Not like th' arrogant cabbie in th' bridge'll be any use fer t'at."

With that, the mechanic casually turned on heel, leaving a feint trail of ciggarette smoke in his wake as he marched his not so happy ass back into the engine room. Putting the smoke out in an ash tray that he was, begrudgingly, forced to use that had somehow not gotten knocked down or shattered, much to his annoyance, he strapped a rebreathing mask back on before climbing back up to the now ruptured pipe to start digging around and figure out what he could do to get the fuel flowing again. Reminded him of a book his old man chattered on and on about that had not somehow survived the transition over to this place. Muttering under his breath about 'spice' and such nonsense, he kept crawling about the ruined pipeline, getting an idea for what he could do. Sure, the Lass might not be too pleased with him welding underway, but if it got the fuel going, what did she care? Well, at least this time.

Continuing to mutter and grumble under his breath, Ansgar crawled back down, grabbing spare scrap metal he kept on hand for just this sort of occassion, as well as a welding kit and pair of goggles. No sense ruining his eyes, he had to see to slug that damn pilot in the face for being a thot pain in his ass. Or on general principle. Both? Both was good. Right now he had work to do, and that mercenary best hurry her ass up because he wasn't going to wait long. Mainly since he had to get this ship back up and running and he really didn't need the Lass, or that damn fool cabbie wannabe, yelling at him over the coms. Again.

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

"I do hope you all have what belongings you wish to bring with you upon this mission, for we won't be returning for quite a while."

"All necessary items and equipment are on hand, ma'am." Ansgar responded to the warning as he deemed necessary, the tone of voice and any sort of facial expressions or reactions mercifully hidden by the rebreather mask that was the face of the Death Korp. He could feel the eyes on him, sideways as the glances had been, and knew his presence was being questioned. This was fair, most who had no dealings with the sons and daughters of Krieg assumed them to be unthinking servitors, powered on and sent marching to die for the Emperor. For most, this was good enough, as they would see the paintings, the pict recordings, watching faceless masses charge and fight in conditions that most would consider impossible, and sustain losses that even draconian guard commanders of less stalwart regiments would balk at. Fighting and dying for the Emperor, in repentence for the sins of the father, was all ingrained into the psyche of a Kriegsman. Among themselves, or trusted allies, one would find them still perfectly human, though understandably many were dour and solemn at best.

What most of these recordings, memorials, and stories failed to ever mention was the day to day life. Sitting in a trench, alongside the rest of a section, as time continued to pass away during the steady, slow grind of siege warfare. The glorious charges, pitched trench fighting, hunkered down during the deafening barrage of Imperial artillery, was a small fraction of the typical life of a Krieger in a trench. It was preparation, and waiting, and being able to survive the violent bursts of trench life took a unique mentality. The lack of fearing for their lives and desire to earn redemption, often seen as just glorified suicidal behavior, helped, but if they all just wanted to die, charging fortifications with bayonets fixed would do just that. It would not accomplish the goals and needs of the Imperium, however, and this was why the Commissars were assigned to Death Korp regiments. Not to ensure proper levels of zeal and piety, but to act as liaisons and reign in the Death Korp when operating in joint theaters.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, secured in his seat on the transport, that he blinked in mild surprise that the psyker had even asked him how he even ended up here. "How did a Kriegsman end up in a position requiring more than being a glorified combat servitor, you mean?" He suspected he knew where that question was aimed, it didn't take a psyker to realize that, and it fell in with his thoughts prior to them being disrupted. "I have been cursed with the worst fate a Kriegsman can suffer. Being a survivor." The delivery was deadpan and he let it hover for just a second longer than one might consider as jesting, especially given the somber and serious methodologies of Krieg, but survivors were either promoted into Officers, or reassigned to the Grenadiers. Should the Ordos Malleus not have reassigned him to Inquisitorial duties, he would likely have either been an officer or Grenadier in a new Krieg regiment.

"The personal recommendation of an Ordo Malleus Inquisitor, in light of service that I am not at liberty to discuss the details of currently, is the more serious answer. Tyranid, followed by traitor forces, requiring atypical tactics and methods for Death Korp forces. Surviving all that was recommendation enough for the Inquisitor in question. Add in the additional training Engineers receive, and it was an ideal recruitment, though not for her retinue." Ansgar was rather plain in tone, either not offended by the implications behind the question, or having considered the fact such a question was inevitable that he had been prepared for it. The mention of tyranid was a grim reminder of what the xenos were capable of, and that had been the splintered remains of a larger hive fleet, and all present need not guess at the dangers Traitor forces would pose. The perfect storm of both in a system had necessitated the intervention of the Ordo Malleus Inquisitor and all the resources that would bring.

This whole time the Kriegsman had to effectively crane his head backwards to meet the gaze of the psyker, the difference in height between them comical at best, and the lenses of the rebreather mask made it hard to make out any details beyond the fact he indeed had two organic eyes still, that looked green, though the tinting of the lenses made it hard to confirm. His tone remained hard to read, the muffled voice as steady as usual, used to having to speak clearly enough to be heard plainly through the muffling of the rebreather, and whether he was poking fun at the sheer difference in their heights, or not, was up to interpretation as he was deadpan still. "Does that satisfy your curiosity for now, ma'am? My neck is getting stiff."

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

The first person to reach Ansgar was the lass Teg, who was calling out about anyone being injured. Between the explosion, trying to put down the damage and flames, and the general din and noise of all that, the last thing he really cared for was shouting. Well, he couldn't readily fault the shouting, though he would still rather it not be going on. Not like the situation wasn't under control or anything right now. Teg herself was an unlikely suspect, most of the crew was to be honest, even that judge outside of being a bloody damn bad luck charm. He was still leaning against the bulkhead to prevent anyone from wandering in until he knew why they were trying to, to give the go ahead, and not get in the way of trying to get the fuel system back up and mostly running. The longer they were limping on half engines, the worse their odds were. "Nay lass, ain' no injured oe'er 'ere 'sides th' poor ship bein' injured now. Damn 'nemies"

Of course, as he had requested, the good Captain had made her way down to the engine room and was already questioning him on what the hell happened to her ship. He didn't even blink an eye at her tone of voice, he was too pissed off with the fact that his life had gotten a lot more complicated because some sodding wanker on his home had been bought off or planted to make their lives more difficult. Well, the goal was to kill them outright or leave them stranded and dying a slow, painful death to starvation, pirates, both maybe. Hard to say. But the question needed an answer, and he clearly took his time to avoid letting the accent make him completely unintelligible, which happens when he was fairly pissed off. "Aye Lass, whoever ye paid to fuel the ship was either bought of by our 'friends', or one o' them wa' on th' payroll of th' 'friends'. Did th' usual sweep fer bombs in th' lines, an' found one before it hit th' main fuel tanks. If it 'ad gotten there, we wouldn' be 'ere dicussin' it."

It was at this point that Ansgar pulled out a coffin nail and lit it, taking a drag and half closing his eyes for a few, letting the warmth permeate his chest, before blowing it away from all present living beings. Including that damned cat. Speaking of bad luck charms, that cat was nothing but trouble and the Captain refused to believe it. Now that the captain was here, he could start smoking as to avoid accusations of smoking by an open fuel line or something patently stupid. And it was about now that he deigned to respond to their illustrius pilot and her complaints about how soon they'd be back online. "Oh ah' dinnae know, cabbie. Ah'm sure ah can just use a couple o' them bendy straws to fix th' damn fuel line. Yer lucky ah ignored th' complaints on splittin' th' engines on each side t' mixed lines, or ye'd be flyin' with my rig't engines only. Soon as ah can fix th' fuel lines, ah'll be more tha' 'appy t' let you go back to fiddlin' with yer flight stick."

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

Don't worry, by the time they've landed, the gunship will be a veritable fortress world of its own!

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

Within the rather spartan quarters of the resident Krieg Engineer, Ansgar Staudinger sat at a work bench that he had requested to expediate efforts on maintaining his various equipment. Mainly explosives, but whatever tools he might be tasked with using would see maintenance here. Currently, he was ensuring his shotgun was in as well maintained of a working order as possible. They had notorious failures in their mechanical action, hence the near religious attention that was paid to ensuring it was in smooth working order whenever possible. Even if that was quickly thrown out the window whenever knee deep in the muck of a trench or wading through a half collapsed underground network of saps and tunnels. Rare for a Kriegsman, he was currently not wearing either helmet or rebreather, the latter hanging about his neck while the helmet rested on the workbench corner. The room was secured, so it was a rare case of being able to let the mask down and work without the obstruction of viewing through the rebreather.

After reassembling the shotgun, the Kriegsman checked the time. He was due to report to the hanger for the next mission, and he took a breath before donning the trademark rebreather and helmet of the Death Korp, going from an individual to another masked, faceless soul of the Death Korp in two smooth, practiced movements. Next came his kit, a duffel bag full of explosives, including several demolition charges, frags, and krak grenades, being slung over a shoulder to rest on his right hip. The bayonet, and entrenching tool, were already resting in their positions on his left hip. Before the shotgun, Ansgar grabbed a pick axe that had served him well during entrenching and sapping operations and slung it into the loop on the left side of his back. Lastly was the Mark 22c he had finished doing maintenance on, slinging it over his right shoulder. At this point, barring the backpack that would carry various miscellaneous items that, for most missions, was left in his quarters these days, there was nothing indicating that this empty room was lived in.

Departing the room and sealing it behind him, the Kriegsman marched down from the living quarters to the hanger where it seemed several members of the retinue had already arrived. First to be noted was their resident psyker, an unnaturally tall Adrianne Valenthin. Sanctioned psykers were a rarity among the regiments of Krieg, mainly since actually assigning an external individual outside the standard Commissars was not only extraordinarily rare, but a rather cruel act even by Imperial standards, so he had limited dealings with those mutants that could wield the powers of the warp. So long as it remained in the Emperor's service, however, the Kriegsman would brook no complaints nor arguments. His greetings were muffled and professional, the former due to the rebreather, the latter out of habit. "Ma'am."

Stepping past her, next was the tech heretek. Ansgar was not a fan of her, less so than he was of the psyker, since at least the psyker was a part of official doctrine. The mercenary was being used to fill the same role as the Tech Priests would, something that invited a great deal of trouble should they find themselves in the company of actual Mechanicus forces. Orders were orders, however, and as long as they remained in line with the needs of the Imperium, it would be a presence he would stomach with no resistance. He would maintain his own equipment still, however, that much was certain. Much like before, the greeting was almost a carbon copy of the one aimed at the psyker from before. Almost, since there was slightly more chill in the word than with the psyker. "Ma'am."

Lastly, but by far from the least, was the leader of their retinue and a welcome sight as far as the Kriegsman was concerned. Celestian Superior Aviza Morgenstern, a Sister of Battle and a senior in rank one at that, would likely prove to be an anchor point in any combat line they formed. Power armor helped, but force of presence had equal play in that as well. A pious sister of battle, powerful and unrelenting, often tempted and cowed the common heretic in equal measures, to prove themselves in felling such a warrior, or left them quivering in the face of the Emperor's wrath. He'd served alongside her kind before, though he was sworn into secrecy over all but the vaguest statements, not that he was ever comfortable discussing what had happened during that campaign. It would be telling that when Tyranids were the least of the threats present, the system had been in dire straits indeed. Mentally shaking those thoughts from his head, he saluted the Celestian Superior, being the only actual superior present despite referring to the other two as ma'am as well. "Ma'am, Trooper 17431, Ansgar Staudinger, reporting for duty."

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

Meanwhile short Kriger is short.