+ inload: Triumph +

+ Seven +

Seven of us turns our situation from a simple re-group into a consolidation. With the Immortal, Coalstan and two others keeping sentry, Medardus and a hastily-appointed section lead – another breacher assault specialist named Triumph – convene. I grimace as I start to report. 
"I can confirm Manos, Hanic and Wellsmyth are dead–" 

"We will remember." Triumph interrupts, his voice rich, deep and sincere; Medardus' voice hesitantly joins the litany, halfway through. I blink, then continue.

"Together with the dead, we account for ten. The 'bird was full, so given those proportions–" This time Medardus finishes my thoughts, a disconcerting experience, but welcome for its familiarity here on this black, dead world.

"Arms and ammunition – plentiful." states Medardus. "These containers hold sufficient small arms and disposables to re-equip the rest of the force – should we find other survivors. Given Triumph was towards the hold, and you were near the cockpit, our casualty rate might be lighter than expected."

"Unless the shot hit us midships," points out Triumph. "Then we might constitute all that is left."

"As optimistic as your name suggests, brother," I say sardonically, "but you may be right. Standard tactical procedure is clear." The breacher, unmoved by the insult, nods.

"Redeploy to avoid detection and artillery; begin marauding until we can find Legion forces."

Triumph is right, and having something standard to enact feels reassuring. Injury or no, I am finding myself ill-suited to command, but Medardus' peculiar status prevents him taking over, and the others are – as all my brothers – obedient to a fault; unquestioning of my seniority, however meagre. Nevertheless, however tempting slipping into familiar drills might be, something nags at me. 

"I'm wary of standard procedure." I blurt. The others look askance at me, their helms cocked quizzically. "Look – we're certainly not going to struggle to find Legion forces; not with seven Legions on the surface. Friendly forces, however..." I trailed off. That silences the others. It is hitting home that we are dealing with an enemy force that is every bit our equal. Worse; they have the drop on us and the first blow in. It is hard to admit we are reeling. I press on. "My point is that sticking with standard procedure is what got us shot down. The fact we've not been shelled already demonstrates that they don't have a lock on our position." The others' heads are bowed, slightly; as though they are not paying attention – or are talking on a closed circuit. Before the silence stretches, Medardus raises a metallic finger.

"Actually, I suspect they do. Those barrages that keep sailing over? Those are targetting the site of the main crash. I can't think of any other reason for them to shell a position so far from the main conflict." That makes sense. I cradle my head, briefly. I should have seen that; particularly since the decision falls to me on whether the seven of us get into, or out of, the fight. "Truth." I concede. A pause. "...And that's why we're going towards it." Despite his great-grilled helm, Triumph manages to look simultaneously incredulous and disgusted. I press on, emphasising my words with a chopping gesture. "It's our best bet at finding other survivors; or at least an operational communicator. Intelligence is what we need. We are not yet strong enough to mount effective marauding operations – not against other Astartes."


Brother Triumph

A mix of bits used here – home-sculpted and cast torso, shoulder pads and hand from Master-Crafted Miniatures, and an Anvil Industry bionic arm are combined with FW and GW parts. I'm pleased with how he looks; particularly the trigger discipline! :)

I'm looking forward to tackling his Immortal colleage; I think it'll be fun to examine how the Immortals are seen in the Iron Hands, and how I can distinguish them visually from the 'standard' Breachers.

1 comment:

slovak said...

They are doomed.