Henry Clayton's Story

Forty thousand years in the future, there is only war.



In the Calixis Sector of the Segmentum Obscurus, the Imperial colony on Zel Tertius is under assault by the Ork Warboss Bombad Bloodboy of the Bad Moons clan and Freebooterz mercenaries. As orks slaughter the planet’s citizens, the Imperial Navy smashes through the blockade to land regiments of the Imperial Guard. The fight will be hard, as the Bad Moons have large number of Weirdboyz and a number of those being Warpheads. Also, they are a wealthy ork clan, so many of their countless numbers are Flash Gitz, whom are even more numerous with the addition of the Freebooterz.

Captain Henry Clayton, acting commanding officer of the decimated Luggnum 129th regiment leaned against the gray plasteel hull of his tank, Emperor’s Fury (her name written proudly in golden paint on the barrel of her battle cannon) and glanced at the five cards in his hand. It was hard to play Tarot at the moment, sitting in the town square of Haven, where a full platoon of tanks stood guard, as two of the soldier’s under his command circled one another in the middle of the square. Every now and then, they would swing at one another, as their fellows cheered or shouted insults from where they were relaxing. It was hard to keep the men focused. They had been sent to the ass end of nowhere, far from the front lines and even father from any reports of the orks infesting the planet.

“Hit him harder Frankie” roared the tank commander, as he folded, “I have a full box a-smokes riding on you!”

His gambling partner, a one corporal Andy, the main gunner for his tank laughed softly, as he scooped up the handful of slugs, the smallest of Luggnum currency and of little worth. At least the men were in better spirits then they had been a few days ago, when they rolled into the mostly abandoned town. The lose of most of your friends and only links back home was hard and the sting of losing the colonel, the major and the regiment colors to orks on the way planetside made it only worse.

“So whens the new tankers getting here” asked Rex, the tank’s driver, as he picked up the cards and started to shuffle.

“I don’t know” said Henry, “The dataslate that came with the fuel and ammo only said they’d be showing up today.”

“Who’s our new commander” asked Dennis, the loader.

“Don’t know” said the tank commander again, “It didn’t say. It just said they were hammered as bad as we were and that they’d be showing up today.”

“Did yah try calling HQ?” ask Rex, starting to deal out another hand.

“Yeah” grunted Henry, “But theres something in the atmo. Only short-range vox signals are working. However, I doubt those bastards at headquarters woulda told me anything anyways. The only thing we’ll have to do is wait.”

“So who are we combining with” asked Andy.

“The Scintilla Two-thirty-forth.”

“Never heard of ‘em” wheezed David, one of the side gunners, before he took a long drink from a dark bottle.

“Gimme that” said Henry, snatching the bottle from the man’s callused hands, “What would Commissar Vendigroth say about you drinking again? He would have shot you, so I’ll remove the temptation, encase the Two-thirty-forth has a Hangman with ‘em.”

A slight breeze picked up and tugged gently on the edges of his unbuttoned and stained jacket, as the tank commander drained the bottle of crude (and burning) spirits down his throat (the drink had been made most likely within the bowels of his own tank). It was coming from the west, where both the capital of this colony was (and most likely burning from ork artillery fire) and the direction from which the Scintilla 234th regiment should me heading from. At least it was late spring on this planet, no winter chill to force the men to seek shelter and no summer heat for the same effect. Many of the trees bordering the town were covered in small pink flowers (which had a horrid smell that luckily didn’t spread far from the trees themselves), as they lead up into the mountains in the east and to those much further to the west, which cut them off from the capital.

Henry coughed as the liquor burned his throat. His fingers, those not holding the bottle, tapped against the turret. He wanted to get back into the fight, somewhere within the ork held territory around Nixios, would be the transports that had carried his doom comrades and their unit colors. Being joined with another regiment wouldn't be so bad, if they could just recover the battle honors they had won in two hard years of fighting in the emperor's Name. No more battle would be added to it but it would be uplifting to keep it in a personal place for his lads and they were his lads now, until they had a new commanding officer.

Twenty kloms east of the 129th's encampment, a trio of sentinels stood silent vigil among a copse of trees some hundred yards from the road. Abandoned groundcars littered the entire stretch of highway. Figures clutching modest belonging to their chests, holding the hands of friends and family, struggle doggedly through the clogged road.

Dark curly hair plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face, Regias Veche stood point. Rolling a cigar with one hand, his other reached over and tapped the auspex screen a few times. Nothing changed.

"Damn." Voxed Merrick, the least experienced of all the scouts under Veche's command and, therefore, his shadow. "Lookit that."

Finnel, far from the best scout in the 129th, and Veche's other squad mate, maintained the radio silence the LT had ordered. For which Regias was thankful. Admonishing Merrick now would do no good, the rookie would forget as soon as they left the cover of the trees. If he waited until they reached camp and gave Merrick the nastiest duties he could find, then the lesson would stick.

With a flare of butane Regias lit his cigar and took a puff. He would also need to send Merrick on some night time watches with one of the two veteran scouts back at camp. That should help to instill a little discipline and common sense.

Maybe when he got back to camp the promised reinforcements will have arrived with some decent scouts. Emperor, he hoped so.


Afew hours later Regias's squad lurched into view of the camp, the sentinels awkward seeming gait swaying the LT a little. As the trio halted, Veche lifted the camouflage netting from the face of his sentinel and stood stretching. The once-white sleeveless undershirt clung to his wiry frame, slick with sweat. Rank insignia, tattooed on his shoulders, stood out darkly from his pale skin. Regias reached into a cargo pocket on his left leg and produced his leather officer's cap. Shoving it over his head, he adjusted to the properly jaunty angle.

With a flourish he turned and slid down the front of his sentinel. Merrick and Finnel already checking the sentinels. "Merrick, you've got latrine duty for breaking radio silence. All week."

Regias moved on without waiting to see how the rookie reacted and walked into the jumble of soldiers carousing and laying bets. He pushed his way through the throng, amid murmurs of "Sorry, LT" to the table where square-faced Clayton sat, a bottle in hand.

Halting abruptly he sketched half a salute at the captain. "Not much to report, more civvies fleeing on foot. It's a good thing we commandeered that rig when we got here, from the look of abandoned groundcars out there, we would have been hard pressed for fuel ourselves."

Regias slipped the bottle from Clayton and tossed it back, the fire in his throat and chest making his permanently glazed eyes brighten a little. "I take our other half is still dragging their heels?"

Not waiting for a reply, he went on. "Frak it, Henry! No decent comm lines, and no word of when we'll get a supply drop. Hopefully they've got one and their bringin' it with 'em."

Regias took another swallow before setting the bottle down in front of Clayton and commandeering a chair from a nearby private. "I got twenty slugs that say Frankie goes down."

"Your on" said Henry, selecting a stack of twenty slugs from his pile and setting them aside, as the deck was shuffled for another hand. He was forced to take a deep breath, as Frankie, the instant he took his hand off the stack, took a blow to what was suppose to be his glass jaw. The private stumbled back, wavering on his feet And came back swinging. The entire company seemed to let out a breath, some in relief and the other half in frustration. More bets were laid out, everything, ranging from money to contraband booze to itho sticks, the smokes favored by most of the regiment.

"We may be frakked" continued the captain, as the cards were, a pile made for the Lieutenant as well, "But at least we're frakked in comfort."

He was of course referring to the house he had commandeered as his own billet and as regimental headquarters. It was the largest in the town, the former home of some sort of local minor noble, with fine beds and comfortable chairs. It was from that house, that he and his crew had dragged the ornately carved table out of, setting it up next to their tank. The rest of the company had found beds and personal space in the other buildings, maybe the beds weren't a nice or covered with silk sheets but it was a vast step up from cramped bunk beds in the compartments found in the bowls of a transport.

Henry peered at the five cards he had been dealt. A flush from the Adeptio suit and The Judge. No smile flicked over his face but he tossed three slugs into the pool and leaned back into his chair. Picking up the bottle, he took another mouthful of crude liquor.

Simona listened intently as she was briefed on what she was to do, and a small grin crept up her face when the Captain finished, “Consider it done, ma’am.” She then saluted again, turned her heel and jogged back to her unit. “Alright ladies, move out of formation and follow me. Special orders from the Captain herself,” she called and immediately her twenty five soldiers moved out of the column and started to jog after their leader.

Simona held the jog at a good rough pace so they could quickly get ahead of the main body and then she had them slowed down to a fast paced march which would allow them to save energy when they arrived at Haven.

The journey itself was eventless, and the soldiers slowly began to fall out of formation and into a more clumped group of soldiers walking at a fast pace, Simona didn’t mind, she actually quite welcomed the semi-disordered formation as she felt it would allow them to dodge for cover quicker. Also, she was an Underhiver, so naturally such formation was not something you saw from anyone else but the arbiters of the government.

Every now and then she would bark for a good jog to start so they could continue to get ahead and keep the pace. The women stayed on the concrete road and gave the nearby trees and shrubberies a suspicious look as they passed them; nature was not something you saw when you grew up on a Hive world, unless you were born in the High Spires which practically none of the guardswomen had.

After what appeared to have been an hour of hard marching, they come across a sign. ‘Haven → 800 m’ Simona then ordered a final jog to cross the distance, and within a shirt while they came within sight of the 129th regiment’s camp, located in the city center of Haven. The entire center was filled with vehicles of all forms from tanks to sentinels to chimeras; she quickly looked around the center to see what building would possibly work best as a tactical headquarters.

There was a temple dedicated to the God-Emperor, a hotel, an array station, a library, a courthouse and of course the building of the local noble. She then led her unit of soldiers directly over to a group of a dirty mob of men, “Civilians, we’re the scouting party of the 234th Scintilla regiment.” Simona declared when she approached the men who appeared to be in the middle of a gambling event. “Let it be known that the local mansion is to be the headquarters for Captain Briggs of the 234th Scintilla regiment, whoever already lives there will have to move out at once. No arguing,” she added sternly.

She then turned and looked at the other men who were wandering between the machines and then asked, “I can see the symbols for the 129th Luggnum regiment…Have you seen their crew?” She asked looking at the men in front of her. Simona did her best to keep her disciplined posture, ignoring the stares from the other men around the city center.

"What the frak is this?" Regias muttered through the cigar clenched in his teeth. Frankie had come back from his close call with a devastating vengeance. The LT slid over his twenty slugs to Clayton with a muttered, "Emperor's bowels."

Wiping his hands on his pants, Regias studied the local maps set before him. There were roads aplenty and pocket cities scattered throughout the terrain. If the orks gained a foot hold here, it could take years to rout them.

"LT?" One of the passing troopers, an unofficial cook, handed him a thermos of recaf. He had probably got his start in one of the many diners on Luggnum.

"Thank you, trooper." After pouring himself a cup the Lieutenant set the thermos on the table for the others. "Well, if it comes to foraging we'll be alright. Dates are in season, and apparently one of the major exports."

Regias noted with slight interest the possible destinations of the fleeing civilians. He rubbed his neck with a sigh. Sleeping in a sentinel sometimes left a lot to be desired. The camo netting kept the bugs away, and the open cockpit helped with the heat.

Noise from across the throng reached the table, officers and non-coms looking up with interest. Regias stood, stacking the maps haphazardly. The crowd parted, revealing a hardened Imperial Guardsman. Infantry. Imperial Guardswoman. "Frak. Me."

One might suppose it would be hard to mistake guardsmen for the civilian population of any planet (other then Cadia) but such was not the case for today. The men of 129th had gone around in the town, collecting some clean cloths from those left behind by the fleeing civvies, new shirts mostly, to wearing while off duty, leaving the dirty uniforms for wearing on their tanks. Still, the gather tankers smiled widely, when women in fine uniforms appeared, announcing that they were taking over the captain's billet and wanting to know where the troopers of Luggnum 129th where. A number of laughs rang out, from back in the crowd, where they couldn't be singled out.

"Your lookin at the One-twenty-ninth sweetheart" came a voice, followed by another, "You looking for a date?!"

More laughter rang out, as did catcalls. One man, in the front ranks, rolled up the sleeve of the blue shirt he had found to wear. He was bigger then the officers, sitting on the other side of the square, having spend his years in the mines shoveling the rubble left behind from the drilling rigs. He flashed his teeth, as a tattoo with his rank (a corporal) and the regimental insignia of the armored regiment he was a part of it, appeared on his pale skin, the black ink standing out. He flexed, attempting to impress the women before him. It had been a long time since they had any women around, a bit of a dry spell.

"You might want to clear your taking that house with Captain Clayton, he might be pissed about you taking his billet and our headquarters."

The crowd of tankers parted, allowing the scouts to see across to the poker table. The boxing match in the center had come to a close and the two fighters separated. Henry stood up from the table, slowly and flipped over his cards. The others, who weren't watching the table any more, missed as he swept up all the slugs and pocketed them.

"So long as your not frakking an enlisted Regias" the captain chuckled, patting the Lieutenant on the shoulder, before walking across the square.

Simona gave a heavy sigh, it had been far too long since she have had such contact with men, and their cat calling, whistling and their immature show offs was something she hadn’t really missed. Yet despite the yahooing and the calling, she maintained her strict posture, occasionally shutting her one good eye in annoyance as the men tried to get her attention, “I don’t care how upset your captain will be, the mansion belongs to the 234th Regiment till my captain says otherwise, or are you going to stop me?”

Simona cast a baleful look at the men surrounding her and her unit, they weren’t intimidated. Just what she needed, a bunch of men who thought that women would just fall into their arms and do what they demanded; she was the last person to commit to such a relationship, actually she saw it as being lowered below the status of an Imperial slave. At least slaves could cheat the system; wives couldn’t cheat the system when dealing with such men.
“Me and my soldiers will be claiming headquarters and barracks for the 234th regiment. If you have any objections you can either shove it up yours, or tell your captain.” Simona narrowed her one eye as she looked at the man who crossed the square, her finger tapping the side of her lasgun.

Her soldiers could sense the tension from their leader. A few placed the stock against the shoulder so they could quickly get a steady aim if things got ugly, while others clenched their hands into fists and ensured their footing. Simona knew she had but to say the word and the women would jump the men, but not now…Not now.

"Tell me what?"

Henry came to a stop at the front of the assembled tankers. Reaching in the pocket of his jacket (he was one of the few still in complete uniform, including the leather cap), he pulled out a half empty carton of itho sticks and pulled one out. Sticking it between his lips, he turned to a solider, who by the smell, had been bathing in promethium. The commander of the regiment's Artemia pattern hellhound, a twitchy pyromaniac with sergeant's strips and unable to control the urge to modify his tank into an unstable metal beast of fire, pulled out a lighter and flicked the wheel. A large flame appeared, lighting the captain's smoke.

Taking a second and his first puff, Captain Clayton studied the women standing in front of him, some of them looking ready to start shooting. The second thing he noticed (the first being the fact that they were all women), was the condition of their uniforms. Everything from tunic to trousers to the kepi, looked like they had just been issued, everything still stiff and starched. It was as if this girls had been dressed up in uniform and told to walk out here, just a day or so ago. He was not impressed by raw recruits or if they weren't that, toy soldiers, who had spent more time in the parade ground, then the battle field.

He almost smiled. The 129th Luggnum had never looked that shiny. Oh sure, at the founding, the tanks all had nice coats of paint, their uniforms were new and the men scrubbed but everything had dirt and dust on it, somewhere. With earth rising in dirt clouds from the mines and soot from the refineries, nothing remained clean for long, unless it was inside the mine boss's personal offices and homes. In two years, the tanks were scarred and repainted a few times. The uniforms got stained and torn in places, soaking up the smells of grease, smoke and sweat. Men became dirty again but washed now and then.

"Your unit not salute officers" asked Henry, in a mild, almost joking tone, "Name, rank and regiment soldier, if you would."

Simona felt herself pinching her own skin just to maintain posture, and not to step forward and give the captain a hard punch across his jaw. As enjoyable as it would have been, the consequences could easily blow out of proportion; there’d be no way her and her squad would be able to fight tanks and sentinels.
If I would…Yeah, right you bastard, I’d rather let you keep guessing, Simona thought as she was requested to present herself. “I’ll take that as an order,” Simona said and then quickly gave the Aquila. “Sergeant-Major Simona Hildenbrag, third boarding unit of the 234th Scintilla regiment, sir,” she said venomously and then added, “Under the direct orders of Captain Tira Briggs, the local nobleman’s mansion is to be handed over to the 234th regiment. If you got question I strongly recommend you wait till my captain is here, till then I’d also advice that you comply with her orders.”

By now the other soldiers had lowered their weapons, though they still looked at the men with hostility. “So, captain, will there be any problems regarding these orders? In case I forgot tell you I was given the liberty to enforce these orders with whatever non-lethal force I deemed necessary.” Simona couldn't help but to show a triumphant smirk when she delivered the news. If the man wouldn't get scared of it, she was then certain that he'd back away.

234th Scintilla regiment? Henry's eyebrow twitched. This was the regiment they were suppose to be combining with? He didn't see a single male face in the lot of smartly uniformed infantry and he highly doubted this Captain Tira Briggs, would have pulled just women out to scout. By the Golden Throne of Holy Terra, what were they to do with a bunch of female crunchies and all looking like barracks rats to boot? While they might have the ability to make the nights more pleasant, it would be a major distraction, if the tankers were thinking about ass instead of fighting in the Emperor's name. It would have been better if the Munitorum just assigned a herd of Grox to the regiment. At least his boys could eat those.

"Now you see Sergeant-Major" said Captain Clayton, after a moment and a second puff of his Itho stick, "There are problems here. Firstly, that mansion has already been claimed as my regimental headquarters and as you can plainly see, the 129th Luggnum was here before you, we get first picks. The second being, I don't answer to Captain Briggs. You can have the hotel for the Two-thirty-fourth's headquarters if you want but Captain Brigg's orders don't carry much weight with me."

There was a soft but collective groan from behind him. A bunch of his boys taken over the suites in that building but losing those roomy accommodations, was much better then losing their headquarters. They also seemed to crowd around their captain. A bunch of girls, threatening their officer with non-lethal force, was not intimidating. Not when they had survived mine raids, which could be lethal. Not when they had survived rebels trying to slit their throats at night and ambushing them during the day. Not when they had survived fighting chaos armor and cultists trying to sacrifice them to dark gods.

"And theres a third problem" Henry added with a smile around his smoke, "We don't take orders from a bunch of girls, dressed up like toy soldiers."

Simona blinked a few times after Henry had finished talking, and then it hit her, Toy soldiers…Girls…Who the frack is thi- Simona stopped thinking and acted. Her fist flew out and landed square on Henry’s jaw, followed by a second hit to shoulder and then a third attempt to beat the pulp out of him; her unit acted on instincts, some dropped their weapons and flew headfirst into the men while others used their weapon stocks to beat the men.

Whatever the case it was obvious that the women lacked the brute strength of the men, though the Underhive ferocity and sheer killer instinct they all had was enough to give the men a proper match. Rough hands seized Simona by her uniform and threw her to the ground, temporarily rolling across the hard ground before she was back on her feet and gave a savage kick between another man’s groin.

All around her men and women screamed and roared as blows, kicks and even bites were exchanged. The women didn’t play fair and the men quickly adopted, turning the whole incident into an ugly fight of teeth and nails (quite literally). Simona could taste blood in her mouth and the vision from her bionic eye was starting to become more vague, though if she cared she certainly showed it by giving a heabutt, causing an audible sound of a man’s nose breaking.

With one man down another stepped in to take his place, “Piss off!” she screamed as she jumped at the man, hitting, kicking, biting and spitting at him. She was more interested in getting back and fighting with the so-called Captain of the 129th, although those aims quickly disappeared when she got a air ripping punch to the stomach.

Henry tasted blood. The inside of his lip had been sliced on his own teeth, when the Sergeant-Major had hit him. It had been a shock to his system, sure his regiment might be rude and get in your face but they didn't hit superior officers! Emperor's Bowels, he had been so caught off guard, that she had knocked him off his feet with a second punch. Snarling, he scrambled back to his feet, only to find himself in the middle of a general melee. Tankers, had the upper hand, with around two hundred of them left in the regiment, they out numbered the women almost eight to one. Not everyone was in the brawl, more then a score were sitting on their tanks. The twitchy sergeant, had pulled his driver and gunner out of the fight and even now loped towards his hellhound, one of two left in the regiment. If this was a scouting party, when was the rest of them suppose to arrive and what would happen when they did? Maybe the gunning of the flame tank's engine could cool things off and if not, they'd be ready for a proper fight.

The captain of the 129th scanning the chaotic mass of men and women. Members of both genders lay on the ground, stunned from hard blows or pinned down. Something caught in the corner of his eye, a women with a augmented eye. The Sergeant-Major and she was losing to the corporal who had flexed for her earlier. He smiled with satisfaction, teeth showing red, as she doubled over from a gut punch. He had a chance now, to get even on some level, before he tried to sort everything out. Pushing two men and women out of his way, Clayton ran forwards (the best he could in the mass) and with a glee unmeasurable, struck out with his foot. Booted heel connected with 234th Scintilla non-commissioned backside, as the voice of Lieutenant Telemachus reached his ears. Turning, he dodged back through the melee, until he found himself standing next to the tall man.

"Crazy bitches" said Henry, reaching under his right shoulder for the grip of his snubgun, "Tried to take over our headquarters and when I told them no, one of them slugged me."

Drawing the weapon, in the pool of calm around the hellhound commander, Captain Clayton held the revolver high, pointing into the sky. The weapon barked, as he pulled the trigger twice.

"Enough!" He shouted.

Order seemed on the verge of being restored, when there was the sound of boots on the road. A column crunchies appeared, uniforms straight, marching crisply, as if this was a parade. Impressive to a civilian maybe but not to Captain Henry Clayton. It looked like the proud display of a PDF regiment chosen to be turned over the Guard and trying to prove they were soldiers, because they had polished their drill into perfection. When they got one whiff of Ork or any other xeno or heretic, these silly bitches would go running home for their mothers. However, his eye twitched, as the apparent officer in charge, began ordering her women about, including sending a platoon to take over his headquarters!

He could already see the men of his tank and the rest of the first platoon, a grand total of twenty-three (missing him), standing before the door of his billet. His teeth ground, as he opened his mouth to yell but he closed it, from across the square, there was the rumble of a engine. The Artemia pattern hellhound, Heretic's Bane, rolled forwards on her treads. He smiled slightly and waved his hand towards the warmachine. Without some form of acknowledgment, the metal beast, it's heavily armored fuel tank plain, turned from it's crossing the empty square, and clanked over to block the infantry platoon heading for the mansion . The terrible Inferno cannon, in it's remote turret tracked the guardswomen, a the hull mounted heavy flamer was brought to bare.

"You'll find Captain Briggs" called Henry, holstering his snubgun but not following after the woman, "That large house is already my HQ. As I told your sergeant before she decked me, starting this little brawl, you can have the hotel for your HQ."

He stood there, arms folded across his chest and smiled mockingly with bloody teeth, stretching the bruise on his face.

"It's Captain Henry Clayton, by the way."

When the gun shots were fired people threw themselves to the ground or ducked for cover, in Simona’s case it worked as a perfect temporary distraction from the bulky man who got a well hammered punch into his most sensitive body-part which made him topple over.
She then stood up and got the worst of her uniform back in place as she saluted Captain Briggs when she approached. Her uniform had been torn in places and a few bottoms had been ripped off, could have been far worse so she considered herself darn blessed…Well, at least till she noticed the tiny blood stains on her sleeves. Bloody stars, that’ll never come off!

She nodded to her orders though she didn’t immediately jump to do them, she waited till the Captain was finished talking with the rag-tag leader and then approached the man, “You called it. One, nil,” she said with a wide smirk on her face and then marched off to get her lost beret and get to work.

Simona gathered her unit and evaluated the damages they had suffered during the skirmish; a few were sent the medics’ way while the rest were to stay and clean up the worst of the mess in the square. While the women had gotten beaten rather badly they still felt victorious, the men’s captain had made the call for the fight to end and they saw that as a sign that he had thrown the towel in the ring, that and the fact that they had been fighting fair (meaning no knife stabbing, strangling, hijacking vehicles and driving anyone down) only boosted their morale.

When they finished Simona ordered her unit into their new HQ and then went to see a medic. Her bionic eye was showing signs that it needed to get tuned and while it wasn’t a medic’s expertise, it was still worth a shot.

Captain Clayton wasn't the only thing Tira Briggs turned to face, as she finished threatening his men. She was also staring down the barrel of his snubgun and his laspistol. When the infantry woman had drawn her weapons and threatened his boys, he had drawn his sidearms. It had acted like a signal, the score men who had been watching from atop the tanks moved, some slipped down into the bellies of the plasteel beasts, while the three remaining scrambled for the pintle-mounted heavy stubbers the tanks had atop their turrets. Heavy bolters wiggled, as one of the warmachines had it's engine turned over.

So she wanted to play rough huh? It really went against his nature but Henry wasn't above making a slash now and then. In fact, he was going to be complaining to the higher ups once they got a damn good vox signal back to the capital. This was unacceptable, they were an armor regiment, they should be folded into or have another armor regiment folded into them not a bunch of crunchies. Golden Throne, he's take green recruits barely able to drive, over this prissy lot. Plus, he was putting the sergeant up on charges.

"Look" he called over to Captain Briggs, "I don't know where your from or what your used to but you not in charge here. Your with real guardsmen now, not on some parade ground, for you to show off your fancy toy soldiers to a bunch of inbred nobles. The One-twenty-ninth has never given ground, not to rebels, heretics or orks and we're not going to start with you. Now, why doesn't you walk your flat chested self over here and we'll talk about this idea of sharing the HQ and maybe, just maybe, I'll reconsider filing charges against your sergeant with the Commissariat. I believe they shoot enlisted who strike officers, before the ink is even dry on the warrant."

Henry spat a glob of bloody saliva out of the corner of his mouth, watching the female captain down the sights of his pistols. In the tense fractions of a second, he wondered where his Itho stick had gone. He couldn't remember where he had dropped it. Not that it was any good now, more then likely trampled into the dirt, the embers ground into nothingness/ It was funny where the brain went sometimes.

Henry turned his head a spat more bloody saliva, just to keep his eye from lining up the simple sights on his pistols, with this Captain Briggs spine. He had bathed today already, bathed everyday in this town, seeing as they had the hot water for. Frak it, he wasn't going back in there, not for any meetings or planing defenses of this miserable town. Not even for his kit. The cloths he had found, she could keep 'em. His only clean uniform, she could keep that too. She could keep his razor and the rest of it. He could collect it later, when they left or from where they chose to throw the lot out. He was not going back in that house, he'd set up shop in the hotel and damn the bitch.

He slide the laspistol back into it's holster and was half way to putting his snubgun away, when the thought hit him. He was going back in that house, right now. He had decorated the bedroom he had taken, with the banners. Over a dozen of the things, torn and tattered regimental colors he had collected off the battlefields of Mosul, from the broken bodies of the rebels there. He would have collected trophies from Kudrun as well, but the symbols on those banners, they were a good way to get the commissariat sniffing around, looking to shoot you as a heretic and they tended to make one sick by looking at them. He could not let these collection of PDF cast offs touch those few remaining tokens of the 129th's past glories, now that the battle honors on their regimental colors were lost.

"Frak me" Henry growled, shoving his revolver into it's underarm holster. Gritting his teeth, he took off at a run, booted feet flying over the ground, as he cleared the distance between him and his former billet. Taking the stairs in a leap, he turned, setting his shoulder to clear the doorway, that Briggs had just disappeared into. Not caring, he crashing into a body, sent it sprawling and carrying on, up the grand staircase. He didn't look back to see if he had gotten the captain or just some unlucky enlisted, it didn't matter. He just needed to get to the master bedroom before they touched the banners.

Knocking aside another guardswomen on a landing, he reached the floor he was looking for and took off down a hallway. The bedroom door was wide open, there was a woman there, reaching for something on the wall. Anger burned in his guts, he ran faster. Her fingers almost touched cloth, when the stamp of his boots make the private look away from the captured tokens of the enemy, with just enough time to grab at her lasgun and start to swing before he crashed into her. The stock struck his side but it didn't stop his body, as he smashed the soldier against the wall.

Gasping for breath, Captain Clayton grabbed the stunned soldier by a handful of tunic and her arm. Baring bloody teeth, he yanked he to her feet and half threw/half slide the bitch out of the room. Coughing slightly, he slammed the door and slid the single bolt home. It wouldn't keep them out for long but it gave him time. The stinging in his ribs didn't stop, as he grabbed a chair, so he could climb up to gently pull the pins out of the color banners.

The rebels had called themselves The Liberators. Something about freeing the planet from the oppression of the Imperium, blah blah blah. Most of the PDF had defected to their cause by the time the Guard showed up and were helping to besiege the capital. It had taken one battle to break them or at least to break their standing army. It had been glorious, an armored charge across level ground, the rebel's light tanks smashed by their (that being the 129th's and other armored regiments) Leman Russ Battle Tanks and their infantry put to flight. The rest of the nine moths they had been on the planet, was spend patrolling and uncovering rebel cells before being redeployed to another warzone.

He had collected most of the banners from that one battle but several were captured from rebel cells, each one proclaiming to be a regiment. In truth, the cells were rare more then a hundred strong, with most being around twenty.

Henry smiled, as his folded the last of the banners, a large piece of bright yellow silk, with a pair of horizontal green strips and some sort of red lizard in the middle. The words, Tenth Scytales, were written across the top of the colors, which had once belonged to a rebel armor regiments, before the 129th had smashed into them, destroying their warmachines and capturing the flag. His anger had faded somewhat, as he gently removed the trophies from the walls and turned them into a easy to carry stack. Of course, that didn't mean that he was going to forget or forgive today's insults. No, not yet and he was not going to be in the mood for whatever bullshit the stuck-up bitches were going to pull, when he tried to leave the bedroom.

Glancing around the room, that tank captain, slung a small bag over his shoulder, the sides bulging from poorly packed cloths and other items from his kit, looking like it was a hurried afterthought, when compared with the neat stack of silks. With a great deal of care, he gently lifted the banners from the bed and drew in a deep breath, before strolling over to the door. Shifting the load to rest on his left forearm, he pulled the bolt and yanked the door open, revealing a private from the 234th, hand raised to knock. For a second, they just stared at each other before she blinked and snapped a smart saluted. His glare over the top of the stack, for thats what his face as set into, relaxed just a little, as he returned the gesture, all be it, more sloppily.

"Captain Briggs wants to see you Captain" the private rattled off.

For a moment, Clayton considered his options. The first and foremost of his thoughts, were to send the soldier off with a rude message to deliver to Captain Briggs. Something along the lines of; "yours tits are too small for me to take interest in you." While that did bring a smile to his inner self and a internal chuckle, he suspected thats just that the bitch wanted and he wasn't going to give it to her. So that left going to see her about whatever girly thing she wanted, which might be seen negatively, like a beaten dog coming to heel. A lose/lose if he ever saw one. The best thing, might be to go see her, hear what she wanted and then tell her to go frak herself.

"Does she" growled Henry, "Well lead the way Private."

Following the woman, the captain stepped carefully. Not that he really care, if he bumped into any of the toy soldiers, now swarming and infesting his billet but he had the banners to think about. He need to keep those from being soiled by their unworthy touch. So he stepped carefully, making sure lean or twist when he had too, to avoid contact with anyone. That was, until he was shown into what had been the nobleman's parlor, with it's large, main table. There was Captain Briggs, that damnable sergeant (he was going to file charges, damn Briggs if he wasn't) and his map.

"Whata ya want?"

Simona gave herself a small self-satisfied smile when she was given the approval of the Captain for her looting; she had never expected to meet the approval of any officer if they found out. She could tell that the captain was more concentrated on the battle around the trenches, but in Simona’s mind her concern was when the xenos closed onto the inner trenches or if they were pushed back into the city, what would they do? Well, thankfully she had learned how the Underhive gangers booby trapped their most treasured turf, and at the moment Simona saw this city as her turf.

She turned as the can-loving captain of the 129th entered the room and gave him a salute, clearly he still held a grudge against her and captain Briggs, though when the 129th captain had finished talking, she couldn’t help but to show an obvious smirk on her face. “So much for upholding the chain of command, eh? I didn’t hear a captain or ma’am, sir,” she said mockingly.
“Captain Briggs, please excuse me, I need to inform the other lieutenants about your plans and bring you those bombs,” she gave a final salute to the captains and then left the room and marched through the HQ towards the other commanding officers. They would all have a lot of work to do by tomorrow so they’d have to encourage some sleep for the soldiers.

Explaining the captain’s plan to the other lieutenants and sergeants wasn’t hard. They all had their faith in their captain to know what was best to do though Simona had taken the liberty to add in a few adjustments here and there; for while the Captain had a clear idea of how to hold the city using the trenches she had overlooked what could happen if they had to fall back into the city. So, knowing how the gangers would have done it, Simona explained that they would need to prepare booby traps for the xenos; a bucket filled with gunpowder and loads of small bitz (coins, keys, nails, anything small and hard) could easily create a grapeshot bomb but they’d require some engineering from either a mechanic from the 129th, or a Tech Priest, and so far it was only the first which they had available.

With a quick promotion within her unit and orders for a soldier to bring the demolition bombs to the captain, Simona selected a handful of soldiers and marched out of the HQ and towards the 129th camp.
Simona spotted a group of men talking and directed the group of women towards them, saluting when she stood before them, “Gentlemen. You’ll be informed eventually, but Captain Briggs of the 234th plans on building trenches around this city to hold off the orks. However, should the trenches fail we will have no further defenses within the city, so I’m gathering a team that will be building grapeshot bombs. Buckets filled with coins, nails, keys, or anything else that’s small and can kill and maim.” Simona surveyed the men, seeing if they had any interest. “I need men with mechanical knowledge, so who’ll volunteer for this?”

Tira Briggs

Tira concealed her smile at lieutenant Hildenbrags comments. While it would have been nice for the good captain to at least pretend he was a soldier or at the very least, intelligent, but as he was blocked from view by a vast amount of old banners, she decided it was an improvement of looks. At least now she did not have to see the disgusting excuse for a uniform. She kept her silence only nodding her head as Hildenbrag made her getaway as if trying to beat the inevitable comeback by the Captain, although given his thought ability, a simple frak off would probably have been the worst.

Tira tapped her chin lightly considering how to go into this. She was grateful he had decided to come as it saved some frustration later, but now she had to proceed... delicately, or he would throw another tantrum and stalk off, and they would be stuck in the same place they were before. Well, she supposed it would be best to simply get technical with the defenses and see if he gave a damn or not. Tira traced the lines with her finger showing the two trenches and the causeways connecting them.

"Tomorrow morning, we will begin construction on two trenches and a series of small causeways to allow for a line of retreat." Tira said which was the general gist of what they were doing, "If the Orks break through, we are legging it, and while I have faith in my guardswomen to hold the line, we lack heavy weaponry." She said evenly. She did not say they had zip encase it got ugly between them, so if he believed they had only a little it would benefit them until a temporary treaty could be formed.

"So, Captain Clayton. I would like your assistance in placing your tanks. I have little experience with tanks, so your input would be appreciated." Tira said, and pointed to a large bluff in between the two trenches, "This bluff will be secured, and from what this map indicates, it will be easily accessible to your tanks. So Captain, what do you think?"

There were things more important, then beating little bitches like the sergeant, or at least that was Henry told himself, as the little girl in sergeant's strips left the room. Things like the banners filling his arms, which would also put him at a disadvantage, if he so chose to dignify the sergeant with his attention. Instead he ignored her, she wasn't worth his time and he doubt that it would do any good to tell her that Briggs was the same rank as him, he didn't have to call her anything, nor was she his commander. It was his choice to offer any respect or honors to her rank and in his mind, she hadn't earned a thing. Of course, it might take an anti-tank round to get that through her thick skull.

As much as the captain was disappointed in not being able to tell the sergeant off, he suffered an equal disappointment, when he was unable to tell the female captain off. He had really been hoping she wanted to see him over something else stupid but instead she wanted to talk about defenses and tank placements. Frowning for a second, he carefully place the banners on a chair, to that he could get a good view of the map, as she traced out lines and starting talking about trenches and bluffs. He had to bite off a comment about her experience in combat, swallowing the acidic remakes with a little difficulty. Her finger rested on a series of steep hills, south of the town.

He frowned more openly now and shook his head a little, as he stared down at the map. It was a good position, for artillery or dug in troops not so much for his tanks. Parking all of his tanks there, would just turn the bluffs into a big target for any ork artillery or rockets, not to mention it would put half his force in a position, where they couldn't fire until the enemy had overridden the crunchies. Then add in that it went against the very mobile nature of tank warfare, it wasn't a good spot. Of course, defense went against that as well but the thoughts popping up in his head, were better then just parking atop a hill. If they (the guardswomen that is) were going to be digging, then it would be easy to get the material to build bunkers for his tanks.

"I think" said Henry, slowly, "I can put a few of my tanks there, a platoon at most but if you want my boys to act as heavy weapons for your girls, then parking them on the hills wont do much good. What we should do, is put them just behind the trenches. We build three sided bunkers, big enough to drive a tank into, with the dirt you dig up. That way, you get close support and I can bring the hellhounds and chimeras into it, without worrying that they will catch your lot in friendly fire."

With the mountain ranges to the east and west, it was a good bet that the orks, if they were coming this way, would swing in from the south, hoping to overrun them and push on into the passes through the mountains, to the north of them. They would follow the roads, which lead straight through Haven or passed only a few miles away from the pleasant little backwater. Captain Clayton traced his finger over the southern edges of the ring or at least where he thought the ring of trenches was going to be.

"Make the trenches narrow" he added, "That way my boys can drive over them without getting stuck, it will be helpful if we have to pull back. Those causeways will bottleneck, if you try to funnel your whole force through them. With my boys sitting in bunkers at the trenches, your girls can climb on top or board them, before they drive backwards to the second line of defense. Might save a few more lives."

Henry knew tunnels and what was a trench, but a tunnel without a roof? Try to get a large group through a small tunnel, with something deadly behind and you were asking for trouble. Miners trying to get away from pockets of gas got knocked to the ground and trampled in the mines back home. Sometimes it was just a few broken bones but the men got out alright, other times they died under the boots of their fellows or were crippled and choked to death on the gas. It was more then easily to apply that kind a situation, to guardswomen trying to get away from orks.