After a few moments the sprinklers cease there torrent adn you are left in the dark silence once more.
Searching the floor you find only one thing more of interest. A corpse.
The corpse appears to have been a guardsmen wearing the basic uniform of service here on the planet modeled after the Cadian style and bearing the insignia and rank of a first sergeant.
The stub pistol gripped in his left hand and the rather large hole in his head tells a story. One marred by the length by which he's been dead and the local fungus, who have happily accepted this gift of flesh and death by growing all over the body, hiding his features and giving him the look of some dead shambling thing.
"Well now, first sign of "life" we've had so far.
If I get him on a slab I might be able to say how long he has been dead, but with all the fungi, I doubt it..."
Shaking his head Lark replies "Don't see how it's worth it anyway... big frak off hole in his head suggests he topped himself anyways... let's keep moving lads. Best we file through and regroup with the rest of the boys."
"... give me a minute sarge."
Zochel quickly examines the corpse and environs.
Only one bullet fired?
Any other gear of interest?
Other than the Melta-door any other weapon scarring about?
I wish you all the best in your current and future endeavors
The gear is nothing really of interest.
IT appears only one bullet was fired from the pistol.
Outside of the massive damage cause by excessive firepower the floor is otherwise unscarred.
Jochel
"This is odd sarge.. He only took one shot and we see the results. Whatever threatened him, he never took a shot. No spent clips or anything."
"I know PDF's not up to Guard standards but what would they not shoot at?"
"Well, he COULD have shot at them somewhere else, retreated to here, maybe hoping the servitor would protect him, and when it didn't (for some reason) decided he would rather end it instead of being taken..."
"Not likely I grant you, but still..."
Shrugging Hathin doesn't discount the conversation but does off the contrary "Above our paygrade anyway... lets finish the sweep and look to rendezvous."
"Seems pretty bloody obvious he blew his own damn brains out sarge." Zochel's companion announces with no small touch of annoyance at the physical examination.
Before long you emerge on the roof to the blue green sky overhead. Outside of some locked doors you never entered the building is cleared.
"Well, I doubt we'll get a medal over this, but jobs done and I didn't have to break out the med kit, all in all, I'd call that a success."
Sotto voce "I have a bad feeling about this.." mumbles Zochel as the group leaves the lone corpse.
He is thinking of invasive fungi, disease, mad psykers, and other things you can't shoot. The poor Loser wishes he were back home or at least still on the ship. The air may stink in the ship bowels or home in the old hab-plex, but at least that air is filtered. Standing on the roof he shades his eyes and watches a cloud of long tendrilled spores drift innocently by.
[b]"Better call in the sweep. See what the nobs want done next."[b]
Hathin doesn't respond bar a nod of acknowledgement, and seeks to raise HQ on the blower. "HQ this is F squad come back"
Your job done, you are asked to secure the entrances, set up a guard rotation and stand by.
After several hours of boredom two more dropships arrive carrying personnel, equipment, and supplies. The next morning your unit is given a rotation manning the walls of the fortress.
Later in the week you hear that the regiment's mechanicus attachment was furious to hear about Zaltys's indiscretionary las fire upon an innocent battle robot though if there are any consequences attached to this anger you never hear about it.
Weeks pass into a full month and before long you fall into the simple groover of rotating patrols, watching the blue green landscape not do much at all.
Discipline of course starts to slack. Even the Commissars, usually pillars of discipline and barely contained fury, have toned down a bit on minor dress code violations and improper salutes.
The armory is eventually opened up and within are discovered 6 more combat robots. Activated and set to patrol the walls along with you the job simultaneously becomes more and less interesting. The robots are far more efficient in both brutal violence and detecting hostiles. Which does a lot to stir the imagination, but very little to keep you more alert.
At one point, during the more frequent visits to the recreational barracks affectionately know as "the pits", downing that days rations of weak spirits, Cormaeg looks over at the Sarge and sighs.
"Sorry sarge, I know I shouldn't complain about not having anything to do as the medic, but when the most interesting things they have me do is give out shots against the pox, and salt tablets for upset stomachs, it wears on the nerves just a touch."
Relative impish mien upon his face Lark fires back a query "Right... so should we throw down wi' the a@~$+#@@s over in D squad? - give you a few cuts and bruises to care for as well?"
Chuckling a little, Cormaeg nods slowly.
"Not a bad idea that sarge, you know that big thug they call a corporal? I always did want to see if I could set his nose straight again..."
"Morale building exercise or fratricide? It is a thin line in this man's army."
"It is all part of the system..."
"Well, with the way tensions are running high, if something does not happen soon, it WILL be a serious issue.
Besides, it's a time-honoured tradition to mix it up and rumble now and again."
"Aye, and the last time we scrapped that corporal hit me so hard I was eating from a straw until the cast came off. I've it in mind ta make sure the bastard avoids the brothels next leave comes." One of the other squad chimes in all of whom seem very keen on the idea of starting a brawl with the much maligned D-squad.
Musing Hathin reads the malcontent and with an internal resigned sigh lays down the usual guidelines "Right then... just after chow tonight. Only fists though, and fold like a dining chair at the first sign of a Commie."
"And watch each-others backs, some of D-squad are a little shiv happy."
As chow time comes and goes the squad makes a rare collective walk towards the exercise yard with all the swagger of sneering pirates.
The yard itself is a fenced off portion by the south wall. Newly made as the simple, feeble structures of the fortress may suffice for pampered officers and bored PDF forces but worthless to the standards of Guardsmen who grew up on worlds where mankind was much closer to the bottom of the food chain than their place in the galaxy might suggest.
D-Squads sargeant is a potbellied man a couple of inches shorter than Hathin a blading middle aged man that gives the appearance that he'd be infinitely happier in a pub than a trench.
His corporal is a massive Catachani man who, out of sheer boredom, would stalk and kill the massive rat dogs of the ship with his bare hands.
As you approach the yard the sarge is observing his men from the door of the fence. He turns just in time to see the entirety of the squad just entering the door behind him.
"Hey! What's all this then!?! You lot aren't scheduled here for another half an hour!! Explain yourself sargeant!" The potbellied man announces leveling a glare at Hathin.
Fronting up Hathin steps close enough for his height to become uncomfortable to the potbellied one. He keeps his hands to his side as he draws up and speaks clearly in low tones "I don't need to explain a damn thing... Sergeant." while also scanning the interior to make sure that any commissars or officers are vacant.
The portly man's eyes narrow though he doesn't seem to backdown or look remotely intimidated. "Don't take that tone with me De'Lark. You and your rabble can wait until my boys are done here."
Hathin is happy to see that their are no commissars or officers in sight. Though the moment he takes his attention away the massive corporal has found himself behind his sergeant in the true style of henchmen everywhere.
"...oh dear..."
Well, this IS what we came for...
Sighing, Hathin looks as though he's about to turn away... before grabbing the other Sergeant by the shoulder for leverage and attempting to drive his knee into the bastard's ghoulies...
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