It had been an easy mission, easy enough that only Gaunt and Rawne had gone. They'd gotten to the bridge easily enough, placed the explosives, set the timers, and gotten away in plenty of time.
Then it began to rain. Hard, too, so hard they couldn't see anything but the rain in front of them. It soaked them instantly and chilled them to the bone. They were caught out on a plain, with no shelter to be found, until finally, they saw the silhouette of a house up ahead.
It was a farmhouse that had long been abandoned, but the roof was mostly intact, and the door opened after a brief struggle. Rawne closed the door after them and leaned against it, wet to the skin and panting with exertion.
Gaunt, similarly exhausted, winces and offers Rawne a half-full canteen full of water that is certfiably safe and purified, if still rather brackish and warm. He is silent for a long moment, shifting his camo-cloak with his hands, before stripping it off and setting it hanging off a rather rusty nail that is sticking out of the wall.
"We should dry what we can, while we can." He finally says in a low tone, before looking over the farmhouse with a certain grim exhaustion, hoping that he'll find it abandoned instead finding the remains of the former occupants. He has slid one of his silenced autopistols out of a holster, more from habit than out of any real expectation he was going to be using it on anyone, or anything within the structure.
Rawne takes the canteen and drinks a mouthful before handing it back. He peels his camo-cloak off and hangs it beside Gaunt's, then takes his jacket off, too. "Agreed. The sooner we get dry, the sooner we don't die of pneumonia."
A quick look around shows no dead bodies, but they could be piled in a corner. He takes a circuit around the main room, though, keeping his lasgun out, in case.
There isn't a whole lot there. Possibly the former owners were part of the population that was bundled off to the flesh-smiths or even worse during the initial part of the occupation. Just some old plates without food on them, and a few devotional tracts that a farmer might read by the light of lumens before sleep. Eventually, and old rusty fowling piece of a stubgun can be found, though there's no ammunition or even a sling with it, and it looks to have been rusted into disuse.
Gaunt in the meantime has sat down and is pulling out one of the last ration packs that they had brought with them from their initial insertion.
"Slab. Again." he manages with something almost like cheerfulness, then asks Rawne. "When was the last time we had a meal where a fire to warm it was actually a possibility? Within the Untill?" He can't remember. Gereon, and the exigencies of fighting on minimal sleep and with bad food and worse circumstances are starting to wear at his memory.
Rawne sits opposite him and pastes an over-cheerful smile on his face. "Oh good! Slab! I'm so excited!"
He then sobers and tries to think back. Even for him, the constant paranoia and worry is getting to be too much. "Probably. I can't remember one since, but I may have just forgotten."
"I don't think it's been that long," he says, then frowns, "but I can't think of anything since. Surely you've attended a banquet or two in the past, what, eight years?"
He takes a moment to think back on events from that long ago. "From here it really does seem quaint. At the time, well... it's strange to look back on events that involved my torture and consider them minor. But they are, in the greater scheme of things, I suppose." The worst thing then had been that Chaos-corrupted Man of Iron.
He shakes his head, and looks at the door, and seemingly out past it.
"but you're right. A few banquets before Herodor, maybe. Since then we've been packed off to the second front, but even there we've been found valuable. In a way."
He squints, this mission to kill Sturm was incredibly important, and completely suited to the Tanith 1st's skillset, but he can't help himself as he worries about the rest of his command.
"Maybe there was a quiet dinner with Van Voytz over Phantine, as well. Once we started taking it back."
"That's all right," he shrugs, "it was a long time ago."
Then he smiles. "See, Colonel-Commissar, you've had some nice meals. Some fancy ones."
He'd been happy to be chosen for this mission, sure it showed that his talents and status were recognized. Now, all he wanted was to get the feth off this planet.
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Then it began to rain. Hard, too, so hard they couldn't see anything but the rain in front of them. It soaked them instantly and chilled them to the bone. They were caught out on a plain, with no shelter to be found, until finally, they saw the silhouette of a house up ahead.
It was a farmhouse that had long been abandoned, but the roof was mostly intact, and the door opened after a brief struggle. Rawne closed the door after them and leaned against it, wet to the skin and panting with exertion.
no subject
"We should dry what we can, while we can." He finally says in a low tone, before looking over the farmhouse with a certain grim exhaustion, hoping that he'll find it abandoned instead finding the remains of the former occupants. He has slid one of his silenced autopistols out of a holster, more from habit than out of any real expectation he was going to be using it on anyone, or anything within the structure.
no subject
A quick look around shows no dead bodies, but they could be piled in a corner. He takes a circuit around the main room, though, keeping his lasgun out, in case.
no subject
Gaunt in the meantime has sat down and is pulling out one of the last ration packs that they had brought with them from their initial insertion.
"Slab. Again." he manages with something almost like cheerfulness, then asks Rawne. "When was the last time we had a meal where a fire to warm it was actually a possibility? Within the Untill?" He can't remember. Gereon, and the exigencies of fighting on minimal sleep and with bad food and worse circumstances are starting to wear at his memory.
no subject
He then sobers and tries to think back. Even for him, the constant paranoia and worry is getting to be too much. "Probably. I can't remember one since, but I may have just forgotten."
no subject
He shakes his head, "Farther back. It's been a while since we've had good food. Pyrites, maybe?"
He laughs a little. "Trouble with different factions in the guard seems rather quaint, all things considered. Less wirewolves. No glyphs."
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He takes a moment to think back on events from that long ago. "From here it really does seem quaint. At the time, well... it's strange to look back on events that involved my torture and consider them minor. But they are, in the greater scheme of things, I suppose." The worst thing then had been that Chaos-corrupted Man of Iron.
no subject
He shakes his head, and looks at the door, and seemingly out past it.
"but you're right. A few banquets before Herodor, maybe. Since then we've been packed off to the second front, but even there we've been found valuable. In a way."
He squints, this mission to kill Sturm was incredibly important, and completely suited to the Tanith 1st's skillset, but he can't help himself as he worries about the rest of his command.
"Maybe there was a quiet dinner with Van Voytz over Phantine, as well. Once we started taking it back."
no subject
Then he smiles. "See, Colonel-Commissar, you've had some nice meals. Some fancy ones."
He'd been happy to be chosen for this mission, sure it showed that his talents and status were recognized. Now, all he wanted was to get the feth off this planet.