Holy Divers

Backstory: Arrival

Colonel Hunters
Diosian 233rd

General Ghan had some words about us. A couple of them were even nouns.
Seems he was hoping more for ace-pilot golden flyboys with a lengthy honour roster, rather than convicted killers with a minor in falling.
Still, after a half hour of swearing, he conceded that he did need drop troops. After I assured him that shooting my men and taking their kits would only get his more trustworthy soldiers smeared across the LZ, he was willing to listen to my proposal.

We need to whip the 233rd in to an independant and reliable regiment. Soldiers capable of operating loyally outside of stable command hierarchy, and outside the line of sight of a commissar.
So we’ll offer them a pardon and backpay, if they can complete specialist missions.

Granted, specialist missions usually carry an incredible casualty rate; but our previous remit was to find death in minor distractions. I’m going to need to use some puppets to explain it to the men, but they’ll learn the difference between probably-dead and certain-dead, or Butler will throw them out the airlock.

If it works, the General take the credit for the idea. Hunters Deal doesn’t have much of a ring to it anyway.

Backstory: Transit
Trade (Meat Sculpture) +10

Major Sonny Grim
A Company Infiltrators
Diosian 233rd

Change of orders. We’re being redirected to the Spinward Front, formally known as the Periphery Subsector.
We’ll be killing rebels instead of xenos. Gotta say that’s an improvement. Xenos don’t have supply chains, communication networks. Or even proper groins.
Course, now we need to completely upend our training regime. On the bright side, we can use any old servitors as training dummies.
On the downside I’ll miss the ‘xenos’ dummies Enginseer Dimitri made in the morgue. Or I’ll miss how they made the commissar cadets fume

Backstory: The Game
When the Generals talk...

Journal of General Jake Shell,
Jericho Reach Theatre

Inquisitor Stride came to see me today, looking like a monarch with robot legs. She was asking a lot of questions, trying to get what she could for free. I played hard ball, but eventually I did have to give her some answers; yes, I am General Shell, no, I can’t hear any saxophones.
They were non-diegetic anyway.

She told me ‘we’ had a problem. Things were going to get tighter than a priest’s dictionary, with General Ghan rotating out to the Periphery.
See, Ol’ Ghan is convinced this isn’t an infantry war. Something about leaving all the ‘stealer fighting to the Deathwatch and the Navy. Me, I say we shouldn’t let those giant, armour-plated, acid-drooling monsters, and city-sized cannon take all the glory.
But with the glory Ghan’s gone and gotten, the bureaucrats are giving him a lot of swat for troop displacement.
Stride told me he’d be keeping all of the fancy lads for himself, and sending us a bare minimum of rejects and vegetables disguised as soldiers. I think she was concerned that she couldn’t hide covert ops amongst a glorified preschool.
I turned my powerful military mind to the problem at hand. After a few minutes, the Inquisitor coughed and left.

Bloody Ghan, thinking we can fight the xenos menace with expendable men. I’ll teach him a thing or too about utterly expendable men.

I probably shouldn’t have recorded that.
Scribe? Be a dear and wipe that out before reporting to Commissar Dennis for disposal.


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