[Only War] The Adventures of C Squad

This is a write-up from an Only War campaign me and some pals have been doing. I’m starting at our fourth session, so it might be a tad confusing. I’ll see about an abridged write-up for the first three, as there’s plenty to cover. For now, all you need to know is C Squad is from the 227th, who are defending Cadia from Chaos forces during the 13th Black Crusade. They were tasked with defending a hamlet called Goria, and have just been pushed back by an overwhelming assault.


Commissar Gravius was not having a good day. First, the archenemy had staged an all-out assault, then, his own troopers had failed to adequately hold the line. This might have had something to do with the amount of field executions Gravius had doled out for preliminary failure, but a man with a hat as impressive as his doesn’t need self-awareness. After the hamlet fell, a pair of cultists had come to take him prisoner.

So he’d field executed them, too.

The day was turning up.

In a building across the street, Yuriy the Ratling watched a commissar’s cap poke out the window of a blown out building. He shoved his spotter, Misha.

“Hey Misha, that’s the commissar.”

“What? Where?”

One would need to be blind or oblivious to miss the giant hat poking through the ruins. Unfortunately, the one thing Misha was, was oblivious. This was not the ideal trait for a spotter.

“Over there.”

Misha looked everywhere but the commissar, as he stepped out of the ruins, dusted himself off, and started strolling towards the enemy lines, bolt-pistol in hand.

Another cultist appeared around a corner, snatching watches from dead troopers. Commissar Gravius turned, and prepared to field execute him, but before he could, the man’s head exploded. After pondering whether his powers of execution had increased overnight, he realised the shot had come from behind and above him. He waved. A little ratling hand popped out from above a sniper’s hide, and waved back.

“Oh! That’s the commissar! Where’d he come from?”

After giving Misha a firm slap, Yuriy sighted more cultists on the approach. The commissar and the sniper killed a brace of them, before deciding that their duty to the Imperium was to advance rearwards, towards the safety of Kasr Gehr.

Syrila Naso held the scorched skull of his handler and waggled its jaw about.

“Look, guardsmen!”

Syrila frowned, and asked the skull, “Should we go to them?”

The skull stared back, “They don’t look tainted.”

Syrila and his handler had taken to argument about an hour after their retreat from the hamlet of Goria. The argument had been about the handler’s responsibility of killing Syrila if he were to go out of control, and, say, start setting his own side on fire. His position was that the handler’s responsibility was superfluous. The handler disagreed.

Then she burst into flames.

The guardsmen around the fire turned out to be Syrila’s comrades - the survivors, at least. There was Corporal Skriggs, the driver of the Lemon Russ Herald’s Litany, which had unfortunately been lost, in his words, ‘up the ass of a chaos tank’ in what could charitably be described as an ambitious ramming maneuver.

Laying on the ground was Corporal Dender Rix, a stormtrooper who had tried to draw the enemy fire during the retreat. This had been successful, and he was thus moaning incoherently as Grimm, the tank’s gunner, tried to bandage a hotshot lasgun wound to his head. It would be fair to say that Rix wasn’t all there at the best of times. This was not an improvement.

Standing above them all was a Techpriest Enginseer by the name of Rufus, who had largely embraced guardsman tradition, and was demonstrating his sense of camaraderie by bitching.

“I hate this. Not a machine spirit to be found. I hate this wind, and this rain, and the sky, and… whatever these are.”

He pointed to a tree.

Then it burst into flames.

Syrila Naso was a man always on the look for ways to make friends and influence people.

While the others flinched and stared (and Rix hummed his Progenia’s school song to himself), Rufus laughed his approval.

Thus followed a short discussion on which way the survivors should go. The decision was “away from the enemy.”

Thus followed a short discussion on which way was most “away from the enemy.” Skriggs, as the only NCO without a brain injury, checked where the moss on the trees was, and set off north towards Kasr Gehr. Most of the others followed.

Dender Rix shot up, stood to attention, and started off at a clockwork-perfect parade march in the exact wrong direction. Skriggs came over and guided him after the others.

Commissar Gravius came across a burning tree in the middle of the forest. He stepped up to it, muttering to himself.

“Chaos…”

Yuriy and Misha discussed between them which way they should be going. The precursor to this was Yuriy explaining to Misha why they were retreating, and that the archenemy was on Cadia, and had been for the past week or so. This had escaped Misha, but he did spot a set of well hidden boot prints in the mud.

Gravius had to be interrupted from his important work as an Imperial Commissar, which at that moment involved staring at the burning tree from various angles and hatefully whispering “Chaos…”. When the ratlings showed him the tracks, he drew his bolt pistol, and strode off along them.

Clearly, the archenemy was retreating from Kasr Gehr, which must therefore be in the opposite direction.

“Chaos…”

The guardsmen made their way towards Kasr Gehr, steadily. Rix was slowing them all down, on account of still being convinced he was on the parade square. He hadn’t yet said a word.

No-one noticed a pair of ratlings climbing into a nearby tree, not even when one of them loudly said “Guardsmen? Where?”

They did notice Commissar Gravius, as he strode straight through a bush, aimed his bolt pistol at them, and called out “HALT, IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR.”

All was silent, save for the splashing of Corporal Dender Rix snapping to parade halt in the middle of a stream.

Commissar Gravius hadn’t expected a bunch of cultists to come to their senses so quickly, but he was never a man to doubt his own successes. He stepped out, and a part of his brain locked behind the many barriers set up by the Commissariat recognised that these might in fact be loyalist guardsmen.

“What is your unit?”

Skriggs, once again volunteered by the fact that he was the only NCO without brain damage, answered.

“C squad, 3rd platoon, 1st company, 227th Progena Ecclesiastes Regiment, sir.”

Commissar Gravius slowly accepted a trickle of information from that locked away part of his brain, though he didn’t acknowledge where he’d got it from. The better part of him was still convinced he’d turned these traitors back to the light of the Emperor by sheer force of natural charisma.

“You’re going the wrong way, Corporal. Kasr Gehr is that way.”

Commissar Gravius, with total confidence, pointed in the exact opposite direction to Kasr Gehr.

Corporal Skriggs sweated. Disagreeing with a commissar was about as high on his to-do list as sticking his head inside a chaos battle cannon, and fairly likely to produce the same result. He eyed the commissar’s bolt pistol nervously.

What followed was an extremely tip-toed explanation of navigation, and the importance of relying on geographical data rather than one’s faith in the Emperor. Gravius kept his bolt pistol ready at all times. This was worrying stuff. Hearing words like ‘considered’, ‘interpret’ and ‘withdraw’ induced a natural twitch in his trigger finger.

After a few minutes, he decided that Corporal Skriggs was in fact a total moron, and couldn’t be trusted to navigate the inside of his own helmet, let alone a battlefield. He announced this to the group, and proclaimed that Kasr Gehr was in fact, that way.

He pointed North, in the direction the group had been marching.

Skriggs muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Corporal?”

“Uhhh… Imperial hymm, Commissar.”

Gravius’ suspicion was interrupted as Dender Rix burst out into a full blooded rendition of Glory to the Golden Light in G Minor, upon hearing the word “hymm”. He then resumed his parade march, apparently oblivious to the others.

Gravius stared, open mouthed, and asked, “Who is that man?”

Skriggs scratched nervously as the other corporal splashed his way upstream, about a foot parallel to dry land, “Uhh, that’s Corporal Rix.”

With a tear in his eye, Gravius proclaimed “He’s the best soldier I’ve ever seen.”

It was then that after a particularly loud “When did they get here?”, and a louder slapping noise, Misha the Spotter fell out of his tree. Yuriy followed him, and slapped him again for good measure.

No-one questioned this. They’d seen stranger.

The journey to Kasr Gehr wasn’t uneventful, but did have a surprising lack of people trying to kill the guardsmen. Everyone found this a relief, save for Syrila Naso, who was always looking for ways to prove himself as loyal to his comrades (mostly by setting the enemy on fire), and Commissar Gravius, who was still getting over his frustration at not being able to field execute anyone in the past few hours.

Of the two interruptions in the journey, the first was the least obvious, and, for Corporal Skriggs, the most disappointing. On the squad’s journey into Goria, when the Herald’s Litany had still been with them, they had come across a minefield, and taken a detour around it. As he walked, it slowly dawned upon Skriggs that they were now approaching the minefield from the opposite direction.

Commissar Gravius was out in front, and didn’t know about the mines. He strode on, oblivious.

Quietly, Skriggs put a hand out and stopped Grimm, Syrila, and Rufus. Rix very nearly marched straight past, and took some convincing to stop. This alerted Yuriy to the fact that Something Was Up, and from his position scouting from the rear, he stopped Misha.

As the entire squad stopped behind him, Commissar Gravius paused, mid-step, his gleaming boot held a few inches above the ground. He turned.

Skriggs’ sweating face greeted him, along with the mixed confusion, concern, and obliviousness of the rest of the squad.

Gravius’ trigger finger twitched.

“What is this?”

Skriggs wiped his brow, “Uhhh, sir, we passed here on the way over. It’s a minefield. I was just about to say.”

Gravius considered this for a few long moments, then stepped back towards the squad, with an “Ah.”

Soaring relief and crushing disappointment filled Skriggs all at once. On the plus side, his head hadn’t been exploded. On the other hand, neither had the commissar.

The gang took a detour around the minefield, as they had before, and it was during this detour that their journey was interrupted for a second time. Ahead of the squad were a pair of guardsmen, tied up, and being guarded by a rougher, scruffier pair of guardsmen.

In retrospect, perhaps it would have been better to scout the situation out first, but Commissar Gravius was starting to get the itches, and of the two sides, he was sure that at least one would be viable for field execution. Syrila Naso followed him, eagerly asking who he would like to feel the Emperor’s wrath. Commissar Gravius liked Syrila Naso; he was a model psyker. Though Gravius did wonder where his handler had gotten to, it didn’t seem like he needed one.

The rest of the squad anxiously dawdled behind and trained weapons, hoping that an enemy sniper would take their commissar’s head off as he crested a ridge and put on his prime shouting voice.

Dender Rix, unseen by all, had snuck off to the flank and taken up a prime shooting position. He still hadn’t said a word.

Gravius’ speech was inspiring in the same way that having a gun aimed at one’s head is inspiring. In fact, that was a primary motif of his rhetoric. He spoke of the Emperor calling upon the captured guardsmen to rise up and fight, lest they meet the wrath of the Commissariat. Both cuffed men stood and ran at their guards in a shocking display of what would have been heroism if there hadn’t been an angry commissar with a bolt pistol behind them.

The system works, thought Gravius.

Rix put a high energy las bolt into the back of one of the guards, which staggered him, but not nearly as much as the bullet from Yuriy’s sniper. One of the bravely charging prisoners charged right into the spray of blood that had been his target, and fell over.

Skriggs, who was a man used to turning levers based on what his Sergeant told him, felt the lack of a thorough briefing right around the moment he shot one of the prisoners in the back, and the rest of the squad turned on him. Gravius asked what the hell he was playing at, and Syrila asked if he could set fire to the traitor.

That was when a Commissar of the Death Korps of Krieg stepped out, with more of the rough’n’ready guardsmen.

Corporal Gravius stared.

The Krieger stared back.

What followed was a Commissariat Duel of the Fates. Both men shouted and intimidated their way towards resolving the matter. Eventually, after every guardsmen in the area had involuntarily tightened their rectum to diamond-crushing status and adopted a position of attention, it was declared that Commissar Gravius would check the Krieger’s orders back at base, and for now, the men who Gravius insisted were brave heroes of the Imperium, and the Krieger said were captured desterters, would remain restrained. Skriggs, due to being a tank driver and not a soldier, hadn’t actually killed the one he’d shot, and by the time everyone started setting off again, people seemed to have forgotten about it all.

No-one made too much fuss about the exploded guardsman. It turned out the Krieger had been put in charge of a penal squad, so they were all crims anyway.

For the first time since he’d met him, Skriggs was glad to have Commissar Gravius along. He might have been an arrogant homicidal moron with a handheld rocket launcher, but that was to be expected. At least he wasn’t from the Death Korps of Krieg.

As the squad reached Kasr Gehr it became apparent just how many losses the 227th had taken at Goria. The squad’s Staff NCO had become their Lieutenant, and there was no sign of any other officers.

After Gravius and the Krieger checked in with (as of today) Lieutenant Griggs, and discovered that the prisoners were, in fact, deserters, Gravius felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. Holding back his sigh of relief, he pulled out his bolt pistol and exploded both prisoners.

The Krieger nodded his approval while everyone else stared on in horror.

Dender Rix didn’t seem to notice, as he was busy doing an impression of a statue of a stormtrooper at attention in the corner of the dugout.

Lieutenant Griggs, after he had wiped off his face and ordered a work detail to drag the bodies off, asked for the squad’s report. It wasn’t good.

Skriggs listed the squad’s losses. Their heavy gunner and his loader, their sergeant, their vox-man, Rufus’ servitor, and the Herald’s Litany.

To everyone’s shock, the first thing Lieutenant Griggs did was promise everyone medals. After all, they had survived great losses and escaped Goria to reinforce the remainder of the unit. Skriggs was incredibly glad not to be reprimanded for losing his tank in front of not one, but two commissars. Thankfully the Krieger’s goggles had fogged over, and Gravius was smiling contentedly at the bloodstains on the floor and stroking his bolt pistol as if it were a cat.

Lieutenant Griggs then asked who was most senior in the squad. Skriggs frowned, and once again contemplated the burdens of being the only NCO who wasn’t suffering from brain damage. His experience of command so far was that it meant the commissars talked to him most. That said, it was his responsibility. He wrestled with the issue.

This was when Dender Rix snapped his heels and presented his weapon for inspection.

With the whole squad staring open mouthed, Lieutenant Griggs promoted Rix on the spot.

Once again, Skriggs was filled with both overwhelming relief and crushing terror. Their squad Sergeant hadn’t seemed to notice the promotion. He was still waiting for an officer on parade to inspect his hellgun.

Commissar Gravius beamed. The system works, he thought.

The following two weeks were a time of rest, recuperation, casual theft, treachery, and execution. For most of the squad, it was pretty much a long holiday.

Syrila went to find a pict-recorder which he’d been using to take images of chaos sigils, and had mistakenly handed to a child at the munitorum. The child had ended up at the local ministorum, and while Syrila didn’t return with his pict-recorder, he did bring back a very kindly priest with a very large chainsword by the name of Klade Deroin, and his shifty looking companion, Kiera.

Shortly after the pair of them arrived, Skriggs noticed his ampules of painkiller started to go missing.

This was relevant because Skriggs had decided to study the arts of the medicae. The death of many of his squad weighed heavy on him, and he had seen a few nice watches on the wrists of the wounded in the triage center. He assisted the local doctor during the down-time, and helpfully lightened the pockets of the wounded.

Skriggs had his reasons. The squad owed a commissar five hundred thrones for the child they’d bought from him. This isn’t as bad as it sounds, but they had killed one of his parents and effectively sold the other away to slavery, and that part really is as bad as it sounds. This was the same child Syrila had given his pict-recorder full of chaos symbols.

It was fair to say that the Thirteenth Black Crusade wasn’t going particularly well for C Squad, and wasn’t liable to get much better soon.

Commissar Gravius felt right at home in the trenches ahead of Kasr Gehr. He had plenty of troopers to harass, and spent much of his time checking Uplifting Primers. The most notable of these harassments involved a Lieutenant from the neighbouring unit to the 227th. Gravius found a guardswoman without her primer, and brought the matter up with her CO.

The conversation went something like this:

“Lieutenant, do you know the punishment for losing one’s uplifting primer?”

“...Being given another uplifting primer?”

Gravius bristled.

“Show me your primer, Lieutenant”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t seem to find my ball and chain.”

The commissar reached for his bolt pistol, and the Lieutenant miraculously found his primer. Gravius was disgusted by how filthy the book was, and firmly told the man that this was his last warning.


Now-Sergeant Dender Rix seemed much more himself after some time recovering. No-one seemed entirely certain about whether this was a good or a bad thing. Skriggs had spent some time working out various systems for ventriloquism, should Rix have been rendered permanently braindead.

Unfortunately, even with Sergeant Rix there to back them up, C squad didn’t have much luck at the munitorum, and they were critically low on bobs and bits like ammunition, weapons, grenades, and tanks.

In keeping with what Dender assured the others were ‘finest Tempestus traditions’, he snuck off into the other neighbouring unit’s trenches to steal whatever wasn’t bolted down. Fortunately for Rix, this unit was Cadian, and he was certain that they ‘didn’t need all those grenades’. Unfortunately for Rix, this unit was Cadian, and displayed a shocking lack of respect for the old guard traditions of leaving things around for roaming stormtroopers to steal.

He returned to the 227th’s trenches unmolested but empty handed, and went straight to Commissar Gravius.

Rix put across to Gravius that the 227th was a regiment that prided itself on its aptitude with explosives, and yet the Cadians neighbouring them had all the grenades. He suggested that the Cadian troopers might have been ‘a tad sticky fingered’. After all, what other explanation could there be for the 227th’s lack of munitions?

He didn’t mention that the 227th had only just gained a replacement munitorum official after C Squad bribed a commissar to shoot the last one. This, in Dender Rix’s mind, was filed under ‘peripheral information’ that Gravius was clearly too busy for.

Busy, he was.

Gravius harrumphed, and, drawing his bolt pistol, made a bee-line for the Cadian lines. This was when it occurred to Dender that commissars had a habit of taking enemy fire in the back when they were in Cadian territory. While this wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, it would mean they wouldn’t get any grenades.

Recognising that someone should go along and stop people from being shot, Dender decided the better part of leadership was delegation.

Corporal Skriggs scowled at Gravius’ back as they marched into the Cadian lines. At first, everything went suspiciously well. This was when the Mk1 Guardsman Oh-Shit Alarm started blaring in Skriggs’ head. As all guardsmen know, everything is most likely to explode when things are going well, and the safest place is usually down in a foxhole in the pouring rain, not standing next to a commissar surrounded by the most heroic guardsmen in the Imperium.

Gravius had no such concerns. He prowled for Cadians with more than a single frag grenade. As he approached a female guardsman with two at her belt, he didn’t even get the words out before she had her Uplifting Primer in hand.

All Uplifting Primers have a little box in them, that says “KEEP THIS SPACE CLEAR. DO NOT DEFACE. ON PAIN OF DEATH.”
This woman’s primer didn’t have so much as a smudge inside the box. It was absolutely pristine, as befits Cadian regimental standards.

Gravius aimed his bolter at her and ordered her to drop her weapons. She lunged at him, and he exploded her head.

Wiping grey matter off himself for the second time that day, Skriggs decided not to ask any questions. He collected the dead woman’s gear.

It’s a Commissariat secret that the Uplifting Primer is printed with a smudge in that little box. This means two things:

Any guardsman can be field executed at any moment because his Primer has been defaced.
A guardsman with a pristine Primer has a forgery, and may be an infiltrator.

Gravius hadn’t yet considered the prospects of an infiltrator within the Cadian ranks. He pocketed the primer and continued on his business of restoring the balance of supply, with Skriggs shuffling on behind him with a full set of standard gear bundled in his arms.

The next few inspections went by without incident, shockingly. Skriggs watched with mounting horror and amazement as Gravius cut a path through the Cadians, relieving them of their grenades. In one case, he took two krak grenades from a Kasrkin (the only guardsmen the Astartes have nightmares about). In another, he wrote a trooper an IOU for a frag grenade as he took his flashbang. Skriggs doubted that the note would be honoured by the munitorum. All it said was “one frag grenade - Commissar Gravius Desparrois.”

The alarm bells in Skriggs’ head were reaching the point of deafening him, as he carried a full stock of Cadian grenades and equipment down a line of Kasrkin and veterans, following a Commissar who was humming a sunny tune and tapping his bolt pistol rhythmically.

That was when Gravius entered the Kasrkin command bunker and asked a pair of the most terrifying men Skriggs had ever seen to present their Uplifting Primers for inspection.

Gravius, apparently blind or entirely immune to anything that might threaten his ego, carried a casual conversation with the two grizzled Kasrkin officers about a forged primer in the guard lines ahead.

According to the officers, the commissar listed in the forged primer had been killed weeks ago. Gravius went “hm”, and stalked off to go inspect the primer of the Cadian guard CO, who happened to be a Staff Sergeant. Upon finding that both the Staff NCO and the guardsman in his command dugout had forged primers, Gravius told the man to prepare his men for inspection.

Now, while the unit was in a period of downtime, Abaddon’s army was at that point preparing for a final assault which would shake the very foundations of Kasr Gehr. The Cadians were standing guard on the foremost of the trenches.

The conversation went exactly like this:

“Staff Sergeant, prepare your men for inspection.”

“Sir, we’re to stay on post in preparation for a heavy assault.”

Skriggs watched in combined terror and awe as Commissar Gravius uttered the most Imperial Guard phrase he had ever heard.

“The heavy assault can wait.”

The Staff Sergeant stared blankly for a moment, then, comprehending that he was dealing with a being who acted at the behest of forces greater and more mystical than mere reality, ordered his men to present themselves for inspection.

Skriggs, watching the whole thing, wondered if Commissars had gene seed, and if so, how much the Commissariat would pay for Gravius’.

Gravius, unaware that anything was beyond the norm, mentioned to Skriggs that he should have the rest of C squad come along. Skriggs rushed out of the command bunker and nervously shuffled up to the nearest man with a vox: a Kasrkin. While he was terrifying, he did help Skriggs operate the voxcaster, in the same way a Drill Sergeant might very politely instruct a toddler on how to operate a machinegun.

Skriggs tried to listen as the vox rang, but the alarms rang in his head like klaxons and he briefly considered the potentially treacherous Cadians who were formed up for inspection in the dugout next to him while carrying an armful of grenades. The threat of the Kasrkin around him (who might not take kindly to munitions detonated within the lines) convinced him to instead ask for reinforcements as ordered.

“Uh, Sergeant, we’ve got a major clusterfuck over here. You’ll wanna come get these frag grenades. I think we’re gonna need to use ‘em.”

There was a moment’s silence, then Rix’s rarified accent piped up on the other end.

“Well… shit. We’ll be right there chum.”

A few minutes later, Sergeant Dender Rix and the gang of misfits that formed C Squad showed up. Gravius asked for his vox, and Dender called up his vox-man, Leman Deculus, who he introduced as “Rupert”. Leman started to correct him, but was interrupted as Gravius started belting out orders. He requested the Krieger Commissar be voxed to attend.

Out from the dugout the Cadians were formed up in stepped the Kasrkin Commissar, who looked like he’d stepped right of a fictional portrait of a war hero, complete with a dashing scar along his jaw. He demanded to know what the hell was going on, and Gravius filled him in, then the Krieger as he arrived.

C Squad took a moment to consider that they were on the good side of three commissars, of which they couldn’t decide who was the most terrifying. One was a Krieger, and no more needed said there, another was a man in charge of making sure Kasrkins didn’t misbehave, and the last was in the process of ordering the other two about. Stunningly, they seemed to be listening, too.

Rix, who had started the whole thing as a way to steal grenades from Cadians, watched the trio plotting field executions, and sweated.

The commissars led the way, and C squad followed. Primers were inspected by the Kasrkin commissar, and Rix took it upon himself to inspect weapons. He did this by removing charge packs from weapons. This, given the circumstances, was entirely reasonable. Less so, was the fact that he handed the charge packs to Skriggs.

C squad was low on ammo, after all.

One of the Cadians piped up in complaint, and Rix turned to him and promised cheerfully that they’d all get them back after the inspection. Skriggs shared a glance with the others as he pocketed the charge packs.

Syrila, meanwhile, ever keen to make friends and influence people, was offering the Cadians the opportunity to play doctor with Uplifting Primers: ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’. No-one was keen to play this game with a psyker, save for one man at the end of the line who took swapped his primer for Syrila’s, which he quickly pocketed.

Syrila asked him to give it back, to which he replied “Give what back?” It didn’t occur to Syrila that perhaps Mistakes Had Been Made, and he quickly reverted to swearing ‘DOOOOOM’ upon the thief. This attracted the attention of Dender Rix, who stepped up and asked what had happened.

The Cadian neatly explained that Syrila was trying to steal his Uplifting Primer. Syrila neatly explained that the man by his actions had sworn himself to the terrors of the warp and should be immediately immolated in the Emperor’s cleansing fire.

Dender Rix looked between the two, and held out his hand for Syrila’s primer. It displayed “17th Cadian” under ‘Regiment’, and he passed it back and stepped outside to be met by Kasrkin in breaching position.

Dender cheerfully said hello, and asked Commissar Gravius for permission to field execute one of the Cadians for stealing his psyker’s primer. Gravius denied him this.

Commissar Gravius had a plan.

In the list of ‘bad things to hear’ in the Imperial guard, a Commissar’s grinning little mouth declaring “I have a plan” ranks just above incoming artillery and just below incoming artillery from your own side, which is usually more accurate in exactly the wrong way.

Still, Dender Rix wasn’t one to be phased by imminent death, as evidenced by a hotshot lasgun scar across his head. He listened to the Commissar’s plan eagerly, and Skriggs leaned in after a while to listen with him. By now the anxiety based pain in Skriggs’ skull was threatening to rob Gravius of a future job in exploding his brainpan.

After the Commissar finished outlining his plan, Skriggs very politely and calmly explained (in a room full of commissars), why it was totally fucking stupid. The impenetrable shield around Gravius’ ego flared for a moment, then he called Skriggs a moron and stormed out to enact his plan. Dender followed along with a “Sssssssir,” and the commissars glided out after in a parade of flapping leather coats.

Gravius stepped into the room full of Cadians, and named the men without forged primers, telling them sternly that they were to await in the command bunker for further inspection.

Somewhere in the Commissariat Handbook, the phrase ‘further inspection’ is conveniently placed next to a helpful diagram of how to construct a gallows in the field.

As the probably-not-traitors filed out, four men were left. Rix examined their positioning, and decided that they were a little spread across the room for ideal shot placement. He told them sternly to fix up their formation and stand shoulder to shoulder, then thanked them politely.

Gravius stepped out, and gave Rix a nod. Rix was about to heft his hellgun and start cleansing when Gravius practically moonwalked back into the room, snatched the Staff Sergeant with the forgery, and glided back out again, muttering to Skriggs that perhaps he might have been right about taking one prisoner.

As far as Skriggs was concerned, this constituted the sort of personal growth on par with a gretchin giving up their life of xenos heresy and morphing into a guardsman to serve the true cause.

Dender happily primed his hellgun, and Skriggs and Gravius shared a moment of practically loving warmth, which was all interrupted by the sound of metal clattering at their feet, rolling in from the dugout the traitors were in.

Dender tried kicking the grenade back through the doors, while Gravius and Skriggs tried to get to cover in a hallway that barely had space for the both of them. Credit to the traitors, as far as grenade placement goes, it was just about perfect.

The one thing they hadn’t counted on was Dender Rix being an utterly mad bastard, who happily shouted “GRENADE” as he belly-flopped onto the thing.

There was a moment of silence.

Then everything exploded.

Well, not everything. The grenade was the only thing that didn’t. Either it was a dud, or Rix had crushed part of its mechanism with his suicidal fall, but it basically just went ‘puff’ and spread black smoke across his carapace.

The Kasrkins breaching had a more explosive effect. They stormed in like liquid death and incinerated the first traitor guardsman they saw. Rix, determined not to be outdone by the elite of the elite, shouted “FOR THE EMPEROR”, and rolled over and turned another into a three pronged las-kebab.

The last traitor in the room, surrounded on both sides by hellguns and gleeful murderers, threw his lascarbine and raised his hands.

Then he burst into flames.

Back outside the dugout, Syrila grinned. He was helping.

Gravius dragged the sole surviving Staff Sergeant into the command dugout, and proceeded to scare the ever-living shit out of the remainder of the Cadians. The speech involved a lot of waving about of his bolt pistol, promises of retribution on behalf of the Emperor, and the importance of reporting any and all non-standard behaviour to a Commissar.

C Squad loitered at the back, quietly basking in the sensation of superiority of the elite of the Imperial guard. Well, most of C Squad.

Syrila Naso did some weird mind-warpy shit to make sure none of the survivors were tainted, and confirmed to Gravius that the Staff Sergeant had been touched by the ruinous powers.

Corporal Skriggs, meanwhile, quietly shuffled out with the excuse of “I’m just going to go… looting,” which probably would have got him shot if the commissars weren’t all so rock hard at the terrified guardsmen ahead of them, and the actual real life traitor SNCO they had captured.

Gravius promised the squad that their Staff Sergeant would be kept alive, as the Commissariat held for him a fate far worse than death. The traitor stared, aghast.

Then he burst into flames.

Syrila cackled proudly, and Gravius paused mid-speech. There was an awkward moment of almost-silence, filled only by psyker-laughter, which is like normal laughter, but way creepier.

Gravius cleared his throat, and C Squad as one moonwalked right out of the command dugout, with a less-than-inspiring “...So, lesson learned. If you see something. Say something,” before the Commissar’s hat disappeared from around the corner.

Back on the surface, Gravius motioned for the vox-man.

“Rupert, come here.”

“It’s Leman, s-”

“That’s all fine, Rupert. I need the voxcaster.”

He then reported in that traitors within the Cadian ranks had been eliminated, but due to resistance, none had been captured.

C Squad retreated out of friendly territory and back into their own trench, carrying an extra dozen charge packs, three lasguns, a plasma gun Skriggs had taken from one of the dead traitors, four frag grenades, two krak grenades, and a flashbang.

It was quickly decided within the squad that having a commissar along definitely helped their supply situation.

>“The heavy assault can wait.”

lost my shit