Editing Argo Brigade (section)

===Sergeant Bross===
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''A Tale of Brigadiers at War''
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Dust swirled in the wartorn streets, the air filled with the shrill war cry of Valkyrie guns alight with fury, the soft crunch of heavy boots crumbling the rubble of what used to be homes and businesses. Tau propaganda hung from windows in tattered banners and shredded posters. Calling for surrender with false saccharine promises of a better life under their xenos oppression. Sergeant Bross curled his lip in disgust underneath his mask, corrosive fumes drifting about his boots like morning fog, the roaring engine of the immense Crassus transport crawling beside him drowning out all thoughts of xenocide. Well, not all. Even through his mask the stench of death filled his nostrils, that sickly sweet smell of corpses and the savory scent of auto weaponry.

His element proceeded before the Crassus, keen eyes on the ground to protect the precious cargo of their brethren from unseen attack, their black lifeless goggles scanning windows and rooftops, rifles held at a low ready. With little pretense a whistling crack from a nearby window, a sniper shot. The shot erupted Private Kraden's helmet in a shower of crimson and blue shrapnel. The squad called out the distance and direction of the shot in stern shouts, and began to encircle the transport for security. The massive doors of the Crassus groaned open and troops began to pour out and lay down fire while the heavy flamers of the vehicle belched flame into the building.

Return fire came not shortly after, the terrorists having sprinted to another adjacent building not engulfed in flame. The disembarking troops gave pursuit, falling into cover and bounding forward, the Flamer leading the way in a grim stride. A dangerous game, but nothing broke the will of inexperienced fighters like the sight of an Argoan Flametrooper. The Brigadiers surrounded the crumbling building, tossing in gas grenades and for those with shotguns or grenade launchers incendiary or nerve rounds. Auto Rifles, shotguns, las-rifles, even pulse rifles condemning their heresy were tossed from the windows and doors, as the insurgent scum fled from the building with their hands thrust skyward. Perhaps they expected mercy.

Flaming, chemically burned, shot, stabbed, the criminals were in pitiful condition. As they fled from battle like faithless curs they were greeted by steady volleys of las fire. Brigadier marksmanship ensured that they were not lethal wounds, no death in battle was not a right that cowards had. To die for one's cause was an honor that only true warriors could aspire to, even scum heretics. Lasfire met shins, splintering them, kneecaps, shredding them, and shoulders, splitting them. The dregs fell to the dirt, crying out in pain, for death, for their mothers who failed to instil faith and virtue in them, for their xenos slave lords, some even for the Emperor's mercy.

Wordlessly, Sergeant Bross's soldiers began to drag away the yet-living dead. It always pleased the grizzled soldier to see such ease with which his soldiers plied their craft after battle. Their movements were precise, practiced, and in some vague way religious, as if they were performing some ecclesiarchal rite.In many ways, it was, for in Justice there is no greater veneration of the Emperor. The medics made to the transport, no doubt to retrieve corpse-pikes and slabs, the singular thin sheets of light metal that the enemy would be pinned upon in lieu of true crucifixes. Sergeant Bross, stepped forth, placing a gloved hand on Corporal Daret's shoulder, "Don't waste slabs on these ones, just use the walls," He motioned to the flaming building, still alight with bless'd promethium, "We need to save up for Objective Lho, the city square should have more creeps." The medic nodded, "Roger that." Bross could feel the grim smile on the young medic's face as he motioned for his comrades to the charred walls.

"PLEASE, STOP! DON'T DO THIS! I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING!" cried one of the wretches, as his flayed thigh gouted scarlet blood upon the dirt. Bross slung his rifle over his shoulder, and the trooper dragging the man by his crushed fingers stopped. Bross tore the man's fetid tunic and wrapped his dire wound painfully tight, earning him sour whimpers of pain. "Which of you had the sniper rifle?" the soldier asked smoothly, his gruff tones barely concealing seething fury. The vandal immediately nodded emphatically to one of their ragged number, the vagrant having lost his arm. The fireteam laughed at his eagerness, then laughed harder at the sniper's cries of protest and his cursing of his comrade at his immediate betrayal. Bross simply unsheathed his knifed secured to his breastplate and drove it through the snitch's temple, rewarding his compliance. Then he stalked over to the one armed sniper.

"That was a good shot there, killer," Bross said, unsecuring his gas mask from his helmet, letting it swing free from one side, acrid gas singeing his lungs and eliciting a cough. Bross cared little, cancer was already eating away at his lungs, it wouldn't be too much longer til fighting wasn't an option. He retrieved his pack of Lho sticks from underneath his armour, using his chin to open the pack and grabbing a loose stick with his lips, lighting it off his still hot barrel, "Shame about that arm, eh?" Bross inhaled deeply, the lho dulling his raging emotions, clearing his thoughts, they'd need to move quickly, it wasn't safe to indulge in business like this. The sniper just spat in his face. Bross politely retorted with a curt punch to his forehead, his knuckles rapping soundly off the bone. Bross took a deep drag before placing the stick in the creep's mouth, who began to puff gladly "I'll cut you deal, same deal I gave your friend over there. Talk and we won't put you to the cross or to the flame. Quick and clean. How's about it, slugger?" 

The man nodded tiredly, "What do you want, Imperial." Bross nodded, satisfied, the sound of distant mortar fire and panicked screams music to his ears. The battle was going well. "Tasha Square, you know it?" The rebel nodded. "Good, that's great man, you're doing great. Now what defenses are there, we know the Blueberries moved in last night, what do they got there for us?" The sniper sighed, tears welling in his eyes, the shock of capture compelling him to speak, "They're using it as a Hammerhead depot, there's Stealthers there too. Th-that's all I know, I swear. N-now just do whatever you will." Bross chuckled, taking the lho stick from the detainee and taking one last puff before putting it out on the haggard man's head, "Oh I will, fucker. Trust me, I will. Nail 'im up, let's get this show on the road." "YOU SWORE! WE HAD A DEAL!" Bross shook his head, putting back on his mask, "I lied, heretic."

The soldiers dragged the screaming victims to the still smouldering walls, taking nailers, a side arm that found its origins as an industrial nail gun but since the Argoan Revolution has found use in the Emperor's service as a short range weapon and an effective tool for making an example of dissidents. Bross enjoyed his profession, but the sizzling of flesh, the cracking of bone and concrete as nails were driven through bound feet and wall, the hopeless wailing of the damned...there was no glory in this, but crucifixion is far more than tradition, it is a necessary to quell future dissent. The hiss and crack of the Nailers ceased, the fools now hung by their feet, the spreading flames licking their toes. The soldiers took their combat knives and drug them across the exposed bellies of the inverted, intestines pushing out like grotesque blooms of some exotic and macabre fruit, ripe and wriggling. 

"Mount up boys, Bravo squad, you're up for walking, Alpha on me in the truck." The soldiers did as commanded and moved their fallen brother onto the transport, " Hurry the fuck up! We have to make objective and rendezvous with Charlie, those heretics won't pin themselves up!" The troops flooded into the transport, some popping off their masks to have a smoke, other checking their gear, some obviously falling fast asleep. The battlefield faded away within the confines of the Crassus as the doors closed them into the transport and the vehicle continued on to the nexus of violence. Sergeant Bross simply looked at the mangled corpse of his private, then joined his soldiers in rest as he closed his eyes, the sounds of roaring flame and hissing gas drowned out by the grumbling engine lulling him to sleep.
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