Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(22) Final Flight of the Walrus===

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">The Blade of the Long Watch has been restocked with raw materials, and is ready to depart. Thexus, as usual, continues to maintain the Armorium, while Rockfist, Rose, and O'Malley are at the Bar and Grill, awaiting next destination. Cyril spends some time deliberating, and then prepares to contact Rockfist. 

"Brothers, I am concerned about the Black Caste's Water paragon on Nebraskus, but if we are to catch part of the celebration on Xaviol, we must go there first. Their scanners have sensed something; presumably it will require our attention. The Deep Ones should be able to contain the menace on Nebraskus."
"I admittedly know little of these Deep Ones," Cortain notes, "What do we know of them?"
"Never heard of them, myself," Brynjol shrugs.
"They are Astartes, and they are not the Black Panthers," Cyril affirms, "That is good enough for me."
"Aye, lad," Rockfist nods, stepping away from his drink, "As ya order."
Squats rush to and fro, pointing the Blade in the rough direction of Xaviol, and rousing the Warp Drive to action.

During the expected five day trip, the Commandos set about preparing. Cyril prepares a message to the Inquisition regarding the Hellstar, asking them to look into ways of hurting it. Cortain looks into the history of Xaviol but, failing the roll, finds little of value. Brynjol tries his hand at research as well, but both seemingly struggle with the concept of "Dewey Decimal Indexing." They cannot find the appropriate records.

Cyril leaves research to the others, shutting himself in the Laboratorium and turning off all recording devices before retrieving the Flip Belts from a cabinet and a tub of skulls from a workbench. Time to get to work. As an afterthought, he grabs some greenstuff from a drawer for making smaller skulls to fit in the gaps. During the trip, Rockfist pops down to the Laboratorium as well, to fiddle with some Mastodon components, while Rose spends some time with the former Engineer's Guild members. He begins covering the Eldar flip belts with skulls.

Rockfist leans over. "Lads, you're gonna want to be REAL careful with those," he states, "I mean, I don't mind much, but when the normal folk see you wearin' them, you stand a high chance of, ah...breakin' their hearts."
Cyril glances up at the Squat's voice, not having heard him come in. "Of course. Do you think the skulls insufficient to disguise them to untrained eyes?"
"Add more Aquilas," Cortain voxes, "Just to be sure."
"Lad, I know an Eldar Flip Belt when I see one," Rockfist points out, "Rumors tend to travel real fast in your case, it seems. They're helpful things, yeah, but you'd be shootin' yerself in yer foot ev'ry time you use'em. Choose wisely when ya think they're necessary."
"Understood, Rockfist. We will exercise caution, and..." Cyril hesitates, "I suppose we can leave them behind when meeting crowds."
"I'm just sayin', lad," Rockfist shrugs, "The people, they see ya as their heroes. Yer gear's been all Imperial made, so far. But step inta xenotech, and, well..."
"We are their heroes. A few trinkets cannot change that" Cyril nods, "But we will try to avoid disappointing them."
Cyril sets aside the belt project in disappointment and instead sews a dress to fit over Artificer Armour, modeled after images stored in his Memorance Node of the action figure on Nova Prosperous.
"I'm just advisin' caution is all, lad," Rockfist nods, returning to his own projects, "Just tryin' ta warn ya that if people see ya using xenotech, yer reputation's bound ta take a hit or two. They're great tools, jus' use'em when the benefits outweigh the risks. Keep it in mind."

After six days or so in quiet meditation or hard work, the Blade finally breaks the thin membrane between warp and materium. Traversing a day or so on standard plasma drives, the damp hive world of Xaviol begins to fill the bridge view.
"Soggy," Brynjol sighs, "I hate it already."
There are a number of vessels bearing the heraldry of the Ecclesiarchy in local spess, as well as pilgrim and passenger transport vessels. They are outnumbered, however, by those that bear the sigils of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Brynjol's lip curls upwards unconsciously.

Cyril emerges after 120 straight hours of Remembrancing and grabs a steak from the galley before regrouping. "What have you learned of the celebrations, Brothers? I recall that they are honouring posthumous war heroes?"
Brynjol and Cortain say nothing, as the two head over to the Blade's vox systems, and preparing the identification litanies.

"Greetings Imperial Planet of Xaviol" Cortain announces, "This is the Republican Commandos, and we come to partake in your festivities in His name."
"The Republican Commandos! Here!" the vox replies, "The God Emperor has blesses us to be your hosts. Please, by all means, we shall prepare a delegation!"
A number of the vessels floating about in spess clear the way.
"Honored lieges, the Capital has been told to expect you," the vox replies, "The Xaviol Capitalis Starport is prepared to receive you."

Entering the hangar bay, the Commandos' Fire Raptor is prepared. The Commandos board, before realizing there is little room for Notomok, Cyril's yeti.

"He can cling on!" Brynjol offers.
"No objections from me," Cortain shrugs.
"Re-entry is a bitch, you two," Cyril mutters, falling into local Sector vernacular.

Cyril makes a Tactica: Void Drop Operations tests, succeeding.  Notomok is carefully led to the drop pod bays, where he is placed in a large, taloned drop pod.

"Is that...going to be safe?" Cortain wonders.
"No!" Brynjol yells, waiting to see the spectacle.
"COMMAND ACKNOWLEDGED, CONSUL," Thexus blasts, "TARGET RECEIVED. DREADCLAW DEPLOYING."
"Wait, a Dreadclaw?" Brynjol pauses. The Dreadclaw is blasted out of the drop pod bays, towards the coordinates given by Cyril.
"That seems like overkill for deployment on a noncombat operation," Cyril considers, "We should deploy. Quickly."
"Now that the toaster has expressed himself, lads..." Rockfist sighs, "Your launch avenue is clear."
"Wait, did you at least disable the bolters?" Brynjol asks, "Or the Deathwind launchers?"
Thexus merely stares.
"CONSUL, YOU NEED NOT WORRY," Thexus explains, "THE MELTA BLASTS UPON DEPLOYMENT SHALL ENSURE THE LANDING ZONE IS CLEARED."
"Fly! Now!" Cyril yells.
"You can be a real tit sometimes, you know that?" Brynol quips, "That would rather spoil the celebrations, Thexus."

Rapidly cycling through options, including shooting down the drop pod to Cyril's horror, they settle on evacuating the coordinates Cyril pointed out.

"Thexus, at some point soon we must have a discussion on the topic of acceptable civilian casualties..." Cyril sighs.

Breaking the clouded, wet atmosphere of Xaviol, the Commandos can see the dreadclaw surge down, cutting a fiery path towards the airfield. Searching for a place to park, they see the Dreadclaw slow up, melta jets stabilizing the pod as it lands and opens up. The civilians are charmed by the spectacle, but terrified when a big yeti emerges. Finding a place within the Capitalis Starport to land, the Commandos note that the entire area has been opened up to civilians. It's clear that the event is well under way. Cortain emerges from the Fire Raptor to the swooning of legions, while Cyril rushes to his Yeti. A number of Militarum personnel approach as the civilians rave and cheer.

"Our Lords Astartes," they say, "We are grateful that you would grace us with your presence these most holy of weeks."
"Charmed," Cortain states.
"We consider ourselves blessed that you would personally arrive to honor the many martyrs who died for our world," an aide states, "We cannot express our feelings in words."
Cortain turns aside and switches to private voxes. "Do we want a tour or do we begin our scans immediately?" 
"Both. You can conduct scans while Bryn does the talking, yes?" Cyril asks, while waving and playing hymnals through armored speakers, "I will be there shortly."
"Very well," He breaks vox. "Would it be permissible that we have a tour guide around this celebration?"
"Of course, my lords," an Astra Militarum officer states, "We shall take you to the Remembranceum, before we begin final rites and prayers to eulogize the fallen." 
"Please, stop us if you have any questions," an aide states.
Brynjol takes his helmet off, scratching his head as his mane of black hair falls free. He leans in close to the aide, smiling. Too many teeth. "Thanks for your consideration," he grins.
"Of...of course," the aide stammers.

The congregation of officers, aides, priests, and astropaths order a path cleared through the awestruck civilians, who try to sing along with Cyril, though they lack knowledge of his Chapter rituals. With a lot of loud orders and a little bit of shoving, the entrance to the Remembranceum near the Starport is visible. Entering through stained glass doors, the first thing that greets the Commandos is a great stained glass paneling extending across the rear roof of the building, depicting a combined-arms battle. There are also numerous side rooms, each dedicated to various factions and heraldries. The Commandos can see the sigils of the Adeptus Titanicus, the Astra Militarum, the Imperial Navy, the Space Marines of the Black Panthers, and...the Deathwatch, oddly enough.

"My lords, this is the Remembranceum, a monument to all those who fought in the fight to reclaim our world from a tide of renegades," the aide says, "Heroes and Martyrs can be found here, glory and honor to all."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsxGOO6BYGU

"Curious, it seems the Deathwatch was here as well..." Cortain muses, while reviewing vox traffic from transports from the Blade. 
Cyril checks out the Deathwatch room when he shows up. This room is quite quiet and unornamented. There are benches nearby. It seems this part of the Remembranceum was meant for quiet introspection and meditation. Within is only a single plaque.

"The day was won one hundred years ago by a Deathwatch team of great skill and valor. Though we know not their names, they led the Imperial Superiority Assault Force with conviction and valor. Their actions seized the day from the renegades who dared try to turn us away from rightful worship of the Beneficent God Emperor. May He on Terra guide them eternally."

Cortain seems mildly disappointed.  Same as anywhere else, nothing helps describe more about this mysterious Kill-Team of an age past. He continues exploring each room, detailing the contributions of many Adeptuses of the Imperium.  He observes the pict-captures upon each wall, showing scenes of the battle, and little taglets which go into more detail. The assault against the Renegades was a multi-pronged attack, led by the 77th Armored Tempestus Guard to retake the Starport, Titan forces to recover the city proper, and Black Panthers companies to take back the capital. Somehow, in each case the unknown Kill Team was at the front and center, leading the charge from an unknown pattern of aircraft. As he passes by numerous pict-casts, he notes some seem censored. He pauses by one pict-cast which didn't immediately catch your eye, however. It depicted the great air assault above the city. He can clearly see a jetfighter of unknown origin, too blurry to identify, ahead of a number of thunderbolts, maurauders, and other aircraft of the navy. Rather strangely, he can also pick out an odd shape behind one large marauder.

The rounded edges of a Tau Barracuda. It's the only one he's seen in the dozens of pict-captures he's reviewed. He seethes with silent fury at how deep the House's corruption goes.

Brynjol stands near the entourage, perhaps taking joy in unnerving them, and can see something nobody else caught. There's a gift shop. Brynjol checks his armour-pockets for spare change, and finds some in his pauldrons. Not one for poring over musty pict-casts, he slips off into the gift shop. He can see the normal gifts for small children and simple-minded adults - banners of each of the regiments of renown, stuffed aquilas, toy tonks and planes, t-shirts with hymnals written on them, and in one side alcove, the soft glow of a blue torch.

"Got a selection of good things on sale, stranger..." the Merchant whispers.

Calling everyone over, the Commandos begin to review their options. Brynjol tries for an archeotech blur shield, but fails due to horrendous Near Unique penalties. Cyril picks up an Ecclesiarchal Overlay to better motivate his troops. Cortain goes for a Mechanicum Protectiva, and manages to get one. As a team, they upgrade their Variable Fighter / Strike Suits to have additional maneuverability. 

"Heh heh heh, thank you..." the Merchant rasps as he steps through a small supply closet.

The gift shop is now filled with the normal cheap gifts. The attendant has just stepped back from break.
"Oh! Republican Commandos!" she says, "Will you be needing anything?"
Cortain looks at his new force field, before noticing a tacky t-shirt in a mug combo. The Commandos reason that picking up Rose a souvenir may be good, and they select a t-shirt with a suitable prayer-mug combo embossed on it. Cyril picks up a large stuffed Aquila, so he does not need to use his bolter as a pillow.
The clerk looks at the stuffed aquila, and the mug / shirt combo. "If that is what you require, we'll cover it. Please, take it, as thanks for all you do."
The Commandos step out of the Remembranceum, having brushed up on their history.

"My lords," the aide in the entourage states, "The Eulogium Martyrium is about to commence soon, would you honor us with a few words?"
"It would be an honor," Cyril nods.
"I can at least provide a binharic translation," Cortain offers.
"Very well, this way, my lords," the Militarum Officer explains.

Heading back outside to a set-up platform, passing by numerous Navy aircraft on display, there is a priest currently offering opening prayers. He relents his position upon their conclusion, as the vast, vast crowd's eyes turn to the Commandos. Cyril nods thanks to the priest and steps up, removing his helm and clipping it to his belt. The crowd bounces around eagerly, awaiting the holy word of the Emperor through his Republican Commandos.

"When humanity is called to war, the children of the Emperor take up arms and defend themselves against a galaxy that seeks our ruin. With faith in holy technology and in the guidance of our immortal Emperor, we not only endure, but thrive, and claim this galaxy for our own. Heroes fall, but no man died in vain who died for the Emperor, and the warriors of Mankind have claimed glory everlasting, reminding the universe WHO WE ARE. Humaity is not content merely to endure! We reign! And by the sacrifices and victories of the fallen are they remembered forevermore, guarded in the Emperor's sight as their brothers and sisters among His children live on."

Cyril punctuates the short speech by igniting his Photonic Blade, waving it around briefly before returning it to his belt and his helm to his head. His speech takes a moment to sink in, before the crowd erupts into rapturous cheers. They are happy, as prayers and hymns rise to the sky. Cortain raises his own Gladius Invictus in solidarity, along with Brynjol, who tricks his Wulfen Crozius. However, the Commandos get a vox from the Blade.

"CONSUL, WARNING. INCOMING NON-IMPERIAL VESSELS DETECTED."

The sky flashes, before a singular voice blasts across the sky.

"Pitiful enfleshed, in times before your species was even a concept, this world was ours. It shall be again. You are vermin, and unworthy of the honors of the Ancient Codes. You will be removed, as as is right."
The Commandos ready their weapons as the crowd begins to stir.
"This world belongs to Khepri, the Transforming Strength. Scream loud, vermin enfleshed, for you will be purged in my name."

Up in the sky, numerous jet-black croissants rush past, headed for the city proper. More are making passes at the airfield itself, forcing the people into a panic.
"CITIZENS, CLEAR THE STREETS AND FIND SHELTER. YOUR HOMES MAY BE BEST IF THERE ARE NO DEDICATED SHELTERS NEARBY," Cyril yells, "WE WILL DEAL WITH THIS."
"Fall in!" Brynjol yells, preparing an Oath to the Wolf King, "Finally, the celebrations are turning up!"
"Lads!" Rockfist voxes, "Come to the third hangar in the Starport complex! We've prepared equipment for you!"
"Excellent," Cortain replies, "I was concerned that we were going to resort to lascannons."
"Rockfist, is there any indication of ground forces we can engage? Command strengths?" Brynjol asks.
"I haven't seen any ground forces deployed yet!" Rockfist replies, "The skies, though, they're a bloody bakery up there!"

Rushing on over to the hangar Rockfist pointed out, a number of Squats open the door.
"Lads, we brought these," Rockfist points at the VF/SS's within, "They were gonna be part of a display we were settin' up, but looks like the time for that's over..."
"Not quite," Cortain quips, I know everyone loves some fireworks."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeKSrO8Gctc

The Commandos hop into their VF/SS's and select their armaments. Regrettably, as Rockfist did not plan for hostilities, he only brought enough secondary weapons to fill ONE secondary weapon slot of each VF/SS. Cortain and Brynjol select XLAA missiles for anti-air superiority, while Cyril selects Kraken penetrators for heavier stuff. Rockfist orders the squats to load up as fast as possible, before opening the doors once more.

"You're all clear, lad," Rockfist nods, "Take down some robots!"

"Gladly. How many of the wretched things are there in this Sector?" Cyril asks, "This is the third time."
"There's at least three dynasties, lad," Rockfist explains, "But I'll explain another day."

Runway lights begin to flash as the Commandos' helmet hud updates. The Commandos' primary objective is to defend the airfield. The Commandos take off, weapons armed and Croissants in their sights.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THEYfku15Ec

The Commandos set the Necron Night Scythes attacking the Starport in their sights. Brynjol opens up with a storm of plasma and missile fire, downing a night scythe. Brynjol's face in the Kill-Team's HUD looks vaguely nonplussed at the startling accuracy of his fusillade.

"You actually killed something at range," Cortain quips, "Take pride in it."
"The man kills lots of things," Cyril notes, "That poor owl back in Episode 10, for example."
"I WILL KNOCK BOTH OF YOU ON YOUR ARSES!" Brynjol yells.

Cortain follows up with his own plasma storm, downing another Night Scythe. The two remaining Scythes advance, aiming their Tesla Destructors at Cortain and Brynjol, drive-bying their side armor, but their armor holds for now. Cyril moves in, gunning down a third Night Scythe, and deeming the fourth below his notice. It falls to Brynjol, who shifts from Pursuit mode to Strike mode, to charge the remaining Scythe. Though his charge regrettably goes wide, he fires off a set of plasma swarm missiles, downing the final Night Scythe in the wave.


Off to their side, the Commandos see a wave of Necron Night Shrouds bombing the airfield, but their assault was able to allow most of the citizens to escape for now. To the Commandos' surprise, numerous aging aircraft take to the skies, the old veterans in the ceremonies immediately jumping in their aging aircraft and taking to the skies, as if in second nature. Of note is one Marauder pattern, a very old pattern of Vigilant. An AWACS.

"RALLY TO US, NOBLE WARRIORS OF OLD!" Cortain commands, "LET THE EMPEROR GUIDE US ALL TO ETERNAL GLORY!"
"All Imperial wings, assume standard formation. Deathwatch Team Republican Commandos connected to tactical vox net," the vox net commands, "Form up as one, and turn to the city."
"Commandos here; acknowledged," Cyril replies, "Identify source, command."
"You don't have to worry, I've worked with your kind before," the AWACS replies, "Trust me, I'm an old hand at this. You can call me Walrus."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY0FvYWz1sw

"Understood, Walrus," Cyril forms up, "You propose to sweep across the city and drive off the Necron craft?"
"Affirmative, Commandos, the Night Shrouds are heading to the city," AWACS Walrus replies, "Objectives are to take down Night Shrouds and their escort Doom Scythes to relieve pressure on the city."
The Commandos accelerate, full speed ahead.
"I will assign any wings available to assist you, Deathwatch," AWACS Walrus explains, "I'll monitor the combat situation.""
"We are well equipped for heavy targets," Cyril confirms, "The Scythes will fall. Are civilians adequately sheltered from falling wreckage?"
"You shouldn't worry about wreckage," Walrus replies, "The craft should phase out on critical damage."

The Commandos enter the new combat zone, they can see a wing of Necron aircraft beginning their strikes on the city. 
"Deathwatch Cortain, combat zone contains four Doom Scythes and three Night Shrouds. Local wings are supporting the flanks," Walrus says, "Your fire avenues are clear."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOnj7DjtB6s

"Brothers, I will focus on the Night Shrouds," Cyril offers, "Choose your targets freely."
"That's my line!" Brynjol yells.
Cyril chuckles. "I thought you deferred to me in vehicular coordination? Not that it matters, for either way, WE SHALL TEAR THEM APART!"

Cortain moves ahead first, focusing down a Doom Scythe. His plasma flies true as he catches the wing by surprise.
"Hit, Gun kill confirmed, nice shooting, Commando," Walrus voxes.
"I was reborn on Mars," Cortain points out, "Machines live as I do now."
He then turns his missiles to a Night Shroud, in an attempt to at least break off their attack. Multiple missiles strike a Night Shroud, and green fire bursts out.
"Deathwatch Cortain, Fox 2, Hits Confirmed," Walrus states.

The escorting Doom Scythes break off to attack the Commandos. Firing their death rays, Brynjol finds himself caught, but luckily he is able to dodge, choosing to put his faith in the Armor of his VF/SS. It does not disappoint, and he narrowly survives a tesla barrage. 

Cyril moves up to gun down another Night Shroud, dodging tesla fire to get in close. This in turn opens the way for Brynjol to shift once more, ready his plasma lance, and charge straight through the final Night Shroud, relieving the city of further bombardment. Cortain remains in support range, taking down a Doom Scythe that had Cyril and Brynjol in its sights. Dodging counter-Tesla fire and Doom Scythe lasers, Cyril moves to take down another Doom Scythe, leaving only one left. Brynjol sets it in his sights, and charges forward at maximum speed to impale it on his incandescent plasma lance.

"Deathwatch Brynjol, STRIKE, kill confirmed," Walrus voxes, "Continue mission! Some guys still need help out there!"
"Where?!" Cyril asks.

Floating forward are a set of large, pyramidal objects.

"Moving into formation," Walrus voxes as the old AWACS moves in, "ESM Connected for Deathwatch Team Republican Commandos. Target those Obelisks!"

With Walrus providing upgraded ESM, the Commandos can now use Squad Mode abilities. The Commandos prepare to take on the Obelisks, before a new voice interrupts vox traffic.

"So THAT'S how it's done..." Rose interrupts over vox.
"What?" Brynjol asks, slightly confused.
"Don't mind me, I'm taking notes," she says, furiously noting down everything Walrus says.

The Commandos immediately enter Squad Mode, and call Fire for Effect, everyone once more hoping for an overwhelming alpha strike against the Obelisks. This time, they are lucky, as the three Commandos' concentrated strike downs one Obelisk. They then call down Furious Assault, launching Brynjol at the second obelisk, his plasma lance burning a hole through its outer hull before a seething flurry of slashes from the energised blade dispatches it

"Nice job, Republican Commandos," I'm not seeing any more fighters, mission a-"

A ray of energy strikes Walrus's AWACS as a Jackal Raider descends down.

"Foolish enfleshed, you resist, and this world will suffer, I care not for preserving, I will content myself with a husk if needed," the scratching voice of Khepri blasts.

"Cortain, do Marauders have ejection features?" Cyril asks icily.
"You don't need to concern yourselves with me, just focus on mission..." Walrus says as his AWACS goes down, "Protect the civilians, Commandos. And Rose, just stay focused on the combat. Don't...get distracted. Walrus out..."
The AWACS hits the ground with a fireball. The Commandos see no ejection systems active.
"May you reach Terra, Shiny and Chrome, Walrus," Cortain whispers, "Over...and...out."
"A fool is one who stands against Mankind. Go away, Cat-prix," Cyril growls.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlYXaWeFeZQ

The Commandos now heavily desire to destroy the Jackal. The thing is, it's a starship. Conventional weapons won't affect it. Brynjol, the first to swap to Strike Mode, takes aim with his VF/SS's Type 17 Plasma Lance, firing an anti-voidship beam straight at the Jackal. Regrettably, his BS is garbage, and he fires wide. Cortain, however, is much luckier, scoring a good hit on the Jackal. Cyril, initially hesitant, now eagerly joins in, firing his own plasma blast and scoring maximum damage. The Commandos dodge Death Ray beams to get in closer, as dark matter spheres are raining on the city. Brynjol fires once more, striking a powerful hit, and opening the way for Cortain to pick out the Command Pyramid and fire one last plasma shot directly at it. The Type 17 Plasma Lance strikes it, and the Jackal begins to tumble down down down, before it phases out.

"I shall remember this slight..." Khepri hisses, "Republican Commandos..."
"...Walrus was witnessed," Cortain states, "He is now avenged."
"And we have angered a Necron," Cyril sighs, "When the Hellstar is dealth with, we really must start hunting them down before they sully Imperial worlds with deluded thoughts of conquest."

All around, as the Commandos circle about, they can see the people cheering. The Commandos shift back to Pursuit mode to lead the flight back to base. Landing at the starport, a number of aged veterans land their own planes, lining up to shake the Commandos' hands.

"It was an Honor to fly alongside you," all of the veterans are in agreement, "May the Emperor guide you."
Even the Entourage from before is in shock and prostating themselves.
"Oh, get up, before Brynjol sees you." Cyril offers the aide a hand up. "We are instruments of the Emperor's will. Do you praise a paintbrush, or the Omnissiah who wills its design?"
"A paintbrush would not stand in front of a Necron Starship in our defense with only clear archeotech fighters," the aide says, "We praise those who would."

While Brynjol appears to be attempting to fix a dent in his VF/SS by panel-beating it with his fists, Cortain begins looking about for spare metal.

"Has anyone checked Walrus' crash site?" Cyril asks.
"I am heading there now," Cortain states, "A memorial would be recommended."
"Walrus?" an aide asks, "Who?"
We have no one on active roster with that name," a Navy adjutant says.
"Must have been an inactive veteran," Cyril shrugs.

"Excuse me, my lord," an old man hobbles over, "But...Walrus? Did you...did you hear him too?"
"There was an AWACS that was accompanying us," Cortain nods, "He supposedly worked with Deathwatch before. He...fell to the final invasion."
A number of the old veterans stare at each other.
"Commandos...this way," one beckons. They are quite solemn and quiet.

The Commandos follow, perplexed. The old veterans bring them to a memorial pedestal.

"Saint Walrus, Patron Saint of Marauders Vigilant."

There is a rough birth date, and a death date almost 70 years back.

"We remember tales of the AWACS Walrus," the old man says, "His plane was kept as a memorial."
"That cuts some of the work out for me," Cortain says, "But...I feel there is one more thing I wish to accomplish. Cyril, if you wish..."
"Cortain?" Cyril asks.
"This memorial should be marked by the Deathwatch. It is only proper respect."

While Cyril intones an old Nixartian prayer to the fallen, Cortain carves a new memoriam into the small monument.

"Am I the only one who thinks this is bloody unusual and bears investigating?" Brynjol asks, "That's got to be some sort of psychic phenomenon."

"Commandos..." an old man says, stammering, "I can't claim to know what happened. But I for one am content, knowing that the soldiers of the God Emperor never rest. It's all we can ask for, to serve eternal at His side."
"Faith and service are one," Cyril affirms with a nod.
"Glory to the God Emperor," they agree, "And honor to his soldiers."
"A Man's duty is eternal, his work lasting even beyond death."

With only MORE rebuilding left to do, the citizens of Xaviol stand ready to restore their lives. The old men, and the aides nod solemnly before moving to coordinate rebuilding.

"Warriors, we are needed elsewhere," Cyril concludes, "This world is not the only one menaced by foul xenos. It was a pleasure."
"May the Emperor shield your world," Cortain adds, "We must away."

Hopping back on the Fire Raptor, Rockfist taking care of transporting the VF/SS's, it's a quiet but fulfilling trip back to the Blade. Even beyond the veil, the honored dead still serve.
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