Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(27) Red Sun===
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The Commandos' word is law, and the Blade is on its way to the beleagered world of Syran. Cortain begins compiling any information about just how fucked Syran is. The records seem to be scattered, however - it's hard to get a handle on what's going on there. Worse, a few things seem purposefully redacted. This concerns the Forge Master.

Cyril trains hard, and spends his downtime blinging up the tanks in the Motorium Poolium. As he places silver highlights on a Razorback, he can hear a hell of a lot of banging, clanging, and even some argument. He joins Cortain, the two going to the armorium and look at the tanks for possible deployment choices and identify the racket going on. The first thing that greets your location at terminal speeds is the remnants of a Scimitar Jetbike, skidding to the ground with grinding sparks. Around the corner, Executor Thexus has his claws powered, while Rockfist is following him, grumbling.

"Need assistance,  you two?" Cortain asks.
Cyril dodges out of the Scimitar's path as it approaches and glances at the support officers as it slows. "Why is a Scimitar moving at such speeds aboard this ship?"
"The toaster 'ere is insistent on scavenging parts," Rockfist grumbles, "I asked him why didn't 'e just fix the damn thing..."
"Question, how much of the Machine Spirit is alive in it?" Cortain asks, "If there is no flicker of it, use it to repair another."
Thexus's skull glows at Cortain, as if processing something.
"THEN WE ARE IN AGREEMENT. IT IS MORE EFFICIENT TO SALVAGE COMPONENTS AND REPAIR ANOTHER JETBIKE, THAN IT IS TO REPAIR THIS RUINED ONE," Thexus blasts.
"If the spirit cannot be coaxed," Cortain states.
"I defer to both your expertise in matters of the machine," Cyril shrugs.

Thexus pauses a moment, running another connection augury, as his mechadendrites carefully remove a set of platings. He then forcefully tearis out an engine block with his claws. Rockfist merely facepalms. Cortain salutes the ruined bike.
"YOUR WARGEAR WILL BE PROPERLY PREPARED AND READIED, CONSUL. THIS IS AS I HAVE PROMISED."

Cortain and Cyril continue on, the source of the yelling still a mystery.
"Have we picked up any transmissions from Syran, Rockfist?" Cyril asks.
"Aye, lad, we have," Rockfist says as he walks alongside, "That Deepthroat has contacted us. He states that he is in position, and will be able to give a full observation once ya reach planetside."
"Excellent. I am eager to see firsthand what that Mastodon your engineers put together can do," Cyril begins, "But the... agent's observations will tell us whether superheavy vehicles will fit the bill."

Entering a processing area, a bunch of Squats are having a very loud and very divided debate. There are numerous scattered pieces and bitz of weapons, all xenos in origin, the same ones used by the Old Slann. Glowing orange packs lay nearby. Half of the Squats are arguing, saying they should kept for study, as the weapons proved quite devastating during the Crusade. The other half want them destroyed, as they bring up far too many bad memories. Rose is standing over them, looking at them with curiosity. O'Malley is mediating, but its clear the debate is deteriorating.

Cortain raises his Volkite Finger to the air as he gets to Rose. "What seems to be the issue?" he asks.
"Well, beardlin's," O'Malley begins, "We recovered some of the hardlight weapons the Old Slann used. We were debatin' if we should hand'em to ya, or destroy'em."
"You keep what you kill," Cyril states, "We killed, so they are ours now. Study them."
"We'll keep'em fer ya if ya command," O'Malley states, "Doesn't do us much good anyway."
"Let me test this," Cortain offers as he grabs one, "Should this weapon prove too threatening, then it will be left to you."

Grabbing a handle of a weapon, nothing happens. Not even a pulse of light or a barest tremor. Cortain's augurs detect no power running through it. A Servo-automata is summoned for taregt practice, but the weapon refuses to respond to Cortain.
"Why is it not deploying, Cortain?" Cyril asks? Cortain merely stares at the weapon handle.
"Ya see, beardlin'," O'Malley explains, "They don't work unless a p-"

Without no one to guide her otherwise, Rose picks up a handle, and numerous weapon pieces fly at her, much to her initial shock.
"Is it...psycho-reactive?" Cortain says as he rushes to her.

The weapon assembles itself in her hands, creating a long, white rifle-like weapon. 
"Uh...what just happened?" she asks.
O'Malley sighs a deep sigh, "It reacts ta anythin' the Old Ones had a hand in guidin', but only genetically pure specimens. They don't work for us, since we're abhumans, and I guess they don't work for you either. Sorry, beardlin's."
"WAIT. That implies... but...!" Cyril sputters.
"It does a lot more'n imply, beardlin'," O'Malley states, "It's a really REALLY long story, and I can't begin to tell ya how many brotherhoods died over it. It's not somethin' we'd prefer to talk about, but we'll answer if ya ask."

Cyril checks the Ordo Xenos records on the Blade. The Inquisition has a large amount of these in stasis vaults on Cataclysm, recovered during the Squat Crusade. According to hidden notes, it requires baseline pure beings touched by the Old Ones early in their evolution to use. Due to this, the Inquisition really doesn't like them.

"Perhaps my mechanical implants somehow..."taints" me according to the weapon," Cortain suggests.
"I have implants too, but I do not think it is our implants that disqualify us," Cyril surmises, "More likely our gene-seed."

Cortain points at the servo-automata, sensing an opportunity.  "Rose, would you kindly...?" 
Rose takes careful aim, the weapon's sights disengaging and floating around in a circle. She fires a shot off, the trail of hardlight hitting the servo-automata, downing it.

"Well done, Rose!" Cyril exclaims.
As she breaks aim, the sights float back to the weapon. 
"I think I like this thing..." she says, "First time I hit something!"
Cortain applauds the hit. "Does it feel weird in any way?"
"No, not really," Rose says, "Well, it does feel like the weapon just 'fits', but I don't feel any different."

Though some of the longer-bearded squats grumble up a bit, they defer to the judgment of Keep the Weapons.
"When not in study, though, keep them locked up in a secure quarantine," Cyril commands, "Just to be on the safe side."
The Squats regard each other, before moving the pieces to a secure part of the Armorium.

Brynjol, in the meantime, heads to the Automata Forges to try out his claws. There's a constant stream of servo-, guardian-, and battle-automata ready for him. Though all he has tried was the red Armorbane version of the claws, he gets the feeling that they can be switched. He feels he just needs to...get in the right mindset. Brynjol practises a method of flowing between sure strikes from his bearded axe-headed crozius, and switching to flurries of brutal swipes with the armour-piercing claws As he switches to a more brutal, unrestrained battle form, he feels a bit odd. The claws, however, seem to be responding, the blades beginning to flicker. Brynjol is cognizant enough to easily acknowledge this odd feeling. 

The more servo-automata float in, the better Brynjol feels. More powerful. He cuts through more and more with every strike, the blades glowing a burning blue. His controlled voice begins to shift to bestial roaring, as more and more automata fall down, unable to touch him. Brynjol's mind notes in a detached way how the blades seem to lengthen, so as to better cleave through the hordes, while his body pounds automata into scraps of tissue-paper metal. Reflected in a pool of sacred unguents, he can see his fanged face, and hair completely overgrown. It begins to fade down as he calms his shit.

Brynjol calls off the servitor onslaught, the remaining few survivors drifting to the ground. They appear a little shellshocked, as they clear out the pieces of fallen automata begin turning them into paperweights. Brynjol sheathes the claws, admiring the workmanship of the baroque gauntlets as he heads briskly off to the Apothecarion.

As the Blade transitions into the Materium, Cyril tries to review the archives one last time. As he reviews the notes on Syran, Brynjol 's voice comes to him, as if from a dream. Cyril remembers Brynjol standing before him, in a white robe, being struck down by a dark force. He says 'Stop being a tit, Cyril. You know this,' in an attempt to get Cyril to remember Brynjol's Mentor bonus. Cyril punches the imaginary Brynjol with one gauntlet while the other turns an ancient script's page. Brynjol smiles and fades into the distance. 
"I have nothing more to teach youuuuu..."

Finally collecting himself, Cyril reads in peace. Syran is an industrial world in the Sheltered Reef subsector. Its environment consists of desert and exposed, wind-weathered rock.  It is a mineral rich mining world with lots of radiation due to an enormous Red Giant sun. The red light is reflected throughout Hourglass City, the capital of the world, an oasis jewel amongst the rocks. 

"Paradise under a Red Sun..." he muses.

The Squats assure him that the Necron tombs below the hold are under their complete control, and there is nothing to worry about on that front. Cyril smiles and nods politely.

"They're technically right," O'Malley sighs over vox, while polishing a drink. Rockfist merely shudders, also over vox.
"I sense fear.  Do you suspect a surprise visit from Ramsestron?" Cortain asks.
"Nay, lad, he was the one who entitled us that place," Rockfist says, "Ancestors be praised, he's one of the less threatening ones around here."
"Understood," Cortain says, still wondering how a Necron Phaeron can be nonthreatening.

The Blade complets transitions out of the Warp, into the comforting blackness of the materium. Another day of in-system travel, and the Blade takes position over the desert world of Syran. The Blade is currently holding over the night side, so as to minimize its running until a plan is devised.

"Bridge, do passive scans detect any transmissions from the Tau or our informant?" Cyril asks. Brynjol sweeps the Blade's augurs around, seeking anything on previously agreed encoded channels. Finally, ship vox picks up something.

"Commandos, it has been a while. You have decided to address this issue early, it seems."
"We had the time to get here without further interruption," Cortain retorts, "With the others dead, this would mean that Redsun is the last of the H'esav'geka."
"That is good. At this stage, you have options available. I can give you some observations now. The rest must wait until you have landed, where voxes can be encrypted further," Deepthroat states, "And yes, Redsun is the last of the H'esav'geka."
"And what of their Ethereal?" Cyril presses.
"There is no sign yet of O'res'nan," Deepthroat explains, "However, it is possible to rectify this."
"Perhaps the vermin will emerge after its Fire Paragon is crushed," Cyril suggests.
"Shash'vi has summoned down numerous anti-vehicle gunships. They patrol the plains between him and the Squat-Mechanicus mining facility where he has established himself," Deepthroat continues, "You have the option of breaking through directly, or making landfall within the mountains. Make no mistake, he is expecting you, regardless of your choice.."
"And his forces?" Cortain asks.
"Focused within the complex, except when they are sent out to ensure the local population's loyalty," Deepthroat says, "If you wait for an opportune moment such as this, you can minimize the troops you expect to see at the complex."
"But then they may have a chance to retaliate against locals or take hostages," Cyril states, "And they need to die either way; we may as well eliminate them in one trip."
Brynjol looks down. He appears to be counting under his breath. "I could kill 'em."

Cyril thinks a moment. "I do not suppose orbital strikes against the mining facility are an option?"
"You would be wasting your time. The time it takes to clear the full retribution cadres sent out would give Shash'vi ample time to leave the world. ZFR Hyperspace is...undetectable to your technology."
"You underestimate our skill at destroying battlesuits," Cyril admits, "But you do have a point. What suits comprise the bulk of their cadres?"
"I have seen Crisis and Hazard suits, supported by Riptide wings, and R'Varnas and Stormsurges to provide long range support," Deepthroat begins to hurry, "As for vehicles, I have seen shoals of hammerheads and aircraft cover."
"And I guess the Squat-Mechanicus facility is too full of collateral to consider a bombardment..." Brynjol sighs.
"Lad, the local miners' guilds have petitioned that collateral damage be reduced to a minimum, some of that gear cannot be replicated in appreciable timeframes," Rockfist says, "Ya may be able ta wipe most of the forces about, but the world itself would be crippled."
"There is one more thing. Within the mining complex, there is a series of long range gravitic communication arrays Shash'vi uses to receive orders," Deepthroat notes, "If you place a voxthief upon this, it will assist my search for O'res'nan. It is not priority, however. Only the death of Shash'vi is."

"Hm. They are going all-out for a change," Cyril notes, "Nonetheless, that sounds like a worthy goal. We should focus on the kill, though; if the Tau see us attempt it they may sabotage it."
"I mean.. normally I'd be all for a suicidal charge into their ranksm" Brynjol offers, "But I reckon I could take out three... maybe four Riptides before they turned me into subatomic particle slag."
"This is the Fire Caste Paragon. The greatest weapons are at his disposal," the vox begins to cut, "That is all I will say over this distance."
The vox finally cuts.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: Kill Commander RedSun.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: Intercept Tau communications for Deepthroat.
TERTIARY OBJECTIVE: Avoid Collateral Damage.

Their mission clear, the Commandos review the facts. They can either assault frontally, taking out enemy armored vehicles, or infiltrate and face battlesuit honor guards, if any. According to Deepthroat, the best time is to wait for the other Cadres to bully the populace and strike when they're out and away. It will bring a lot of heat off the Commandos. Juggling between plans of splitting forces, fighting through entire Cadres of Tau, and putting Cortain in a dress as a spy, the Commandos finally settle on a plan - they will stealthily insert when the Cadres are out amongst the populace, and focus purely on Commander Redsun. A squad of squat Engineers and Battle Automata will be independently dispatched to attach a voxthief to the comms.

"A focused strike is strongest, though a guerilla force could draw them off and vanish," Cyril suggests.
"If only we still had those gorillas..." Brynjol sighs.
"...What?"
"Nothing."
The Commandos stare down at a sudden outflow of profanity.
"What the fuck did you just say about me you little bitch?" A squat marches forward before his panicked brethren drag him away, "I'll 'ave ya know we're masters of gorilla warfare, and 'ave over 300 confirmed kills and..."
Brynjol casually punts a paper aeroplane at the squat.
"Sorry, sorry, my lieges," some squats sigh, "Urist McSeal hasn't had his meds..."
The crazed squat is dragged away, as he continues yelling.
"Yer nothin' but another target to meeeeee..."

"Very well, lad," Rockfist says, "But if you're deploying stealthily, we won't be able to drop in troops to assist. What ya bring with ya is what ya got. We'll still be able to support with artillery and aircraft, but no infantry can deepstrike nearby. Too dangerous.."
"Acknowledged," Cyril states.

The Commandos decide on going all out because Cyril rolled maximum additional Requisition. Brynjol selects his relic jump pack as always, while Cyril takes a winged jump pack, a stummer, and a camocloak. Cortain decides on a Thanatar maniple to accompany him. A Solar Sect Expeditionary Force and Vorax Automata maniple are prepared on a separate Stormbird, for their voxthief mission.

Cortain bestows the vox thief to Urist McLeader.
"You WILL deploy these on the comms arrays," Cortain commands, "You will accomplish this with your life if need be."
Urist McLeader stares at the vox thief and to the Commandos, "We shall not let you down, Lord Consul!" he states.
Brynjol kneels before Urist McLeader, removing his helm and staring at him. He stands, still maintaining eye contact, and backs away towards the landing bays. Eye contact all the way. Brynjol gives McLeader a final menacing glare before disappearing out the door
Cyril facepalms in full armour as his battle brothers casually traumatize the Squats.

"Expeditionary Force, the Vorax are expendable, but do not waste them or yourselves. Your task is a great one, but not critical. If you encounter resistance you cannot push through with the automata's aid, contact me. We may be able to move to assist once the enemy Commander is slain. Ancestors watch over you."

Soon, both Stormbirds are launched out the bay, towards the surface of Syran. McLeader's Stormbird flies to the flank, as the Two Urist Brothers dive down dangerously low to avoid anti-air counterfire. Landing amongst the mountains in the desert heat, the Urist Brothers manage to insert the Commandos, the yeti, and the robutts unseen. The other Stormbird is not so lucky, and comes under fire. Void Shields allow for a safe disembarkation on the other side of the complex, before the vehicle goes low.

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

The Commandos find themselves outside the rather large and imposing mining complex. There is a door ahead, large enough for everything, and a set of transfer pipes to some large tanks off to the side. Near the pipes, they can see some thin metal scaffolding. The scaffolding leads around the outskirts of the complex, with paths deeper in. Ambient temperature: Hot. The Commandos can see heat mirages in the dying red giant's light.

Cortain departs, curiously aware of the lack of wet yeti smell. Brynjol drops to the ground, hunching into a predatory crouch. The bulky turbines on his back flare in protest at the gyroscopic shift. Intoning a hasty Oath to the Wolf King, the Commandos push a nearby door open, and can immediately see the place's gothic architecture has been stained with blood and sacred unguent. The walls are covered in pulse scoring. Cogitators lie shattered and bitz of mining gear lay about.

"Bastard vermin have no regard for the sanctity of the machine..." Cyril mutters.
"They have no respect for anything, so why give them any?" Cortain replies.
"They do have big guns," Cyril retorts.

In this immediate area, the Commandos see three paths. One leads ahead directly, deeper into the Complex. One leads off to the left, towards a storage centrum of some sort according to the signs. The last leads to the spires, where Urist McLeader and his team were heading to. The red light of the sun casts shadows through the stained glass of the roof.

While Cortain stares at the sun, his armor preventing the blindness, Cyril intones his augur arrays to wakefulness, and picks up a constant and steady power signature coming from the center of the complex. It makes sense - the facility was merely occupied, not destroyed. There is a damaged power source in the storage areas.  He can also sense a lot of electro-pulses going from the storage centrum to the spires and the Main Central Mining Complex.

"I suggest we check out that damaged power source," Brynjol offers.
"Adviseable. I will hold the rear," Cortain agrees.
Brynjol snickers.

Ninja'ing on through the outskirts of the mining complex, taking the path to the Storage Centrum, the Commandos briefly leave the facility once more through a collapsed former door. A few dozen meters ahead, they can see a building about the size of a 2-3 story hab block. The door is made of metal - it's clear this place is an afterthought. Cyril pops ahead, and can see the barely on its hinges door, swinging idly. This door is large enough for normal people, so Astartes would need to duck. Popping in with all due speed, the Commandos can see three subrooms within the storage centrum. One is the hallway they are currently in. Another off to the side has an intact cogitator and a thrumming noise. The last seems to be filled with tools that miners use, and is bathed in an odd blue light.

"I will handle the cogitator," Cortain says, breaking off. 
The area seems to control some minor defenses throughout the station. The generator is damaged, however, and cannot supply everything at once. On one part of the cogitator viewscreens, he can see a large landing pad. On the other, he can see Urist McLeader and his troops under heavy fire. Cortain realizes he can enable allied Tarantula and sentry defenses. Deciding that Urist and the Squats need help, he enables any defenses he can find there.  As Urist McLeader fights on, Cortain sees the Tarantulas deploy and assist in pushing back the Tau.

Cyril, in the meantime, gets a vox.
"Lord Consul, we're pushing on to the objective," Urist McLeader says, "We've lost a few of the throng, but we're pushing on."
Cyril has brief time to make a Command test, scoring 6 Degrees of Success. It's all he can manage before the vox cuts.

Temur and Cyril, in the meantime, head into the room with the blue light. As they round the other side, it is soon evident that the blue light is projected by a blue torch.

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

Thankful to see the Merchant after so long, the Commandos resolve on upgrading their ship, Crusader Invictus, and the VF/SS fighters. Cortain is first, and manages to acquire a Cortex Controller cybernetic. Brynjol tries for Star Platinum Coating for Crusader Invictus, barely sqeaking by. Cyril manages to upgrade one of the Blade's macrocannons for a Volkite Grand Bombard battery. Temur upgrades his VF/SS with Lascannon Banks, enhancing his damage output. As a team, they acquire an Auto-Stabilized Logis Targeter to upgrade the Blade's capabilities. 

The Merchant walks behind a stack of boxes. "Heh heh heh, thank you..."

The room is then quiet.

"It seems prudent to only return from whence we came to find another route," Cortain suggests.

Popping out of the Supply annex, no enemies sighted. Cadres not yet returned. Brynjol hears the shrill screech of Tau engines flying low. Everyone goes for Concealment, and all but Cortain passes. Luckily, Cyril's yeti is there to grab the hapless Techmarine and rush to cover. Luckily, Cortain's Thanatar maniple was set to overwatch in the building, so they are fine. A pair of Remoras make a low pass before blasting back into the sky. Brynjol can see the Remoras are circling the complex. They're a distance away now, but they'll be looping around, and probably more.

Cortain pets Nomotok.  "That' will do, yeti.  That will do."
"Those damn skyfish are still circling," Brynjol spits, "Let's move ahead swiftly before they pass back over, and Cortain trips over a rock or something."
"Shash'vi is probably deep within the complex," Cyril suggests, "I suggest we find and kill it."

The path is clear. From the Commandos' current location, there is a path that continues to circle the Complex, the path they came from, and a path that seems to lead up, into the higher central areas of the Complex. Entering Squad Mode, the Commandos move as one, through vents and corridors full of steam and oil. Private vox comms engage once more.

"Commandos. You made it. Excellent. Commander Shash'vi is close by."
"Not for long," Cyril boasts.
"How close are we speaking?" Cortain asks.
"I have seen him in the upper levels. He is awaiting fresh troops and supplies near the landing pads," Deepthroat states, "Shash'vi uses a modified XV-9 Hazard suit. It is equipped with ignis missiles and fusion blasters. But that is not all."
"Special shields?" Cortain rattles, "Honour Guard of Coldstars? A tidal wave of Vespids?"
"Shash'vi has two signature systems that assist him," Deepthroat continues, "One is a custom Repulsor Field that not only provides protection, but can reflect energy back at those who attack him, at range or in melee. The other is an artificial-intelligence that coordinates his overwatch. I have seen him able to track numerous targets, and fire seemingly limitlessly thanks to this augmented counterfire system."
"Concerning, but hardly surprising for the He'sav'geka's Fire Caste Commander," Cyril says.
"He will also have Remora drones nearby providing cover thanks to an enhanced Drone controller," Deepthroat concludes, "That is all the intel I have been able to gather. You must deal with him as you deem fit."
"At least he will not be a pushover like the last two," Cortain believes. 
"Your assistance has been extremely helpful, Deepthroat," Cyril replies, "We will take it from here."
"I will keep you updated if the situation changes. Remember, he can turn your own attacks against you. Deepthroat out. "
The vox cuts.

Brynjol looks uncharacteristically solemn. "Well, you three ought to be alright, since you hit like infants. I might be in a spot of bother, though."
The Space Wolf chuckles, proceeding on, monologuing on the various weak points in Tau Battlesuits.
"Excuse me?" Cortain blusters, "I punch force fields daily."
"Those aren't force fields, Cortain, those are large panes of sugarglass," Brynjol laughs, "I didn't want your feelings to be hurt."
"...I feel that this makes the Hellstar a lot less threatening," Cortain sighs, "Although for the diabetic..."
"We are dealing with a Hazard suit, not a Crisis, brother," Cyril reminds.
"I know that, but it's best to be prepared," Brynjol acknowledges, "Besides, I've never encountered a Hazard Suit before, personally."

Cyril, ninjaing ahead, comes across a trio of XV-8s. Beyond them are a line of Fire Warriors. There are a number of blindfolded and tied natives. He commands some knowledge of Tau speak, and can understand what the Crisis Team Leader saying. These native peeps are about to get executed for passive aggressive rebellion against the Tau Empire and the Black Caste. He weighs his options - he can let the civilians die, or he can break concealment and save them.

"Cyril, report," Brynjol commands.
"Three XV-8s and a line of Fire Warriors about to execute restrained loyalists," Cyril voxes, "Engaging; move to support!"
"That's my line, you insubordinate twit!" Brynjol yells as the rest of the Commandos rush forward.
"And here I thought we would get a quick way in..." Cortain sighs.

Cyril unloads Storm-Twinned Kraken bolts into a Crisis suit, pulping it in the surprise round (after expending fate to prevent a blustery inopportune miss), while turning his bolter to the Tau and disrupting their formation.

"AW EMPEROR, BOBBUS NO!" a peep yells as blood splatters across him, "CURSE YOU VILE XENOS!"
"Stevus, I think I'm fine," the other peep says.
"The Angels of Death are here, gentlemen," Cyril says wryly from beneath his cloak.
"Ach, I knew we weren't abandoned!" a Squat peep yells.
"You tit Cyril, finish a bloody job for once!" Bryn snarls, motion with a sweep of his axe at the half-decimated Crisis and Fire Warrior squads, "You're getting a smack after this!"
Brynjol jumps forward, bringing down his crozius and Burning Claw down on the two crisis suits in an overwhelming show of force. Overwatched plasma bounces off his Rosarius harmlessly as Brynjol twists in midair, contorting through the hail of pulsefire. The remaining Tau begin to retreat, 

"Temur, if you would?" Cyril offers.
Temur wordlessly raises his bolter, and fires at the remaining fleeing Tau, exploding it in a blast of gore. Such a pleb is not even worth it to comment on.

"That was pleasantly one-sided," Cyril comments as the Tau explodes in a shower of gore, kneeling to free the nearest Squat and Humans by sawing their restraints with his Charnabal Sabre. There's one squat peep, and four human peeps. Cutting the peeps loose, they begin to stand up, before they truly realize who has just saved them. Bobbus and Stevus drop to their knees in tears, while another peep can't seem to catch his breath.

"Deathwatch...R...Republican Commandos," the last peep coughs, "I...we are blessed..."

A fair number of alarms are going off right now.
"No time to stop," Brynjol insists, "Signal medicae recovery teams to this area, we have to proceed."
"Get to safety," Cyril commands, "There are many more of them, but we have an appointment with their Commander."
"Aye, m'lords," Urist McPeep states, "We'll make our way out. The one who did this to us, the filthy xenos in charge, we saw him higher up. He's been waiting for something. Jus' take the access ramps up, and that'll lead ya to the landing bays."
"The Deathwatch truly favors our world" the asthmatic peep says, "In our darkest hours, a Deathwatch team delivers us once more!"
Cortain stares at him. He says nothing as he orders the giant automata to follow as he begins approaching the ramps.

Rushing up the ramp, the station's speakers then begin to engage.

"Republican Commandos. So ya finally got here...." the vox blasts, "Killin' you is gonna take some time, slow and painful. O'res'nan saw that, and that's why he put me in charge."
It's got a desert twang to it. 
"For you," Cyril replies in Tau.
"It takes a kind of cruelty to be efficient, something that's drilled into you gue'la as well." Shash'vi continues, "I saw it for myself, when I watched the Damocles Gulf itself burn. A wall of endless flame, incinerating all in its path."
"Bloody showboating, one and all..." Brynjol mutters under his breath, "You're an odious little bastard, and I am going to stab you many times."
"So you are in charge of - what, exactly? A few cowards shooting at civilians and some washed-up lesser castes in slapdash battlesuits that explode when poked?" Cyril taunts.
"HahahahahAHAHA!" Shash'vi laughs, "Let the lesser fools do as they will. The cities of this world are...burning."

"Blade, damage control," Cyril orders, "I want our full forces brought to bear to stem the tide."
"Lad...what d'ya want us ta do? We orbitally bombard the Tau, an' we wipe the cities as well!" Rockfist notes.
"Send automata to distract them from Imperial civilians and equipment!" Cyril insists.
"You chose this moment. You chose to come to me when my forces were out," Shash'vi voxes, "You can be just as cruel as I am!"

Arriving at the landing pads, the red giant that lights this world glows hot.
"Cruelty is the mercy of the wise, Tau slime," Cyril replies, his patience thinning, "How many more would burn if we permitted you to escape?"
The Commandos hear a thunk, as Shas'o Shash'vi lands ahead, his weapons and shields deploying.

"Humans are cruel, Gue'ron'sha, and I'm VERY in touch with my inner gue'la!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiAgiY7o0LA

Swooping down low, a number of Remoras begin to float around the landing pad, ready to offer cover.
"I will enjoy adding your head to my trophy rack, Tau," Temur calmly states, "No xenos shall ever claim a likeness to the perfection of mankind and survive."
The Commandos pause a moment. Temur doesn't speak often, but when he does...

Shas'o Shash'vi is in a heavily altered XV-9 Commander-class battlesuit on each arm are attached a pair of fusion blasters, while on the suit's back are missile pods with unknown pattern of missiles loaded. By far his most identifying feature are the drone-controlled arms maneuvering reflector projectors at any possible threats - they move too fast to track, so it is reasoned they must be AI-Controlled, as Deepthroat advised. Brynjol is immediately off, claws and crozius raised. Trusting in his rosarius to protect him, he blasts through showers of ignis missiles, leaving his trail a fiery wake. Brynjol's claw strikes, but is barely deflected by the shield. Cortain moves in to assist, charging forward with his Gladius Invictus. Redsun aligns the shield, but the Gladius's unique properties cut through it easy, striking the battlesuit. Cortain's Thanatar Siege-Automata all aim their Heavy Lascannons at the Tau Commander, punching through the shield and heavily damaging him. 

Commander Redsun realigns his shield plates forward, and rushes toward Brynjol and Cortain. While Cortain barely sidesteps, Brynjol waises his crozius and seeks to parry. Unfortunately for him, the shield plates' defensive field kicks in at maximum over-reflect. Brynjol's own devastating hit is transferred back to him, draining his wounds and leaving him heavily damaged. The surrounding Remoras fire seeker missiles into Cyril, Temur, Notomok the Yeti, and the Robots, causing Temur to barely pass his shield, and Notomok to take a faceful of missile. 

"Keep at Redsun, brothers," Temur yells, "I will deal with these!"
The Commandos know better than to further anger an already irate White Scar, and leave Temur to down a Remora with his Grav Cannon. Cyril decides to risk it, and turns his Storm Bolter to another, downing it as well. Notomok the yeti moves in to assist Cortain and Brynjol, giving them that delicious ganking bonus to Weapon Skill, and even managing to knock the suit to the ground. Now in melee, Brynjol goes fuckwild with his claws and crozius, and while the AI controlling the shield is fast, it's not fast enough for a turbocharged Space Wolf. Brynjol sinks his claws into Commander Redsun, to be followed by a quick stab from Cortain. The Thanatar continue their assault with Graviton Ram and Heavy Lascannon, but the shield holds.

"Can't lay a finger on me!" the Fire Caste Paragon laughs.  He engages his jetpack, righting himself up.To the Commandos' surprise, the Tau retracts some of the shields, and sticks out his arm, where the twin-linked fusion gun is. Then he rips off a fusion gun, and attaches it to his other arm. Engaging his fusion blades, Redsun begins to attack everything in sight of him. While Cortain's shield holds, Cyril's yeti can only deflect one attack before it gets cut by fusion energy.

"Call him off," Cortain suggests, pointing to the yeti.
 "That would be stupid; he would be unable to defend himself," Cyril replies, "Besides, Bryn is just as injured."
"The beast does not look like he can withstand much more," Cortain warns him.

To the Commandos' annoyance, Redsun is still not done. The Commander then jets out with drone-controlled Vectored Retrothrusters, and gathers some safe distance near a large Mining Complex Antenna. Ripping the antenna out of the floor, he hefts it under his suit, swinging it around like a massive club. While Brynjol's shields hold, the impact knocks out a Thanatar, and damages Cortain and the Yeti further. The Yeti groans as its broken ribs begin to protrude.

"Always the improvised close combat weapons with these anomalous turds..." Cyril mutters in the sector's native variant of Gothic.
"TO BORROW YOUR WORDS, GUE'RON'SHA, I'M FUCKING INVINCIBLE!" the crazed Fire Caste Paragon yells.

The Commandos note Redsun's shield seems to be a bit weaker, since he's going nuts with his fusion blasters. Temur takes careful aim, and unloads with his Grav Cannon. While four shots get through, one grav beam is reflected onto Temur, who takes severe damage from his own attack. Fire Caste Paragon Redsun's XV-9, however, is going critical.

"Son of a tuk'ata...you got me..."

Starting to lose control of his battlesuit, Redsun points himself at one last location, charging the bomb within him.  As he impacts the ground, right next to Cyril's Yeti, he croaks a horrible laugh.

"You'll find that...O'Res'nan...is much...crueler than me..."

KABOOM!

Cyril goes pale as his Yeti is caught in the blast. Burning fate to make it live, he screams, a horrible raw noise, as he jets forward to check his yeti. "BRYNJOL! MEDICAE!". Brynjol is a doctor, however, not a vet, and flubs the medicae test to Cyril's horror. There is nothing left of Shash'vi, except the two fusion blasters he was using, which Cortain salvages. Those Commandos who are not consumed by rage note their vox is receiving a signal.

"I saw the end of that fight. You did quite well," Deepthroat states, "I am tracing the contacts your squat allies have placed on the enemy comms system. As soon as I locate O'res'nan, you shall know."
"Good," Cortain nods, "I would rather end this soon, while he still squirms."
"I believe your Stormbird is coming in soon. Be prepared for O'res'nan," the vox begins to fade, "He will not squirm. Deepthroat out."
"He will squirm," Cyril growls. "He will squirm if we have to plant NEEDLES in his SPINE."

Sure enough, the Stormbird with the Urist Brothers pops in. Seeing the damage, they deploy the void shields as they land. The Urist brothers land in close, to take the Commandos back to the Blade, and to rush the yeti to medicae deck. Cortain goes to the trophy room to place the two guns of foreign make in the Pedestal of the Greater Good.

The Commandos' vox kicks in for the last time, this time from Urist McLeader.
"M'lieges, we...completed the mission. We lost some brave lads, but...in your name we couldn't fail."
"How many?" Cyril mutters.
"We'll...mourn in our own way," Urist McLeader states, "You don't worry."
"You have made the Ancestors proud," Cortain affirms.

As the Fenrisian serfs rush the yeti on over, everyone except Cortain following it, there is a frantic rush of activity. But at least the world is secure for now, ruined towns notwithstanding.

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