Just a couple nice little stories about the compliance of a planet during the Great Crusade.

WARNING: Some language and depictions of violence/gore (thought I should at least put it up there for our younger memebers...)

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Commander Helvan Jurang. Fearless leader of the esteemed 222nd Verian Infantry, aka, the slop-sloggers.

Failure

The young commander had never been so horrified in his life. All he could think about was the chilling reality that he had sent 3000 men to their doom. Vox reports were playing through his speaker in a myriad of horrifying screams, the sounds echoing with metallic emptiness through the command bay of the Wrath of Mars .

"Oh my.... THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!!!"

"Aighhhh!! Get them off! GET THEM OFF!!!!"

"SIR! He's losing a lotta blood! We need to get him medical support ASAP!"

"CRAP! We're like sitting ducks out here!"

"Bird Oh-Two-Thirty is down, sergeant. Platoon strength down to twenty percent..."

"Throne... There's thousands of them..."

"What's going on down there?!" Helvan demanded, grabbing his vox officer by the collar of his uniform.

"Sir, it's a tactical nightmare down there," his helmsman reported. "The men are stuck in a meatgrinder. They're going to need an evac if any of them are going to survive this, but we're picking up some kind of atmospheric anomaly. Energy readings off the charts. No pilot is going to be crazy enough to fly through that."

"I don't care what it takes, save my men!" Helvan screamed. In his minds eye he could see his men, their torn and shredded bodies piled in mountains of blood and flesh.

"Sir, with all due respect, you don't understand. We screwed this one up. Intel had enemy strength at an all time low. We made a huge mistake launching an attack. All we can do is cut our losses."

Commander Helvan would hear nothing of it. "Tell that to the 3000 men I've just doomed down there! Use whatever means necessary and get some fakking heavy support down there!"

"We can't, sir! I told you, anything we send down there is going to get vaporized in the atmosphere."

"Then try-"

A cackle came across the vox feed. Helvan stopped mid-sentence.

"-Fzzt- This is Night -fzzt- Captain Zok Hashall, -fzzt- have drop pods incoming. Hold tight down there."

Commander Helvan Jurang. Fearless leader of the 428th Expeditionary Fleet, pushing the boundaries of Imperial Space into the Eastern Nebulas.

Saved

Woah, that's an interesting little story, Kharn! I like it so far.