Fighting With Faith- Twenty-Sixth Entry
The sound of a curt tap of polished boots at the heels of War Tactican Rezzial Hemfa brought Warmaster Chandoil out of his deep thinking. They both wore the same Imperial insignia at the back of their cloaks, and the grim telltale looks on their weary faces.
Chandroil turned away from his office’s windows, and faced the War Tactican.
“Evening, Warmaster.” Rezzial growled his voice, in its usual deep toned, husky whisper as he executed a slight but smart salute.
No other formalities were needed; at around the same of age, the Warmaster and War Tactican had been through much together and lived to tell the tales of it. From waves of greenskins to hordes of renegade Guardsmen, they had been through it and seen the end it.
Rezzial casually reached forward to pull the black tanned leather settee ahead of him towards his thin framed body and flopped onto it. He then raised two long and thin legs and politely placed it gently onto the Warmaster’s exquisitely burnished great oak table between him and the Warmaster, before whipping out an expensive cigar to light and began puffing conspicuously.
“Intelligence paid off well?” Chandroil asked.
“Of the ten that were deployed, five companies have fallen back, two remaining at site at half strength. Not even the walls have been breached. And that Elshita chabba wasn’t in that damn convoy. Wuld’ya think?” Rezzial irreproachably slurred back.
“But…” Chandroil mused out aloud.
A thin smile began to form on Rezzial’s lips, gradually turning into a wide grin.
“You damn optimist…yes it’s a good thing we found where those damn Myceptic Spores were hauled to.” Rezzial said.
“Emperor’s holy hand is guiding us at this very moment. We may have not killed the head but we have crippled the body.” Chandroil said, his voice brimming with delight.
“Aye.” Rezzial concurred as he stood up and withdrew data slates from the deep recesses within his great cloak and placed it on the Warmaster’s table.
“Operation Tea-Strike II shall commence in two days time, at eight hundred hours, Imperial time. Details are within these. Waiting for your authorisation.” Rezzial muttered as he gestured to the data slates laid out on the table and daintily sauntered out of the office, heaving open the wide Adamantium doors with a slight grunt.
The sound of a curt tap of polished boots at the heels of War Tactican Rezzial Hemfa brought Warmaster Chandoil out of his deep thinking. They both wore the same Imperial insignia at the back of their cloaks, and the grim telltale looks on their weary faces.
Chandroil turned away from his office’s windows, and faced the War Tactican.
“Evening, Warmaster.” Rezzial growled his voice, in its usual deep toned, husky whisper as he executed a slight but smart salute.
No other formalities were needed; at around the same of age, the Warmaster and War Tactican had been through much together and lived to tell the tales of it. From waves of greenskins to hordes of renegade Guardsmen, they had been through it and seen the end it.
Rezzial casually reached forward to pull the black tanned leather settee ahead of him towards his thin framed body and flopped onto it. He then raised two long and thin legs and politely placed it gently onto the Warmaster’s exquisitely burnished great oak table between him and the Warmaster, before whipping out an expensive cigar to light and began puffing conspicuously.
“Intelligence paid off well?” Chandroil asked.
“Of the ten that were deployed, five companies have fallen back, two remaining at site at half strength. Not even the walls have been breached. And that Elshita chabba wasn’t in that damn convoy. Wuld’ya think?” Rezzial irreproachably slurred back.
“But…” Chandroil mused out aloud.
A thin smile began to form on Rezzial’s lips, gradually turning into a wide grin.
“You damn optimist…yes it’s a good thing we found where those damn Myceptic Spores were hauled to.” Rezzial said.
“Emperor’s holy hand is guiding us at this very moment. We may have not killed the head but we have crippled the body.” Chandroil said, his voice brimming with delight.
“Aye.” Rezzial concurred as he stood up and withdrew data slates from the deep recesses within his great cloak and placed it on the Warmaster’s table.
“Operation Tea-Strike II shall commence in two days time, at eight hundred hours, Imperial time. Details are within these. Waiting for your authorisation.” Rezzial muttered as he gestured to the data slates laid out on the table and daintily sauntered out of the office, heaving open the wide Adamantium doors with a slight grunt.
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