Acheronian 2nd Recon Contingent

[Dogface]

This is a guardsman from 2007, the Toxan VI (Versatile Infantry)
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007001.jpg

This is traitor guard sergeant from 2008
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007002.jpg

And these are my Acheronians:

Lieutenant Shermon:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007007.jpg
“Hello. I’m Lieutenant Shermon. What brings you to the Adv-Op room? Oh, I’m sorry that’s classified. It involves explosives though.”

Private Eino:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007008.jpg
“Month two, nothing’s changed. Can you believe it? I mean we were promised some sort of sitrep from the rest of the battlegroup through some ONI ship or something, but nothing! We haven’t gotten anything at all from the rest of the Imperium. It’s creepy, there’s only eight hundred of us left after that daemon attack. I got the jitters, ain’t gonna lie. It’s going to be a long fight.”

[Dogface]

Sergeant Delano:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007009.jpg
“His favourite photo was one of the Acheronian boys in their grey armour, with the little black and red insignia on their shoulder lifting a standard in a charge at some bunkers. The colonel always said that that moment made him proud to be a human being.”
-Private Rodrigez, 92nd Catachan

Corporal Davon:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007004.jpg
“Hey, my mission is simple, I see a guy wearing more shine than the rest of the enemy I put a bullet through his skull. Don’t ask me about the strategic importance of this valley. Who let a reporter into the unit anyway?”


Private Sord:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007005.jpg
“Enemy officer to your left. Your other left. There you go.”

Private Coil:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/2007003.jpg
“You’re missing the point Inky. We wanted to be here, and we deserved it. We’re the best of the best from Acheron. We’re recon, not trench filling cannon fodder. That’s why were Acheronian Recon Contingent number two, not Nameless Combat Regiment number whatever-I-lost-count-cause-we-lost-so-many. We’re elite and this job? Well, it’s tough but we’re the guys who are going to get this thing done. And if stuff goes to cap now and again and there’s a bit of frak and brok well, who cares? We’re the A-R-C. Killers what we be.”

[Dogface]

Sergeant Aron:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01272.jpg
“Yeah, hey, no time to talk. Kazon! Dorc! I wanted you guys here an hour ago. You two just volunteered for rear guard. And Tant! Where the hell is my power fist, you said you’d get it for me. Are you molesting my weaponry soldier?”

Captain Hixon:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01270.jpg
“You guys ready for round two? Emperor-be, you guys are gluttons for punishment. Hey, I don’t overstate things. I just have a thespian gift for tone. No I haven’t been at the vitae. Do I smell drunk? Don’t answer that.”

“Ok, so check this out. The Wary Cartographer just sent an astropathic message to the Tiny Dancer. You want to know what ONI is good for? Bad news. They found frakking traitor Astartes on Thanatos. They don’t recognize the big frakkers but they wear dark green armour. Anyway, we’re brokked. Just thought you should know.”

Well I thought I'd document the process for Corporal Havo:

As a Toxan VI trooper (2007):
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01273.jpg

As an undercoated blob:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01274.jpg

[Dogface]

Corporal Havo:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01275.jpg
“Take a deep breath in, let a deep breath out. That’s how I deal with all this brok. I breathe in and out.”

Private Mavon:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01276.jpg
“Air support? Some. Armour support? None. Orbital support? Gone. Intel? Barely any. Seems like a regular day.”

And a WIP Sniper (to be named):
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01277.jpg

(I am really not happy with how Mavon's right shoulderpad turned out but at this point I'm taking two year old models with multiple layers of paint on them already and putting on another five :P)

[Abominable Plague Marine]

Your going to finish the bases right?

[Dogface]

Of course! :P

[Dogface]

Corporal Tobal:
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f219/Hasoroth/DSC01278.jpg
“Reporting all Blood Pact infantry eliminated. Requesting additional ammunition.”

[Dogface]

I tried my hands at some fiction. I'm afraid it didn't come out too well but tell me what you think!

Across a black sky laced with white, thunder cackled and whooped. Laden with rain and the furore of the heavens one could easily be forgiven for missing the murderous whistle-crack of a Decau Pattern assault laser.

As the clouds conspired to flood the earth, Sergeant Mordant made the first of many kills.

---

“Bol tost! Voi bor ket!”

Those words made no sense to Mordant. If he had been a more learned man he may have puzzled over the guttural language, over the syntaxes of this and the pronouns of that. Instead, Mordant winced as words, one of the mark stones of civilization were brutalized by the rough tongues of the traitors underneath him.

It would be unfair to say that Mordant was not a learned man. It would be fairer perhaps to say he was specialized in a certain field much like medicaes would sometimes choose to focus their talents. And much like the medicaes his chosen specialty involved death, specifically the dealing of it.

The four traitors in their khaki and crimson work uniforms continued to walk placidly down the beaten stone path, grunting and gurgling in their language. Despite their physiques and shoddy clothing the machine stamped autorifles in their hands gave them away, members of the Proletariat army.

Which meant that they offered all the resistance of a simple eight year old, not that it mattered to Mordant. What did matter was the thin sliver of wire that the first of the pack, a flabby, short fellow with loose locks of hair was just about to step o-

Showing an amount of luck thought unthinkable for a man with porcine features, their point man safely walked over the trip wire. The second man was not so lucky. Despite the gas mask clasped firmly to the heretic’s face, Mordant fancied that he could see the widening eyes and the muttered curses before four pounds of explosives, glass and ball bearings exploded out of the ground.

Whistling a merry tune Mordant slowly lowered himself down from his vantage point in the trees to admire his handiwork. Sighing in content he went through the mental check list in his mind. He’d taken out the traitor who’d been urinating in the open, took out the follow up patrol...what else, what else?

Oh. Right.

Gingerly lifting a plastic headset from his thigh pockets Mordant flicked the power button on while dutifully muttering the prayer of worthy activation. In a much less reverential fashion he smacked the mouth bead of the head set twice in quick succession. The universal code for “attack”.

---

For a while, the only sound was a crash of thunder and the relentless drumming of rain. But as the defenders of Re-education Camp 52 were about to learn, it is what you don’t hear that is cause to worry. A sharp observer may have noted the worrying absence of the sounds of patrolling guards. No coughing, marching, swearing or spitting. A very sharp observer would have noticed that the auspexes built into the watch towers that ringed the cruel enclosure had started to give off irregular pings.

Such concerns were beneath the guards at Camp 52. They were tired, bored and wet. The latest batch of prisoner’s hadn’t proved much fun at all, comprised as they were mainly of children. On the positive side the Great Pantheon had seen fit to grace the tired watchmen with extra rations on this day.

A particularly brazen burst of thunder filled the air. Wincing, the guards flicked wary gazes towards the skies. Too late did they realize that thunder does not rev.

Four chimeras bearing the heraldry of the Acheronian 2nd Recon Contingent rammed through the gates of Camp 52. Staccato blasts of multilasers stitched paths of destruction over priority enemy targets. Almost simultaneously all five watch towers were blown apart in whirlwinds of splinters and shrapnel as hidden rocket launcher teams accomplished their grim craft. Silence took hold for a moment before being replaced by the sound of buckles clashing, leather creaking and blades unsheathing.

The Acheronian 2nd had come to war.

[archimbald]

are those converted respirators, the ones from forgeworld or from the command frame in the pics?

[Snarf]

Nice.

Did you dip them or use spray varnish?

[Dogface]

Hi guys. The respirators are a mixture of command squad spruces and home made ones. And I don't spray or dip Snarf :D Its just liberal usage of Babdab Black.

[archimbald]

kk cool
pretty cool