01x03 - b*ll*ts

[bunniefuu]

[Engine rumbling]

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[g*nsh*t]

[Indistinct radio chatter]

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I can't believe Commandstock is on collection duty.

Psh. What a waste.

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[Rumbling]

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You'd rather be catching rounds?

I'd rather not be a glorified delivery service

for those bags of cloth at the Administrator.

You should spare a thought for those robes.

Next time, you're chowing down on a ration bar.

Who, Anik?

She'd rather go hungry than admit she was wrong.

Ha, ha, ha. f*ck you.

[Rumbling]

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What about you?

Who'd you piss off to draw this shitstick of a duty?

We all have our sins and our burdens.

Psh. Pity.

I've no idea how a squad of the Emperor's elite Kassakin

ended up on such an esteemed mission.

What's left of you, anyway?

With respect, Commissar,

that rank ain't worth as much as you think with us.

You did much to cover yourself in the Emperor's glory to find --

Enough!

This is my mission, Brock. Understood?

As you say, Sergeant.

The rest of you, mouths closed, eyes wide.

We're down in two.

[Rumbling]

Received, Epsilon Alpha.

Take Amelia Grace your descent.

Fall up and stick close.

We can't risk one of those Xenos scrap cans

getting between us and the freighters.

On your lead.

[Rumbling]

[Rumbling]

Report.

Supply haulers are making planetfall.

Ammunition?

Yes, sir.

You're sure?

They're from the Munitorum, sir.

Emperor willing, they'll touch down before the sun's set.

Let's hope that's soon enough.

(dramatic music)

(g*ns firing)

(g*ns firing)

- The hull are gone.

- Those wingstakes--

(g*ns firing)

- Damn it, maintain the cord.

- Flyboys ain't worth their teeth.

This way.

- This had better be worth it.

- As all actions undertaken in service

to the Emperor's duty are.

- f*ck, it's gone.

(g*ns firing)

(grunting)

- g*ns are down.

We've done all we can.

- Not yet.

If this ammunition doesn't make it to the ground,

there'll be no point in landing.

(dramatic music)

(g*ns firing)

(g*ns firing)

(expl*si*n booms)

(dramatic music)

- We've been expecting you.

- We might have made an easier descent

if those flat g*ns had lent a hand.

- We ran them dry days ago.

All we've got left is some heavy small arms

and a few broken PAL packs.

Just about enough to deter the b*stards

from dive bombing us.

But, by the Emperor's grace, you're here now.

We can set about winning this damn planet back.

(dramatic music)

- Open bay two.

(g*ns firing)

(dramatic music)

(footsteps thudding)

- I, I don't understand.

- It's your mission, Sergeant Pierre.

(footsteps thudding)

(dramatic music)

- This is not a supply run.

We've been sent to gather the tithe.

From here, all munitions are to be ceded to us

and loaded onto these ships.

- This, this cannot be.

- But it is.

- No, I will not accept.

- This is not a choice.

- What of my soldiers?

What of the people of this world?

What should we?

- The w*r is bigger than this place.

This is what must be done to ensure ultimate victory.

This is how we win.

- You cannot believe that.

You-- - Believe?

What does that matter?

- This is about duty, your duty, and you will fulfill it,

unless at the end of this life,

you would meet the Emperor, a traitor.

- Do as they command.

Have every battalion, company, and squad

surrender what's left of their ammunition

and bring it here for loading.

(footsteps)

- The Emperor protects.

(g*ns c*ck)

- Time to k*ll.

(engines roaring)

(tires screeching)

- This is a f*cking mess.

We're leaving them to die.

- Do you know what separates us, Sergeant?

- You were raised by the genteel of the Scholar Progenium,

and they found me scrounging for food

in the bowels of a ship.

- We're fate to blame.

This might be an easier burden.

No, I was inducted into the Commissariat

because my father was a Scion,

the Emperor's finest shock troops,

and because of his devotion, of his heroism and sacrifice,

my mother was freed of my burden,

and I was raised to watch over our own.

(heart beating)

- What?

- The soldiers I've k*lled.

Not Zenos or heretics, soldiers.

Loyal, scared, angry, lost soldiers.

Men and women of service in a galaxy

that would have had them be anything else.

50 and no more.

- What are you?

- I am Stain.

When all is dust, I will have seen out

this wretched life stood beside these people,

not stood at their backs, not looking over their shoulder.

- So, you would make the Emperor a traitor.

- Trying to shame me into leaving.

You would have made a fine Commissar.

(suspenseful music)

- Brock, you--

(g*n firing)

(heart beating)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(laughing)

(roaring)

(g*ns firing)

(roaring)

(g*n firing)

(suspenseful music)

(g*n firing)

(g*n firing)

- That was just the scouts.

The rest will be here any minute.

- Go, get aboard.

Complete the mission.

Make sure the ammunition gets where it's needed.

- Easier said than done.

- Once the hull is a loaded, signal the chalice.

She'll send a squadron to cover your ascent.

- They couldn't have given us that escort on the way down?

- We didn't have the cargo then.

What was there to protect?

- b*stards.

Aren't we all?

(suspenseful music)

(roaring)

- Who are you?

- Ronclaw, sir.

- What happened to--

- Didn't make it.

Stabbed in the back by one of those

sniveling green cowards.

- What's the word?

- Lieutenant Namlu, it's her.

- Spit it out, trooper.

- A tithe, sir.

Our b*ll*ts.

- I see.

Do you have your knife?

- Sir.

- Good.

Then follow me.

(suspenseful music)

(suspenseful music)

(suspenseful music)

(suspenseful music)

(thunder rumbling)

(suspenseful music)

(thunder rumbling)

(suspenseful music)

(thunder rumbling)

(suspenseful music)

- Rank and reason for descent.

(thunder rumbling)

- Sergeant Peer, 11th Kassakin.

Munitions tied from planet Diomedon II.

- Your manifest and requisition orders.

(thunder rumbling)

(footsteps thudding)

- No.

- No?

What do you mean, no?

- The Munitorum thanks you for delivering the tithe.

Return to the fleet.

We eagerly await the next offering.

(thunder rumbling)

(thunder rumbling)

- The tectonic struts can bear no more weight.

Destroy the cargo.

Clear the platform.

- I shall make another addition to the obliteration slate.

(thunder rumbling)

(thunder rumbling)

(suspenseful music)

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