Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Omake: Ordo Vermin=

"... You. Are. Joking."

Zara's plasma-hot gaze literally seared my soul, and I instinctively flinched away from the very aggravated spear-wielding space elf sorceress." Mon-keigh, of all the stupid things that has come out of your cavernous mouth, this has to take the lysse leyreth."

The other leaders of the miniaturized warriors – Space Marine Commander Eizak, Inquisitor Danilov of the Ordo Malleus, Justicar Amadeus of the Grey Knights, Canoness Samisha Ludmilla of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, General Ulrich Faust of the Cadian 918th, Regimental Commissar Tomas Sturmm, Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth, Father Jeremiah Bennedict, Shas'El Firestrike, Aun'ui, and the two-dozen Eldar Exarches that followed behind the Farseer (that was quite a list) -

"Lisa Lereth? Who is that?" Sohm Vekt was poring over his dataslate in frustration.

"Sweet-bread... it translates to 'cake' in your language, I believe." The Eldar Warlock named Yoza calmly answered. Talk about mood swings.

"Oh. Then why didn't Farseer Zara say 'cake' in the first place?"

Two blank faces – one of a beautiful psychotic psychic warrior and the other of a plain faced interpreter conscripted into a soldier – stared at each other for a moment as the more rowdy Guardsmen roared with laughter.

"... Back on subject. Mon-keigh, are you belittling my warriors?"

"N-no, I'm not. Look, I'm running out of money for food, and... well... yeah. You guys are the main reason for it."

"Before Gue'vesa'O Mi'kel is... er... attacked. Can you please clarify exactly what we have to do for this... venture?"

"Hunt down rats and other crawly things... y'know... the stuff a regular exterminator does. Except for you guys, rats and mice would be pretty much... hunting grade stuff. Even a cockroach would be the size of a surfboard for you guys."

"Surfboard, Governor Michael?" Commissar Tomas arched an eyebrow, no doubt wondering what the hell was a surfboard.

"A large, flat board used for recreational sports." I replied. Recently, I've had to stop using 'local' words. Words like 'fun' tended to have different meanings among these guys: For an Imperial Hellhound tanker, it meant setting things on fire. Others found their solace in sleep or in socializing. Space Marines found their peace of mind in meditation and in maintaining their weapons. The Nuns with Guns had theirs in choirs and in meditation. Eldar in their crafts, music and – for many – dance: gentle curves and thought-provoking artwork, fluid dances and delicate, enchanting music that put the best of human artisans to shame. For the Tau... err... best not to get onto that subject too much. For such a community based society, they enjoyed their time alone a little too much.

"I see, and how big are these... surfboards?"

"For me? Most are taller than I am."

Among the more imaginative of the miniaturized warriors, this news was met with some enthusiasm.

"So therefore, the 'pests' that you'll be tackling would be the size of hunted animals. This has got a few advantages: One; it'll get us money for food." I ticked off one finger. "Two; you guys can let off some steam, since you'll be killing things the size of small elephants when you find rats." Finger two ticked off. "And three, it'll get you guys to be able to explore somewhat, since we'll be going to other places if you do take the job." I held up the three ticked off fingers.

The assembled leaders looked at each other, their helmeted faces passive as they looked from one to another, in silent conference.

The door 'ahem'd and there was a knocking sound.

"Its open." Buck grumbled, not looking up from the not-so-small mountain of paperwork inside of his room.

"Hey, Buck. We got ourselves a rookie coming in today." A flop of papers stirred the grizzled veteran of vermin extermination.

Great. More paperwork. The man got his socked feet off the table and began to look through the various folders. Requisition of chemicals, property modification... who ever knew that running a simple business in clearing houses of vermin to be so intensive with paperwork? If he had known this was going to happen, he would have been happier off with the police or something. At least it was fun.

"Alright, Dutch, so what's he like?"

"Seems like an alright guy, I say. Nothing much to him, really." Dutch scratched the stubble on his chin. "Used to be an artist, he said. Gonna have a nasty surprise when he gets there, I think."

"We all get nasty surprises on the first day." Was Buck's clipped answer. He picked up a file, and flipped through it. "Send him over to this one 'ere, lets see if he's got any guts to him. Somethings been bugging Jenkins here, he can't seem to get rid of the rats, they keep comin' back."

"Alright, I'll get the rookie a van, then I'll just drop in on him after an hour, show him the ropes or pick up what's left."

"Just don't let him run around like that Adam we had last week. The guy almost burnt down half the building we sent him to."

"... sure."

"'an if he survives Round 1, roger says we'll need two crews to take care of this... le's see... says its a termite infestation out in the 'urbs."

"A'right, Buck. I'll get him a van and we'll be right on it."

"Ugh... the smell is atrocious..."

"Just turn on your atmospheric filters, Brother Jerrus. This shouldn't be different from cleaning out that Nurgle infestation on Primunda VII."

"Or that Space Hulk off Belaria. Remember that, Brother Alrus?"

"Yes. Now never mention that stinking, festering slime ball again, unless you wish for me to repeat that incident on Delfis Prime."

There was a few chuckles over the vox. I smiled as well, thankful that the Adeptus Mechanicus had finally re-wired that Bluetooth headset that I had picked up to tap into their vox channels. And with a few more modifications to the blessed Tooth-of-Blue, I could speak with most of the miniature armies.

And listen. Before, these guys had been faceless armies with only their leaders having names and personalities. Now I listened to a whole new depth of voices and names, people and places. The Imperial Guardsmen were the most colorful, with their mashup regiments and their very irate officers. I had spent many hours talking and listening to the Guardsmen, of their tales of foolish officers and their own non-lethal mistakes. I had never known

"Concentrate, guys. We have a job to do out here... lets focus and get it done quickly, alright? Chaplain Morteus, you're next, then we're moving on to the bathroom for the Stealthsuits and Pathfinders."

I sat down beside the crack in the wall, crowbar in hand. I was widening the gap used by the rats to allow Terminators access into the labyrinth of inner walls.

The black-armored Chaplain strode forward to join the Terminators inside, his chainsword and Rosarius buzzing with energy. The fighting priest seemed set on claiming another rat's head. I chuckled, and eased the crowbar forward, letting the wall panel stretch closed again.

"Oh... and Brother Alrus?" I queried over the comms.

"Yes, Michael?"

"What happened on Delfis Prime?"

"Brother Jerrus has a cybernetic arm." Was the cryptic answer.

"Alright." I turned to the command-and-control area, where we had set up inside of a toolbox. All the communications equipment of the various races were co-ordinated here. General Ulrich Faust was 'Organizer' of this expedition, and would coordinate the various armies in clearing out the house. I would do the 'heavy lifting', but would still be under his organizational jurisdiction. It was a nice term which meant that the other forces were only obliged to follow his 'advice', and did not fall under his command. As such, however, failure to oblige to advice would result me in 'insisting' that such advice be heeded. All in all, everyone got to keep their dignity, and I wouldn't have to deal with four armies running around the house.

I sat down beside a command Chimera that Tomas was sitting on. The Commissar was nursing his mug of hot coffee as he ordered his Storm Troopers into position for insertion just across the hallway – but into a whole new set of spaces from the Terminators.

As expected, he had abandoned the use of his hell-pistol for a auto-carbine, a weapon that looked very much like a Uzi sub-machine gun.

Standing orders among all armies coming with us was to use either close combat weapons or solid munition weapons – I banned the use of everything except for lasguns because I didn't want to set anything on fire. Therefore, everyone except the Tau embraced this as a whole new exercise in close combat – especially the Orks - and the remainder were justifiably miffed.

The blue-skinned aliens' whole combat philosophy was to engage the enemy from as far away as possible, and only close into hand-to-hand fighting if absolutely necessary. That meant that I had to relegate them to the open areas – along with the Eldar – to hunt down anything that wasn't hiding in the walls.

He noticed me, and I gave him a questioning look. He tapped the comms officer on the shoulder, who whipped around – nearly strangling himself on the wires – and stood to attention. A quick conversation followed as the comms officer went blue in the face. Tomas tapped his throat-mic.

"All signals clear?"

"Yep. Your comms officer just passed out, though."

"You! Grab a medical orderly, and see to this man."

I grinned as I walked over to the opposite hallway, spinning the crowbar around my fingertips as I did.

Of course, it slipped.

Storm Troopers looked up as I cried out in surprise.

"INCO~!" CLANG!

The Storm Troopers scattered as the giant whirling Iron Crowbar of Doom slammed into the ground, bouncing along as it skipped across the hard wooden floor.

"Sorry!"

"Brother Morteus, your prayers have been answered." Brother Jerrus chuckled, settling down in his suit. The black armored Chaplain strode forward, his every footfall oozing anticipation as he advanced to join the two Terminators.

The two five Marine Terminator squad had dispersed into three man teams, with these two joining brother-Chaplain Morteus in his quest for a head of Rat, and the other two remaining being joined by Captain Eizak as he decided to go hunting for the Tyranid-like 'cockroaches' that he had been presented with.

"Report, Brother Jerrus." The Chaplain's clipped tone was gilded with an almost juvenile glee..

"There's a whole nest of 'em." Jerrus replied. He fed the recording of his suit into the Chaplain's helmet screens, which earned the Terminator a rare laugh from the elderly priest. It was almost disconcerting to see the sagelike, fatherly figure of Chaplain Morteus turn into a more childlike persona, full of glee. Like a juvenile hiver boy that had just received a toy Bolt pistol for Christma- Emperor's Day. The Terminator checked himself, and sighed. He was getting too used to this world. It would be hard to readjust to the constant battle and turmoil that was the lifestyle of a Space Marine.

Meanwhile, Brother Chaplain Morteus smiled at the video feed projected into his retina from the little projector inside of his helmet. Two larger ones were arranging themselves a nest, which was dimly lit at best. Around them, relatively smaller rats scurried about, gnawing at the very foundations of the house they were assigned to protect.

Chaplain Morteus grinned. He wondered if he was taking too much pleasure from his hunting, and fought to keep his bloodlust in check. The desire was almost overwhelming him.

"CLEANSE! PURGE! KILL!"

The black armored Space Marine's grinning skull-like helmet seemed to smile for him as his chainsword bit into flesh. Following his trophy hunting trail of decapitation (and keeping quite a distance away), the two Terminator 'bodyguards' indulged in a quick game of Fist, Shield and Lance.

It was a game played by their free hands, involving three elements: the aforementioned fist, shield and lance. The Fist shatters the Shield, the Shield deflects the Lance, and the Lance outreaches the Fist. It was a simple game found in many worlds – of course, with many variations in name – to reach a decision. The single finger extended to point at the closed fist.

"Hah!" Jerrus laughed, pointing the finger at Alrus. "Lance beats Fist, Brother Alrus."

"So it may be, Brother Jerrus." Alrus agreed, giving the best impression a Terminator could give for a sage stroking his beard and nodding his head. "But I believe that best two out of three is traditional."

"Only with younglings, Brother Alrus. For us Marines, there are no second chances."

"Well said, brother. Well said."

The defeated but amused Terminator walked over to the first head, and picked it up as delicately as he could with his power fist.

"But you're carrying the next lot!"

"Commissar Tomas, sir. We have prepared our positions." The Tanith Scout known as Sergeant MacTavish reported, his cameleoline cloak masking his figure. They were underneath the floorboards now, in the foundations of the house. And they had found themselves the perfect killzone.

The Storm Troopers had been assigned with the Scouts for the specific reason that the Tanith scout-snipers – known as the Special Advanced Snipers to the Departmento Munitorium – were the best for the task of sneaking around undetected in the dark and dingy caverns created by the Homo sapiens titanicus.

They had found the ambush point, and had co-ordinated the Storm Troopers to set up their heavy stubbers and solid-slug weapons into their current formation. Even the grizzled Sergeant Folay couldn't say he would have done better.

"Sensor cntact, 9 o'chrono. Counting twenty and four of the surfboards, approaching our killzone."

"Tertarius, in position."

"Secundus, in position."

"Let them come..."

There was a squelch on the comms, indicative of one of the Storm Troopers had just seen one of those surfboards Michael had mentioned. It was insitinctive, that when in sight of the enemy yet still hidden that the Storm Troopers would avoid using their voices, instead simply pressing down on the 'send' stud to squelch the channel.

A rapid three squelches pulsed through the comms channel. That was the signal to fire.

The ripping report of the autoguns filled the air as the creatures were cut down by the heavy slugs, their carapaces as if paper to the armor piercing rounds.

The gunfire stopped as Tomas broke cover, his demeanor oddly silent for a Commissar. Instead of roaring defiance to the enemy or threats to his men, he simply lead by silent example, his head ducked low to aid in his sprint and his power fist crackling as it trailed behind him.

Tomas leaped into the air, fist rising in a deadly arc.

His crackling, rust-red gauntlet crashed into the head of the living board. The solid mass crushed its face, popping eyes and breaking the mandibles on its jaw.

The creature kept on moving, however, and Tomas jumped back as a clawed limb slashed blindly. He dropped to the ground, and rolled back.

"Fire away!"

"Ramez! Get on that stubber and take that thing out!"

The dull, heavy thumping of the large caliber was punctuated by the sickening wet crack of the rounds hitting the carapace of the animal and punching right through. Ramiez sat silently behind his weapon as the creature fell, the trooper beside him almost grinning in disbelief as e held the belt of munitions in his hands.

Tomas picked himself up and dusted off his greatcoat and blood red sash, and looked at the devastation around him. There was perhaps more damage to the surrounding environment than there was to the creatures that they had encountered. He sighed in frustration.

"Good job, people... but seriously, where did you learn to aim? You missed just about every other shot, look at the place... You're Imperial Storm Troopers, your marksmanship is remarkably inaccurate for the given situation."

"Fire Warriors, in position."

"Stealthsuits, ready and waiting."

"Shas'la Wu'bie here. I'm uh... lost. I got separated from my team. Command and Control, can you advise?"

Half of the Fire Warriors sighed in frustration. This was always happening!

"Just find a safe location and wait up there, or you can guide yourself to the markerlight, Shas'la. We'll send someone along to find you when we're finished here."

"Alright, moving to a safe rally point... Its kind of wet in here... augh! That's just nasty! These 'Rats' seem to gather their excrement into one of these passageways..." There was a whimper of disgust. "Ethereals help me, I'm going to drown in excrement! Ugh..."

Up in the Command and Control center, the operator palmed her face.

"Shas'ui Eldi'myr, would you kindly detach half of your Fire Warriors to find Shas'la Wu'bie?"

"Oh dear Ethereals... the smell!" There was the sound of a Fire Warrior vomiting through the inside of his helmet. Every Fire Warrior that had previously experienced such an accident immediately checked themselves.

"He forgot to activate the toxin filters, didn't he?" One Fire Warrior sighed.

"Please do not clutter up the comms channel, Shas'la." Command-and-control reassured. "We are sending Fire Warriors to... extract you right now."

Shas'ui Eldi'myr was already on his way.

"Its seeping through my armor weave!" Screamed the panicking Fire Warrior. "Just what do these Earth vermin eat!"

"Panicking Fire Warriors, Shas'la." Chuckled a Stealth Suit leader.

"Shas'vre Mee'ni!" Shas'El Firestrike barked warningly.

"Right... err... sorry, Shas'El."

"Shas'la, your support is coming, hold still and try not to struggle. I hear it only makes it worse. Back on to our mission, then. Stealth Team On'hua, do you have our targets?"

"Confirmed, Shas'El. Counted three and two eights rats."

"Smoke 'em out, Shas'la. You know the plan."

"On my mark... fire!"

Shas'El Firestrike thumbed the timer.

The suppressed bursts of plasma fire splashed across the ground, jerking heads around in surprise. The camouflaged Tau Fire Warriors strode out of cover, the Gun Drones spraying sunfire at the nest of creatures. It was a huge nest, maybe four dozen or so, inside of the basement.

Stealthsuits activated their 'haywire' programs, sending their stealth fields into a wonderful show of light. To the normal humans, it might have accounted for half of a rave's strobe lights packed into one small package. To the rats, it was pure terror.

They panicked and fled from the two teams of stealthsuits, sending them down the last remaining passageway.

"Kroot, your time has come!"

The Kroot Carnivores jumped from their hiding places, their long rifles blasting a series of metal slugs into the fleeing rats. A dozen fell immediately, before the Kroot closed into their specialty; the brutal hand-to-hand fighting of their barbaric origins. The twin-scythe bladed long rifles whirled in blood-traced arcs as it almost surgically butchered the rats. Limbs and heads fell to the ground as the Kroot descended to the final stages of their combat doctrine: The assimilation of the enemy genes to the Kroot genome. The Carnivores gorged themselves on rat meat, which was carefully ignored by the other Tau.

The third eighth – equivalent to twenty human seconds - ticked off the timer.

"Well done, warriors."

The Tau Fire Warriors nodded quietly to each other, each giving the others praise for marksmanship or kill count. A Kroot Carnivore gave an almighty burp in celebration, which sent the others into a cackling cacophony of laughter.

Over the comms, Shas'la Wu'bie tapped the channel.

"Okay... still alive... can someone get me now?"

"We are in position, Farseer." Warlock Yoza reported.

"I can See that, Yoza."

She could practically feel his radiant smile as he chuckled.

"Having a lot of pun, aren't you?"

Her spine tingled at his psychic whisper, and she quickly broke the mind link as more matters came up. The sheer number of vermin inside of his house was disgusting, almost living up to her expectation of mon-keigh. Vile, dirty living quarters indeed. She would rather have stayed at home, but Michael was right: her troopsm especially the Exarches, found their warrior personae to be irritatingly unsettled and aggressive. If she did not provide them with release sooner or later, then they were going to explode with the pressure. Striding up to her command Viper, Zara's elegant leap settled her atop the battle platform.

"Move swiftly, and let us be done with this vile work." She prepared herself to spit, realized her head was encased in a helmet, went through the fiddly process of removing it, and spat.

"Hey!" Came the warning from a Dire Avenger beside her.

Zara quickly apologized as she re-did her helmet.

There were rats all over the kitchen.

"Clean this filth." She ordered.

The Ulthwe Craftworld's forces moved out, their weapons gleaming as they fell upon their prey.

"Dutch, this better be worth it!" Buck strode out of his car, and walked over to the crouched over figure of Dutch. The veteran exterminator turned around, and pointed at the rubbish bag he had been inpsecting.

"You should have a look at this, I think." He said, pointing the bag at his boss.

Buck peered inside, and was assaulted with the scent of dead vermin. Dozens of rats, and even more cockroaches. They seemed... thoroughly destroyed. Not poisoned nor trapped, but it seemed like each had been individually killed in combat.

"Uh... rookie, come here."

I strode over, rather nervous about the meeting. I mean, he was my boss, after all. And inside the van were four very satisfied armies, all excitedly going over combat recordings of

"Yes sir?"

"Did you do all this?"

"Um... yes? I mean... yes, sir."

The man arched an eyebrow, and put rugged hands on his hips. Hands which could easily break necks if he so chose to.

"You're not even messy." The man observed. "I see scuff marks and all that, but not nearly as much mess as I'd expect from you."

"I wore gloves, sir." I quickly explained.

"We're not in the military, you know. 'specially the Marines." The man reminded me, and despite his statement still wore the bearing of a drill sergeant dressing down a recruit. I was sweating for an answer.

"Just being respectful, I'd say, Buck." Dutch chipped in.

"Uh... that's right, s- uh... boss?" Dutch was standing behind Buck, and furiously nodding. "Yeah, boss."

The veteran exterminator gave me a grim look for another heartbeat, before giving me a rough smile. An employer pleased with the job his employee had done.

"I'd have to say that was a job damned well done, Rookie." He patted me on the shoulder, and chuckled. "Trade secrets for you, I suppose, so I ain't gonna complain. You'll do fine for us." Buck grinned, and shared a grin with Dutch.

I allowed a smile to creep onto my own face, only to find that both men had stopped grinning.

"Now start cleaning up, Rookie!"

"Its okay, Brother Morteus. You can get your rat's head sooner or later. Maybe next time."