Post by clingwrap on Aug 25, 2021 13:51:37 GMT
“Hello. How can I be of service?” said the terminal AI.
“So. How the heck did we end up on garrison duty of all things?” asked Private Burns, a brand new Space Marine rookie. “I was expecting more action.”
“See, Private, it’s called upper management. Put the strike team on a Emperor-forsaken dustball because you don’t like ‘disobedience’. “ replied Medical Officer Rillins, suddenly arriving from the medical ward, and turning off the terminal.
“Yeah, and how do you know? If we just go by the manu-”
“Private, do you know what a Termaplug is?” the Medical Officer interrupted.
“Uh, no.”
“It’s when a hundred Termagaunts shove themselves down the Chimera’s weapon barrel and clog it.”
“How is this relevant?”
“Because the manual says to manually unclog the barrel from the exterior using a purpose built tool. Do you know when Termaplugs usually happen? IN THE MIDDLE OF A SWARM OF HORMAGAUNTS TRYING TO BREAK INTO THE VEHICLE!”
“Oh.”
“So, trying so much as unlocking the hatch would probably fill the interior with angry bug-lizards. Guess what the only way to unclog it is?”
“What?”
“Getting everyone to the back of the transport, then shoving a crapton of krak grenades down the ammo chute with the pins out. Cleans em out nice and good, and the barrel still mostly works.”
“But that would be intentional damage of equi-”
“Please forget about the manual. The manual expects the opponents to be a hypothetical enemy that does the same exact thing every single time. That’s not how life works. “
“Guys, can you quiet down.. Most of us rational people are trying to sleep..” an Auxilary marine in the barracks across the hall mumbled.
“It’s 4:58. Get up already.”
“You know, most people like sleeping until at least seven, so can you quiet down please!” replied a second marine.
“This isn’t training anymore, laddies. Five-oh.”
“Yeah and?”
“Three, two, one-” TRIINNGG. TRIINNGG.
The alarm sounded, blaring earsplitting ringing throughout the halls.
“Like I said, five-oh.” the Medical Officer said smugly, retreating back to the medical ward.
“So. How the heck did we end up on garrison duty of all things?” asked Private Burns, a brand new Space Marine rookie. “I was expecting more action.”
“See, Private, it’s called upper management. Put the strike team on a Emperor-forsaken dustball because you don’t like ‘disobedience’. “ replied Medical Officer Rillins, suddenly arriving from the medical ward, and turning off the terminal.
“Yeah, and how do you know? If we just go by the manu-”
“Private, do you know what a Termaplug is?” the Medical Officer interrupted.
“Uh, no.”
“It’s when a hundred Termagaunts shove themselves down the Chimera’s weapon barrel and clog it.”
“How is this relevant?”
“Because the manual says to manually unclog the barrel from the exterior using a purpose built tool. Do you know when Termaplugs usually happen? IN THE MIDDLE OF A SWARM OF HORMAGAUNTS TRYING TO BREAK INTO THE VEHICLE!”
“Oh.”
“So, trying so much as unlocking the hatch would probably fill the interior with angry bug-lizards. Guess what the only way to unclog it is?”
“What?”
“Getting everyone to the back of the transport, then shoving a crapton of krak grenades down the ammo chute with the pins out. Cleans em out nice and good, and the barrel still mostly works.”
“But that would be intentional damage of equi-”
“Please forget about the manual. The manual expects the opponents to be a hypothetical enemy that does the same exact thing every single time. That’s not how life works. “
“Guys, can you quiet down.. Most of us rational people are trying to sleep..” an Auxilary marine in the barracks across the hall mumbled.
“It’s 4:58. Get up already.”
“You know, most people like sleeping until at least seven, so can you quiet down please!” replied a second marine.
“This isn’t training anymore, laddies. Five-oh.”
“Yeah and?”
“Three, two, one-” TRIINNGG. TRIINNGG.
The alarm sounded, blaring earsplitting ringing throughout the halls.
“Like I said, five-oh.” the Medical Officer said smugly, retreating back to the medical ward.