Chapter 132: The Arsenal of Scrap
After Brigadier General Zeppelin concluded his inspection, he departed in his armored motorcade, looking thoroughly satisfied with the "Zeppelin-Pivot" tactical adjustment.
Colonel Leo watched the dust settle from the General's departure, then turned to Kian Voss, clapping him on the shoulder with a booming laugh.
"Voss, you're a natural! A talent for the ages! I simply must reward your initiative. As of this moment, you aren't just a Sergeant on paper. I'm giving you command of an Augmented Combat Squad!"
Major Rudolphson winced and stepped forward. "Uncle... er, Colonel. We bought his ID, remember? He's a civilian contractor. He's running a business in the Sump. How can you give him actual boots to command?"
Colonel Leo gave Rudolphson a look normally reserved for slow-witted Ogryns.
"What do you mean 'bought'? Sergeant Voss is a pillar of this battalion! He was personally decorated by the Lord General! If Zeppelin returns in six months and asks how the 'Hero of the Reach' is doing, and we tell him he's still just a ghost on a ledger, do you think the General will be pleased? No. He'll think we're suppressing talent. I won't have it."
Rudolphson went quiet. He realized the Colonel was right—in the Imperium, optics were everything. A man with a medal from a General had to have a command, or the hierarchy looked broken.
However, Rudolphson looked at Kian with a very complicated expression. When he had met Kian, the man was a scavenger in the mud. Now, he was a Sergeant with a command of twenty men. By the Throne, Rudolphson thought, is this brat going to outrank me by next year?
While the Major was lost in his existential crisis, Kian stepped up to Colonel Leo, offering him a premium Lho-stick.
"Colonel, I'm honored. And since we're speaking as brothers-in-arms... Major Rudolphson might have mentioned that I possess a few industrial 'investments' in the Underhive. The problem is the neighborhood. The Sump is full of un-sanctified dregs and gang-lords who constantly interrupt my production. I need a bit of... hardware... to ensure the Voss Tithe remains stable. Can the Regiment provide some 'surplus' support?"
Colonel Leo frowned, preparing to deliver a lecture on the strict regulations of the Departmento Munitorum. But before he could speak, Kian leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper.
"Colonel... remember that one million scrips you 'lent' me to start the distillery? I've been feeling the weight of that debt. I think it's time I settled the bill."
Leo let out a sharp hiss. One million scrips. This kid talked about a million like it was spare change.
Kian gave him a conspiratorial wink. Thanks to the distillery's recent runs and the loot from Iron-Eye's safe, Kian was sitting on a mountain of 4.5 Million Agri-Scrips. In the "Extraction" economy, credits were just a resource to be converted into power.
Colonel Leo coughed, suddenly adjusting his combat belt and looking very official.
"Major Rudolphson! Take the Sergeant to the Decommissioned Ordnance Vault. Let him see what can be 'reclaimed' for his auxiliary duties."
He turned back to Kian with a wide, greedy grin. "Don't forget to settle that 'debt' with my clerk on your way out, Sergeant. Dismissed!"
Rudolphson drove Kian deep into the regimental headquarters, passing several checkpoints until they reached a row of heavy plasteel hangers embedded in the mountain.
The Major killed the engine and hopped out, pulling a heavy iron key-slate from his belt. He slotted it into a massive blast door. With a grinding screech of ancient metal, the doors slid open, revealing a sight that made Kian's "Hoarder-Rat" soul sing.
It was a mountain of junked weaponry.
Kian walked into the warehouse, picking up a PDF-pattern autogun from a pile. The receiver had been crushed by a bullet, rendering it useless, but the barrel and trigger-assembly were pristine.
"You're giving me this trash?" Kian asked, looking at the piles of rusted iron. "I paid a million scrips for a graveyard?"
Rudolphson rolled his eyes. "Where do you think I'm going to get a thousand mint-condition rifles, Voss? If I moved that much live inventory, the Commissars would have me flayed.
"This is ten years of regimental 'Battle-Damage.' These weapons were slated for the smelting furnaces, but the Tech-Priests haven't been down to audit this sector in a decade. It's all 'off the books.' Take what you want. If you can cannibalize three broken guns to make one that shoots, that's your business."
Kian smirked. Rudolphson didn't know about the Level 3 Machinist Station back in the Sanctum. Kian didn't need to "cannibalize" them; he could strip them for parts and "print" brand-new pristine receivers. This warehouse wasn't a graveyard; it was an infinite supply of "Weapon Components."
"Fine," Kian said, leaning against a crate. "The scrap I can handle. But I gave the Colonel a million. You're telling me there isn't a single 'sweetener' in this deal? What about the spice?"
Rudolphson sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I can authorize a transfer of 100,000 rounds of standard ammunition. Not a bullet more. If I lose any more, I'll have to start filing 'Rebel Ambush' reports every day just to explain the loss."
Kian let out a sharp laugh. "One hundred thousand?! Rudy, I'm running a two-hundred-man militia down there! I'll burn through a hundred thousand rounds in a week of target practice! How am I supposed to defend my vats with 'thoughts and prayers' once the magazines go dry?"
Rudolphson's face went dark. "Voss... how many men did you say you have? Two hundred? Armed with military hardware?"
Kian realized he'd let the "Gamer-Greed" slip. He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Roughly. Maybe more. The Sump is a big place."
"Throne's blood," Rudolphson whispered, grabbing Kian's shoulder. "You aren't a scavenger. You're a Warlord.
"Wait... are you taking everything? There are seven hundred broken frames in here!"
Kian looked at the mountain of steel and grinned. "Every. Single. One. Order the trucks, Major.
I want to see if your ledger can handle a 'Total Asset Migration' or if you're just a Major on paper."
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