A Time of Reaving IC

[Black Cohort]

10 minutes ago, Mazer Rackham said:

Ravyx Koloios:

 

Hadad's question had answered his own, which saved him having to put his hand up for permission. He was more used to the 'open parliament' style of forum, where a plan would be laid out, left open for discussion or dissection. Participants were encouraged to entertain opposing counsel. This was not needed here.

 

'Captain,' he began, levelly, 'what is the status of the crew? How many compartments report?'

 

"93.5% of compartments have void integrity.  94.8% of crew are accounted for.  Approximately 2% of compartments have been evacuated to ensure the safety of the crew normally within them while further checks are conducted.  This isn't the first time I have seen a battle damaged ship to warp, Legionnaire.  We should have no incidents beyond the norm for a ship in the warp."

[Urauloth]

Ekene Sul

 

"Of course, Shipmistress. We all have our duty, and I did not come to impede you in discharging yours."

 

If the acting captain was concerned that Sul intended to pull rank and commandeer the vessel, she had nothing to worry about on that front; he knew no more about captaining a voidship than any other legionary from the tactical companies, and it was vastly preferable for an experienced fleet officer to remain at the helm. He was glad to hear she had as much experience as she did. With the bridge in capable hands, nobody would be expecting him to order course corrections.

 

He gave the officer the ghost of a smile, friendly and reassuring. "I would know what to call you, though?"

 

A few days in the warp. He wondered what repairs he might be able to effect to his armour in that time. He wondered what resources and facilities there were aboard. If they were out of immediate danger, it would be worth finding out.

[Black Cohort]

"I am Captain Nuzry.  Do you wish to stay here or go the the astartes quarters?  We are equipped to carry an entire light company."

[Mazer Rackham]

Ravyx Koloios:

 

An Astartes Light Company? Spacious indeed, and it should also provide a suitable butcher's shop. Secure the surgery first, revive the casualties if possible for reinforcements, sequester the geneseed of the fallen, then the ship.

 

Busy busy. 

 

He could leave the plotting and planning of where and how to strike to the other Legionaries for now.

 

'With your leave,' he addressed Captain Nuzry, 'I must attend the casualties without delay. Where is the Apothecarion?'

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

Krait looked at the knight-brother of the 1st Legion. His words were curt, but sensible. 

 

"Perhaps our brother of the First Legion and I should check the non-reporting sections. There may be issues unknown to the command staff."

 

His mind was still on the sands, hands gripping the hilts of his swords. He and Arazakiel would be able to verify the loyalty of the crew, and would have no compunctions in putting down those of uncertain mind.

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

He listened as the others discussed details with the Shipmistress, but part of his mind was entirely distracted. The Sisypheum? That was Ulrach Branthan's command. Elvrit didn't know man or ship well, but the fact that someone had gotten close enough to Istvaan V to extract some of the Iron Hands forces was… positive.

 

He would get no further information for the next few days, at least. It would have to do for now. Besides, it seemed there was other work to be done.

 

“Captain Nuzry, with your permission I will join whatever repair crews you have working on the damage to your vessel. I am no Tech-priest, but I have skill and strength enough to make myself useful.”

 

Not to mention that, if the Angel and the Raven were correct, any threats that might have slunk aboard during the battle would likely have done so in areas of the ship that had been damaged and exposed to the void.

 

[Black Cohort]

"Ensign, please take the Apothecary to their facilities, limited though they are."

 

The acting Captain had not being lying when she said the apothecarion was limited.  It was more like a clinic than the trauma and surgical wards that the facilities on larger warships had.  It featured one medical servitor, a pair of treatment slabs and minimal diagnostic equipment.  Even it's supplies of medicines and chemicals were limited, appearing to mainly be designed to monitor and balance the complex web of chemistry within an astartes body.  It did have the equipment to store geneseed properly and monitor up to a dozen warriors in the Sus-An sleep.

 

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"I think perhaps, like most who don't make the Void Seas their life, you underestimate just how massive even the smallest of warships are.  We have closer to 4 million than 3 million square meters of floorspace on this ship.  The areas you speak of searching are approximately a quarter of a million square meters of deck, spread across most of the 30 to 40 decks different parts of the ship have."

 

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"Magos Tyrthon is the senior member of the mechanicum aboard, you should be able to find him in Engineerium Command, aft on deck 32."

[Mazer Rackham]

Ravyx Kolios:

 

Setting about arranging it the way he wanted it, Ravyx took stock, noting the limited supplies. It was not surprising. During a muster such as Isstvan V, the apothecaries would have taken everything, since their charges were fighting...other Legionaries. They knew the damage Astartes could do, and would have prepared for the worst - except that wasn't where it ended was it? It went from worse to disastrous, the proof of which flexed and clanked around him as the battered armour and over-taxed servomechanics responded to his urge to pace, the empty ammunition pouches evidence of the hard fighting.

 

His feet unerringly carried him to the genevault. Unlike that in the Ravenspire, which was a monumental repository, this was a sturdy, small redoubt. Thick with adamantium and plascrete, bound and braced in plasteel. He detected the the protective power of a small-scale forcefield within as he gauntlet neared. The Salamanders Legion knew their business.

 

Now he had to see if he knew his. He would empty the armacrystal cryoflasks first, and place them in the storage casket alongside any XVIII brothers therein.

 

Ravyx sat on the bench adjacent to the door, bringing his spectrometers and augurs into position. With great focus and care he set the Narthecium into standby, and manually rotated the flask cartridges until they were ready for the excision canal. He popped out the first, depositing it into the anaylsis receptacle of the genesampler.

 

++ READY ++

= Scanning =

....Sample 1: INTACT

....81% corruption detected.

...UNVIABLE.

 

++ READY ++

 

Whatever hope lifted on the assurance he'd done his job properly was crushed by the result. The geneseed within the crystal was...offal. He checked again, with a different list of parameters, but the result was exactly replicated. This brother died on Isstvan, and his legacy was to lie there, no doubt desecrated by the traitors, his equipment plundered, carcass rotting, rusting instead of returning to Kiavahr.

 

He autoclaved the useless organs, and tried the next capsule.

 

Again, and again, the geneseeds were destroyed by whatever cruel fate saw fit to be exercised. Chemical degradation, damage from extraction, or simple recombinative instability stemming from when they were originally harvested from the clones. He slammed in the last flask. Not only did the traitors steal brotherhood, trust, purpose, but they had also robbed the XIX Legion of it's future. This punched him harder than the sorrowful dirge of the analysis machine. What was there even left to strive for? Two bloody Raven Guard, a batch of misfits and truculent mortals, ina battered ship-

 

= Scanning =

....Sample 5: INTACT

....0.93% corruption detected.

....VIABLE.

 

The bleep thundered through his thoughts, and he swivelled back to the sampler. With great reverence, he cradled the flask, and carefully took it to the storage crypt. Via his Narthecium, he accessed the codes, changed them, and stored the sole son of Deliverance within, closing the door.

 

He sat down and sighed, before he carefully removed his conical helm and set it down, smelling the clean, cool air of the apothecarion without the taint of his own scent. The paint was seared, desaturated, blasted by the foul exposures he'd suffered below. Anger stung, but he controlled it, and turned to work on the Narthecium. They could afford no more losses.

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

Sharr nodded and left the secondary bridge. From here in the heart of the Darnok's Tribute, it was a simple matter to follow the primary thoroughfare aft towards the Engineerium.

 

As he lumbered through the various sections of the Sword, the Breacher silently observed the human crew. They seemed to carry out their duties with skill and efficiency, but Elvrit could see the shock - the horror - of the past twenty-four hours buried just barely beneath the surface. He should despise such weakness... but at the same time he had to admire the sheer determination that kept the mortals from breaking apart.

 

The Engineerium was a literal hive of activity, tech-thralls and servitors moving endlessly to and fro with cold, logical purpose. Elvrit found that the total lack of emotional response from these workers to their current situation was like a soothing balm. It even helped him to momentarily quieten the burning rage that flared every time he thought about the traitors’ actions.

 

He saw a crimson-robed Magos at the heart of the bustle, surrounded by an ever-changing crowd of adjutants coming and going. He approached and bowed respectfully, making the sign of the Cog as he did so. When the Magos finally beckoned him forward, he stood upright and spoke gruffly.

 

“Magos Tyrthon? I am Elvrit Sharr, of the Iron Hands Legion. While we are in transit, I thought to offer my assistance in making repairs. I am uninitiated in the deeper mysteries… but I can manage a fycelline torch or provide a strong right arm.”

 

 

[Machine God]

The Sleeping Knight

 

The form deposited from the Thunderhawk was collected by Deck Servitors as it was in the way, it was handed over to a Human Work Gang.

 

It had fallen on its back with a large sword clasped in both hands, like a knight in a tomb of old. it was covered in icy hoarfrost, but the fall had dislodged the ice from its helm to reveal what looked like a red beard.

 

The deck crew being mariners were superstitious and loyal despite the teachings of the new Imperial Truth.. They had put him away in a store so that wouldn't be disturbed.

 

Things happened afterwards to the gang, lucky things whilst others had dreams.

 

They had all been told that wounded Marines slept to heal wounds, it was a given fact that everyone knew.

 

Old Bert who was old, he was convinced that the sleeper was being sent back to Av'lon and the Nine Sisters.

 

Willum was convinced that the sleeper was being sent back to a big mountain, he also kept muttering the same weird phrase.

 

"Do the ravens still fly?"

 

 

 

 

Edited December 8, 2023 by Machine God
typo

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

As the others dispersed, setting about their tasks as their sense of duty demanded, or as they saw as a priority, he was left on the Bridge. He had not ever been on the bridge of a voidship, and observed with interest the activities of the crew under the watchful direction of Shipmistress Nuzry. However all too soon he came to the realisation that his presence was not entirely welcome by the crew. There was a air of resentment, at first his thoughts concluded that they knew what his former kin had done, and considered him, like them, an oathbreaker who had no business being aboard.  However there was no hostility directed at him, not even really that weary observation that showed that they feared that he would attack unprovoked.

 

Then, the epiphany, he recognised the mood, he had partaken in it often enough. That sense of I know what I am doing, I don’t need some bigwig looking over my shoulder and judging my every thought. He had directed the same at countless sergeants over the years, and plenty of Officer above that as well, even ones he had served alongside long ago when they had all been young tacticals.  

 

“Shipmistress.” He excused himself with a polite half bow and retreated from the bridge.

 

 

With nowhere to go he retraced the steps to the Hawk. Work crews had busied themselves, but by now the swarming over the craft had abated, and most had moved on to other duties.

 

Inside the sleeping marines remained, undisturbed. He stood there for a while, a guard unneeded, and yet on his post.

 

Edited December 8, 2023 by Trokair

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

"Captain- perhaps there are areas that are not reporting but did not receive any reported battle damage, or had originally reported alls-well but now no longer answer communications? If so, I would investigate those locations."

 

Kraith knew that darkness and silence often hid dangers. He would seek out and purge those dangers, purge them as he purged his anger and shame.

[Black Cohort]

The marines in Sus-An sleep are eventually offloaded by servitors and taken to the Apothecarium, which has the ability to monitor up to a dozen marines in Sus-An.  It is a testament to the sheer resiliency of the astartes frame that any of these warriors live or were conscious when they boarded the thunderhawk.  One had a hand that some kind of plasma burn that had caused the armoured gauntlet to melt and run like water before re-hardening, another had a pinky-sized hole through their torso while a third had micro-fractures all across the front of their breastplate.  And those were just the most extreme injuries.

 

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Magos Tyrthon did not initially appear to be augmented in any way, but after a moment's examination the subtle work became apparent.  Fine scars were visible around the eyes and high on the neck and what first seemed to be hair was actually hundreds of fine filaments.  He did wear the heavy, red robes of a mid-ranking Magos.

 

"Legionary Sharr we can use every hand at the moment.  I am particularly concerned with the forward void array.  We took several heavy volleys in the fighting and they were repeatedly overloaded.  The Binaric Cant returns are muddled and concerning, before we entered the illogical plane they would not charge above 59.872%"

 

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An inspection tour of the areas around several of the non-responsive sectors showed that legion naval auxiliaries were present in all locations to ensure the ship was secure.  They appeared in usually platoon strength, armed mostly with shotguns, though each squad had several boarding shields and a flamer and each platoon had a meltagun and pair of lascutters.

 

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The legion armoury aboard the ship is huge, certainly large enough to support a light company.  It also looks like it was looted by a clan of orks.  Rack upon rack sits empty and ammo vault doors sit ajar completely empty.  While a few mags worth of ammo can be scrounged up, it is very slim pickings.  A single dissembled rapier weapon platform with no obvious weapon to mount on it and a lone astartes shotgun appear to be the only actual weapons or equipment other than a pair of grenades and some loose ammo.

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

Failure. His brothers had wagered their lives on the hope of unveiling some of the warmasters secrets but now he returned empty handed, the lives of those who escaped perhaps better spent upon Istavaan rather than scattered across imperial space not knowing where the traitors would bring their forces.

 

There was little to do now but wander with his thoughts. ensure this vessel if nothing else survived to rejoin the fleet. Some part of him wanted to turn the ship back but it was in no condition to fight. For now they must seek to make what communication they can to the wider imperium, it could not be said for sure that any other warning would get out.

 

"What of the choir, Captain?"

[Black Cohort]

"Our one Astropath had to be sedated hours ago, screamed so much that it might have damaged something.  We won't know until we wake her, which I don't intend to do until we are back in realspace."

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

Less than 60% effective forward void shields? If they had to engage any Traitor vessels, that would be a substantial - potentially deadly - impediment to their combat effectiveness. Tyrthon's concern was understandable. Elvrit bowed again, in acceptance of the task.

 

“Understood, Magos. I am no expert, but perhaps I can assist. I assume you have a team with the necessary tools already assigned to work on the problem? I will join them immediately.”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Ravyx Koloios:

 

Checking each one of the fallen Space Marines, Ravyx satisfied himself their Suspended Animation comas were stable and complete. He linked them to the monitoring systems before exloading his recognition codes to the medical servitor. He examined the fused hand. It would certainly be best to amputate - the flesh was certainly destroyed beyond retrieval, but using the scant supplies in his possession without further replenishment would be unwise.

 

He would just have to watch over them whilst the ship cruised to whatever destination her mistress decided. He took another bench, began to take proper stock of the chemicals. He stopped every now and again to cycle the Watchful Sleeper implant, resting as much as possible.

 

Medicae Test if required:

Spoiler

INT: 54 +20 (Narthecium) + 10 (Talented) = 74

D100: 29 PASS, Plus 4 DoS.

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

No traitors to fight, no enemies to stalk. Kraith was a hunter, he had not the skills of the medicae or the technos, his skill was in taking the enemy by surprise and destroying them. Until there was an enemy to fight, he was somewhat at a loss. Perhaps the training cages of the ship were still working, so he would be able to sharpen his skills even more.

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

When the procession of servitors arrived he was at first weary of them, for while individually they were no thread, a whole bunch of them, and all with strength enhancements, might be. Had the others, or the Captain and crew, decide he need taking care of in a terminal way. Alas they were just here to unload the injured marines, no doubt to take them to the Apothecarium at ‘call me Jackdaw’s’ orders.

 

Deciding to follow the procession he was glad that the servitors would not have been able to sense his doubt, that fear that at any moment those surrounding him could turn on him. He needed to remain confident, show the others that he was a stalwart oathkeeper and that there was no taint of the so called gene-father and his false kin in him.

 

Thinking back over the hours and days leading up to now, his thought kept on circling back to the question of how so many in the Imperium had not see this coming, or at least seen something coming. He was but a lowly marine, hardly in a position with overview, and he had known something was amiss for long time now.

 

The first sign, the found father, the long awaited Primarch. He who would lead them out from under the thumb of Horus, and those like him that had used the fourth not as allies, but as tools for the task they would not risk their own forces on. That hope had been shattered, bloodily at that, when their saviour turned on them, decimated them. To kill so many of your own sons, how could that be the action of an honourable lord. The pain of that day, the truth that Perturabo was not a great lord, but a mere petty tyrant, had remained with him across the decades.   

 

Even when their lord had turned on his new sons, the way he had his old one, shunned them and took to automatons as his honoured company, as his closets companions instead of any of his sons, had been but the merest satisfaction. He had smiled the day he had heard this newest failure of the so called father, but all too quickly saw that too many of his new sons, and many of the remaining old ones, where blinded, slavishly faithful to one who had not eared or deserved such loyalty. And now it had dammed them.  

 

He had spoke out against the decimation, and been station on the remotest garrison the officers could find, for decades at a time. To his shame he had kept increasingly quite as each new wrongness came to pass after that, tiered of being brushed aside, a Terran isolated far from home with no kin left. He should have spoken again and again, despite the consequences, perhaps then things would have turned out better.

 

How had no one else seen?

 

The last few weeks, as the Legion was called together, and news of the first Oath breaking spread, and the sanction that had been marshalled against them. He had been hopeful again, the Legion, both old and new, would see that there was wrongness that needed to be undone. Perhaps even their gene-father would see.

 

All a false hope, the mood in the Legion was one of triumph and sucsess, and as the orders and battle plans were dispenses Utu knew that he was one of just a handful to still hold true to the oath. That was the day he knew that the Legion was forsaken, and he would kill as many as he could, not out of vengeance, but out of duty sworn.  

Edited December 9, 2023 by Trokair

[Urauloth]

Ekene Sul

 

After a few more quiet words with the bridge crew, Sul had departed for the armoury. He had only spoken to them briefly, not wanting to interrupt their duties - just to let them know he had faith in their skills. He wanted them to hear something encouraging from him, as he was, for now, their only tangible link to the legion itself.

He had also wanted to make sure his armour's vox systems interfaced properly with the shipwide comms, and had taken a moment to confirm it before leaving. His battle plate had been damaged significantly on Istvaan, and while most of its systems still operated acceptably, it never hurt to be certain. Of particular concern was the fact that the suit was no longer able to maintain a full environmental seal and thus no longer void-proof; something he would need to prioritise fixing. With that in mind, he had made his way to the armoury to take stock of the supplies available.

 

Taking stock didn't take very long. Apart from the empty gun carriage, he could have bundled up all the wargear in the armoury and carried it away himself. The one encouraging sight was a small handful of Kraken shells. Not many, but his own magazine was half empty, and every one of the specialised rounds was valuable. He wondered who had made these. His were crafted by his own hand; were these the creation of a brother Salamander, perhaps now lost to the fires of this new war?

 

He shook himself from his musing. While there were clearly very few weapons here, there might well still be armourer's tools aboard. Were there still armoury staff? He would find out.

[Black Cohort]

The forward void shield generators were a hive of activity.  Lesser Tech-priests, servitors and Salamander bonded tech-adepts rushed around ripping out scorched and charred components, some of which were the size of a rhino armoured transport.  Chains with links the size of an astartes torso held parts a dozen feet off the ground while they were moved.

 

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The astartes areas of the ship did indeed have training cages, even a 50 meter live fire range.  There were rooms suitable for holding ten dozen astartes of various ranks, from the bunk rooms able to hold a score of line troops to the individual rooms that sgts, veterans and centurions were entitled.

 

The armoury still held plenty of tools, but little in the way of truly heavy duty machinery and no servitors.  There was ample space for around 10 to work at one time.  If pressed and assuming you had the right materials, you could manufacture ammunition for bolters, sniper rifles, shotguns and other solid projectile weapons.

 

While searching the astartes areas you do find documentation that shows that at least on paper, it was the home of the 78th light company, a force built around 50 tactical marines, supported by multiple recon squads, assault marines, rapier platforms, support and heavy support squads and a few land speeders, lightly over 100 warriors all told.  The vehicle garage looks like it is of a size and configuration to hold 4 land speeders and 4 rhino armoured transports.  There is no indication that the ship either had or was designed to support heavier assets such as terminators, dreadnoughts or armoured assets.

 

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Fifty-one hours had passed before the shipwide began broadcasting.  "All hands prepare for warp exit in 20 minutes.  All hands prepare for warp exit in 20 minutes.  Senior staff assemble in briefing room beta in 1 hour.  All hands prepare for warp exit in 20 minutes.  Senior staff assemble in briefing room beta in 1 hour."

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

Elvrit observed the tumult of workers for a few seconds, trying to understand the sheer scale of the technology that the tech-adepts were working on. After a moment, the vast components started to make sense. Those looked like field emitters… which would make the burned out units just behind them diodes and capacitors.

 

The huge chain hoists were far too busy to be used on every task, moving only the largest components back and forth far above the workers. Teams of servitors and adepts struggled to bodily lift other, only slightly smaller, replacement parts into place nearer the level of the deck. Elvrit estimated some must weigh more than eight thousand kilograms.

 

“Stand aside.”

 

The Iron Hand moved past the Mechanicus thralls who scattered around him. He spread his arms wide and took a grip on the edge of one of the massive capacitors. With a grunt of effort, Elvrit lifted and slid it forwards into the receiving socket. There was a loud clang - barely heard amidst all the other noise - as it locked into place. He moved closer to examine the dials on the unit. 99.3% efficient transfer of power from the main plasma core into the void shield charging system. Acceptable.

 

He looked around. Only another hundred or so damaged units to change, plus replacing the melted emitters, check the relays for damage, then to attempt a field test of the void shield array at gradually increasing levels of power…

 

Elvrit worked tirelessly beside the servants of the Mechanicus for two days, using his Catalepsean Node to snatch moments of sleep as they moved between decks of the ship. He also used the other tech-adepts’ tools in brief periods of downtime to repair and service his own wargear, doing his best to restore his battle-plate to full function. When the shipwide call came in, he nodded to Tyrthon.

 

“An honour to have worked beside the servants of the Machine God, Magos, but I must return to my true purpose.”

 

 

[Machine God]

"I'll bet that he's from Old Alba like that sleeping Knight. Looks like he's got sim'lar marking, well Hand at least," uttered Old Bert to Willum pointing out to Elvrit. 

 

"But thems Magos types is Part of the Ship, da Crew." whispered Willum nervously. 

 

"Can't go against Cap'n Nuzry. Unnerd yars afore the Mast, she is!" Willum said. 

 

"If we don't ask them Techies will grab 'im. Can't be no king under no mountain or Av'lon if he gets turned into corpse starch!" Old Bert said. 

 

Whilst they'd been chatting they had wandered into Elvrit's path, where they stopped abruptly and very nervous. 

 

"We've been looking after him, your Kin. He's sleeping in ice. We didn't know what to do with him. Techies wanted the room he's in and will probably turn him into corpse starch. He's Old Alba and gorra Hand on his shoulder." Old Bert blurted out. 

 

"Please don't urt us. Dreams told us to 'elp like" said Willum. 

 

"We can take you to him, yer Lordship" 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited December 10, 2023 by Machine God
Typo

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

OOC: Assuming this happens at some point over the two days while Elvrit is working with the Tech-adepts:

 

Elvrit looked down at the ship-thralls. Pathetic, superstitious little creatures, their speech barely intelligible as Gothic. He was in the middle of an urgent task for Tyrthon, and he honestly couldn't believe it was possible they had ‘found’ another of his Legion brethren aboard this ship.

 

Tempting to execute them immediately for such an absurd and offensive fabrication, but the Shipmistress might object.

 

Still… could it be that one of his kin had escaped the surface? Unlikely… but…

 

“I have duties of my own, little man. If this ‘king' of yours who wears my badge sleeps, you must take him to the Apoth… to the room where he can rest along with our other brothers.”

 

He gave the two workers simple directions to the Apothercarion.

 

“Another of my kind watches over the sleepers. He wears black, but his badge is a white rav… a white bird. Take your ‘king’ to him. Understood?”

 

 

[Machine God]

“I have duties of my own, little man. If this ‘king' of yours who wears my badge sleeps, you must take him to the Apoth… to the room where he can rest along with our other brothers.”

 

Elvrit gave them simple directions to the Apothercarion.

 

“Another of my kind watches over the sleepers. He wears black, but his badge is a white rav… a white bird. Take your ‘king’ to him. Understood?”

 

 

"White Bird, gotcha, Boss!" said Old Bert, turning and leading Willum away.

 

"Do the Ravens still fly?" muttered Willum. "See I told you that we shouldn't have asked him. He ain't got no blue armour or even a Lightning struck Mountain pad on 'is shoulder!"

 

"It's a Volcano" Old Bert answered back.

 

"Yer, tis probably a Volcano now. A mountain first that became volcano after 'aving a Primarch smashed into though!"

 

"Combi-Tools are over there, Boss" Old Bert shouted back and gestured as they departed.