The Mordian 102nd was a whirlwind of activity. Orders had come down that they were to depart their prepared defenses and finally take the offensive against the Necrons infesting Toma III. Troopers in impeccable blue and yellow uniforms hurried along the line, relaying orders and coordinating the thousands of infantry and dozens of tanks that would hopefully force the Necrons back to their tomb-city. It was even rumored that the Astartes would be joining the offensive, but no one seemed to know what Chapter or in what numbers.
Amidst all of the bustling activity, Marshal Callas Trando called his platoon to order. Fifty-nine Guardsmen stood before him in disciplined rows, weapons checked and ready. Trando kept his men well-drilled, and there was only one thing left to do before the advance.
“Kneel for the Emperor’s benediction,” he ordered raising his hands and bowing his head. His platoon dropped to one knee in unison, closing their eyes as Trando began a lengthy request for the Emperor’s blessing upon them. As he prayed, he heard the grating thrum of active power armor approaching them His heart swelled with pride to think the Space Marines’ first impression of his platoon would be one of disciplined piety. At least, his heart swelled until his prayer was interrupted by an impossibly deep voice.
“Stop that,” the Marine rumbled. “And get off your knees. I’ll have no troops I fight alongside bowing like slaves.”
Stunned, Trando opened his eyes. Before him stood a massive Marine in black power armor. His helmet was shaped into a merciless skull, and his shoulder pad bore a red shield emblazoned with two black axes. Behind the Chaplain stood five more Marines bearing similar heraldry, though their armor was battered blue steel instead of black.
“We were only praying for the Emperor’s blessing, my lord,” stated Trando, still unsure why he had been reprimanded. The Chaplain stared at him for a moment, then moved to stand next to him, facing the assembled soldiers. His next words were amplified by his armor’s vox-speakers, loud enough to carry beyond the assembled platoon and to the many surrounding units.
“The Emperor does not listen to prayers, and he does not grant blessings,” began the Chaplain, shocking the listening humans. “I have fought His wars for more than two centuries, and I can count the times I have seen the Emperor intercede on behalf of his armies on a single hand.” The Chaplain raised his right hand, spreading his fingers to accentuate his point.
“He does not need to. The God-Emperor has already given us all that we need. He has blessed us with the strength and courage that we need to win this battle. That is all we can ask, and it is up to us to use it well.” With that, the Chaplain drew his crozius arcanum, lifting it above his head. His squad followed suit, swords and axes raised in salute.
“The Emperor is not a God of weaklings, but of warriors. Battle pleases Him, and, if we fight well, He may watch us today and be proud. If you must pray for anything, pray for that!”
The Mordians raised their own weapons to the sky and shouted along with the Marines.
The hundreds of soldiers drowned out the rumbling of their tanks, and even the amplified shouts of the six Astartes.
As the cheering died off, the Chaplain surveyed the Mordians he would lead into battle.
“Now lets show those metal bastards what happens when they attack an Imperial world,” finished the Chaplain, turning to lead the march toward the Necron army.
Let me know what you think of my first foray into fiction. Please be constructive. I'm new at this.