I do not own anything from Games Workshop. This is my first attempt at writing ANYTHING SciFi. Comments and critiques welcome.
Ivan Wilhelm stood ready with the rest of his battle brothers. The time was approaching but slowly, oh so slowly. He checked his shotgun for what seemed like the hundredth time. Would the apprehension ever subside? He had been one of over four hundred to enlist as a Neophyte in the ranks of the Black Templar's budding Dunclouth Crusade six years prior. Now, a mere decade later, he was one of only thirty Neophytes left alive. His first battle had been a culture shock the likes of which he had never dreamed in his worst nightmares. Now, now it was all a standard routine. He was twice the size he had been at the time of his enlistment thanks to the physiological upgrades his body had required in order to endure the grueling and constant campaigning that the Black Templars were so famous for conducting.
Soon, he knew, if Battle Brother Dorian decided it was to be so he would be elevated from the ranks of Neophytes to those of the Battle Brothers. The glories he would bring to the Emperor would be countless if unsung. He did not mind though. He did not want his name to live on in legend. That would mean he was dead. He wanted to survive as long as he could to spread the Emperor's light as far as he could. No other calling in life could be so great. No other legacy would live as long. A single face in a thousand, he would go down screaming litanies of hate so that the enemies of the Imperium would remember those words for rest of their short lived lives, and know true fear.
This time he checked his bolter pistol and combat knife. Damn, would the word to load into the drop pods ever come? Somewhere behind him one of the newest Neophytes wretched onto the deck. Apprehension had the uncanny ability to turn even some of the most stalwart braggarts into whimpering, sniveling piles of worthlessness. Ivan smiled to himself.
"Do not be so proud of your own accomplishments, Neopyhte. You were not so unlike that poor sap back there when you came to study under me," Brother Dorian scolded him. "You would do well to remember your own past in these ranks that you may help others bring glory to our Emperor."
"My apologies, Brother Dorian," Ivan said. "I was but remembering my own first battle and thanking the Almighty God Emperor for allowing me to survive it to continue on this long in his service."
Brother Dorian studied his protégé's face. The sincerity he needed to see was indeed etched on Neophyte Wilhelm's face. Satisfied he turned his head back to in the direction of the bay doors, behind which awaiting the drop pods that would take them all to the planet's surface. He was proud of his student. Ivan had grown into a power instrument of destruction, waiting only for the Emperor's servant, Castellan Eisenboden to command it. Brother Dorian knew that the Neophyte was ready to wear the power armor of Space Marine. In fact, he had known it for over two years. Only caution had stayed his recommendation. He had not wanted his own pride to interfere with the plans of him Emperor. Now, though, he knew in his two hearts that the man was ready to bear the moniker Angel of Death.
At last an alarm sounded and the bay doors began to open with rumbles that shook the whole of the Marine Frigate Iomen. The dark clad warriors and their students surged forwards filling drop pods by squad. Ivan quickly took a seat and pulled the restraining bars over his shoulders. After the last of the Marines of Squad Julius was in the pod the doors began to close, snuffing out all light and sound.
After what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes, a deafening roar and spine shattering lurch hurled the pods into the vacuum of space on a crash course with the planet below. For a few brief moments there was only silence. No one breathed. No one moved. No one blinked.
The breaking of the atmospheric orb around the planet was a sonic boom that would have blown the ear drums of normal men. The turbine engines kicked on and propelled the pod at an even greater rate towards to ground. The structure shook and groaned under the intense strain but held together, as all aboard knew it would. Suddenly the turbines cut off allowing friction to slow the pod enough so as to not bury it in the ground upon impact and entomb all within.
"Two miles out," someone yelled.
A red light came on bathing shattering the darkness and bathing all in a glow of crimson. As one the Battle Brothers began reciting their Litanies of Hatred. Ivan said them to himself in his head, making sure that he knew them perfectly.
BOOM!
The impact of the drop pod sent a shock wave out that had there been trees within a hundred yard radius they would have been vaporized. An explosion blew the doors off and out. The Brothers were already off and running before the doors hit the ground with the Neophytes only a split second behind. There was no more time for prayers. No more time for checking of weapons. No more time to recite the various Litanies. Now, there was only time for war.
Neophyte Wilhelm paced Brother Dorian as they raced across an already battle scarred plain. The time was upon them. It was upon them all. Now was the time for the Angels of Death to bring the Almighty Immortal God Emperor's blessing and damnation to those who stood against his holy will.