Hello! This is my first entry to the site, and one of my first attempts at writing stories in general. This first chapter is just me getting a feel for my writing, I will get to actual missions and killing in the second chapter. All characters and events are completely made up by me and in no way based off any real person or event, or person/event existing in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. I do not own the Warhammer 40,000 universe, I just enjoy the tabletop game and its lore greatly. Also, I apologize for any formatting errors, seeing as I typed half of this on my phone and half on the computer. Rated M for future chapters.

Hive-World Charatta IV
999.M41, Emperor's Day

People ran through the streets, trailing costumes and shouting to all passing by in joy and festiveness. The skybridges and hive towers of the upper hives were covered as much as possible in Imperial banners, Aquilae, and statues of Imperial Saints in celebration of this holy holiday. The PDF was marching in parades everywhere one looked, being trailed by priests of the Imperial Cult chanting in High Gothic. Onlookers called out in admiration and patriotism as the planetary governor, having given himself a barge in the parade passed them.

"Halt, citizen. This is a restricted area of the hive. Please return to the festivities." Said a PDF officer that blocked the path of a man wearing black robes.
"I'm terribly sorry sir, but I simply must get through here. You see, if I don't, my brother will-" the man was cut off and staggered back as he was shoved by the PDF officer.
"The hive's plasma generator banks are always off limits to citizens. Leave." The PDF officer reiterated. The hooded man nodded slowly at this, as if processing the information.
"Lacobis." the hooded man said.
"Wha-" The PDF officer never got to finish as most of his head disappeared, with a large and heavily muscled man in Imperial Guard carapace armor appearing from behind him with a shotgun.
"He'll do THAT, you grox shit." the hooded man hissed at the body on the ground as he kicked it. "Let's continue, brother." he said as he disappeared into the door the now-dead man was guarding. Following the twisting and turning corridor, the two men came to the plasma generator banks. After quickly dispatching the two guards inside, Lacobis motioned for the hooded man to get to the generators.
"Place the bombs so we can be done here, Hektor." Lacobis said. Hektor quickly placed several melta bombs on the nearest generator and rushed for the exit as Lacobis followed him out. The two brothers rushed to the nearest elevator, which they took as high as they could and then stepped off onto the platform. "We're done here." Lacobis spoke into his comm-bead as they got out into the open, with nothing above them but sky. Suddenly, their vision was obscured by a flash of light and they both staggered, disoriented as they were from the teleportation.
"General Lacobis, Preacher Hektor, you two have done well." a deep and booming voice said as they came to their senses and fell to their knees before their master. "General, do the honors." they said as Lacobis then drew a remote detonator from his pocket and activated it. Hektor rushed to the window just in time to see the hive city blossom slowly in an orb of blue light.
"For Chaos!" everyone in the room shouted.

People ran through the streets, trailing costumes and shouting to all passing by in terror and fear. The skybridges and hive towers of the upper hives were covered as much as possible in Imperial banners, Aquilae, and statues of Imperial Saints in celebration of this holy holiday. The PDF was scattering everywhere one looked, being trailed by horror-stricken priests of the Imperial Cult shouting out in High Gothic. Onlookers called out in grief and despair as the planetary governor, having given himself a barge in the parade, tumbled off the skybridge into the growing blue glow coming from the lower hives. It consumed everything, causing the entire hive to collapse and sink into itself.

Imperial Navy Dreadnought "Righteous Fire"
Orbiting Roszelia Prime

"Damn it all!" The colonel shouted as he slammed his fist into the hololithic projector.
"Refrain from damaging the projector, Colonel Baxter. The machine spirit is getting agitated." A harsh, synthesized novice responded as the exceptionally tall Tech-Priest loomed over the projection.
"This same damn cult keeps hitting key points in this campaign's war effort. And to top it off, someone deep-striked them out this time!" Baxter exclaimed as he stopped himself from hitting the table again. A shadowy figure reclining in the unlit corner of the room seemingly turned their head slightly.
"That is troubling news indeed. It seems that the cult has powerful, or at least wealthy allies with access to higher technology. What say you about this, Captain?" They spoke slowly and thoughtfully. The Captain of the ship trembled in fear for a moment before swallowing and stepping forward.
"I... It seems that the energy signal given off by the teleportation does match that of an Adeptus Astartes' deep-strike, correct Archmagos?" The captain asked as the towering Tech-Priest nodded in affirmation. "Perhaps... perhaps a group of former Astartes following the Ruinous Powers is assisting the cult?" The Captain shrank back as the person in the corner looked over at him.
"Mobilize the Roszelian 728th Armored." The man said to Baxter as he stood up and stepped into the light, revealing a slightly short, bearded and unkempt elderly man covered in tattoos wearing a worn, threadbare suit.
"Right away, Lord Inquisitor." Baxter said as he snapped off a salute and marched out of the Command Room.

Roszelia Prime

Nathaniel woke with a start as the Chimera troop transport he and his squadmates had packed themselves into for warmth and shelter against the perpetual blizzard that always raged across his homeworld's surface's engines started up and began to move forward. After several minutes, the Chimera stopped and someone hit something against the side, shouting for them to come out. As his squad carefully navigated a way out of the cramped space and lined up outside next to several other squads all wearing the long light grey greatcoats, furs, and silvery flak armor of the Roszelian Imperial Guard regiments and their tanks and troop transports, Nathaniel realized that the entire company must be coming together on this stretch of frozen metal, albeit slowly. After waiting for a long while, watching more and more tanks roll onto the platform and dispense their squads and crews into the cold snow, a Valkyrie came down from somewhere above them and landed in front of the formation. Stepping out was a man in a richly decorated and well made gray Colonel's uniform and furs of the Roszelian 728th, the regiment that Nathaniel was apart of that had only been formed days before, with only the tank crewmen themselves and the NCOs having seen actual combat. Meaning that Nathaniel, along with most of his regiment, were newly trained Whiteshields. The entire line snapped to attention and saluted the Colonel as he emerged from his craft, being trailed by a man in a black greatcoat with a peaked officer's cap and a sash, as well as the majority of the company's officers.
"At ease!" The Colonel shouted into the blizzard at his men as he returned the salute. "I am Colonel Baxter, commander of this regiment! Yes, I know that you were granted a week's leave before the regiment would be deployed, but due to unforeseen events, that has been rescinded! All of you are shipping out to the Charatta sector to fight heretics as soon as the troop transports arrive! Am I understood?" There was a scattering of "yes sir!" along the line, but most just stood silent and shivered. As the company waited for a time, the roar of the transport's engines were heard as they approached. The guardsmen filed into each one to escape the unforgiving cold in favor of the warmth of the ships.

As the troop transport landed in the hangar, the men inside disembarked and stood at attention before the same man in the peaked cap and greatcoat from before that had stood at the Colonel's side. He started walking slowly up and down the line, staring down each guardsman and looking them over as he came to them. When he reached the side of the line furthest from Nathaniel, he whispered to the man next to him.
"Who's he? An officer?" The older man next to him stood staring straight ahead bore three golden chevrons on his sleeve and did not wear a helmet, instead wearing some form of headset.
"Who's that? He is the Commissar..." the sergeant beside him said incredulously as he looked over at the Whiteshield standing to his left. "What part of the world are you from that you can't recognize the hat and sash from the propaganda posters?"
"Er... well, the-"
"Care to share what you have to say with the rest of the men, guardsmen?" The Commissar said in a voice barely above a whisper as he somehow appeared before them without them noticing.
"No sir." Both of them responded as the Commissar then turned and swiftly walked back to his original position in front of the company.
"I am Commissar Iohannus." The tall and thin man's voice rang out across the assembled force. "It has come to my attention that there are those among you who do not know what a Commissar is. It is my job to ensure you do yours, and in the event you abandon or fail in your duties, I will deal out punishment as listed in the beginning of The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, the book issued to you along with a campaign journal and field gear. To those who have not yet begun reading, I suggest you do so before we reach Charatta. The punishments contained within range from several lashings to any manner of execution I see fit." Somewhere down the line, snickering was heard. "Step forward." The Commissar said coldly as the largest and most heavily muscled man in the company not only stepped forward, but directly up to the Commissar. "Care to share what is so funny, Whiteshield... Harold?" The Commissar asked as he read the guardsman's identification patch on his sleeve.
"What I find so funny." The large man said as he stepped forward even more, getting in the Commissar's face. "Is that some scrawny little rich boy frak thinks he can threaten me just 'cause he gots the fancy clothes." Iohannus smiled as Harold said this.
"Spoken like a Catachan. Let me show you why their Colonel filed a request for me to be transferred out of their regiment." Iohannus then grabbed the man's shoulders and his metal glove dispensed a pulse of electricity into the insubordinate guardsman, forcing him to his knees, screaming. Iohannus then delivered a swift but brutal kick to the kneeling man's face, sending him sprawling as he stopped screaming. A pair of naval armsmen stepped forward from the door and carried the unconscious man to the infirmary. "Anyone else wish to question my authority?" Iohannus calmly spoke as he looked about the room. "I thought not. I will tell you now, whatever dreams of heroism or grandeur you had, discard them. You will have a hard enough time just surviving. Many, if not all of you, will meet your ends in this war. Those who survive will move on to the next one. Few of you, if any, will ever return to your homes. Welcome to the Imperial Guard, for it is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself."

After that speech, Nathaniel and the rest of the men in that group were escorted to their rooms for the voyage. Nathaniel's room had ten dirty bunks, as well as a row of empty lockers in one wall, and a desk with a built-in cogitator. As he stowed his belongings in one of the lockers, other guardsmen came to the room one by one. Eventually, the man who had stood next to Nathaniel in line walked in.
"Line up in front of the bunks!" He called out. "Time for roll call." The guardsmen quickly stumbled their way into a line. "I am Sergeant Erics, and you are Squad four-eight-five. My squad. Whiteshield Jane?" He called out as he looked down at his list.
"Here." A short woman that still wore her furs over her uniform on the warm ship with red hair and blue eyes responded.
"Whiteshield Nathaniel?"
"Here sir." Nathaniel called out.
"Whiteshield Arymo?"
"H-here s-s-sir." a stuttering, lanky man spoke.
"Whiteshield Bertin?"
"'Ere sir." The gray haired man said as he swallowed a pill.
"That medication or recreation?" The sergeant asked.
"Pain meds sir."
"Alright then. Whiteshield Riean?"
"Here your lordship." a man overweight enough to barely fit in his armor said sarcastically. The sergeant gave him a glare before continuing.
"Whiteshield Jose"
"Ready to fight for the Emperor sir." A tall red-haired man exclaimed proudly.
"Good man. Whiteshield Coly?"
"Here sergeant." a tall white-haired woman said as she snapped to attention.
"Whiteshield Ruth?"
"Here." A heavyset green-eyed woman said.
"Whiteshield Charich?"
"Here sir." Spoke a bald man wearing a necklace of autogun shells.
"Alright, that covers roll call. Set your commbead frequency to 448 while onboard the "Righteous Fire". You are all dismissed and have free reign over all areas of the ship not sectioned off by Imperial Navy personnel. Also, stay out of the Engine Temple unless the incredibly unlikely happens and a Tech-Priest allows you in if there is a crisis onboard the ship. Don't get in fights, and a schedule will be posted in the mess hall that will tell you when you are expected to report to the Commissar for inspection." The sergeant then turned and left, leaving the Whiteshields alone in the room.

After they all stowed away their gear and belongings, the Nathaniel and his new squad mates talked to each other as they roamed the ship, looking for the mess hall. Jane, Arymo, Bertin, Riean, Coly and Ruth were all from the hives that never knew the cold of the unending blizzard, protected by their domes, while Jose and Charich were like him and were "Icers" that had lived in cities practically buried in snow. The two groups eventually drifted apart in their search, with Nathaniel's group eventually finding a member of the crew that pointed him in the right direction. Upon reaching the mess hall and getting some food, Nathaniel saw that according to the schedule, he was expected in the Commissar's office for inspection half an hour ago. Stuffing what food he could into his mouth and pockets, Nathaniel took off running, following the directions listed on the paper to the office.

Iohannus looked up from his book as a whiteshield wearing the long coat and furs of the Roszelian regiments hurried into his office and saluted as he stood at attention.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Commissar sir! I did not know my assigned time until several minutes ago."
"Take a seat." Iohannus said as he marked his page and tucked the pook into his desk. "Whiteshield Nathaniel Rowley, correct?"
"Yes Commissar sir." Nathaniel responded, still standing at attention.
"At ease, at ease. Take a seat." Iohannus said as he scooted his chair closer the the desk and opened up a folder of information on members of the regiment. "You are from the Horoshak region, yes?"
"Correct, Commissar." Nathaniel said warily.
"No need to be so tense, guardsman. That earlier display was needed so that I could establish my position in the regiment to the whiteshields, nothing more. It's not like I just go around electrocuting people." Iohannus said as he cracked a grin.
"If you say so, sir." Nathaniel said as Iohannus sighed in disapointment.
"Age is seventeen?" Nathaniel gave a nod. "Let's see..." Iohannus said as he shuffles the papers in the folder looking for more info on Nathaniel. "Ah, here we go. Says here you joined the guard because you and your brothers all made a pact about it, but it says they died two years ago from being trapped out in the cold. What made you join anyway?" Iohannus said as leaned forward over the desk.
"Roszelia, under all the ice and snow, is still a shrine world sir. It is considered an honor to join the ranks of the Hammer of the Emperor." Nathaniel responded.
"Well, have any occupational knowledge or skills that are useful to the regiment?"
"I worked in a factory Commissar sir, I know the markings used by the Imperium's manufacturing plants and what order things with those markings go in. I like fixing things too."
"Ah, that is always useful. I will sign you up for basic tank and heavy weapons maintenance training in the event an Enginseer is not able to do it themself. It will probably only start after this campaign is done, so make it through, all right?" Iohannus asked as he gave a warm and caring smile. "Well, doing an equipment inspection is pointless, seeing as you were just issued yours. Do you have anything to say or ask?"
"Yes Commissar sir, what is an Enginseer?" as Nathaniel asked this, Iohannus looked back up from the folder he was putting away.
"Enginseers are Tech-Priests that specialize in repairing the vehicles and equipment we use in the Imperial guard, among other things. You do know what a Tech-Priest is, right?" Iohannus replied in surprise. He sighed when all he received was a blank look from Nathaniel.
"No, Commissar sir. Are they special members of the Ecclesiarchy?"
"Tech-Priests are members of a religion parallel to the Imperial Cult that was founded on Mars when Terra first lost contact with all itscolonies around ten thousand years ago. They venerate and control technology in all forms, as well as worship the Emperor as the Omnissaiah, the Machine God. They are the augmented people in the red or black cloaks, though the only one you will see on this ship outside of their Engine Temple, provided nothing is damaged, will be the Archmagos, the head of the Tech-priests involved in this campaign. Any further questions?"
"No Commissar sir."
"Well, you may go now. Feel free to come to me at any time." Iohannus said as Nathaniel rose from his seat, saluted, and exited his office.

The rest of the voyage went smoothly, with Nathaniel, Jose, and Charich becoming good friends during it, telling stories and jokes. One day, the Captain's voice came over the ship's PA system.

"Get ready to disembark guardsmen, we have reached the Charatta sector."