The war goes on, and the battle on Earth and Palaven continues. I have seen all of your reviews and you should all be happy to know there are a few requested scenes in here. Speaking of reviews:
Dezagstin: I'll think on it. Haven't gotten to figuring out precisely what will happen in the end, but I will condiser your suggestion.
Monstrr: That would be pretty funny. And terrifying.
themadnimrod: Of course not! I'm glad you liked the chapter.
PaladinSans: They are very old peices indeed, and suspected of originally being farming equipment. However, probably not in the Mass Effect galaxy, as all their tech runs on element zero and they have an aversion to superior firepower.
MEleeSmasher: That's in this chapter! Hope you like it.
Ghostly: No. They're grabbing everything that was destroyed on Earth or Articus Station and sending it to Earth to fight with the Imperials. The Quarians and ex-Cerberus soldiers are defending Rannoch. The Leviathans are part of what Hal is doing (we'll get to him), that Shadow Broker won't really show up (sorry, I have enough to write as is), and as for Javik? We'll, I suppose we'll find out...
Zedkaii: Me alegro de que te guste. Gracias por leer. (Escrito en un traductor)
BonesofSmite: I'm glad you like the fluff! It's fun to write. Guard is here, showing in this chapter! As for the Eldar, I don't think they'll show, as there's already enough people to deal with as is. I don't think I need to make it more complicated. Either way, I hope you like the story!
Guest: Thank you.
Colossus Bridger: I'm glad you liked the fluff! The Marines might start to respect the foul xenos, but as you said, it will be a grueling process. I'm also glad you liked Turian-with-a-bolter. He's here to stay, thanks to so many people that enjoy his presence.
Knighthunter911700: I purposefully haven't really set the 40k timeline to any particular time. This is due to the fact that the story takes place in the Mass Effect galaxy and because I couldn't do precisely what I wanted if I set the time. For instance, if I said this took place after the Fall of Cadia and resurrection of Guilliman, then the Blood Angels wouldn't be here because they have problems in the Imperium Nihilus. So the time is somewhat up to you, and somewhat left alone because I want to have the crusade work with all of these particular factions. Sorry that nothing is definitive: I hope it doesn't take away from your enjoyment of the story.
Guest: The Geth might, fighting as part of Trazyn's collection. I have written the Imperials as nicer than usual, and they won't be causing any major problems. This is perhaps incorrect in a sense, but I've always been one for those spots of light in the darkness that is 40k, so I hope you'll forgive if the Imperials are more friendly. Shepard and most people will remain atheist, as most people in Mass Effect are not ones to ponder the question of religion, even if their new allies are theocrats. The Imperials know most people of this galaxy are agnostic or atheist, and due to their newfound niceness at my hands, will simply just chalk it down to galactic differences and not having the God-Emperor in this reality rather than purging the filthy heretics. As for Cawl and Shepard, I'll try for more of them in the future.
joshuamuller08: Good point. We can have Kevral a bit more serious. Ave Imperator!
valhalan guardsman: Good point. Much like the Death Korps, I just decided not to include Cain, even though they are both very popular and would fit. Sorry for that. However, I do have an idea for him in future fics, so stay tuned once Technophiles and Militarists is concluded!
gods-own: Thank you! I hope you like how it goes from here out.
Chronus1326: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. The Inquisition would find issue over getting along with xenos, using element zero tech, Quarian Knights, and other general shenanigans the Tech-Priests are up to.
Anatheras: It's less like this world. For example, it's not (like you seem to imply; sorry if I read you wrong) like learning about Christianity and thus knowing about it forever, and more like the Dark Gods will draw power from any knowledge/worship of them and start demon invasions. They are more 'real', especially in a fictional sense, and are more demonic and evil. Don't know how much you know about Chaos, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask!
Yankee718: Thank you! I'm glad you liked those scenes. They were very fun to write.
Clown2107: Fair point, though they don't know anything about the Dark Gods. There are always politics and conspiracies going on behind closed doors. Cawl, the Council, the Inquisition, and the Marine Chapter Masters all want to remake this galaxy in their image, but while the Marines are busy with the war and the Council is powerless due to their own earlier decisions, Cawl and the Inquisitors are already fighting the shadow war, for what better time to do less-than-approved things than in the chaos of war? As for the Leviathans, we''ll get to them. The Shadow Broker won't be showing, unfortunately; I have enough on my plate as is. But Javik, well... What an interesting guess you have...
OscuroSignore-51: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the fluff. It was fun to write. We can definately have more Kevral, and Shepard reacting to the writings of Lion and Guilliman is a good idea. The talk show actually has an unfinished draft in the works. It's a good idea, but I'm not sure how I should execute it. So far, what I have doesn't seem just right. However, who knows? It might come out, it might not. I guess we'll see.
oOo
Imperial Blood
"To the Throne you shall give your life." -Imperial saying
"What is our duty? To serve the Emperor's will. What is the Emperor's will? That we fight and die. What is death? It is our duty." -Litany of the Space Marines
oOo
Private Jack Upchurch of the Alliance Marines had the typical complaint all soldiers throughout human history and far into the future had about the military. They always hurried up and waited. That was their thing. That was the Marine Corps speciality. That was the Navy's specialty. That was the British Army's specialty 400 years ago. That was the Roman Legions' specialty thousands of years ago. That was apparently the Imperial Guard's specialty too. Hurry up and get over here and do nothing.
The 41st Marine Division had been mobilized from its usual position protecting colonies not far from the Sol System to take back Earth itself. All the members within were excited to give to the Reapers. Jack frowned, a heavy, vengeful frown full of rage. Reaper bastards. They screwed with the Alliance? They killed his brother and sister Marines? Oh, they were going to get it.
But the problem was actually getting in motion to give it to the Reapers. The 41st landed on Earth near Mexico City in the main allied camp there. Even the Marines, used to traveling and seeing exotic sights, were astounded at the sheer amount of everything taking place. It was as if an entire city had sprung up overnight, its sole purpose to equip armies for campaign. Imperial and Alliance dropships came and went, unloading their cargoes of soldiers, weapons, vehicles, and supplies for the war effort. Soldiers wearing dozens of different uniforms marched through the streets, heading to rally points. Marine Makos rumbled over the pavement. In deep contrast to the sleek Makos were the heavy Imperial Guard Chimera APC's, looking more like something out of World War I than the 22nd century or 41st millennium.
Harakoni Warhawk gunships streaked across the sky alongside Kodiak shuttles and the larger, boxier Thunderhawks. Convoys of Leman Russ tanks made their way through the camp in columns, driving off to the city or surrounding areas. At one point, Jack's platoon had cheered and hollered themselves hoarse at the sight of a massive red-painted combat walker at least ten meters tall. They didn't know quite what it was; it didn't belong to the Guard, but it was still impressive.
However, as the initial shock of being on Earth and seeing all their new allies had worn off, the squad had become bored. They weren't doing anything. They were simply camped out here, waiting.
There was a group of Harakoni Warhawks nearby, and Jack's platoon had gotten to know them fairly well. It was shocking how similar both groups were despite being from two entirely different realities. Both had the same soldiers' complaints, especially the fact they had made it all the way to Earth only to do nothing. There was also a fair amount of friendly teasing and bickering between the airborne-specialist Harakoni and Marines. Service rivalries transcended dimensional barriers, it seemed.
There were also a few Marines sneaking to the Harakoni camp in the middle of the night and vice-versa. Soldiers would be soldiers. The higher-ranking officers knew about it, didn't like it, but couldn't stop it. The camp guards on both sides were more friendly to the enlisted ranks of extra-dimensionals than the officers of their own armies. Another thing both sides had in common.
In addition, there had been a fair amount of culture exchange (of the less physical sort) between the two groups. Trinkets of all types, from tiny memento rocks to Imperial icons to magazines were swapped. There were also sweets: the Harakoni were astounded over chocolate, and would give sweet taffy from their home planet in return. Said taffy was a red-hot commodity among the Alliance soldiers.
Of course there were less approved things being swapped. As both sides had found out, it seemed soldiers would be soldiers, no matter what reality they came from. Liquor of all sorts were exchanged for their Imperial counterparts, called amasec. Dirty magazines or posters were equally as valuable, with both sides confused, impressed, and astounded by each others' choices. (Though no Marine was stupid enough to give an Imperial anything with an alien in it; that was nearly a death sentance.)
So life went on in the mobilization camp somewhere south of Mexico City. But eventually, finally, the Marines were readied… Only to wait some more. Which led into the current situation.
Jack and his platoon were lounging around in full battle gear, trying to find some way to pass the time. They were in a completely different area than their old camp within the camp; this place was near a hard dirt-packed landing zone.
They were waiting for a chaplain. A chaplain. Jack scoffed. Like most humans within the Alliance, he had a rather dim view on religion. It was simply dumb. Yeah, there was some big invisible God living in the sky who made everything? Or a bunch of gods who controlled various aspects of the world? Stupid. Impossible. Life after death and reincarnation were simply laughable ideas. All the sensible people gave up religion when the Prothean Archives had been found on Mars.
The Imperials, though, were obsessed over religion. It was, in Jack's opinion, one of their only flaws. However, the Immortal God-Emperor of Humanity, for all of its idiocy, made perhaps a bit more sense than the religions he knew. Or maybe not. Either way, it was at least a religion of humanity.
"I don't get it," came the voice of Private Rond. A few more Marines looked over, smiles on their faces due to the sudden distraction. Rond was known to be one of the more vocal complainers. Also one of the more funny. "We come here to take back Earth, and I mean take back Earth. I think it's kind of an important planet or something, but no. We just sit here and wait, and wait here some more." There were a few laughs. The Marines' collective sense of humor might have been more strained than any liked to admit.
"Don't know," replied Private Chase. She waggled her eyebrows. "That Harakoni corporal was pretty handsome. Wouldn't mind waiting around with him." A few more laughs. Some of the other female Marines voiced their agreement. "A lot better than waiting around with you lot, that's for sure."
"And then," continued Rond as if he wasn't interrupted, "We get our orders to ship out. But! And there's always a but, but we get here and all we do is wait some more. For a chaplain." He invoked the word with scorn. More nods and agreements. This entire things was stupid.
All religious arguments aside, what business did a chaplain have here? They were preachers, not soldiers. And now one was going to command the Marines.
Now that was a problem with the Imperials. Religion wasn't simply just an offset of their culture, it was their culture. Religion had everything to do with how they operated. Already, they were trying to get people to join the Imperial Cult. Some of the Harakoni encouraged Jack to do so. He'd politely told them no thanks.
A Thunderhawk gunship screamed low, coming in for a landing directly in front of the Marines. Jack winced at the dust the engines kicked up. The Thunderhawk was painted in pure blood red, with a winged teardrop insignia on the side. He had no idea who the vehicle belonged to. Not the Guard. They used Valkyries. (For all the Marines' friendly rivalry with the drop-troopers, the Harakoni were very helpful with identifying aircraft.)
Someone said the Thunderhawk belonged to the Blood Angels, one of the Space Marine groups part of the war to retake Earth. Jack heard a bit about the Space Marines- supposedly they were genetically engineered super-soldiers. He didn't know what he thought of that idea. Perhaps he'd make up his mind if he ever got to see a Space Marine in person.
As the Thunderhawk touched down, several of the Alliance Marines stood up and approached the aircraft. Jack frowned again. He thought it very bad form that the Imperial Church was making their super-soldiers transport chaplains, but that was just politics for you. The Church held sway over Imperial life, and now apparently over him.
The ramp hissed open, dispensing pressurized gasses into the atmosphere. The Alliance Marines gathered around, curious. Some still laid back, uncaring. Would they get to see one of the super soldiers? What would this chaplain look like? Jack actually saw one before in the camp; he was a pudgy-looking man weaning over-embroidered red and white robes with a golden eagle-topped staff. Ridiculous man. The Marine couldn't help but groan at the thought of such a man leading him.
The repeating clank of heavily armored boots striking the metal deck of the Thunderhawk sounded. The Marines all looked over. A few battle hardened Alliance Marines actually shrank back. Jack just stood there, eyes bulging, mouth hanging open.
A squad of six men, all over eight feet tall and wearing heavy power armor stepped out of the shuttle. In each of their crimson gauntlets was a massive blocky gun embellished with a golden Imperial Aquila. Red eye lenses glowered down at the Marines. But that wasn't the real reason Jack and the others were so stunned. The six Space Marines, for that was the only thing they could be, were simply an accessory.
Leading the group was another Marine. He was the singular most terrifying thing Jack had ever seen in his life. Period. That included the Reapers.
The man wore jet black armor with the Blood Angels' symbol emblazoned in red on his massive pauldrons. His helmet was fashioned into the twisted and leering visage of a human skull and stared down at the Marines with grim fury. Strapped to the man's belt was a mace, though it looked like no weapon Jack had seen before. Instead of a spiked or shafted head, the business end of the weapon was a stylized winged skull.
The Marines took a few more steps forward, then stopped. The ones in red remained motionless, helmets staring straight ahead. Their leader crossed his arms and surveyed the Alliance Marines.
"Are you 4th Company, 9th Battalion, 5th Regiment, 41st Division?" he rattled off. It sounded less like an inquiry and more of a test to see if they could remember their own designation. Jack gulped. Nearby, one of the others actually whimpered. The man had the scariest voice he'd ever heard to go along with his appearance. It was deep and gravely, growly, powerful, and commanding. Jack was fairly certain the man could actually get armies to surrender without firing a shot just by shouting at them.
"Yes," Jack managed. His voice sounded pathetically weak. He didn't dare take his eyes off the black-armored man. A few of the others actually looked impressed that he'd managed to hold his ground and still speak at the same time.
"Excellent," growled the man. He looked around. "I am Chaplain Rydolco of the Blood Angels. Chapter high command has seen fit to send the Emperor's Angels to lend you aid in the upcoming battle." Rydolco's gaze burned itself into Jack. The Alliance Marine tried not to shake. Apparently satisfied, the chaplain swung around to stare at all of the Marines in turn. "Faith is my shield. Hate is my sword. In the Emperor's name, let none survive."
oOo
It was probably the largest land assault in the history of Earth. To anyone familiar with the planet, it would have been utterly astounding in its geography and mass. Indeed, it was probably one of the largest land assaults in the history of the galaxy. There were only a few battles in the ancient Rachni Wars or Krogan Rebellions that could come close to it in size. Even the might of the Turian military couldn't match it.
To the Imperial Guard, it was simply another Wednesday.
The goal was to retake the continent of Europe from the Reaper forces. From their bases in a now-secured western Russia, Imperial and Alliance forces mobilized. They spread across thousands of kilometers, stretching from the Black Sea to the Baltic. Millions upon millions of guns, tanks, and troops lined every meter of the Russian border to Eastern Europe. It made Operation Barbarbossa or Kutuzov from World War II look like a skirmish.
It began, as it usually did, with artillery. Guns lined the entire continental border. At exactly the same time, the order was given by crusade high command and they opened up as one. Their thunder echoed for kilometers around; even starships in orbit could pick up the noise. The ground itself vibrated in a continuous manmade earthquake. The unending barrage of shells smashed through Reaper lines in Europe, flattening cities and threatening to crack the very crust of the planet beneath. Seismologists would monitor the area for decades to come because of that singular opening Imperial bombardment.
Gun crews slaved over their weapons, pounding shell after shell into the breaches. Even in the somewhat chilly climate, they worked in undershirts or sometimes completely shirtless. Imperial and Alliance soldiers alike looked on in shock as even the stalwart and always proper Mordians were stripped to their striped pants. Earthshaker and Basilisk recoils drove muddy holes into the ground. The bombardment continued around the clock. It never stopped. It could not stop. When a gun crew collapsed of exhaustion at their weapon, a new one took their place. Centaur transports hauled shells and powder charges from the supply depots to the artillery batteries. The only time they ever paused was to refuel or stock cargo.
On the front lines, between the enemy lines and the almighty artillery, the infantry sat in their camps, trenches, and foxholes. The Mordian Iron Guard was to retake Europe alongside what Marine divisions the Alliance had decided to add to the assault. The Alliance soldiers were utterly astounded at the sheer scale of the operation. They stared upward, mouths hanging open, at the unending trails of fire coming from the artillery positions to their rear. The Earthshaker shells were too fast to see, but the utter amount of them made streaks in the sky. The Wyvern mortar clouds burst over enemy targets with great puffs of smoke, and the Manticore rockets trailed streaks of fire overhead, creating a deadly criss-cross with the other Imperial weaponry brought to bear. Bombards, heavy siege mortars mounted on tank chassis, moved up closer to the infantry and added their deep booming thunder to the all-out explosive assault.
At one point, the infantrymen, Imperial and Alliance alike, looked up in awe as a huge black missile, almost the size of a Baneblade, shot overhead and disappeared. In a moment, a huge explosion sounded in the distance, throwing up smoke and debris from the horizon. Though no one on the front line knew, high command had launched a single Deathstrike missile to take out an important Dark Mechanicum processing center.
A day and a half after the bombardment began, the infantry were ordered to make their attack. Throughout the allied lines, officers gave their orders. Mordians sharpened bayonets, checked lasguns, and shined boots. Alliance Marines checked thermal clips, kinetic barriers, and went over their armor one last time.
Private Syzmon Janowicz of the Alliance Marines nervously gulped down a mouthful of water, then hurriedly stowed his canteen on his belt. He looked around. The rest of the Alliance Marines seemed to be in the same state as him, nervously drumming fingers on weapons or pacing in the trenches. Some joked to hide their stress. Janowicz peered over the top of the trench line once more. The artillery still hadn't stopped its bombardment.
On the lieutenant's orders, the Marines moved up and out of the trenches. The thunder of artillery became deafening now, and Janowicz could see explosions being kicked up in the distance within Reaper lines. Oh, God. He felt like he might be sick any moment as the Marines lined up in formation. He was shoulder to shoulder with his best friends in the galaxy, but he felt all alone. He was going to die. This was suicidal.
To the platoon's left and right, Iron Guard units lined up. Polished black jackboots shone like mirrors in the sun. Caps were all on perfectly straight. Striped pants ruffled in the light wind. Lasguns were held perfectly on shoulders. The Mordians were, to a man, the epitome of drill perfection.
Janowicz and the other Marines had gotten to know them somewhat well over the past several days. The Alliance and Imperial soldiers had been interspersed with each other on the line; orders from high command. Apparently they wanted both sides to get along and get to know each other.
The Mordians were very disciplined and uptight… at least when they were on duty. Or when the officers or commissars were looking their way. At other times, they were somewhat dour but still friendly enough, sharing meals with the Alliance soldiers in their combined trenches. The Mordians were rather jealous of Alliance rations: the Marines got a variety of MRE's, complete with a fortified chocolate bar, crackers, cheese or peanut butter spread, instant coffee, chewing gum, and seasonings. The Guard got black bread, cabbage, potatoes, and nutrient bars of questionable origin with the consistency and flavor of cardboard. Occasionally they would get onions, a type of dried pasta that looked like macaroni, or, if they were very lucky, grox (Janowicz found it was basically cow). More trading of food went on than one might think. While the Marine rations were much better, the Alliance soldiers were willing to give them up if it meant something new in their diet.
Janowicz also learned more about Imperial culture and how the Guard operated. The most important by far were commissars. The black-coated political officers of the Imperium, commissars were in charge of discipline and morale in a Guard unit. Most frighteningly, they had nigh-unlimited authority over their charges, including summary execution. The Marines were horrified to find out said authority also included them.
However, thankfully enough, the commissars were diplomatic and politically astute enough to transfer any deviant Marines they found over to Alliance officers for punishment. Janowicz got the feeling that it was less to do with diplomacy and more to do with the fact the commissars had enough on their plates and simply didn't want to deal with further problems. Either way, it worked.
The Marines could now see the black greatcoats of the commissars taking their place behind the Mordian ranks. Janowicz gulped again. They were there for one purpose: to execute anyone who tried to run. Even though he knew the Mordians would not, it was still a terrifying and sobering thought. It only added to his anxiety over their current orders.
"The bombardment's still going," muttered Private Holden. He sounded terrified. Janowicz couldn't blame the man.
"It's fine," replied Corporal Naydene. "It's when it stops that you have to worry." How she managed to sound so calm, Janowicz didn't know. He looked over to her, then to the Mordians to get a grip on himself. Seeing the Guard in their lines, still as statues, looking completely unafraid helped. He took a deep breath. He didn't want to look like a coward in front of their new allies.
A series of shrill trench whistles broke the air, piercing over the ambient noise of the artillery bombardment.
"The Guard will advance!" The ringing cry of one of the commissars managed to sound across the battlefield, booming out across lines and through the bombardment. "For the Emperor and Terra!"
Janowicz managed not to throw up as the Marines lurched forwards as one. This was the part he had been dreading. This was pure insanity.
The Marines and Guard units had been ordered to advance across no-man's land beneath the protective screen of the bombardment and into Reaper territory. At a walk. This was not what the Marines had been trained for. This was not how they operated. A quick insertion, preferably by Kodiak, and a platoon-sized firefight against the Reaper forces while the heavy support of the Guard smashed through. But this… this was insanity. The word kept ringing through his head.
They were walking forward in lines. This was a lesson in warfare humanity had learned nearly two centuries ago in the muddy horror of World War I. Simply walking forward in perfect ranks into the enemy was a death sentence. Oh, God, he was going to die here.
The Marines stumbled forward, ranks spread out, walking at their own paces. Their weapons were held comfortably down, in the typical rest position of modern rifles. In contrast, the Mordians were in perfect lines, shoulder to shoulder, boots falling in flawless synchronicity with lasguns held on their shoulders. Officers marched alongside, power swords held aloft. The colors of the Iron Guard units flapped proudly in front as they marched, creating a stirring sight for all to see.
Janowicz's mouth nearly gaped open as he heard a band begin to play behind them. What use would a band do? He knew a bit of military history, and never understood why armies had bands play behind them in the 18th or 19th centuries. Why? Another thing to add to the Mordians' antiquated and near-suicidal idiocy.
A drum roll sounded, then the heavy snares settled into a comfortable rhythm behind him. A few flutes joined in, shrill cries somehow calming on the battlefield. Janowicz found his heart beating slower. For some reason, his nerves were more calm.
As the full brass of the band behind him opened up, the first instruments joined in, creating a stirring march. Around him, Private Janowicz finally understood.
The flags of the Iron Guard shone in the sun. Every boot moved in perfect lockstep. Wave upon wave, line upon line of Mordians and his fellow Marines marched forward as the Imperial artillery annihilated everything before them. Behind came more soldiers, always more, forming a veritable sea of blue uniforms and gray armor. They were unstoppable. Invincible. No enemy of humanity could stand before them.
Private Janowicz forgot the reasons he signed up for the Marines in the first place. He forgot the Alliance and Citadel propaganda of soldiers defending their homes, of keeping the peace. Something deep and primal stirred inside him, spurred by the magnificent sight of the colors flapping in the wind. Both he and his society scoffed at such ideals, thinking them barbarous and antiquated, but now Private Syzmon Janowicz marched forward for glory.
oOo
The Normandy's shuttle was more crowded than usual. In addition to the usual ground team, the crew was graced by the presence of Praetor Vakarian and General Strasis of the Turian Hierarchy. (Though they were just Garrus and Camivia to the crew. No titles were needed among friends.) The two made welcome additions to the Normandy's ground team. They had been down a sniper and biotic ever since most of the ground team left after the Collector mission, and Garrus and Camivia were welcome additions.
There was also General Adelpuinis (again called Protucus by his friends) filling a previously unfilled role on the team: heavy weapons specialist. The Turian still had the heavy bolter he had taken from Palaven, and would be a welcome source of superior firepower on the ground. Shepard made a mental note to ask the Imperials for more bolter ammunition. Possibly a few more laser sidearms as well.
Primarch Fedorian unfortunately couldn't come. Shepard supposed coordinating the defense of an entire civilization was a particularly time-consuming task. So it was simply the ground forces, plus the Turian generals, that had come down to Earth.
As the shuttle descended, Shepard could see the Europe/North Asia High Command complex sprawl below them. It was as if a city had simply risen from nowhere overnight in the fields outside Moscow; a city of only soldiers, built out of a necessity to take back humanity's homeworld. It was truly a city: tents, barracks, armored depots, bunkers, vehicles, and airstrips spread kilometers in length beneath the Normandy's shuttle. Imperial and Alliance air power crisscrossed the sky. Kodiaks and SX3 fighters intermixed with Valkyries, Thunderbolts, and Marauder bombers. Columns of Makos and Leman Russes rolled through the camp and towards the front lines. It was an extremely impressive sight.
The shuttle swept to its designated landing zone, directed by an Imperial who waved it down with glowing sticks. As the Kodiak's drive whined down, the Normandy's ground team stepped out. The clean smell of Earth's air reached them, and here to greet them was-
"Anderson!" cried Shepard, running forward to lock his mentor into a gigantic hug. The current leader of all Alliance military forces on Earth returned it with a huge grin on his face. Behind the two, the rest of the Normandy's crew couldn't help but smile themselves. As Shepard pulled back, he looked over Anderson's form, seemingly checking for any injuries. "How are you?" asked Shepard, concerned. Anderson only laughed in response.
"Just fine. A little tired, I guess, but who isn't these days? How's the war been treating you, Shepard?" he replied. Shepard couldn't help but smile back. Even though he stayed on an occupied Earth, Anderson still survived. There was never a doubt in Shepard's mind.
"As good as can be expected," he shrugged in reply. For the first time, Shepard noticed who else had greeted them at the landing pad. Surrounding Anderson were a squad of N7's, their black and red-trimmed armor a dark standout to the dust of the camp around them. Their leader wore a Major's insignia. His face was broad and covered with a thin trim of brown hair; his body somewhat squat but still broad and extremely powerful. Though there weren't too many N7's, Shepard didn't recognize the man or any of those gathered around him.
Farther back and slightly to the side were a group of even more curious soldiers. They were obviously Imperials, and Cadians to boot with their drab green uniforms, stark violet eyes, and gear emblazoned with the symbol of the Cadian Gate. However, each wore a set of carapace armor and carried hellguns. One even had a plasma gun. They weren't Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, but still wore the gear of the organization, so…? Shepard turned to Kevral for help.
"Kasrkin," whispered Kevral. "Cadian Stormtroopers. They're officially part of the Militarum Tempestus," Shepard knew that to be the organization in charge of Stormtroopers, "But they serve in the Cadian Shock Troops. Very, very good at what they do." Shepard nodded as his squad stepped forward to follow Anderson through the compound.
"This is Major Barzov," said Anderson as they walked. The N7 officer turned and gave a curt nod. "He's been my… well, bodyguard of sorts, along with being an excellent tactical commander." If Barzov took any recognition at the praise, he didn't show it. Shepard took him to be a man of business, though and through. "Oh, and this is Sergeant Denner," continued Anderson, nodding towards the leader of the Kasrkin.
"A pleasure to meet you, Commander," replied Denner professionally. The Kasrkin as a whole seemed to be sizing up the Normandy crew, especially the aliens. So far, their expressions were guarded, as if they couldn't quite make up their minds. Shepard had to stifle a grin at most of his crewmates' expressions. They looked like they wanted to immediately start a barrage of questions.
As the combined group made their way through the streets, they passed seemingly thousands of soldiers on the move. Squads of Mordians double-timed through the streets as columns of Chimeras, Leman Russes, and the strange, two-legged Sentinel walkers rumbled in front of them. The Turians were all chattering in hushed but excited tones, and Kevral had dropped back to talk to the Kasrkin.
Eventually, they reached a central bunker bustling with Guard and Alliance officers. Shepard smiled again as he saw the red-robed forms of Tech-Priests setting up and overlooking various communications equipment. Anderson led them all through concrete halls lit with dim lights and to a large central command area deep within.
Apart from the Tech-Priests and other communications personnel, there were only three other individuals in the room. They were all clustered around a central holographic table, examining what looked like troop movements. One was a Raven Guard officer, looking very antsy and eager to leave. The second was General Irinith, the commander of all Mordian Iron Guard forces in the crusade. Last was a tall, scarred, dark-haired man wearing a black greatcoat, power sword, bolt pistol, and officer's cap upon his head.
Anderson took his place next to them. All three looked up at the newcomers, then went back to what they were doing.
"May I introduce Lieutenant Nyricos, General Irinith, and Lord Commissar Bliyn." The three looked over or nodded as they were introduced. The Lord Commissar scowled and drummed his fingers lightly on his sidearm as he took in the aliens on Shepard's crew, but said nothing. The Raven Guard Lieutenant frowned, then put on his helmet with a quick snap.
"I have matters to attend to," he muttered as he stepped past the Kasrkin and out of the bunker. His massive footfalls caused minor tremors as he left.
"What's a Commissar?" mouthed Shepard to Kevral. The Stormtrooper grabbed a nearby piece of paper and began to write on it.
"Well, then," said Anderson. The Alliance commander moved up and pressed a few more buttons. Kevral slid a note to Shepard.
Commissar is a political and morale officer. Bliyn in charge of army. He nodded his thanks to the Stormtrooper. Behind him, he caught a glance of Zaeed and Tali approaching the Kasrkin.
"As you know, the goal is to retake the continents of Earth from our starting central positions," said Anderson. Irinith and Bliyn moved aside as Anderson started to fiddle with the holoprojector's controls. "So far, we are right on schedule. The campaign to retake Europe is going smoothly. The Raven Guard have infiltrated enemy lines, doing what they do best, and clearing the way for the Guard assault." Shepard nodded along. This was why he was here. Though he might not have liked it, he was one of the highest-ranking and most trusted Alliance soldiers left alive at this point. He had been summoned to Earth to understand the campaign there and do whatever he deemed fit. It was a disquieting sensation: for once he was not ordered around by anyone. He was in charge of what he did from here on out. If he wanted to help on an alien race's planet, he could. If he wanted to stay on the Citadel and plan there, he could. Instead, he decided to update himself on Earth and help here until he was needed elsewhere.
"The combined infantry of the Marines and Iron Guard began their attack on Eastern Europe earlier today," continued Anderson. The holographic table suddenly flashed with video footage. It was definitely from an aircraft, and showed an overhead view of thousands upon thousands of Alliance Marines and Iron Guardsmen marching into Reaper lines. Shepard watched it, transfixed. As the infantrymen made it nearly to the edge of Reaper territory, the artillery bombardment flying above them abated. Some Reaper forces came loping forward, but were quickly put down by the massed fire of the allies. Supported by a few Sentinel walkers, the infantry disappeared into Reaper territory as the video feed cut out. Anderson turned over to Shepard. "So far, we've met with success."
"What about elsewhere?" replied the Commander, curious about the other fronts on Earth and still somewhat flabbergasted over the tactics of the Mordians. It seemed as if they didn't have any casualties, but they did have heavy artillery support before walking across no-man's land. Shepard supposed whatever worked, worked. He wouldn't question it so long as the Guard did their job.
"Well, major Mechanicus forces, along with the Harakoni, have landed in Jerusalem as planned and have taken areas of the surrounding regions." Anderson pulled up a map of the Middle East and North Africa. Israel, Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, Iraq, most of Saudi Arabia and Turkey, and parts of Iran were marked as under allied control. The Mechanicus, with its usual frightening efficiency, had bridged the Suez Canal and taken most of Egypt. Anderson zoomed out, showing Africa and Asia in their entirety. "Now, our forces will push both east and west simultaneously. Those going east will continue to take the Middle East, then hold the eastern borders of Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan to wait for Asia command soldiers to retake most of China from Beijing. Europe command will take Russia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, then all three groups will combine and form a pincer to take Tajikistan, Western China, and the Indian subcontinent." Shepard nodded as his eyes raced over the map. There were a lot of names involved, but the plan itself was simple. Europe, Asia, and Middle East command forces would take Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent together.
"What about Africa?" he asked. Anderson tapped a few more keys, and Africa showed on the map, Egypt still marked as under skitarii control.
"Our forces will continue to take North and East Africa. Once we get far enough, we'll have our drop forces and Space Marines insert into Nigeria and Cameroon to form an anvil on which the incoming forces can smash the Reapers and take Eastern and Central Africa. They will then combine and launch another campaign to free Southern Africa." Shepard nodded again. That made sense. "As for the Americas," continued Anderson, "Our forces will push both north and south from Mexico City and retake both continents." He looked over to Shepard. "Any further questions?"
"Yeah, you left one out. What about Southeast Asia, Australia, and the Pacific islands?"
"Asia command from Beijing will take Southeast Asia, and we'll have combined amphibious and orbital operations to retake all Pacific islands. Anything else?" Shepard shook his head. That was the complete campaign to retake Earth.
"I suppose I'll just figure it out from here," he replied. "Go where I'm needed." Anderson stretched out his hand.
"Good luck, Commander." By his side, the Mordian General and Lord Commissar remained silent and engrossed in their work. As Shepard shook the offered hand then stepped back, Anderson stepped forward to greet the Turians. "Garrus, good to see you again."
"You as well, Admiral Anderson," replied the sniper with a smile. Anderson turned to the other two generals.
"And both of you, General Strasis and Adelpuinis, good to meet you. Know that the Alliance and Hierarchy are in this together." Both Turians nodded. The Imperials present shot some annoyed and slightly hostile glances at Anderson's words, but the man ignored them.
"We feel the same, and we're happy to be here," replied Adelpuinis as he shook Anderson's hand. Shepard tried not to smile. The Imperials must not have liked the show of unity. Too bad.
"Well then, I guess I'll take my leave," said Shepard, giving a grin to Anderson and a simple nod to everyone else in the bunker. "Go out and do whatever I can to help with the war effort here."
"Good luck, Shepard," said Anderson with a parting smile. Truly, it was good to see his old mentor once again.
As he turned to go, he was stopped by Sargeant Denner and his squad of Kasrkin. They toted their weapons casually, slinging them over shoulders and hefted them across their chests. It was not a measure of arrogance or bravado, but one of professionals comfortable with their tools.
"Hang on, Commander," said Denner with a grin. "We're here because we're your additional bodyguard on Earth. From what I've heard, you're a frontline man, so if you're planning to take the fight to the Reapers and heretics we're here to make sure you don't meet an inglorious end." The rest of the Kasrkin nodded affirmatively. Behind him, he felt the aliens on his crew shift nervously. They knew Kevral (plus, he was just one man). They didn't know this full squad of Cadians.
"I think we've got it covered," replied Garrus smoothly. Denner stepped forward with a smirk on his lips and dancing light in his eyes.
"You must understand something, xeno," he said. Shepard and his team discreetly reached for their weapons. "It's not a personal thing. It's not something against you or your kind. It's professional." Oh. Oh. Garrus cocked his mandibles as the other two Turians let out warning hums.
"Is that a challenge?" asked Garrus. Denner smiled.
"We're Kasrkin. We're the best. It's not a challenge, it's a fact." This time, Garrus gave a dangerous smile.
"Oh, you're on." Denner matched his smile, and this time it reached the Cadian's eyes.
"Alright then." He turned to Shepard and gave a polite nod. "We've no desire to inconvenience you by taking up space on your ship. We have a Valkyrie on standby, so if you need us or are going into battle, just call, and you have Cadia's finest at your command." Shepard nodded in reply.
"I'll let you know. First, I've got to figure out where we're most needed."
oOo
Soltch pulled his threadbare cloak tighter to ward off the chill of the nighttime air. It did little good; the wind seeped into his very bones, permeating his blood and slicing across his flesh. He breathed deeply, inhaling the pure Terran air. Cold was a mindset, not a feeling. Yes, yes. Pain was a mindset. Yes, yes. Pain was weakness leaving the body. Mind was all. Yes, yes.
His mind was not the best, he knew. Yes. Yes. However, despite his slight insanity (it only hurt when the Guardsmen bullied him for it; other times he ignored it), Soltch's mind was strong. It was quite good at resisting intrusions; good at ignoring that which might hurt him. Yes, yes it was. Cold was simply one more thing that he could ignore. If the screaming daemons of hell couldn't affect him, then neither could the pure wind of Holy Terra. Yes, ye-
Stop. No more comfortable mantras. Focus. This was Terra. The holy homeworld of humanity. The Warp in this reality was pure. There were no predators laying in wait, no whispers promising eternal power if Soltch would but kneel. Soltch would never kneel. Never, ever. He only kneeled to one being in this universe or any other. Not the Dark Gods. Never the Dark Gods.
Thankfully, the Dark Gods did not exist here. He did not have to constantly fend them off, their whispers driving his insanity deeper. Here was pure and uncorrupted, much like the chill Terran air. Soltch liked it here. He hoped he could stay when all this was done. When humanity's sacred homeworld was once more in human hands.
Around him, the infantrymen slept in their sleeping bags or foxholes. There was a low fire going, and cold soldiers huddled around it like moths drawn to a flame. Soltch and his siblings weren't invited. It didn't really matter. He was expecting an invitation.
The drab khaki and green of the Cadian Shock Troops intermixed with the blueish gray of the Alliance Marines, both groups sitting side by side. Together. Throughout the planet, the inhabitants of this reality and their new allies intermixed. Soltch didn't know why the groups were mixed, though he approved. Humanity should be one, united beneath its Immortal Protector.
He wiped his dripping nose on a sleeve as he caught a few figurative glances from the fire. The words 'cursed', 'mutant' and 'witch' reached his ears. Soltch closed his eyes; took a deep breath in, then released it. He tried to quash the familiar feelings of resentment and jealousy rising in his gut. It was not his fault. He had not chosen to be this way upon birth. Nay, it was His Majesty that gave him his gifts, his abilities. The thought made him feel better. Praise His Majesty for letting him see the Homeworld!
"Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of Mankind." The whispered words tumbled out of Soltch's mouth as he clutched the golden aquila pendant hung around his neck. "Obey His words, for He will lead you into the light of the future." The infantrymen looked over to him warily, then back again when they saw him praying. It was one of the few activities that drew no suspicion.
Unfortunately for Soltch and his siblings, most of what they did drew suspicion. It was only natural, he supposed, for he had seen for himself the terrible things one like him could do. Memories of the Black Ships and a screaming woman being put down by Inquisitorial Stormtroopers reached his mind. He pushed them away and continued his prayer.
He had rather hoped the inhabitants of this galaxy would look at him differently. Their Warp was calm, was it not? They had no need to fear. Unfortunately, it was not to be.
The soldiers of the Alliance had originally been cheerful towards Soltch and his siblings. The nicest of them had been Richter, a biotic. Biotics were somewhat like himself, he supposed, though still completely different. They had strange and unusual powers. They were distrusted by their comrades for simply being born the way they were.
Richter had told them to not be afraid of him. He said there were many untrue rumors floating around about biotics- that they were witches, that they could predict the future, that they could read minds. The only problem was… well, Soltch and his siblings could predict the future. They could read minds. They were witches.
Getting over their initial optimism, the Marines, Richter included, quickly learned to fear and distrust the group of Wyrdvane Psykers that had been assigned to their unit. The Cadians had helped them along, warning the Marines of what Soltch truly was and telling them horror stories of untamed psykers. Richter and the other Alliance soldiers had stopped being friendly and instead grew wary. Soltch supposed it made sense. They were wretched minds, tethered within the bodies of broken animals. Just one look at them would tell a person something was off about them.
However, they had their uses. Around the allied camp, unseen things drew inexorably closer. No one else could sense them. No one else knew they were there. Soltch finished his prayer and smiled. It was time to remind the Cadians and Marines that Wyrdvane Pyskers were powerful servants of the Emperor.
Closing his eyes and opening his mind, Soltch reached out and found his siblings. Reyenld, sitting beneath a huge tree, mentally nodded back to Soltch. They were the strongest. Reaching further still, Soltch landed upon Ednia, poor Ednia, gibbering and rocking. Maria, her mind a placid lake, was next, then Eyic, his mind flittering from one emotion to the next within the span of heartbeats. Like a choir of voices raised in harmony, the Wyrdvanes intertwined their minds as one. The Warp was placid here; there were no temptations, no whispers. More power could be used. Soltch gave an unconscious smile. But still, there were dangers. There were always dangers. Care must be taken, and so the group still shut out their minds to the outside, only letting in what power they knew they could handle.
The midnight gloom was no obstacle to their witchsight; nor were the trees of the jungle forest that surrounded them. There, in the distance, a group of Dark Mechanicum skitarii, rotted and corrupted, crept forward to the unsuspecting allied camp. They twittered in glee, eager to find prey to satiate their bloodlust. Soltch frowned. He would not let such vile creatures destroy the infantry, even though they hated him so.
Rising to their feet as one, the Wyrdvanes focused their power on a single point. Soltch could sense the Cadians and Marines rising in alarm as he clenched one fist near his breast and reached the other high above his head. The night lit up with psychic power as a bolt of eldritch lighting reached down from the heavens to smite the dark skitarii, engulfing them all and turning them to dust. As Soltch returned to his body, he saw the Cadians and Marines wide-eyed and silent as they looked at him in awe.
Let them think on that, thought Soltch to himself with a smile.
oOo
Private Angela Krytos of the Steel Legion winced as the Chimera jolted over the broken ground of one of this Throne-forsaken planet's ruined streets. The interior of the chosen APC of the Guard was never really comfortable, not even to the soldiers of the Steel Legion. Familiarity with the cold seats made them no less uncomfortable.
Around her, a full squad of trench-coated and gas-masked soldiers sat silently waiting in the Chimera's darkened hold. The tan of their gear looked almost brown in the dim light. No one spoke, though all of their minds were privately racing.
This was ridiculous. What were they doing here? They were on a planet in the middle of a war; that much wasn't new or anything to be commented on. That was their profession, after all. But… they were helping xenos. Why?
It was more than just ridiculous, it was insulting. Degrading. Heresy of the highest degree. The sons and daughters of Armageddon had no love for aliens. Their homeworld was seemingly constantly under assault by Orks; their cities constantly destroyed by alien scum. The Emperor preached hatred of aliens, and justly so. They sought to end the Imperium, to destroy humanity in its entirety and rule the galaxy for themselves. Xenos were untrustworthy, manipulative, violent, and evil.
But Dante, Lord of the Angels, Shrike, the Shadow Master, and the other leaders of the crusade had decried otherwise. Rumors abounded that the High Lords themselves sanctioned the dealing with xenos. Angela didn't know what to think. Xenos were all unsalvageable monsters, but the leaders of two First Founding Space Marine chapters were no fools.
Still, Angela didn't understand it. She supposed it wasn't her place to understand. She was no strategist, no preacher, no tactician; she was a soldier who had volunteered for the Steel Legion simply to get out of the slums and her horrible old life on Armageddon.
A shudder and a few strange clangs snapped Angela out of her thoughts. More Legionnaires looked up as Private Proventus, manning the turret heavy bolter, open fired at enemies unseen to those in the Chimera's hold. Empty cartridge casings tumbled down, hissing as they made contact with the cold metal of the vehicle's interior.
"We're there!" yelled the driver over the bolter's din. "Get out!" came the curt order. The Chimera's ramp opened, dropping with a resounding clang. Sunlight streamed into the hold, causing the soldiers inside to wince. But there was a job to do, so they all rushed out, hefting lasguns.
The Steel Legionnaires streamed into Palaven's smoky air, the planet's bright sun streaming down upon the battle beneath. They were in the ruins of some city: none knew the name. None of them had been told. It hardly mattered.
In front of them were the enemy. Hoards of Husks, Cannibals, and Brutes spirited towards a defensive line set up by the xenos. The Chimeras had deposited the Legionnaires directly on the crumbling line and swung back to add their firepower to the fight. Autocannons and bolters lashed out, slicing through Husks like razors through paper. One particularly enterprising Chimera driver parked his vehicle directly on the front lines and opened up with a front-mounted flamer, burning incoming Reaper forces to charred crisps.
For their part, the Steel Legionnaires rushed forward to the defensive barricades and opened up with their lasguns. The comfortable folding brace of her weapon snug against her shoulder, Angela knelt in the dusty rubble. Taking aim at a Husk, she gently squeezed the trigger to her weapon. The creature fell, a charred hole blown in its torso.
The rest of her comrades knelt or stood behind the xenos barricade, adding their weighty fire to the battle. In what felt like simply seconds, the Reaper forces were dead, dying, or in retreat. It couldn't have been seconds, of course: Angela had expended three power packs. Still, the arrival of the Steel Legion turned the tide of the battle, from the xenos barely holding to the allies now repelling the encroaching enemy.
Standing, Angela snapped a fresh power pack into her lasgun. Beneath her gasmask, she caught a glimpse of the defenders she had arrived to aid.
They were called the Turians. That was the total extent of her knowledge on the alien race. Rumors swirled: some said they were bloodthirsty carnivores who ate their own dead to grow stronger. Others said they were strange, unknowable beings that belonged to an entirely different protein structure. There were rumors that they were proud militarists who thought they were better than humanity and it was their divine right to conquer the galaxy; still others said the Turians actually had more in common with the Imperium than the humans of this galaxy. Those rumors told the race was proud and honorable, militaristic and unshirking of their duty.
Angela had no idea what to think. She had other things to deal with. There was no love of aliens within her heart, far from it, but she would take the matter of Turians as soon as it was presented. Until then she would keep an open mind. It was less diplomacy and acceptance and more dealing with one problem at a time.
Now, among the broken ruins of this alien city, Angela Krytos got her first good look at one of these xenos they'd been sent to help. It approached the Legionnaires unhesitantly, friendly and completely at ease around the Imperials. Only a few, Angela included, took notice of it. It was a towering seven feet tall, and wore heavy grey armor. Its limbs were thin and spindly, yet still long and powerful. The thing's chest was bulky and oddly-shaped, not a sphere by any means yet more barrel-shaped than the flat chest of a human.
Reaching up, the alien took off its helmet. Angela stifled a gasp. Its face was long and powerful, sleek and calming at the same time. Its skin was a beautiful black, and red and white markings swirling around the face like the outstretching pedals of a flower. The top of its… his head swept back into some sort of fringe, giving it a handsome, regal appearance. Near his mouth and cheeks, the Turian had mandibles that shifted slightly in some expression Angela couldn't understand yet desperately wanted to know. Far from finding the protrusions odd, Angela thought they only added to the Turian's features. Especially with the red and white markings on them.
Above all were the Turian's eyes, beady and black, yet still holding more expression than most human eyes Angela had seen. They had endless depths, despite their monochrome, and Angela stared back at them behind her gas mask as they took in her appearance.
At that moment, Angela realized she was doomed.
oOo
Ardim Protos frowned behind a metal faceplate and wiped blood off his hands. The mutilated bodies of dozens of civilians lay in a pit beneath him. All had been ripped apart by ritual knives, wielded by either himself or the other Adepts in his service. Their blood pooled, trickling through the massive space. Next to Protos, another Adept hummed as he painted a circuit board red with the blood of the slaughtered. A servitor was now beneath them, going through the bodies to harvest their precious spinal fluids and whatever other gems it could get its hands on.
Around them, eerily silent for once, were the Titans of Legio Mortis. Hulls rotten and diseased through gifts of the Lord of Decay, they waited in their births, daemonic cores raging at the delay, for Ardim Protos to work his magic once more.
The problem with this galaxy was that there were no Dark Gods. Oh, yes, Protos was sure Lord Hal was planning something diabolical and rather treacherous, which was all well and good for him, but the lack of daemons and gods in this reality created a headache for the Titan mechanic. Loyalist Titans were purely mechanical. That was what made them weak. The Titans of the Dark Mechanicum were infused with daemons and the powers of the Warp. Both the Titans and the daemons within drew their power from the Dark Gods of Chaos.
The issue was that there were no Dark Gods here. There was a dimensional divide between Protos's home reality and this one. Chaos did not exist here. Thus, the Titans would lose some of their power.
It was Protos's job to overlook the Titans. He was the god-machine expert, after all. It was his enthusiastic duty to oversee the upgrading, repairing, and retrofitting of the Titans of Legio Mortis, the sworn allies to Kelbor-Hal and the true Mechanicum.
So Protos's brilliant mind pondered the current dilemma they found themselves in. Princeps Turnet, leader of the Mortis Titans, wanted to walk now. Ever the impatient man, he wanted his Legion to despoil the surface of Holy Terra and spread death to the servants of the False Emperor. The pitiful fools that inhabited this reality didn't even bear mentioning. They were nothing. Insects, to be crushed beneath Mortis's dread strides.
But Mortis could not walk now, for the daemons within the Titans had been severed from their masters and lost their power. Protos stroked his chin with a mechadendrite. The daemons. Perhaps… Yes. If he fueled them directly with sacrifices, then they would be as strong as ever. He could pull a few more mechanical marvels, adding ancient and forbidden arts to the god-engines, but what he really needed were bodies. Now it was just a matter of collecting them.
oOo
Codex:
Mordian Iron Guard:
The Mordian Iron Guard is the superbly drilled and accounted Militarum Regimentum of the Imperial Guard whose constituent regiments hail from the hive world of Mordian, also known as "The World of Eternal Night". This bleak world is tidally locked with its sun, which causes one side of the planet to be enshrouded in perpetual darkness while the other is a scorched and lifeless wasteland. As such, all human settlements are located on the dark side. The people of Mordian are grim and dour by nature, respecting only discipline and duty. With their world scarce in resources, overcrowded, and bathed in perpetual gloom, the Iron Guard represents the only force of order on it and the only way out of their miserable lives for the people of Mordian. In battle, the Mordians are masters of infantry combat. They present perfectly formed ranks to the enemy and unleash precisely-timed volleys of las fire behind hedges of bayonet points. Some enemies of the Emperor have been misled by the Mordians' elaborate and ornate uniforms to believe they were facing vanglorious amateurs, only to fight the bright uniforms contain tough, steely-eyed and implacable veterans. Indeed, the Mordian uniforms are woven with ceramite, providing protection equal to other regiments' flak armor.
Kasrkin:
Kasrkin (pronounced kah-sir-kin) are elite troops of the Imperial Guard dedicated to the security of Cadia. They are special forces drawn from the same world as the existing Cadian Shock Troops regiments, and so are officially classified as Tempestus Scions. Their name comes from the title of the fortress cities of Cadia, known as "kasrs". They are the elite of the already skilled Cadian military and were chosen for Stormtrooper training when they were still serving as Whiteshields (young new recruits) in the Cadian Planetary Defense Forces. They go through grueling elite Stormtrooper training at a young age and are utterly dedicated to the defense of Cadia, whereas most Stormtroopers provide defense for the entire Imperium of Man. Even among their fellows, including those souls who serve the Inquisition directly, Kasrkin are considered the elite of the elite, and any Imperial force welcomes them as allies with open arms.
oOo
There we have it! Next chapter, the war picks up on Palaven and Rannoch. I think I put a bit too many explaintions in for the Kasrkin. They're literally just Cadian Stormtroopers; I don't need to explain that. Still, they're a popular groups, so I decided to keep in what I have. Next chapter is the war on Palaven, then the war on Rannoch. I hope you like 'em! Stay tuned, and as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, criticisms, or reviews, feel free to ask!