//------------------------------//
// Chapter Six 
// Story: An Oath to Hashtor 
// by Sterling the pegasus 
//------------------------------//

Dovewing was lying awake in his bunk, restless. The battle was to begin soon, and yet neither him, nor Flowerprance or the other Knights of House Hastilude were at the front lines, waiting for the enemy as the Chevaliers were. 
He had not seen them. Tales told of foes with green skin, horribly muscular, their huge, hulking bodies capable of ripping a stallion in half with ease. Dovewing had not seen them, but Flowerprance had told him they were nothing to worry about, and upon seeing her beautiful form as she had interrupted his debrief with the troops, he had believed her.
Now his thoughts turned back to their descriptions. Lord Stormhoof had said they would be able to hold out against the enemy, but seeing the sheer mass of their crude landers that had arrived, Dovewing was doubtful. All of those not conscripted had been sent within the walls of the Magna Turris-Altheheim’s last line of defence-although the Lamenter had told them they would never fall back this far, Stormhoof had deemed it a ‘necessary precaution’ should the worst come to pass. 

Flowerprance was still awake-she had to have been. Dovewing held no doubt in his mind that she would be fussing over every tiny detail, ensuring that everything that could, would be perfect. She had never had to prepare for a war. Nobody on Hashtor ever had. During the Visiting, the Imperials had been accepted with open hearts. Although, upon seeing the Space Marine that had come to their planet, the Squire had no questions as to why. 

Stormhoof clopped down the trenchline, his helmet had been floated off to hang at his belt. Dawn was breaking. The air was cold, many of the militia soldiers he walked past were shivering as they stood to attention. He liked the ponies of this planet. They had never had to fight a war, and yet here they were, prepared to do whatever they could to defend their homeland against an enemy they had never encountered. He could see it in their faces when he walked by. They looked to him as if he bore a standard of the chapter. He was a symbol to them-a symbol of hope. Whenever he moved past them, doubtful faces turned to ones of duty and pride, their fears put to rest by the sight of the perfect warrior before them. Some prayed to him-a few times, the militia ponies and even some of the Chevaliers had thrown themselves before his hooves in worship. He had caught a few of them being preached to about his ways by another. On all occasions however, he was able to gently guide them towards worship of the Emperor, rather than that of one of His Astartes.

He moved back down the line to a small command post he had set up at its centre. He stood, gazing out at the defences they had laid, at the hopeful muzzles of those who looked up at his. The log wall was at their backs, with the clearing the orks would be attacking from laid out before them. They believed that they would be safe, because they were with him. He wished this were true-if that were the case, he would not have crashed onto this world. His squad and that pilot,  Fluffybean, would still be alive, and he would not be destined to die in the defence of a planet he had landed on less than a week ago. 

No. He thought. I will not let doubt cloud my judgement, nor will I allow anger to consume me.
It was time for a new oath. 
“My Lord!”
He turned, looking down at a member of the militia-an officer.
“Speak, Colonel.”
“My Lord.” she said again, clopping her hoof to her breastplate twice, curious. “I am worried.”
He could not feel fear, but he could empathise with the mare, he had seen it before.
“What is your name?”
“I am Colonel Brightmane, and my troops are afraid. They need to be inspired, I was hoping that you could accomplish that for them.”
He smiled. “That can be arranged.”

“Hear me, defenders of Altheheim.”
Stormhoof’s vox-boosted voice carried over the quiet trenchline, and all eyes turned to him as the sun rose behind his figure.
“You are here today, for even the quietest corners of the galaxy are not to be left alone by holy Equestria’s enemies.”
The air was still-even the birds overhead had stopped their early morning twittering.
“You are here today, because a tide of alien filth threatens your world. Because these xenos scum believe that they will have an easy victory. Because these…creatures dare to cross the paths of the Hashtoran Chevaliers.”
A small cheer erupted from the trenches, Brightmane had hoped for more.

And then the sun crested the horizon proper, and Lieutenant Stormhoof’s figure was engulfed in a ball of holy light.
“You are all here today, because your ponies have lived for millenia, training, fighting, dying against your planet’s creatures. And now, more monsters threaten your families. I ask you this, will you stand idle when they trample through your homes, and raze your cities? Will you allow them an easy victory? Will you take a humiliating defeat against these sub-pony beasts?”
The silence was shattered by the yell of “NO!” from a Chevalier, then another, then a militia stallion, then more and more until every defender had joined the chorus. 

Stormhoof bowed down, three of his armoured knees kissing the ground, still holding himself upright with his left foreleg, as did the rest of the defenders.
“What is this? Rise, defender of Altheheim”
Confused, the soldiers did not.
“I said arise, there will be no day in which you will bow to me.”
Slowly, they rose, giving each other quizzical glances.
Stormhoof knew of their knightly ways, their culture, and their honour.
“I vow to thee now. I will defend this world. I will defend your families. I will fight and die for this cause. I make an oath to Hashtor, and bow to its will. I pledge myself to this planet, and to all of you. Will you accept my fealty?”
“Yes!” Cried Brightmane.
“YES!” Yelled the defenders. 
Stormhoof stood, and turned, facing the sun. Through his helm’s prey-sight he could see a mass of heat moving in the trees. It was time.
He lowered the volume of his vox-speakers, talking only to the Colonel. “Did that suffice?”
She was speechless, he could tell.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The Orks broke the treeline. Heavy bolters fired, autogun rounds pinged off Stormhoof’s armour, but he remained motionless, the closest of the Chevaliers looking up at him in awe. Over the vox, the Lieutenant ordered Basilisk anti-infantry bombardment of the largest groups of the enemy.

Many Orks died before they even got into lasrifle range. Scores and scores of las-fire scorched the Orks as they moved closer, Stormhoof drew his sword and bolt pistol in his horn’s aura, snapping a few shots off-each one a kill.
Ancient autocannons spooled to life, mowing down the charging forms of the Orks. Several of their crude tanks had been spotted, each of them being dealt with by the Leman Russ tanks. And still, they drew closer.
It was not long until they had hit the first line of barbed wire-a defensive measure that proved to be extremely effective. As the enemy were caught and cut by it, they thrashed around, sinking themselves in further before being picked off by las-fire. 

The Orks fired their own guns back, many militia soldiers were killed around their comrades. Brightmane watched, dismayed, as an ork missile found its target in one of their tanks. 
As more of the xenos grew tangled in the wire, they became a bridge for their brethren, able to rush over their bodies, they were now in engagement range. 
A tide of the brutes forced their way to him, Stormhoof moved with even more power than they did. He thrust his sword through the chest of one of them, ripping it out to quickly slash at another. A shell landed close to them, a little too close. Perhaps more test-fires of this ancient equipment should have been performed, he mused, kicking another off of his feet before stomping his head into a paste under his armoured hoof.

He stood between two of the fire-shields. To their credit, they were still standing, a few splinters flying off them as auto rounds struck their wooden surface. He goaded more to come for him, pointing a hoof at their leaders and champions, each one felled by his blade. 
His section of the trench was holding. But the same could not be said for some of the others. 
“My Leige!”
“Report!” He snarled over the vox, headbutting one of his attackers and stabbing him with his horn. 
“The Orks have launched their own via crude rockets into the northern side of the trenchline, they are wreaking havoc behind our lines. Requesting reinforcement.”

“Acknowledged.” He spoke, jumping back into the trench, and galloping down the line towards the point of contention.
He moved quickly, many soldiers had to dive out of his way as he raced down the line, many more who were left standing in his wake cheered as he passed them by.
Firing two shots with his pistol, he felled an ork that had just landed, launching himself into another just as it skewered a Chevalier with a chain-bayonet. Tearing his sword up, he spun around and decapitated a pair of them before they had time to react, kicking away another with his back hooves.
He called to a squad of cowering militia to charge them with their bayonets, and at his command they did. Each of them surprising themselves with the effectiveness of their weaponry. 
“You needn’t be afraid of these alien dogs!” Stormhoof roared, and in his presence, the militia troopers no longer were.
Stormhoof stopped as an ork missile crashed into the ground in front of him, but did not detonate. He did not allow for a second’s thought, diving on top of a militia pony just as the missile exploded, shredding everyone in the trench with shrapnel. Stormhoof felt a few pieces slip in between the plates of his armour, scarring his flesh. He grunted, and stood.
The soldier was crippled-crushed between his weight and the hard rock he had landed on. The stallion was screaming, Stormhoof was unsure how to react to this. He would live, but he would never gallop again. This was more than could be said for the rest of the ponies and Orks that had been in the trench at the time. 
Stormhoof called for a medic over the vox. And turned. ”Belay that order.”

Before him stood a giant ork war machine-somehow, he was perplexed as to how had missed it. It was a mismatch of purple armour plates. On one hand, it featured a huge claw, the other appendage was a massive gun-arm. On the same line as its hunched shoulders was a huge, piggish head-above which sat a twin missile firing platform, one of which was missing. Stormhoof could guess where it had gone.
Swinging his sword into a ready stance, the lamenter growled, raising his guard before he heard the unmistakable blare of a knight’s war-horn. He twisted back around to see a Cerastus Knight Lancer galloping towards him, twin Armiger Helverins at its four heels. The brilliant silver and purple caught the dawn light, and the Ork scrap-titan raised its weapons to a new target. It fired its remaining missile, its shells, and its autocannon rounds at the lead knight as it raised its shield and absorbed it all. Its stride passed over Stormhoof as it cleared the trench with ease, and it smashed the enemy’s claw to the side with its titanic ion gauntlet shield before plunging its shock lance straight through the heart of the machine-beast. The momentum of the charge knocked the angrily roaring titan over before the knight slowed to a halt, turning back to face Stormhoof.
“Greetings, Lord.” Flowerprance spoke over the vox, she sounded almost jubilant.
“Flowerprance, of course.” He muttered. “I assume that this is Argent Hastae then.”
“It is indeed.” she chuckled, then gestured with the lance at the two Armigers. “This is Undaunted Pilgrim and Lightningblade.” At their mention, they both blared their war-horns, they sounded more hollow than the Argent’s.

“I appreciate the aid, but I had not given the order for your knights to take to the field.”
“You sound disappointed, Lord. I heard your speech. We all did. Did you think you were the only one to make an oath to the defence of this planet?”
He pondered this. “You would best be spent protecting other places at other times. You are too invaluable to lose yet. But…thank you.”
“The Orks are retreating, i can see it.”
“I doubt there is little you cannot see from way up there, Baroness”
She was right. The Orks’ numbers were thinning. Many were running back into the trees, being shot in their backs by the defenders. Stormhoof climbed out of the trench to watch their retreat as the guardsponies of Altheheim cheered at their victory. And for once, the lieutenant’s smile was genuine. The indomitable Equestrian spirit he thought. There is a reason we are still alive.