During a combined operation on the world of Algol III, an Ultramarine and a Crimson Fist share words:
As the landing zone is being secured, Brother-Sergeant Horatius and Brother-Sergeant Haakon are left with a few hours to bide their time. Horatius wears blue armor so well-polished that it shines, decorated in textbook fashion. Haakon, sitting on an empty ammunition crate, is also clad in blue, but his armor is badly dented and scratched, as well as a generation older - Corvus armor. Fortunately, he is not wearing his helmet. The gauntlets of his armor are the color of blood. There is something scrawled onto his right shoulder pad, underneath his chapter badge. He seems to be brooding, but then, he always looks like that, face scarred and eyes squinting angrily. He also has a rather oversized head. Horatius, on the other hand, has a noble brow and a fine visage. He's never had a pimple in his whole, 500 year long life. He also brushes his teeth in the morning, at night, and before and after every meal, just like Brother-Orthodontist Lucius tells him to.
"If I may ask, Brother-Sergeant Haakon, what is that?"
"Eh?"
"That, on your shoulder pad."
"It says 'Kil Kil Kil.'"
"'Kill kill kill'?"
"Yes."
"If you don't mind my asking-"
"I do."
"I see..."
A five minute pause ensues, during which Brother Haakon stares angrily at nothing, and Brother Horatius mulls this over. Finally, Horatius can't contain his curiosity any longer, and speaks again:
"Why did you paint 'Kil Kil Kil' on your power armor?"
Brother Haakon turns to stare icily at Brother Horatius. Wholly innocent, Horatius looks him in the eye mildly. Finally, Haakon grimaces and turns away, replying coldly, "I am a Space Marine. To kill is my duty. I serve it well."
"Oh."
(Ten minute pause)
"Well, actually, I believe that when I joined the Ultramarines, I made a promise to 'protect the citizens of the Imperium and to uphold the right' - that sort of thing."
Brother Haakon gives Horatius a blank, expressionless stare, and no other answer. Horatius has the grace to look embarrassed this time, and turns to watch the dropships landing in the distance. But like a flies to a barbecue, his eyes are drawn to the "kil kil kil" emblazoned across Haakon's shoulder pad. Then:
"You do know, don't you, that 'Kill' is spelled with two "l"'s..."
Haakon immediately loses his temper, and starts shouting. "I serve the glory of the one true Emperor! The things you speak of are uselessness! Righteousness is my armor!! Ignorance is my shield!!! A true warrior needs no more to serve his duty!"
Horatius, nonplussed: "But how can you operate on the battlefield effectively if you can't even read the Codex Astartes? Or the Tactica Imperialis? Or the Doctrina Militaria? Emperor's Teeth, this isn't the thirty-fifth millenium we're living in!"
"Every day, before we break our fast on rocks and thorns, the Crimson Fists gather in our newly rebuilt oratorium, and recite eleven thousand, nine hundred sixty four pages of the Codex Astartes! That is all the learning we need!" Haakon spits angrily on the ground, which begins to melt and bubble noisily.
(another 5 minute pause, while the two calm down, slowly. Horatius studies the frothing mess on the ground quietly, then looks up again.)
"Well, what about mathematics?"
"Bah."
"What's two and two together?"
A pause. A longer pause. "Four."
"You guessed," accuses Horatius.
"Did not," mumbles Haakon, not looking Horatius in the eye.
"How can you put together any sort of military operation at all if you can't grasp the most elementary techniques of game theory? Or symbolic logic? Have you ever heard of operational analysis? We live by the Emperor's word, but blind faith doesn't keep a company of men fighting!"
"This is my chainsword! This is my bolter! You see these markings? They honor my weapon's achievements, so that it will serve me in my need! Look to your battle-gear and it will protect you."
Caught off guard, Horatius stumbles for a minute before responding,
formally:
-We guard it with our lives.-
"Your armour is your soul, and your soul's dedication its armour."
-The soul of a warrior is the shield of humanity.-
"Honour the craft of death."
-Only the Emperor is higher in our devotion.-
"Honour the battle-gear of the dead."
-We ask only to serve.-
Haakon nods triumphantly as Horatius completes the litany. "You see?"