Some background for this. I am currently playing in an escalation tournament of Warhammer 40k (Games Workshop’s far future miniatures war game). A few other players decided to put down some fiction about their forces and games as each phase went on. This seemed like a good excuse to write some stuff down about my Imperial Guard (Astra Militarum if you must). This was written after my second game in which I lost virtually everything against some Orks, causing very little damage in reply. With my commander character looking like a bit of a flash eccentric (see photo), but clearly a buffoon, I came up with this.

Major Maynard perused the data-slate in his hand. His thick set grey eyebrows contorted the more he read. He sighed with resignation.

‘Flitsman again!’ Maynard exclaimed to the room, his batman stifling a smirk, ‘Commissar Walken was supposed to be straightening him out, but they only seem to be encouraging each other onto more feats of madness!’ continued the Major, ‘I fear they will be the death of me!’. He let out a sigh and placed the data-slate back onto the large wooden desk. He picked up his heavy scarlet tunic, the uniform of the Praetorian Guard, and put it on, taking his time with each golden button. He placed his pristine, white pith helmet onto his head, and strolled over to the window. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, Maynard gazed out at the rows of dark green Chimera armoured personnel carriers of the Praetorian 151st Mechanised Infantry. He sighed again. ‘Right. We had better get this over with, send them in.’ His batman snapped to attention, saluted, and headed towards the office door. ‘Emperor rid me of these infernal morons!’ Maynard muttered to himself. The batman returned, trailed by a Praetorian officer, and a member of the Imperial Commissariat. Both stood to attention. ‘At ease!’ Ordered Major Maynard. He turned from the window to address the two officers. He was taken aback by the scene that greeted him. Both men were covered head to toe in mud. Commissar Walken, a large man with the look of someone who has routinely overindulged, had a large cut across his cheek. His black overcoat was missing a sleeve, but he had at least managed to keep possession of his peaked cap. The Praetorian officer was missing his tunic entirely. His trousers were ripped, and his shirt was missing several buttons. His slicked back black hair was however, immaculate.

‘You asked to see us Major?’ Proclaimed the officer.

‘Sit down the the pair of you!’ exasperated Maynard. The two officers glanced at each other before slumping into the chairs before the Majors’ desk. Maynard walked over to his drinks cabinet, and poured himself a large whisky. He walked back over to the window, looking out at the vehicle park. ‘Exactly what is it we are trying to achieve here?’ asked Maynard.

‘Sir?’ Flitsman replied, quizzically.

‘This war Flitsman, why are we here? What is our purpose?’.

‘If I may,’ Walken cut in, ‘It is to exact the Emperor’s will. To remove the xenos scum from this world.’

‘Exactly’ replied Maynard. ‘And how do you think this can best be achieved?’

‘By destroying the xenos.’ replied Flitsman, matter of factually.

‘I find it interesting Flitsman, that you seem aware of the concept.’ Maynard placed his glass on the windowsill. He turned, and walked slowly over to the desk, paused, and slammed his fists onto the wooden surface. ‘SO WHY AM I ONCE AGAIN READING A DATASLATE ABOUT YOU TWO, AND THE COMPLETE LOSS OF AN ENTIRE PLATOON!’ Screamed the Major. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘With respect sir, we did eliminate all the Orks that attacked us,’ replied Flitsman. ‘in a roundabout way.’ Maynard bit his tongue to halt his anger.

‘Diverting an entire Thunderbolt wing to deal with your incompetence Flitsman is not a “roundabout way”!’ answered the Major, ‘Because of this, our attack on the facility at Devil’s Ridge has been postponed several days. There is no telling the damage this could do to the campaign! What do you have to say for yourself Walken? You’re supposed to be keeping this clown in check!’

“With respect sir, clown is…’’

‘SHUT UP FLITSMAN!” Maynard cut off the officer, ‘you’ll speak when I command you to!’. Walken sat thoughtfully for a moment. He cleared his throat.

‘I believe sir, that the duty of every Imperial citizen is to die in the service of the Emperor. To this end, I believe Captain Flitsman carried out his orders perfectly.” Said Walken satisfactorily. Flitsman nodded in agreement. ‘Furthermore, no instructions were given on how we were to hold the line, only that we do. The quick thinking of the Captain to order an airstrike should be commended. This is my reading of the situation, from the vantage point I had.’ concluded Walken. Maynard picked up the dataslate.

‘Ah yes Walken, your “vantage point”. This is a direct transcript from a vox message received from Chimera Alpha One; “Have been engaged by Ork vehicles. All squads dismounted and ordered to engage with bayonets. Sentinels not responding. Captain Flitsman dismounted and engaged Ork warboss personally. Alpha Two and Three destroyed. Banewolf missing and presumed destroyed. Taking heavy damage. Commissar Walken knocked down by Ork light vehicles. Alpha One requesting orders, over.” So what exactly was your vantage point Walken, beyond having a facefull of mud!’ finished Maynard.

‘If I can just interject sir, Commissar Walken was carrying out close reconnaissance of…’

‘SHUT UP FLITSMAN!’ bellowed the Major, ‘Charging forwards waving your sword around does not sound like a holding action Flitsman. It sounds more like the over ambition of an arrogant and delusional fool!’ Maynard ran his hands over his face and slumped back into his chair.‘ Well gentlemen, there is nothing I can do about you two now. Sadly this war is not going well, and I need every soldier I can get. There are reports of a Necron incursion not far from here and I need you two, “heroes”, to take a platoon and check it out. I do not want to see you two in here again, is that understood?’

‘Yes sir!’ the two officers burst out, standing to attention and snapping a salute.

“Good. And sort out those damned uniforms! Dismissed!” ordered the Major. Captain Flitsman and Commissar Walken turned smartly, and marched out of the room. Major Maynard stood, took off his helmet, and placed it on the desk. He undid his tunic buttons, and placed it onto the back of his chair, before walking over to the window once more. He picked up his whisky glass and knocked back what remained in one gulp, before replacing the glass on the windowsill. ‘Idiots!’ he muttered shaking his head.