The time seemed to pass easily for Raziel, but he was not sorry to part from the recruits, each was learning, in his own way, but each was focused more on the physical aspect of the training, which was why he'd left that to the others, keeping the young aspirants solely in the realm of their own minds, their own doubts and strengths. He had, at least tried to focus their minds, for while strength in arms was vital, strength in soul and faith was paramount.
The Space Marines in the training area were all armoured, helmets worn or cradled under an arm while a weapons rack was arrayed before them. The objective seemed simple enough, remove the opposition, with the Dreadnought as a secondary objective that could potentially sway the course of the battle.
The room had whirred and creaked, metal plates rising from the floor as the vast space reformed itself into an image of some unnamed destroyed Imperial outpost. It was a scene he had seen many times, over many worlds and hundreds of years.
As they stepped up to the weapons rack Raziel silently selected a chainsword and bolt pistol, checking the magazine, racking the slide and then maglocking it to his thigh. Then he took the chainsword, swinging it a little to test the balance, before hefting it easily. He listened to Raxan, nodding, Attack Pattern 495. It was a tried and tested manoeuvre, one that had served humanity well. He agreed with both Raxan and Cleomenes.
"I concur brother, it is an effective plan, but the younglings are less than inclined to stay so close to the established codex doctrines as we are, I fear by simply following that we may be making ourselves... predictable."