Preparing for the Expedition

Word of the coming expedition spread quickly among the warriors, and Peter promptly called a war council meeting.

In the assembly hall of the warband's Fortress Monastery, all twenty-one battle-brothers gathered. Within the hall of black and silver-gray, a few milky-white marble pillars stood as rare splashes of color.

Neophytes were not permitted to attend such meetings, making the already vast hall feel even more cavernous.

Peter sat at the head of the table and began to address his warriors about the coming campaign:

"By now, you've all heard the news. Abaddon is launching a Black Crusade, and I've decided to join. After all, participation means we can claim equipment from him, and we can use the momentum to raid the Imperium for personnel and supplies."

"First, let me assess the warband's status. Brother Dioscorides, how stand the neophytes and the Gene-seed?"

The Apothecary nodded in reply:

"Lord, the neophytes are in good shape. Most have already received the Black Carapace, and the rest will be implanted within a few days. I've also found a talented apprentice among them for the Apothecary's arts, capable of basic Gene-seed recovery and primary treatment."

"As for the Gene-seed, we've harvested all from the neophytes' necks, including Brother Colin's—now recovered. That gives us thirty-five total. Unfortunately, Brother Freddy's Gene-seed was consumed by warp-fire from the empyrean."

Peter nodded:

"Good. Including the neophytes, the warband now numbers fifty-five—half a company. Keep Colin's seed aside; use all the rest. Begin a second round of recruitment, aiming to expand the warband to near a full company. Our stage goal is a full chapter garrison: one thousand men."

"Brother Dioscorides, I need you to hold the Homeworld. Your task is arduous; I trust you'll see it through."

The Apothecary nodded in response:

"As you command, Forged Steel Lord."

Peter turned his gaze to Filon:

"Master of the Armory, how stands our arsenal?"

Filon replied with rare seriousness:

"No major changes in vehicles, but we traded with the Dark Mechanicus for some Bolter Guns and heavy weapons, plus a few Jump Packs. Every neophyte can now be issued a Bolter."

"Thanks to the weapon materials we seized earlier, I've set up a Bolter production line aboard the Blackrock. Output is barely sufficient. I'm also handcrafting a batch of MK6 Raven-pattern Power Armour—low material consumption, relatively easy to build—but the pace is slow. At this rate, it'll take twenty or thirty years to finish."

"I've also taken on two apprentices, but they're hopelessly clumsy—only good for fetching tools. If you ask me, they won't be ready for another twenty or thirty years either."

Peter nodded to acknowledge the armory report, then turned to the Lord of Fleets.

Barnabas volunteered his report:

"We've been stationed at the Homeworld these past years. The fleet still numbers only three ships: the Blackrock, a Shortsword-class Frigate; an armed merchantman barely fit for support; and a Rogue-class Freighter that's nothing but a sitting duck."

Peter replied:

"Take them all. Leave Homeworld defense to the Dark Mechanicus for now. With so few ships, they wouldn't make much difference in a real crisis anyway."

"Also, lease a few transports from the Dark Mechanicus, using our underground mineral deposits as collateral. We're going to reap benefits this time—so we sail with empty holds and return with them full."

Peter conveyed the core battle doctrine to the Lord of Fleets:

"In void combat, avoid charging forward whenever possible. Stay on the periphery, fire a few Macro Cannon shots and lance strikes from the warships, and focus on preparing for anti-boarding actions. Only board to seize a ship when we spot a fat, helpless target. Safety above all."

Barnabas nodded to show he understood:

"Understood, Forged Steel Lord."

Peter trusted Barnabas knew how to command.

Finally, he turned his gaze to the only mortal present—Sacks, the nominal supreme commander of the Mortal Auxiliary, the "Spear of Hector."

All twenty-one eyes, including Peter's, locked onto the frail human. Sacks couldn't help but swallow.

He gathered his courage and spoke:

"My lord, as per your previous orders, we dismissed some unqualified soldiers. After this period of training, the Auxiliary numbers fifty-four thousand, equipped with light weapons. But we have no artillery, tanks, or armored vehicles—only a few transport trucks."

"The problem is, we lack void-capable transports. One Aquila Shuttle and two Avior Barges—relying on that to land fifty-four thousand troops on a planet's surface would be a disaster, let alone the trucks."

Peter nodded. These were precisely the issues this expedition was meant to solve:

"Leave the trucks behind. They're hard to transport and take up space. I don't expect you to accomplish anything major. Your job is to occupy the ground we take. Notify the factories to produce more shackles and iron cages, and focus training on capture and detention."

Sacks dared not lift his head, only replying:

"Yes, my lord."

Next came squad assignments and promotions. Everyone already had a fair idea of the candidates—this was the advantage of a well-organized chapter.

Take the Imperium for example: if a Chapter Master fell in battle, the First Company Commander was the first in line of succession. All company commanders knew to obey the First Company Commander, who would automatically assume command. Deciding who would be elected Chapter Master afterward was a matter for later; for now, follow the First Company Commander.

Similarly, within a company or squad, there was an implicit chain of command. If the squad leader fell, someone took over; if that one fell, the next stepped in, down to the last two men.

Thus, everyone had a tacit understanding of who would lead. Peter's appointments were merely a formality.

Only in chaotic warbands with no order did the rule of "might makes right" prevail, where killing the leader to take his place was common.

That selection mechanism often turned many Chaos Warband chieftains into brawlers who could fight but not command. Many warbands cycled through leaders endlessly, growing weaker in the process from pointless internal strife.

Peter issued his appointments:

"Promote Battle-Brother Thor to Squad Leader of First Tactical Squad. Supplement three Veterans with eleven Neophytes to form a fifteen-man Tactical Squad."

"Wonaby will continue to lead Second Tactical Squad. Add nine Neophytes to the six Veterans, forming a fifteen-man Tactical Squad."

"Second Squad battle brother Benjamin is promoted to Third Squad leader, supplemented by 14 Neophytes, forming a 15-man Tactical Squad."

"The 3 Flag Ship Guards remain unchanged, ready to deploy as a mobile force at any time."

Peter quickly confirmed the leaders of each squad, which surprised no one.

Peter concluded:

"We will have two months of preparation time. We must be ready within the deadline, and then we will set out."

Just at the end, Peter remembered one more arrangement:

"Use this time to let the Neophytes go home and visit their families. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone rose in unison, struck their fists to their chests, and roared their battle cry.

"Into the Furnace, All Forged into Steel!"

Now every member understood their tasks and responsibilities. All left the meeting room, preparing to throw themselves into the intense expedition preparations—for the coming battle, and for the development of the War Band.