Sacks was fine apart from his broken nose. He had been afraid the Sailor would take him to some evil ritual or make him the main course at some bigwig's banquet.
But the Sailor had merely taken him to the shower room, where he'd had a hot bath, then given him a clean set of silver-gray clothes.
Finally, the Sailor had removed his handcuffs and shoved him into a bright cabin. It looked a lot like an interrogation room, with only a table and a chair. But there was food on the table. Sacks went closer to inspect it and found a piece of bread, a bottle of Amasec, and a fragrant, roasted steak. The scent of its fat drifted through the air and into his nose, reminding him that he'd missed his Protein Block for the day.
The food had clearly been left for him, and it had been a long time since he'd eaten anything normal. So Sacks worked up the courage to sit down, picked up the knife and fork beside him, and cut into the steak. When he took his first bite, the juices and grease spread through his mouth. He no longer cared whether it was human meat. After all, a Protein Block was only a different form of the same thing. He uncorked the Amasec and took a long swig. The spicy liquor roused his taste buds, and the wine and food soothed him. For a while, Sacks felt as if he'd escaped the hell of the lower decks.
Just then, the automatic door opened. Heavy footsteps sounded behind Sacks, and a silver figure nearly 2.4 meters tall walked around the table and stopped in front of him.
A low voice came through the vox grille of the Mk. III Iron Armour helmet:
"Is it good?"
A piece of bread was stuck in Sacks's throat. He could only nod frantically, afraid that a delayed answer would anger the Astartes.
"Relax. This is a Great Boar, an animal from Old Terra that's now extinct there. Colonists from the Old Night brought the species to this planet and preserved it here. They're fierce beasts that like to wreck fields and grapevines, so the locals hate them."
Then Peter changed the subject and asked:
"Captain Sacks, do you know why I called you here?"
"My lord, I-I think I can guess."
There was nothing special about him, apart from his military service.
"Captain Sacks, formerly the battalion commander of the 2nd Battalion, 4th Infantry Regiment of the Sallaeh Sentry, a Mortal Auxiliary regiment. Or have you all started calling yourselves the Astra Militarum now?"
"Yes, my lord. That's what the Departmento Munitorum documents say."
Peter continued coldly:
"Captain Sacks, there's a stain on your service record: you surrendered and were captured. But since that's how we came to meet, I'll overlook it for now. You can keep eating, as long as it doesn't stop you from listening to what I have to say."
He didn't dare touch the food again. As far as he knew, the Iron Warriors weren't known for their good tempers.
"Sacks, you're the highest-ranking man on this ship apart from the Sailors, and your rank doesn't come from the Planetary Defense Force. That's a point in your favor. You attended military academy and saw actual combat. You lost, but at least you have experience. You have two options. First, you can train new recruits alongside a group of people in a similar situation, then command them in battle. Second, you can finish that steak and get back to the lower decks."
Sacks was certainly afraid of going back to the lower decks. He'd been captured precisely because he valued his life too much. Having made his decision, he tried to recall what he'd learned at military academy and asked about the situation:
"My lord, what equipment and supplies will we have? And how many enemies are we facing, and how capable are they?"
"Good. Looks like you're getting into the swing of things."
Peter reached behind his waist, pulled out a Dataslate, and handed it over.
"You'll have about 30,000 recruits. Later, you can recruit from the places you conquer. They're not entirely raw recruits, either. Most have had some local military training, and wear bronze and iron armor. They use bows, wooden shields, and spears. The enemy will be at about the same level. I order you to occupy this continent within half a Terran year."
As he listened to the order, Sacks thought, He didn't mention the punishment for failure. Though it was more likely that there was no need to mention it. After all, they didn't need a reason to kill him.
"I'll provide a small amount of Flak Armour, Autoguns, Laser Guns, and Frag Grenades, as well as an Aquila Shuttle for air support. There'll be no armored vehicles or artillery. The Dataslate has more detailed information."
After Sacks finished reading the information on the Dataslate, Peter asked:
"Any questions?"
"No, my lord."
He had a whole pile of questions: insufficient training, too few experienced officers, and a severe shortage of weapons and ammunition. The rank-and-file soldiers didn't even speak Gothian. But he didn't dare voice his concerns. The Departmento Munitorum might call once an hour to pressure them, or even curse them out. Everyone was doing it, and they were used to it. But this Astartes wouldn't be so easy to deal with.
"Good."
The Astartes turned and left the cabin. Only then did Sacks notice that he didn't seem to belong to the Iron Warriors. His Power Armour was still mostly silver-gray, but it no longer had yellow stripes. More importantly, the Eight-Pointed Star and iron mask on his left shoulder guard were gone, replaced by a silver heater shield wreathed in crimson flames.
After Peter left, Sacks tipped back the rest of his Amasec. He decided to finish the steak and bread, then go meet his future subordinates. God-Emperor protect me! He prayed that those prisoners would be a little better than the coward he was.
In the City-State of Nopé, the locals had recently begun seeing the Silver Eagle soaring through the sky. Each time the eagle landed, a group of unfamiliar faces appeared in the city. Their eyes were hollow, their expressions numb, and they spoke strange languages. They looked like refugees who had lost their city-state.
The War Band's only two Avior Barges hadn't stopped for a moment during this period, and their pilots were now working in shifts. The War Band was systematically transporting the slaves from the lower decks to the surface. The Blackrock's crew and Sailors were short-handed, but the lower decks were severely overcrowded with slaves. There was no contradiction between the two.
Peter had deliberately crammed all these slaves aboard before leaving the Legion. As a result, the lower decks were 300 percent over capacity. Fortunately, the slaughter and eating during the journey had eased the pressure somewhat.
Peter had done this to bring people with knowledge along with him. Of course, he didn't expect any engineers or Tech-Priests among the slaves, but quite a few came from civilized worlds. At the very least, they knew what guns, electricity, and Promethium were. Don't underestimate these bits of seemingly insignificant knowledge. The Imperium's experience during the Great Crusade had taught them that barbarians were quick to attribute anything they couldn't understand to the gods. If the War Band wanted to develop this world, it couldn't waste time on minor matters like pi, displacement, or the periodic table.
In the future, he would seize more people to fill the world, because he needed manpower for conscription, raising an Auxiliary Army, and building factories. Perhaps this world would eventually become overpopulated, but right now the problem was a lack of people.
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