Following a Chaos uprising on the planet Calix, Commissar Wolfe finds himself betrayed by a fellow officer on his first command. He returns from a reconnaissance mission to find that his troops and their leader have turned on the few remaining loyalists, and as the last bastion is overrun, an Exterminatus is called on he planet.

Wolfe's body is retrieved from the wreckage as the bombardment begins, and all records of him are removed at the request of Inquisitor Ernst Van Baalen. Van Baalen plans to assign Wolfe to the First Antor regiment as part of a wider plan to quell a potential secession. Wolfe heals, although with grievous injuries that require him to rely on his mask for life support. The chapter ends as he prepares to join his new regiment...

Leaders of Men

Wolfe waited patiently for the flurry of snow caused by the Lighter’s landing to abate before stepping off the gangplank, and for a second even the lenses of his mask did little to dim the startling whiteness that glared back at him. The snowy tundra seemed to extend for miles, its white surface broken only by the sparse, black spurs of rock that reached up from the snow-white ground to the cloud-white sky. Immediately Wolfe began to consider the tactical implications of such a position. No cover, no defence to fall back to and no easy way to transport and store supplies. At the very least, they could have based themselves around one of the larger spires to cover their flanks and rear. With a curse, Wolfe realised he was likely dealing with rookies.

As the snow settled once more, leaving a clear ring around the Lighter, Wolfe made towards the assembled ranks of Guardsmen, aware of every pair of eyes followed his every move. He grimaced beneath the mask, and waited for proper ceremony to be observed. Far too late, an officer broke from the head of the left column, and stepped forwards.

“Commissar Wolfe.” He intoned, standing straight and giving a crisp salute. Wolfe returned the gesture, before settling his hand once more on the hilt of his sword. Wolfe’s eyes scrutinised every aspect of the officer as both an enemy and an ally, and in both cases, were found wanting. Armour too clean, with no signs of battle that a seasoned warrior would have struggled to erase. No bearing of a soldier, only of a man trained to fight. And as he stared back into Wolfe’s lenses, neither the stalwart courage nor the hidden fear of a man who had faced his enemy. This man had seen no more combat that a boy.

“Captain?”

“Bellamy, sir. Captain Bellamy.” The officer replied, eyes beginning to waver under Wolfe’s faceless gaze. Wolfe noted a distinct tremble in Bellamy’s left hand, a tremble that could throw off the aim of a lasgun in the heat of battle. “The troops are ready for inspection, Sir. Would you care to-” Wolfe raised a hand. “In your own time, then, sir.” He turned sharply, and marched back to the lines of soldiers, who Wolfe was beginning to suspect were as raw and untested as their captain.

After another long pause, Wolfe strode forward again, and began making his way along the lines, meticulously inspecting each Guardsmen before moving on. Most appeared to be much the same as Bellamy, eyes glazed and hands shaking. Wolfe noted the fear he inspired in them, and considered with a frown how much more frightened they would be when the real enemy arrived. He could see few among them standing firm in the face of a Greenskin charge, or holding their ground as their worst horrors burst to life before them.

There were, however, a few with the mark of the soldier. Each time Wolfe encountered one such man, who displayed the signs of experience that was so lacking in his companions, he would point wordlessly, and beckon the man forward from the line. By the time he reached the end of the first platoon, there were scarcely fifteen men standing apart from their comrades. He repeated the process with the next two platoons, and once he deemed he had amassed the numbers he needed, Wolfe stepped back.

Not all of the veterans he had selected were of a calibre he would take under ideal circumstances, but they would have to do. Wolfe ordered them, again silently, to form a line facing the rest of the army. He saluted each in turn, before turning to face the massed ranks himself. He noted with concern the collective shudder as he drew his sword.

“These men.” he began, vox amplifying his voice across the tundra, and gesturing with his blade to the veterans, “These men, are soldiers. These men have faced death, and bloodshed, and fear, and they have stood their ground. These men have seen their comrades killed and their ranks annihilated, and they have fought on. These men are heroes. These men are what every one of you will aspire to be.

“I have room for only two types of men in my army. Heroes, and corpses. You are, all of you, raw, and untested, and few among you have seen the enemy, looked him in the eye and fought. But these men among you have. And my first order to you is to follow them. If they give the order, you will follow them to the edge of the world, and if they still demand more, you will throw yourselves into that abyss and face whatever awaits you. I have seen what war does to those without the courage, the fortitude and the loyalty to obey His Divine Will, and I will have no man among you fall to the same fate.”

Wolfe paused, and read the reactions from the ranks of Guardsmen. He was certainly making an impression. Some were bowing their heads in shame, some glaring with mocking eyes, and some smiling to hide their fears and true nature. But whatever they were showing, his words were having the desired effect. Every one of them would think twice before running now, and what authority he could achieve here with words was authority he would not have to later achieve with a bolt pistol.

“As of now, all rank in this Company is abolished, and these men will lead you. I henceforth promote each to the rank of sergeant, to which squads will be allocated in one rotation. Any man formerly of rank who feels he has been unjustly demoted may see me in private, and I will assess his case, but do not expect tales of fanaticism or devotion to impress me. It is by battle alone I judge you. That is all. Parade dismissed. The sergeants will join me in the command centre, the troops will resume current duties until a revised schedule is published. The Emperor Protects, and Merciful is His Justice.”

The army stood to attention as one and saluted, before turning and marching away. Wolfe gestured to the sergeants to lead on, and they began to move towards the centre of the camp, where a prefab structure had been haphazardly assembled to leave far too many weak points. If it were a matter of taking this encampment, Wolfe was confident he could to do in under an hour with only half the men stationed here. Inside the structure was no better, with maps and orders sprawled across desks, among piles of ration wrappers and discarded equipment. The sergeants assembled in front of him, and he waved away their salutes.

“Save it for the parade ground. Now, I’d like to make it clear that this is a very real military operation. No campaign can be won in such squalor, so I expect you men to take better care of this centre than your predecessors. Is that clear?” There was a collective nod, and immediately the officers began fumbling to tidy the desks. Wolfe halted them.

“There’s no need for that right now. No point in being able to run the army if there’s no army to run. You four” -he indicated the sergeants on the right- “take what you need and start reorganising the platoon squads. 9 men each, and specialists where possible. Save whatever we have limited quantities of for the veterans.”

“Sir, we are the veterans.” One of them said, and Wolfe smiled to himself. “Not a man out there has seen battle.”

“You are. But they will be. I intend to start promoting the talented as soon as they’ve been tested. So for now, hold off distributing melta and plasma weapons.”

“Yes sir.” He nodded, and the four men withdrew. Wolfe turned to face the remaining sergeants, and interrogated each of them at length about the extent of their experience. It was not as much as he’d hoped in some cases, but at least they’d been through more than training.

“Now, there’s not much more to say. You know what I expect of you, and what you can expect from me. Report back to me for orders at noon tomorrow. Dismissed.” He watched them all leave before moving, and then began digging through the piles of orders and maps to find the most recent. He discarded the rest and pinned the current instructions to what space he could make on the wall, before sinking slowly into one of the seats. He began leafing through the inventory to discover exactly what he was dealing with.

It did not make pleasant reading. The company was hopelessly underequipped for one so inexperienced, with only a handful of heavier weapons and less transports and vehicles. A single squadron of Leman Russ tanks remained, and from what Wolfe could tell, they had no air support whatsoever.

There was a knock, and Wolfe reached for the door, far from surprised to see Bellamy in the dim light. The former officer stepped in, and Wolfe offered him a seat. For a moment, there was silence.

“I’ve been expecting you, Bellamy.” Wolfe said at last, and Bellamy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even in the cold, Wolfe noted the beading perspiration on his forehead. Once more, doubt about Bellamy’s ability to remain calm in battle surfaced. “If this is about giving you back your rank, then forget it. Prove yourself in battle and I might reconsider, but I have no qualms about telling you I have absolutely no faith in your ability to command men.”

“Actually, sir, this isn’t about that at all. But you are making a big mistake, coming in here and changing the way things work. We Antorians have a very specific hierarchy, and you can’t just come in and tear that down.” Wolfe noted something in his tone, a pride Bellamy was not able to hide.

“A hierarchy? Do elaborate.”

“It’s simple enough, sir. Three Great Houses, three platoons. Each House is responsible for a platoon, from arming and equipping them to choosing the men to lead them.”

“And of course you’re one of those ‘chosen leaders’, aren’t you? So this is about rank after all.” Wolfe’s voice took on an aggressive edge, a storm just beyond the horizon. His hand moved to his sword hilt. “Don’t play games with me, Bellamy. It won’t work.”

Bellamy muttered to himself for a moment before replying. “With all due respect, sir, I can see why you’ve done what you have, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it, and it’s only fair I warn you, as I imagine those Lowborns you’ve put in charge won’t have, that this isn’t going to be well-received on Antor. The leaders of the Houses are powerful, and we are so untrained. A stray las-round might easily-”

Wolfe leapt to his feet, and within seconds Bellamy was pinned to the chair, Wolfe’s gloved hand holding him down. He squirmed and reached for his knife, but Wolfe was faster and the blade skittered away.

“Did you just threaten me, Bellamy?” He growled, and the former officer could do nothing but nod pathetically in answer. Wolfe reached for his pistol, and levelled the barrel against Bellamy’s forehead. “I could kill you now. I should. I should pull this trigger and redecorate that wall with your brains. But I’m not going to. Tell me why.”

Bellamy stammered some more, now convulsing in fear, and bowed his head. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Yes you do. Tell me.”

“Because- because if you kill me, here and now, you lose the respect of those men. Some- some of them are already coming round to your side, sir, and more will from what I’ve seen, but if you kill me now, they’ll never trust you again.”

“Precisely. So I can’t kill you.” He hauled Bellamy to his feet, and marched him through the door, noting the eyes that began to follow him as he paraded the mutineer through the command centre. By the time he stepped out into the snow, there was a crowd waiting. For all their inefficiency, communication had been quick through the masses. Wolfe threw Bellamy to the ground and knelt next to him, whispering so only he could hear. “But I can do much, much worse.”

Wolfe stepped back, his pistol never wavering, and waited for silence, which fell almost instantly. Everything was still in the fading light, the only sound Bellamy’s retching sobs. “Men of Antor,” Wolfe began, and was immediately aware of the increased alertness of the men around him. They would hang on every word. “This man tells me that my arrival has been less-than-welcome among some of you. He himself has threatened me not five minutes ago. I am certain there are others among you that feel the same, and maybe in time one of you will succeed in ousting me. But today, gentlemen, I am in command, and this snake will not undermine me.

“I swear to you a promise, men of Antor, that I will not throw your lives away. I will not let you be led astray. I will not distinguish between those of the Great Houses and those of the low. But I will not tolerate cowards and traitors. Former Captain Bellamy does not approve of this policy, it would seem. But he is just one among hundreds. Men of Antor, do you?”

There was an overwhelming roar to the affirmative, ringing in the audio-emulators in Wolfe’s mask. Already he was beginning to sense the depth of the hated of the Houses among the common men of the army, and planned to capitalise on it.

“You are all men in the Emperor’s service, and will fight and die as such. So long as I am in command, the Houses have no power here, and you will answer to me and the men I elect. But now, we must decide how to deal with this traitor.”

“Kill ‘im.” was the first forthcoming suggestion from the men, and it was followed by several more gruesome offers. Wolfe raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent.

“No. No. I came here to with a promise to protect you, not to execute you. And every man deserves a second chance.” He closed his eyes, and was back on Calix. Seconds from death, and then Nothing. A second chance indeed, and one he would not squander.

“Captain Bellamy, you are hereby reinstated as leader of the Fourth Platoon.” Wolfe braced for the inevitable groan, bent, and whispered to the quivering wreck of a man. “And if you threaten me again… If you betray me again… If you show so much as a hint of turning on me and my men… well, let’s just say a stray bolt might find its way into the back of your head.”

He stood, and released Bellamy, who scrambled away. His eyes remained fixed on the captain right until he joined his men, and would have smirked if he could. A fight was coming against a far greater enemy, and Bellamy would either prove himself, or die.