“What are the fire modes for the M-G Short Pattern Lasgun?” 

“Sir, the fire modes for the M-G Short Pattern Lasgun are single shot or fully automatic, sir.” 

“How many shots per minute?” 

“Sir, it can fire 220 shots per minute, Sir.” 

“And if I wanted to see a diagram of the weapon, where can I find it?” 

“Sir, you can find a diagram in the The Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer, sir.” 

Cadet-Commissar Karl Waino stood at attention, his hands at his sides, trying his best to keep his eyes forward. Waino’s palms were sweaty as the man before him paced from side to side, his eyes flicking from the window to the deck of the stateroom. The man was imposing. He had seen over a thousand battlefields, and it showed. His body was covered in scars, his face looking as if someone had slashed at his face hundreds of times. Cadet Waino had read about the man’s exploits back in the scholam, creating this image in his head of the ultimate war hero so he was more than enthusiastic to be assigned to the man.

Yet it wasn’t a surprise. Waino did score near the top of his class. His hard work had paid off and now he was given the opportunity of working with one of the best Commissars in the Segmentum Ultima. Despite working a few months as an aide for the Commissar-General, Cadet Waino was still full of awe every time he spoke to the man. Half of it was out of respect, the other half out of intimidation. Commissar-General MacArthur was everything he expected.

The man was a stern mentor, constantly testing Waino’s knowledge on all matters of subjects to make sure he kept up his studies. It happened even at the most random of times, just to keep him on his toes. One moment he would be examining a data slate for munitorum part orders only for the commissar general to appear behind him and start making him recite excerpts from the Tactica Imperium. 

However this time it was different. This was no impromptu questioning. This was what the Commissar-General referred to as an oral board on Waino’s military knowledge. If he passed, the cadet would get to accompany the elder commissar to the next battlefield, instead of being forced to study on the flagship in orbit. It was exhausting. They’d been at it for the past two hours. The older man looked up, meeting Waino’s eyes. Despite being covered in scars, he had a rugged and confident expression to his gaze along with his dark brown eyes and graying black hair. He leaned against his desk. 

“Next question, what’s Commissariat Article 297? Verbatim? ” 

Waino narrowed his eyes in thought, his gaze looking past the Commissar-General into the blackness of space outside the window where thousands of stars shone above the brown and gray planet they were stationed over. 

“Sir, Commissariat Article 297 is ‘by the authority of my rank, and by the terms agreed in Article 297 of the code, I have to inform you your actions in command have been found unsound, and therefore you are hereby removed from command until further notice’ Sir.” 

Commissar General MacArthur nodded his head, satisfied. 

“How many times do you think I had to cite that?” he asked. 

Waino was about to answer but it turned out to be a rhetorical question. 

“I’ve only had to use it twice. Once when I was a newly commissioned commissar, and once again two weeks before you came onboard. The former was a squad leader during an engagement with a Tyranid swarm. He wanted to retreat from this artillery battery we were required to hold. I relieved him on the spot and later put a bolter round through his head. The latter was a general in charge of the liberation of Zygost from the Archenemy. He was too incompetent.”

He turned round, his broad back facing Waino. Even in his long leather coat, muscles protrude through the material, as if his body refused to acknowledge his age. 

“The lesson I want you to take away from that? Incompetence exists at all levels within the militarum. It’s a blight as dangerous as any xeno or daemon. In my experience the higher you go the more there is. That’s why we’re here,” he said.  

He gestured at the planet below them. 

“The planet is called Banshee. In terms of the crusade we find ourselves in, it’s a minor battlefield. For many, a mere stepping stone for further offensives against the Archenemy. My mission, to ensure the campaign is run competently.” 

He turned back round, looking over Waino as dozens of campaign ribbons and medals shone on his breast. 

“Your mission, to gain experience. You have the knowledge. That’ll only take you so far. Theory means nothing if you cannot act in a storm of energy beams. It’s time for a real test.” 

He smiled. Waino did as well. He had passed. 

“Get your things. We’ll board the shuttle in thirty minutes,” the commissar general ordered. 

Waino saluted and left the stateroom. 

In the passageway he moved quickly, keeping his large smile. 

“Finally,” he said to himself, wanting to run to his room. He gave excited greetings to the naval officers he passed by. Waino made it to his room and almost tripped upon entering. The cadet-commissar changed into his uniform; putting on his own long leather coat, jack boots, and high peaked cap. He looked at himself in the mirror, finding his bright blue eyes staring back at him. His hair was in perfect militarum regulations, being a high fade for his black hair.  His skin had gotten quite pale having been confined to a ship for six months. The last time he had been was on Selection Day from his scholam where he boarded the ship that brought him to Commissar-General MacArthur’s flagship. The outfit wasn’t the one of a true commissar. His outfit had a blue trim and the cadet-commissar emblem instead of the imposing death’s head. 

“One day,” he remarked to himself.

 He grabbed his bag of personal belongings before stopping, looking at his poster of past commissars he was lucky enough to bring from his scholam. The images of Ibrham Gaunt, Ciaphas Cain, and Sebastian Yarrick looked back at him. He saluted them before exiting the room. 

He rejoined Commissar-General MacArthur in the loading bay as thousands of armed Guardsmen began to board troop transports. Waino knew they were reinforcements for the upcoming offensive. He wasn’t completely out of the loop. The Banshee campaign had reached a standstill, calling into question General Bane’s competence. That was why he wasn’t surprised when MacArthur gave his little speech about their purpose being here. It was an obvious conclusion. With the commissar general’s arrival, came much needed troops to get the ball rolling again.

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They boarded the small shuttle while the commissar general unfortunately began to question Waino some more. Even when he passed, he wasn’t safe from being tested. The shuttle, along with over a dozen highly packed transport ships soon entered the atmosphere, suffering from some turbulence. Waino jerked in his seat, grateful for the restraints. The commissar general laughed seeing the cadet rub his head after it had smacked one of them.

“You’ll get used to it,” he promised. 

“Aye sir,” Waino replied, doubting it. 

After receiving word from the pilot they were allowed to leave, the two of them rose. They were the only passengers. Being a highly ranked official of the Officio Prefectus came with perks. The door opened and the two walked off the ship. 

It took Waino a moment to get his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. After he rubbed his eyes he was able to take in the breathtaking sight around him. They were on a large landing pad that stretched for thousands of kilometers as the other troop transports began to land. Upon landing their ramps lowered, releasing thousands of troops. Surrounding the landing pad was a well designed operating base, designated Firebase Macharius.

A few buildings made of rockrete surrounded them as well as dozens upon dozens of tents for the troopers. Large formations of troopers ran to and fro, carrying large duffle bags. Out of one of the buildings emerged a truck, carrying another group of Guardsmen. Then another. Then another. They were in the midst of a mobilization. In the far distance, past the buildings, Waino could see trees so large and thick they looked like a wall around the base. They had formed the forward operating base in the midst of a large jungle.

 That would explain the humidity that made Waino feel like he was submerged in water. He could feel the mud beneath his feet. It probably had rained not too long ago. His feet wanted to sink into the earth. The cadet shook his head, focusing on the commissar general. He had begun to walk ahead. forcing Waino to trot after him. A group of men were there to greet him. Waino’s eyes widened. They wore green dress uniforms, wearing almost as many accolades on their chests as the commissar general. They saluted him. 

“Good morning general commissar. It’s a pleasure to have you here,” the one in the center said. 

MacArthur returned the salute. 

“The pleasure is all mine, General Bane,” he replied. 

They laughed and shook hands. Waino assumed they were at least acquaintances. Bane was a thin man with the face of a hawk. His nose was pointy, his lips thin, and his eyes a deep brown. His hair had gone completely gray and there was a noticeable bald spot on the top of his head. 

“Ah you got another one?” Bane asked, smiling at Waino. 

The cadet saluted the group of men, which they promptly returned. 

“That I do. This one has potential,” MacArthur said. 

The group of men laughed while Waino simply smiled. He felt like there was a joke he was missing out on. 

“I wish you could’ve been here under better circumstances,” Bane stated. 

“If these were better circumstances, I wouldn’t be here I’m afraid.” 

General Bane kept smiling but Waino could’ve sworn he saw the corners of his lips twitch. Waino realized what was happening. MacArthur was being amicable, but also subtly hinting at his purpose and asserting power. Tension was created. 

“Of course. You only come in times of need. We were just about to have our intel brief,” Bane said. 

“I hope you don’t mind having two more join you.” 

“We have plenty of chairs.” 

They laughed as General Bane and his retinue led them to the nearest rockrete building. Two Guardsmen standing guard saluted them as they entered, eyeing Waino with curiosity. He knew he didn’t belong in the group of senior militarum officers. He was a boy among men. They entered a large room full of chairs facing the back wall. The room was ensconced in a blue light that made Waino feel queasy. The officers took their seats with Waino next to the commissar general. 

“You may begin when ready, major,” General Bane announced. 

A servo skull floated into the room, settling behind the officers. Its red cybernetic eye emitted a light, projecting a screen onto the wall they faced. It was a large detailed map of the surrounding area. Waino immediately began to examine it. It was nothing but jungle in all directions. To the west were a few mountain ranges with a large river running between them. To the east were more trees and other much smaller operating bases. There wasn’t much to work with in terms of landmarks. They were far away from any major cities or settlements. One of the officers stood up, taking a pointer out of his pocket. 

“There hasn’t been much of an update in the past week. We’ve only had sporadic enemy activity here.” 

He smacked the pointer against the wall. 

“And here.” 

Another smack. 

The areas he smacked at were to the northwest. 

“What kind of activity?” MacArthur asked. 

“Ambushes sir,” the briefing officer answered. “We’ve sent out patrols and this area seems to be the most active. 

“You haven’t found their base yet?” 

“Negative sir. The vermin are elusive. We know they’re in the jungle, biding their time. It has to be somewhere out there. We’ve narrowed it down to somewhere here.” 

The officer smacked a hill with his pointer.

“Given the local ambushes, we think this hill here holds promise. We think they’re trying to stop us from getting to it. We’ve designated it Hill 937. We’re sending out Bravo Company of the 20th Faeburn Vanquishers to scout it out this evening.” 

“How solid is the intel?” MacArthur inquired. 

“Aerial reconnaissance shows movement on the mountain but the foliage prevents us from getting solid picts. That’s why we need eyes on the ground to verify.” 

MacArthur glanced at Waino. The cadet nodded. His excitement was rising. It was perfect. If this went well, he could earn himself some accolades and he’d be a commissar in no time.

“Very well. I’d like to send my cadet here out with them if you all don’t have any qualms. I’d like him to be treated as a second lieutenant so he can get used to leading,” MacArthur said.

None of the officers had any reservations. 

“Major, after this, have the cadet here escorted to the regiment,” General Bane ordered. 

“Yes sir.” 

The rest of the brief continued but Waino couldn’t focus. His eagerness made him jittery, imagining himself leading Guardsmen against the enemy in a glorious charge to victory. He tried to calm himself down but it was surprisingly hard to. There was a very high chance there was nothing on that hill and the whole patrol would end in disappointment. The brief ended before he knew it and he was being escorted out of the building. His escort was a moot servitor that probably served as an aide for General Bane, accomplishing mundane tasks no one wanted to do; including this. 

Waino was led to the edge of base where a row of green tents lay next to a large gate that served as the base’s entry control point. Guardsmen loitered outside of the tents. Some sat on their kits cleaning their rifles while others sat in circles either conversing or playing card games. They all wore green Cadian-style flak armor, brown trousers, and black boots. What struck out to Waino was their skin. They were all pale, as if they hadn’t been getting enough sunlight. It wasn’t uncommon for many worlds in the Imperium to have extreme temperatures and environments but it was his first time seeing it instead of reading it in some book. 

One of the Guardsmen looked up at them and smiled. He was a young man that appeared to be around Waino’s age. He had bright blonde hair and blue eyes with a well defined jaw. He walked up to them.

“You must be the commissar,” he said. “I’m Captain Carnell.” 

Waino saluted. 

“I’m no commissar sir. Not yet anyway,” he corrected.

The young captain laughed. 

“No need to be so formal. I just got word of your arrival while you were on your way over.” 

He took out a data slate and gestured at it. 

“Gotta love how they add things at the last minute. Do you need anything?” 

“No sir.” 

“I told you-” 

He stopped himself and laughed again. 

“Alright, fine.” 

He turned to a group of Guardsmen sitting on their kits. One was reading a book. 

“Verro, the cadet commissar will be with you. Make sure he lives,” Carnell ordered.

The man reading glanced up. He was also young, wearing black spectacles with short black hair. He had a youthful look to him. He also looked slightly annoyed having this thrown on his plate.

“You can put your things in Verro’s tent. Let me know if he’s not being hospitable,” Carnell said. 

“Aye sir. I’m sure there’ll be no problems,” Waino replied. 

“Welcome to the Vanquishers.”