Chapter 39: Mustering the Steel Host
POV: Leon
"Vanguard, raise void-shields! Square formation—barricade line, *now*!"
"Rifle cohort, in file formation! Target northbound—range, five hundred meters. Fire at will!"
Shouts and vox-barks rang across the hardened steel deck of the training grounds as Varn and I entered. The clashing of ceramite boots, grunts of exertion, and the clang of training blades echoed all around us. The full might of the drill square was alive with the thunder of discipline.
We maneuvered through the disciplined chaos, navigating between squads executing combat drills, until my eyes landed on a familiar figure amidst the tide of recruits.
A grin tugged at my lips.
"Jole!"
At the sound of my voice, Jole halted mid-command. Turning swiftly, he caught sight of us and gave a broad smile. He raised a hand, signalling to another drill-sergeant before barking out a final command.
"Cease training drills! Reform ranks and tighten your shield walls—we'll be running another mock engagement against the Second Platoon later. Ensure you're not a disgrace to the Emperor's light, *understood!?"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
The platoon bellowed in unison, snapping into reformation as Jole approached us.
He gestured for us to follow him, leading us down a steel-railed path that overlooked the training grounds below, where other formations drilled tirelessly in synchronized rhythm.
"Jole, it's been a while," I said, glad to see an old friend again. "How was your last expedition?, anything exciting happened?"
He chuckled, brushing a gloved hand over his flak-coated shoulder.
"Routine sweep. Nothing exceptional—just your usual scum-ridden bandits. Not like your patrol's excitement from the reports I heard. But we got lucky, numbers-wise—picked up some solid replacements. You might've noticed."
He said it with a grin. I couldn't help but chuckle.
"And the rest of your squad? I figured they'd be with you."
"Ah, well—Dave and Teer got reassigned to the Rifle Regime's doctrinal unit. As for Piko..." Jole's smile faltered. "He took a frag-blast to the flank during a forward raid. Lost an arm, both legs, and his right eye. He put up a fight, didn't want to leave the line. But Mr. Jacob had him rotated into Logistics Command as Chief Officer. Took it hard, but he's recovering."
I winced, drawing in a breath as I looked toward the endless rows of drilling platoons. "Emperor's mercy… But glad he's still with us."
"He's stubborn—he'll outlive us all," Jole said with a half-hearted laugh.
I nodded before shifting the topic. "So, how did Mr. Jacob organize this whole Militarum auxiliary? What's the chain of command like?"
Jole crossed his arms behind his back, his tone sharpening.
"Commandant Jacob kept the structure minimal—smart move while we're still growing. Right now, we've one active Company comprising three Platoons: one Riflemen Regime and two Vanguard Regimes. Each formation consists of 37 guardsmen including officers. Add the attached command cadre, and that's 115 men total for one Company. Right now, this drill field holds over 200 troopers—not counting the active Company deployed in the field."
My brow arched.
"Wait, there's a Company currently deployed? Where are they now?"
Jole opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Varn slapped a hand over his face with a smirk.
"That's above your rank's clearance, *Captain Chattermouth*. Boss said not to spoil the briefing."
He gave Jole a good-natured smack across the back of the helmet. Jole scratched his head and laughed sheepishly.
"Alright, alright, my lips are sealed."
Varn sighed and turned to me.
"Don't worry—Boss will give you the full strategic debrief himself. For now, let's wrap up this inspection. I'll show you the Rifle Regime's latest drill routines before we head for the Strategium."
Then, turning sharply toward Jole, he added with mock sternness, "And you—just because you're a candidate for Second Company Command doesn't mean you get to run your mouth like a damned commissar. Back to work."
He gave Jole a light kick in the rear. The latter yelped, chuckled, and jogged off with a wave.
We moved onward to the open gunnery fields. The sharp cracks of lasfire and blackpowder rifles filled the air, smoke and precision alike hanging in the battlefield simulation range. Two platoons were engaged in coordinated fire-and-advance maneuvers, executing sweeps and cover transitions flawlessly.
As we approached, both commanding officers snapped to attention, saluting in unison.
"PLATOONS, SALUTE! WELCOME, SECOND COMPANY COMMANDER CANDIDATE—SIR VARN!"
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at Varn, who simply rubbed the back of his head, slightly flustered.
"Wait… wasn't Jole also a candidate for Second Company Commander? These platoons already have their officers—so why are *you* in the running?"
Varn cleared his throat, brushing off imaginary dust from his coat.
"Well… I'm the Rifle Regime's master-instructor. I've trained every single sharpshooter in these ranks, including those in the First Company's Rifle Platoon. According to Jacob's doctrine, any regime can nominate a candidate for Company Command—applies to every rank and role."
He laughed nervously as I nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Well then, congratulations! So it'll be you and Jole fighting it out for that command seat. I'll be rooting for both of you."
He scoffed with a sideways smirk. I turned back toward the range.
"Anyway, let's move—no need to take more of their drill time. I'm ready to meet Mr. Jacob."
Varn gave me a long glance, a slight sigh escaping him.
"Huh… *rooting for both*, huh?"
I just laughed and continued walking. Varn turned and gave a few parting words to the platoon officers before quickly joining me, both of us marching toward the Strategium where the old Commander awaited.