Last of the groups were the local Malouri Uhlan. Their commander was a woman, a stout, heavy-set wrestling type, with hair cropped short and a uniform of Munitorum surplus field-grey fatigues. Her name was Major Brera. She and her command corps looked as though they were wearing hand-me-downs two sizes too large for them.

But she breathed excitement to have a Cadian on her home world. She took his hand and bowed low. ‘We are deeply honoured,’ she said. ‘And we pray that you will purge our home world of the taint of rebellion.’

‘There is no doubt,’ Bendikt told her. He felt no hesitation in stating this. He was Cadian. The enemy would be shattered.

Once Bendikt had given each commander their due he stood in the middle of the room and took in the atmosphere. He’d heard Creed speak, and somehow he always managed to find the right words.

Bendikt took a quick swig of amasec. It was at moments like this that he felt the gulf between himself and Creed. He wanted to say, ‘There are great battles being fought today. Far from here. Some of the greatest battles ever seen in the Imperium of Mankind. Millions of banners carried aloft. Each warrior holding the love of the Emperor in their hearts. Driving back heresy, treachery, faithlessness. Those are the wars we want to be fighting. Far away from this world where those who should be fighting at our side have turned their faces away from the Light of the Golden Throne. Reserve your hatred for them. Hold them in contempt. There is nothing as contemptuous as a traitor!’

But he could not.

Instead, he said, ‘Greetings all! I am honoured to be your commander for the rest of this battle. I pray I will not hold this position for long. The Munitorum are preparing for decades of siege. Decades! Major Brera, this is your home world. I am sure that you and your brave Uhlan want nothing more than to purge the stain upon your planet. For the rest of us, a campaign of that length would be the death of too many. No mausoleum would be fit to honour the blood of all the Imperial troops that would be shed upon this world. No. The Munitorum have this wrong. You will instil within your troops the conviction of imminent victory. The heresy upon this planet will end within months.’ He let the word settle upon them all. ‘Months! Be assured of that. Months! Not decades.’

‘Impossible,’ a voice stated clearly.