A chapter of Astartes is not a set size. Each chapter is responsible for recruiting its own soldiers, training them, and determining what they will do. The Hammers of Nuceria chapter was not allowed to use any of the draw worlds owned by the World Eaters, thus it could not recruit from good stock often, so it was barely four companies strong. If all of the auxiliary troops were fielded alongside the line soldiers, then Domitia had five hundred Astartes to win her war with.

She stared at the screen on the cogitator terminal in front of her. it had the statistics regarding Chapter strength and logistical, dangers. she was in the briefing room, waiting for a meeting with the consulate of the chapter, to discuss the very information she was reading now. The chapter was tasked with slaying an Ork horde of unspecified size, and from what she just gathered, this task need be done with limited resources.

She called the meeting not long after her speech, because after seeing the assembled chapter, doubts started to eat at her about her ability to win this fight. She remembered seeing the gathered XIX legion, assembled in rigid formation, black and white armor gleaming in the blue-tinged sunlight of Deliverance. She remembered how impressive they looked, how mighty and unstoppable they were. Then her mind shifted to the image of her chapter, and how meager they appeared. She longed for her uncle's aid, just his advice, and reassuring presence. But he was on the other side of the galaxy, fighting his own war on alien soil.

Her thoughts of home were interrupted when Korant walked into the room. Following him were several other Astartes that she did not know. He nodded towards her and said, "First Captain, these men are a part of the consulate." he gestured to the three men and started introducing them, as he did, Domitia looked each one up and down, sizing them up. "This is Jakkob, the master of signal." This man was slight for an Astartes, and pale. He had a cogwheel tattooed onto his right bicep, and an augmented forearm on his left. He had the red and white studs of a student of the cult mechanicus, which struck Domitia as odd. Korant kept speaking, "This is Kollt, our Battlesmith." This man was older than the first by several decades, which was obvious from the gray streaks in his hair. His whole right arm was metal, from the pectoral on, Domitia could see the whirring servos and sliding pistons through the holes in his tunic. His studs were all red enameled adamantium, he was indeed, a Master of the Forge. "And this is Shavan, the Primus Medicae." This last man was the one who interested Domitia the most; his arms were covered in spiraling patterns of waves and sharks teeth, stylized into bands that climbed up from his hands to his shoulders. He was bronze colored, with stern features, and a mix of silver and brass studs from the center of his forehead to his temple. He radiated a feeling of intensity and power that intrigued Domitia for reasons she couldn't deduce.

Kollt spoke next, "First Captain, it is an honor to serve you." a look of strained congeniality crept onto his face, "I hope we are enough to do what must be done." That earned his a glare from Shavan, and a quick glance from Korant.

Domitia answered him, "That is exactly the subject that we shall discuss during this meeting. whether or not we are capable of doing the impossible."

Korant didn't waste a second, "We are. the question is rather one of, how?" His enthusiasm was infectious, and in moments Jakkob and Kollt shared smiles of assured determination. but their beaming was met by the dour glare of Domitia, and their visible hope died within moments of her gaze fixing on either of them. She wanted them to be rational, to assess the situation as it is, not as they might wish it to be… and hope would only poison their judgement.

She said, "It is good to meet you, but make no mistake, our victory is hardly assured." she sighed and stretched her neck, popping it in multiple places. "This meeting shall be the determination of whether or not we can win this."
The consuls took their seats, each one taking a spot that she assumed was the one they were most used to, because the spots chosen couldn't have been random. Shavan spoke up and asked, "First captain, If I may be so blunt, will you require nails in this chapter?" That caught everyone off guard, and silence reigned for many moments. Domitia couldn't imagine what might drive that to be the first thing he asked his commander, or what might prompt that question. She knew that she hated the cursed implants, but if it was standard fare for this chapter, then she might have to work around the berserkers. She didn't know.

She looked at the other gathered consuls and translated the shock on their faces into information to guide her next words. he responded with a question, "Are there any nails on this ship?" Again, shocked silence charged the air with nervous energy after her words fell silent. Shavan nodded yes, that there were Butcher's Nails on the Hand of Malice. "Have them dumped out an airlock before we next speak."

Shavan smiled slightly, an odd addition to his intense features. he nodded and said, "Very well First Captain, it shall be done." Some of the tension left the room as she tacitly pronounced that no one would be subjected to the horrific bonding of Nails to their brains. He then started typing on a data slate, no doubt drafting the written order to space all of the Butcher's Nails.

Domitia then waited, and over the next few minutes, more men filtered into the room, each one introducing himself as he did.

A stocky man with a chemical burn scar from tip tips of his left hand fingers to mid bicep introduced himself, "First Captain, I am Tymeron, siegebreaker of the chapter." he gave a short bow as he said it, and took a seat not far from her.

A scrawny man with hollows around his eyes bowe at the waist before passing the threshold into the room, saying only, "Ma'm, I am Severin, the chapter's Vigilator." He spoke barely louder than a whisper, be he carried an air of calm around him.

Two men came in at once, each wearing the distinctive red and navy cloak of a captain. the first did not speak, and the second grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand and bowed slightly in the style of a Nucerian noble. He said, "I am Seo Rahn, and this is Dra'Mattor, we are the captains of the tactical cohorts."

Almost six minutes after the captains came the final consul. He wore the single color tunic and breeches of everybody else, but where they carried their service studs with pride, his were tarnished silver and rusted iron. He had half a dozen silver rings piercing the arch of one of his ears, and a ruby set into the skin under his left eye, carved to look like a bloody tear. he walked in and unceremoniously slid into the nearest chair, never even stopping to put out the Lho stick that was still burning between his teeth. He dragged in another breath of rancid smoke, and held it, savoring the flavor of the burning plants. when he blew it out, it didn't look unlike a manufactorum smokestack belching acrid fumes into the air.

Domitia felt the urge to rip the paper tube from his mouth and smack him, but he had done nothing wrong. He emanated an aura of disrespect and insubordination so strong that she already wanted to ring his neck. She suppressed the urge and drew a deep breath before saying the first words of the meeting. "Consulate, for many of you, this is our first meeting. I would like to clear the air about a few things before we begin this, that there is no misconception in anyone's mind." She paused and swallowed, unsure of how to put the next words she would say. "My father is sending us to our deaths." there were a few expressions of surprise, and a shocked grunt, but for the most part this was not news to the gathered leaders. "But despite the wishes of our Primarch, I have no intention of rolling over and dying for him." that evoked a few bitter smiles and nods of agreement. "We are going to go to RU12-37 to cleanse the planet of the Orks that have overrun it, and what we need to determine, is how exactly we will do that." he held a hand out beckoning, "Where does the chapter stand? I want to know what we have and what we can do before drawing up any plans."

Kollt answered first, "We have four hundred and seventy-two Astartes, seventeen rhinos, four of which are inoperable, two thunderhawks, neither of which are gunship variants, two predator battle tanks, enough missile launchers and heavy bolters to outfit a half a dozen support squadrons, a little over thirty-three thousand bolt-shells, and enough spare parts to make fields repairs on any of our vehicles twice."

Domitia nodded in thanks to him, unsure of how to respond. she knew enough about battle planning to see that she had damn near no supplies at all. That was troublesome, not only for her plans that had yet to be, but also for her confidence in her ability to do this.

Shavan spoke, "First Captain, we have enough medical supplies to keep the chapter hale for maybe a day and a half of heavy fighting… that is of course, a very abstract figure."

Domitia asked to the room in general, "How long will these supplies last?" there was a brief silence, as everyone at the table crunched numbers, guessed consumption rates, and tried to compare the current situation to previous predicaments. The only person not lost in thought was the as of yet unnamed man, who was slouched in his chair, pulling another lho stick out of a crumpled paper packet, lighting it with the ember on the tip of his current tube.

Kollt answered, "First Captain, those statistics equate to the following reality. we have two point three magazines per Astartes. We have twelve missiles per launcher, two hundred heavy bolts per heavy bolter, and enough energy stored for each lascannon to fire six times before it is dry. we have enough promethium to either move our Rhinos seventy kilometers each, or fire our flamers continuously for three minutes." he said every word in as even a tone as he could manage, just like a true student of the Omnissiah. But Domitia could hear the quaver in his voice, and she knew that this information was distressing him. Similarly everyone else was concerned at this, save, for the smoker, whose mouth curled slightly into a smirk.

Severin, the Vigilator, added, "Similarly, the seeker squadrons have nought but a handful of specialist shells, maybe fifteen Scorpius pattern, thirty-six or forty Kraken shells, and maybe fifty Tempestus shells." Judging by his look, Domitia guessed that he had lain his hands on every one of those bolts that he mentioned.

"What of orbital support? Master of signal?"

Jakkob bit his tongue as he formulated a suitable answer. "First captain…" he started to drum his fingers on the table, very nervous. "This ship is unarmed." he said it quickly, and kept his eyes shut as he said it.

Domitia let her mouth hang open, utterly dumbfounded. she ran a hand through the strip of hair that ran down her scalp, brushing her bronze stud as she did, unable to fathom what she had just been told. she started to ask 'how?', but one of the captains answered before she said anything, "First Captain, The Hand Of Malice does possess weapons, but we have no ammunition for any of them, and most are in disrepair. Even if we were to secure torpedoes or lance power-capacitors, something else in the decrepit weapons would likely break before we loaded them."

"Do we have drop pods at least?" Domitia asked. "And some means to launch them?" she added hastily, before any bad news might spoil even a mildly hopeful answer.

Kollt answered, "Yes, we have a dozen drop pods, and functioning launchers and retrieval gear."

Domitia let some thoughts bounce around in her head and then just started speaking, saying everything, hoping that something made enough sense that the consulate could piece together a plan from what she spilled out. "What I am hearing, is that we will only have enough ammunition for a brief firefight, followed by a prolonged hand to hand slaughter. we have no air support, and no orbital support. No artillery, and no armor." she balled her hands up into fists, and continued, "We know nothing about the battlefield, nor do we have any concrete information regarding our enemy's size or composition. We have no obvious ability to tip the scales in our favor." She wanted to scream, to claw at empty air and gnash her teeth at phantoms, to release the tension and brewing fury within her soul. She felt a need to spill blood, and rule her assembled leaders through the fear of physical retribution. but she kept all of that safely under a lid, and she kept calm.

After several deep breaths, she said, "I will send an Astropathic message to the nearest Imperial Army garrison in the sector and tell them to meet us there, with a landing zone ready." she nodded, feeling strategies begin to brew in her brain. "This will help ease our supply troubles, and give us the aid of heavy artillery and air support." She laced her fingers together and felt confidence return to her. "We may even get a division of Solar Auxillia to work with, and their numbers as well as their armored support will shift fate to in our favor."

There was mild discontent at the table. Downcast eyes and shallow gulps were visible on most of the men at the table. Tymeron spoke up, "First Captain, we have survived without support for many decades now, and we have never called for support before." Domitia sent him a look that simply stated, 'and?'. "To call for aid now would wound the pride of our warriors and-"

Domitia squinted slightly, sat up to her full sitting height, and spread her arms out, displaying her augmented muscles. she interrupted him, "To the warp with their pride." that prompted a few gasps and shocked expressions. "I am not here to nurse the egos of dead men." she knew that her comments were biting, and she said them all the same, deliberately wounding the gathered leaders to establish her dominance. "I have been assigned to this chapter to get everyone killed because my father thinks me too womanly and weak to truly fight." she pointed at the solitary stud in her brow, "He has forbidden me from carrying the iron of a rank warrior, or the silver of a captain." her voice raised slightly, "He forbids me from bearing any of the marks of a captain or a Praetor, because he thinks so little of me." she looked at every man, keeping her gaze moving across the consulate. "But he underestimates me, because his contempt blinds him from the truth." she slammed her chest with a clenched fist in the way that gladiators would do to salute one another. "I will lead us to victory, because for me, there is no other option." her determination was starting to infect the room, and slowly, the faces of the gathered men shifted from fear and awe, to respect and fervor. "I do not care what the rest of the legion thinks of us, or what the rest of the thrice-damned Imperium thinks of us. Because we will look every trial put before us right in the eyes, and conquer it with the same indefatigable valor that shall come to define us."

She lowered her voice back down to regular speaking level and continued, "But where my father is blinded by his hubris, we will not be. We will not let our pride deny us aid that we need, nor will we allow our contempt to shame our brothers." she let her lips curl into a slight smile, "We need the army to win this war, so that we can sail back to the flotilla with the greenskin warlord's head, ready to be thrown at my father's feet." She had won everyone over, they were rapt by her performance, ready to leap into the fray at that very moment. all of them were so, except for the smoker, who looked absolutely bored.

Domitia looked to Kollt and said, "I want one of your techmarines to assist Severin and the Seekers in the construction of more tempest bolt shells." she then turned to Severin, "assign two of your marksmen to test the legionaries accuracy on the simulator-ranges, they will decide who carries a bolter to battle." She paused only to catch her breath and work out what she wanted done next, "Jakkob, send a message to the nearest Army unit to RU12-37 and demand their support. Tymeron, I want a complete inventory of every heavy weapon in our possession, and how many of them are compatible with Imperial Army munitions. Kollt, I want both Predators fully functional, and if at all possible, get the guns on this ship into working order, although that is a secondary objective." She wasn't sure what she wanted Shavan to do, so she made something up, "Shavan, I'll need an inventory of the chapter's medical supplies, and estimates to how long we can maintain a battle with those. Consulate dismissed." Everyone stood, a few men bowed, and everyone filed out of the room wordlessly. Domitia grabbed Korant's arm as he passed her, stopping him. he understood, and stood by while the rest of the Consulate left.

Once the room was empty, Domitia said, "I bid you sit, please." He did, and he fixed her with a quizzical look. She let some of her masks drop away, and she spoke to him without the false confidence or any superiority, "Korant, I hope you can see that I am utterly out of my depth."

Korant nodded and said, "You handled yourself well." it was a statement of flat fact, with no inflection or reassurance to it, just like a Nucerian, just like she wanted. He added, "Do not mistake the Consulate's lack of choler for a lack of skill or of determination." he paused and brushed his fingertips over the polished metal in his brow, searching for words. "We all know that we are going to die, as Astartes that is our lot in life, to die for the Emperor and the Imperium after carving his foes into carrion. But, we... this chapter knows that we will die pointless deaths under an alien sky serving only our master's spite." What he said seemed to Domitia a touch too romantic and artistic of a sentence for a pit fighter to have formulated, but she wasn't sure what constituted normal onboard this ship yet.

"I have no intention of leading this chapter to its death." Domitia answered, but despite the truth regarding her intentions, she knew that reality was far worse. "I have no intention, but I realize that what I wish does not bend fate."

Korant said, "I understand, as one of this chapter's commanders, I have seen many hopeless battlefields, many pyrrhic victories, and the pyres or our dead stretching across kilometers. Every battle for us is one step closer to extinction."there was sorrow in his voice, a sadness that felt deeper than the space between the stars, and darker than the midnight shade of the eyes of her Uncle.

Domitia sighed, and then stretched out, feeling tension in her augmented muscles, reminding her through discomfort that she was alive. "However desperate the situation, we are Astartes, and we will overcome the trial set before us." Korant nodded, and started to get up but Domitia held a hand to stop him. she added, "Two more things." he sat, and she continued speaking, "I hope that you understand that I said these things to you in confidence, and I shall wish to confide in you more in the future."
Korant answered, "I understand completely, whatever you must do to maintain your sanity, you should do." again, the flat tone of a pit-fighter reassured her in its monotone.

She replied with a question that was gnawing at her mind, "The last thing I wanted to ask you is… who was the Consul with the ruby tear, he declined to introduce himself."

Korant's features visually darkened, and he suddenly looked as if anger were brewing in him. His voice actually quavered as he spoke, as he was containing his anger, "That was Consul Ghorol, the leader of this chapter's Destroyer units." he said the word like it was bitter, and he wanted it to off of his tongue as quickly as it could be gone. "He is an honorless dog, a bloody-handed murderer, and an insubordinate, morale-tanking, thorn in every commander's side." His voice rose as he spoke, and his pupils fluttered as rage started to boil in his soul. "That dog is responsible for the deaths of many of his brothers, as well as those of two captains, and a member of Angron's bodyguard."

Domitia was shocked as he continued to extol upon every flaw in the Ghorol's character, and every failing of his. but she listened, and she got the impression that Korant did not speak this freely as often as he ought to. He ranted for many long minutes before regaining his composure and listening to Domitia tell a story of a time long ago, about her standing shoulder to shoulder with men whose faces she could no longer make out in her memory. She told of the cerulean sky and the bloody mud, of the scattered limbs and the burning wrecks of archaic battle engines. She told him about the smell of dying men and diesel fuel. She told him about the strength that left her limbs, and how she sank before an approaching tank, accepting her fate to die beneath its spiked treads. She finished her tale by describing the magnificence of the Raven as he came to save her. She told him of Uncle Corvus.