Sword Brother Tyron looked on impassively as his squad performed their bolter drills. Since regaining his position as head of his squad of Intercessors, he had been working them tirelessly, to re-earn their respect and faith in his command. He allowed himself a smile beneath his helmet as he noticed Initiate Canton pushing himself mercilessly, scoring headshot after headshot on the target range.
Initiate Canton, previously Sword Brother Canton, had ceded command of the squad after a fair and honourable challenge from Tyron. Command of the squad had alternated between the two for some time now, each constantly pushed to better themselves by the threat of the other.
This was one of the many innovations Marshal Luther had brought to the Ollanius Crusade. Tyron's breast swelled with pride at the thought of his Marshal. He embodied everything the Ollanius Crusade stood for: piety tempered with truth, valour girded with logic, and a boundless dynamism that ever-strove for one goal: to save the Imperium. Marshal Luther does not embark on vainglorious assaults deep into enemy space, nor countenance the needless blooding of his forces for political gain. His Crusade gives hope to the hopeless, faith to the faithless, and remains the ever-ready guardian shield of the Imperium's weakest in their direst need.
But the Crusade was yet young, and still recovering from its ill-fated birth. Tyron's mind darkened as he thought back to its tumultuous beginnings: the warp storms that destroyed more than half the fleet, leaving just one Strike Cruiser, the Helios, and a number of small support vessels. Even before this there had been many who might have preferred the Crusade did not go ahead. So many Primaris, but led by a Firstborn who by some accounts places little stock in the traditions of the Black Templars. After the warp storms, these naysayers spoke of vindication, and the calls for the Crusade to end became louder.
But Marshal Luther does not disregard tradition. Indeed, it is his respect for the heritage of the Black Templars that leads him to innovate, to employ unorthodox tactics, and to embrace new technologies and techniques so readily. For Luther, the Templars have never followed the Codex not because of animosity toward its author (though this plays a role), but because they refuse to submit to pre-set governance on how to conduct war. Luther believes they must always seize opportunity where it presents itself, exploit enemy vulnerability, and set a punishing battle rhythm: none of which are possible when doggedly applying pre-existing doctrine.
And so while the organisation of the Crusade's only Fighting Company might appear increasingly in line with the resurgent Codex ideas to some, that is only half the truth. Luther employs such strategies as he needs, but will not hesitate to abandon them should the course of the war dictate.
And so the organisation of squads under a leader, a 'sergeant' to the Ultramarines but a Sword Brother to the Templars, is not a violation of the chapter's ideals. It is precisely to enhance those ideals, and for that reason the position of Sword Brother of a squad is never static. Any Initiate can challenge his Sword Brother, and if successful in a series of open and fair tests set by the responsible Castellan, the mantle of Sword Brother passes, and command of the squad with it. The defeated brother is stripped of his special wargear and armour, and returned his original Initiate's equipment.
Tyron winced inwardly at the memory of when he first returned his power fist to Canton, and the shame of losing his squad's trust. But that trust was soon renewed, and stronger than before, as he had thrown himself back into perfecting his craft, just as Canton was doing now. There was no animosity between them, quite the reverse: a respect that cannot be forged except through contest. This fierce meritocracy keeps the route to command open: but once earned, it must be vigorously maintained. Complacency in battle is fatal, and so through this permanent internal tournament, Luther has bred it out of his Crusade.
Tyron snapped out of the reverie as the sound of the last bolter casing hit the deck of the shooting range aboard the Helios. His squad were at attention, awaiting his word. But they already knew what he would say.
"Again."