She turned, addressing this last remark to the disembarking gunners and bombardier. The nearest, Filmont I believe, offered a terse smile before slinking off.

‘That’s right, head to the officers’ mess. And don’t forget, the drinks are on you,’ Shard called after them, but they did not make for the château, instead heading to the rear of the craft.

I had forgotten Leric, their fallen comrade. So had Shard, or at least she acted that way. As the soldiers bowed their heads and made the sign of the aquila, I wondered if I should capture the moment for posterity. It seemed ghoulish, but also important. He had died defending us. His loss should be mourned and remembered.

But I had no idea how to disengage Mizar from Hephaestus. Plient had ­handled the installation but had neglected to inform me how to detach it. The seer-skull was tugging at its restraints, the machine-spirit on the verge of panic. I hushed it, powering down the device before turning to the ground crew.

‘Where is Flight Sergeant Plient? I require his expertise.’

‘Ah… I am sure I can assist, sir,’ the closest replied. ‘What is your need?’

‘I need Flight Sergeant Plient. Where is he?’

The man hesitated. From the corner of my eye, I saw Shard glare at him.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Spit it out.’

He sighed. ‘Perhaps you should come with me. There has been an… incident.’

‘How did it happen?’ I heard myself say, my gaze fixed upon the broken body lying on the medi-slab.

‘They had just made planetfall,’ the chirurgeon replied. ‘Him, and the reinforcements from Orbital Station Salus. Then the storm caught them. None of the others survived, but he managed to limp the craft back and execute a controlled crash. He was barely conscious when we got to him. Since then, he’s been like this.’

Plient’s eyes were closed, his breathing laboured. Though bandaged and bruised, his flesh was less scarred than one might expect. Providing you ignored the stump that was once his left arm.

‘When will he wake up?’ Shard asked from the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, her gaze fixed on the wall opposite.

‘When the Emperor wills,’ the chirurgeon said with a shrug. ‘We had to sedate him to remove what was left of the arm. I did my best, but we have limited supplies. And the conditions are not sanitary.’

He shrugged again. So dismissive a gesture. Bile bubbled up inside me. But he was right; the hovel that constituted a medi-bay was barely hygienic, the swamp’s miasma permeating the very air.

‘What are his chances?’

‘I do not think his injuries life threatening,’ the chirurgeon replied. ‘Infection is the risk now, and I have little with which to treat it.’