They would be sorely mistaken.

A lurch. It was subtle now, for we were between gravities. But I felt my back press into the flight seat as the orange sphere swelled to fill the screen.

‘Stand by, sir. It is about to get dicey.’

The screen flashed white as we commenced re-entry, flames lapping at its rim and seemingly consuming the planet below. They were purple, the tips edged in magenta, presumably a by-product of the atmosphere. A small sliver of me, the eternal propagandist, wondered how this might affect the project, whether I needed to adjust the lenses to minimise light diffusion, or should embrace the conditions to make my pict visually distinct.

The remainder of me was focused on holding down my breakfast, with mixed success.

‘Enjoying the ride, sir?’

‘It’s a unique experience,’ I replied, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. The limb felt extraordinarily heavy, the craft’s systems unable to fully compensate for the acceleration. ‘Though I confess I am used to larger craft, where I suspect the ride is smoother.’

‘True enough, sir. But a larger craft makes for a bigger target. Our re-entry is less likely to be spotted by the orks.’

There was something in his tone. A seriousness. But I assumed he was merely focused on his duties. I still pictured the greenskins as spear-brandishing brutes flying flimsy wooden planes, despite more recent reports. I could not conceive them posing a threat to a void-worthy vessel.

I would learn otherwise.

Chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

After the thrill of broaching Bacchus’ atmosphere, the actual planet was rather banal. The landscape comprised one vast swamp, the monotony broken only by dank foliage. My research indicated the rest of the world was similar, barring the inhospitable poles. It was also the poorest planet of the subsector, lacking the stark beauty of Hedon or rich mineral reserves of Plutous. Though the world was habitable, its population was minimal, clumped on the few scraps of land that did not require permanent drainage. In fact, were Bacchus swallowed by a warp storm, Subsector Yossarian would be unlikely to miss it, at least until one of Hedon’s nobles noted the wine-cask was empty.

We were low enough now that I could just make out the gnarl-vines threading through the lagoons. Their distilled fruits were the world’s saving grace, the backbone of its economy and the only thing preventing it becoming little more than a vassal to its more prosperous neighbours.

As we levelled out, I was surprised to see a trio of fighters circling beneath us.

‘Plient?’ I said, my voice climbing an octave. ‘What is that?’

‘Our escort, sir. Squadron Anisoptera. They were waiting planetside. Our Arvus lighter is unarmed, so we have three Lightning fighters accompanying us.’

‘Are you expecting trouble? I thought we were behind the front line?’