I had not seen this craft before, though its silhouette was reminiscent of the Valkyrie, and its capabilities similar. But it held no transport capacity and, besides the pilot, was crewed by only a single gunner. I occupied their seat, though Shard had placed restrictions to prevent me accessing the weapon systems – a policy I endorsed, as I did not want to accidently discharge the craft’s twin Punisher cannons. They were huge, multi-barrelled guns, capable of a blistering rate of fire. In fact, I could not shake the thought that they seemed almost orkish in design.

Ahead of us, a convoy of Chimeras attempted to advance through the quagmire. We were to be their escort and support, but their progress was pitiful. The armoured personnel carriers were semi-amphibious, and capable of traversing even bodies of water. But the swamps of Bacchus were almost gelatinous, and moving at any significant speed invited snared tank tracks and obscured viewports. We periodically had to halt so squads could disembark and dislodge tangled roots or clear clogged exhausts. Though the Vulture was capable of hovering, Shard took any delay as an opportunity to accelerate away from our grounded comrades, claiming she was conducting reconnaissance or pursuing an unidentified blip on the auspex. It was those moments, when the acceleration pinned me back in my seat, that I finally felt an inkling of what it was like to be a fighter ace. What it was like to be Shard.

It was a mistake to voice this. She laughed, shaking her head, the sound devoid of humour.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Of course you know what it is to be an ace. After all, it’s been a couple of hours sitting in a chair, watching bugs perform mass suicide. What else is there to learn?’

‘I never said that I knew what it was like.’

‘You did.’

‘No, I said I had an inkling of what it is to be you.’

‘You really don’t,’ she said softly. ‘No one does.’

The craft lurched to the left, jostling me, before we pirouetted back towards our allies.

I switched my view, syncing with Mizar, who accompanied the convoy, its anti-gravity motors easily keeping pace. I had dumped its memory into the storage case prior to departure, and the seer-skull seemed invigorated by shedding this load. Through it, I captured the Vulture soaring over the advancing forces, its frame glinting in the sun. It was a spectacular shot, but little more than filler footage. There was no narrative underpinning the drama, no stakes. I also needed to filter out the mutters from adjacent infantry, who did not appreciate the aerial theatrics and employed some rather gratuitous language deriding it.

It was whilst adjusting the audio that I heard the screams.