‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘What sort of idiots would risk their lives for an ugly scrap of swampland.’

I followed her gaze to the gnarl-vines, where fruit slowly rotted on the vine.

We struck the orks’ flank moments before they hit the Chimera firing lines.

I took no part; the Vulture’s weapons systems rerouted to Shard’s console. Still, I would have made an adequate gunner, for the gatling cannons were not subtle weapons. There was little need to aim, beyond ensuring no friendlies occupied the lines of sight.

The aircraft shuddered as she unleashed the weapons, the nearest orks evaporating into a red mist, their airboats reduced to scrap by the bullet storm. As before, the ork vehicles struggled to engage the new threat, their charge faltering as they cut across each other, desperate to face it. A few took aim with their crude ballistics, but we were too swift and heavily armoured. Our disruption allowed the Chimeras to fire with impunity, and the armoured personnel carriers were well equipped for the role. Heavy bolters and multi-lasers reaped a grim tally, the embarked squads supplementing the barrage with lasgun volleys.

None of this discouraged the orks, their battle cries joyous and vicious all at once. There was no retreat, but then again how could there be? The airboats’ momentum forced them forward. They had speed but no manoeuvr­ability, firepower without the ability to direct it. Through Mizar’s eye I watched the Vulture soar over the ork line, Shard tilting the wing to neatly slice a greenskin’s head from its shoulders. The seer-skull tracked its tumbled flight, the ork’s jaws snapping open and shut, its slab-like forehead furrowed in confusion.

The lens panned to the Vulture as Shard slammed the turbofans into overdrive, the craft pirouetting on the spot, spraying swamp water in all directions. She opened fire again, but it was hardly necessary now. Flaming wreckage from the first wave of orks lay between the Chimeras and the fresh attackers. They made no effort to circumvent it, their craft bunching and colliding, the attack descending into farce. I saw two craft run together, their ork skippers trading insults and then bullets, only for the pair to be rear-ended by a third. A stray shot must have caught their fuel tanks, for all three were consumed by a ball of flame. Through Mizar’s lens and the choking smoke, I saw them exchanging blows, even as the flames consumed them.

Few of their craft were still swamp-worthy, and the last stragglers finally accepted this battle was not in their favour. They began to pull away, but Shard pursued, the steady thud of her weapons chewing through swamp water and airboat alike. I shifted my attention back to the cockpit, and with some satisfaction watched as she reduced the survivors into flaming wreckage.