‘Unfortunate,’ he said, tapping his chins. ‘Still, the God-Emperor has a plan. I am sure He has equipped you with what you need to overcome this challenge. I will pray that, through you, His will shall be done.’

I am unsure if it was Maric or my experience with the armoured convoy that spurred me into action. Perhaps I do myself a disservice, and the impetus came from a desire for the truth. Regardless, the following days were spent interrogating both aces and ground crew about the conflict. When I asked of the Green Storm, they were quick to dismiss this threat as just another ork making a name. Like the rest, he would fail against their aces. None of them claimed to have been near the storm front. Or seen green lightning.

I even attended the medi-unit, interviewing those worst afflicted by the conflict. Many were proud to display their wounds and share their stories. But the chirurgeon was less welcoming. He limited my interactions to those enthusiastic young soldiers keen to return to duty, or else directed me to grizzled veterans who spoke rehearsed lines with dour conviction. I was not permitted to approach the rearmost medi-bays, where the sickest resided, though their sobs and sighs were all too audible.

I did not think to speak to Plient again, assuming he was too busy toiling in the hangar, maintaining the few craft still sky-worthy. I was surprised when he sought me out in the mess hall, smile so broad I feared he was muddled by inhaling too many promethium fumes. He insisted on dragging me back to the hangar but would not tell me why. Not until we were standing before an amorphous shape covered by a large cloth.

‘You ready, sir?’ he said.

‘I hope so,’ I replied, with some trepidation. It was not that I doubted his intent, rather that I feared disappointing him. He had laboured long on a project he hoped would assist me. I had no idea what it was, other than it smelled of burnt wires and could be concealed by a large drape.

‘Ready, sir?’ Plient repeated, taking hold of it with both hands.

‘Whenever you are ready, flight sergeant.’

He swept the drape aside, revealing his handiwork.

I am not sure what reaction he expected. It might have helped if I had the faintest idea what I beheld. It looked like a section of an aircraft’s carriage, containing a modified hard point roughly the size of a human head.

I glanced to the expectant Plient and shrugged helplessly.