Breve was looking pale and his forehead was clammy. He hated boats. He pursed his lips as he patted the tank.

‘Think she’ll make it?’ Minka asked.

‘Well. She’s never let us down before, has she?’

Minka laughed. She could think of a number of times when the Chimera had not been there for them. But there didn’t seem any point in bringing it all up again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Never. The Emperor Protects.’

Breve wiped his upper lip. He looked green. ‘So he does.’

Minka stood in the turret hatch as they pulled away from the shore. She was not someone who could sit still. She paced up and down the decks. They were flat and featureless, except for the bridge tower, a low, squat turret two-thirds of the way along the craft, with heavy plates of riveted armour on the front facing and a pair of light gun turrets at its waist. The auto­cannons were loosely covered against sea-spray. Compared to the defences they were going up against, these armaments were paltry.

The first trails of sea-mist were starting to form as they pulled out into the bay. By the time they were past the headland and had turned north-west, the mist was a thick fog. It obscured almost everything, except the white wakes that widened behind them.

Within an hour Crannog Mons was an island in a sea of mist.

‘Ha, Dreno!’ Baine called out. ‘I think the Navy did that on purpose!’

Dreno was with Minka, running over plans of Tyrok Beach and the targets in order of priority. He looked up and laughed. ‘You give them too much credit.’

When Minka had briefed all her squad she walked out onto the deck. The mist hung like a pale ghostly wall over the black water, the waves beneath choppy with flecks of foaming grey. She wiped the splashes from her cheeks. They smelt vaguely sulphurous. She couldn’t tell if it was the water or the bombardment.

Now the mist was so thick it was condensing on everything. The inner compartments of the Chimeras were filmed with gleaming beads, like cold sweat. Soon they began to drip from the roofs. Dreno cursed as a drop went down his neck.

As they came around the headland of Tor Kharybdis the sea turned wild and a whipping gale shredded the fog. Through it they caught glimpses of the island, before the curtains rolled over them again.

The enforced waiting left them cold and wet. But they had suffered worse as children. The only safety lay in crushing the enemy.

At one point they were thrown about so violently they feared that they would be washed overboard. Minka bounced along the guide wires as the landing ship pitched and rolled. She clambered up the hand rails to the side, half-drenched as water rushed over the deck. She was sure they would be lost, when to her astonishment their craft tipped and righted itself again.