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entrance that seemed to Jagdea calculatedly theatrical. There were only eight of them. Their armoured flight-suits were matt black and their suede jackets cloud-white. They wore no insignia or rank markings whatsoever, except silver Imperial aquilae at their collars.
    “Holy crap!” Jagdea heard Del Ruth whisper. “The Apostles!”
    The Apostles, indeed. The celebrated wing of aces, the very elite. Jagdea wondered which one was Quint, ace of aces, which one Gettering. The tall one, was that Seekan or Harlsson? Which one was Suhr?
    There was no time to ask Blansher. Escorted by a dozen aides and tactical officers, an imposing figure in the uniform of a fleet admiral came in and took the stage. It was Ornoff himself.
    All eyes turned to him.
    “Aviators,” he began, his voice soft but carrying. “At 18.00 yesterday evening, I met with Lord Militant Humel in the War Ministry at Enothopolis. The lord militant, as you must be aware, has been prosecuting the war here on Enothis for the last nine months, in the name of Warmaster Macaroth and the God-Emperor of us all.”
    “The Emperor protects!” one of the Apostles said smartly, and everyone eagerly echoed the words.
    Ornoff nodded appreciatively. “I hope he does, Captain Gettering. In the meantime, we will have to do. I presented the formal orders sent to me by the Warmaster to Lord Militant Humel, and at 18.30 hours precisely, the Lord Militant formally handed command of the Enothis theatre to me.”
    Spontaneous applause broke out across the hangar floor.
    “For now, the land war on Enothis is done. Now the air war begins.”
     
    Theda MAB South, 07.46
    Major Frans Scalter glanced at the co-pilot alongside him in the cramped bubble canopy of the thundering Cyclone, got a thumbs-up, then turned to wave the ground crew off.
    He adjusted his mask. “Operations, Operations. This is Seeker One. Seeker Flight is ready for departure. Awaiting permission.”
    Scalter had his hand on the wheel-brake lever.
    “Seeker One, Operations. Roll them out. Main is open. Fly true and may the Emperor protect you.”
    “Thank you, Operations. Seeker Flight, on my lead.”
    Scalter released the brake, and opened the throttle gently. Bucking, the twin-engined plane began to creep out off the hardstand towards the main runway. Its wingmen followed. The combined roar of the six engines resounded across the field.
    Scalter rolled to the start position, and made a final adjustment to the trim. At his side, Artone opened the radiators and made the fuel mix a little richer for a lusty take-off.
    “Seeker Flight—” Scalter began.
    Artone suddenly held up a hand.
    “What?”
    “Red flag!” said Artone urgently, pointing down the field.
    “Throne! What now?” snarled Scalter. “Operations, this is Seeker One. We’ve got a red flag. Please confirm our clearance.”
    There was a pause. Then the vox fizzled. “Negative clearance, negative clearance, Seeker Flight. Abort now and clear main. Roll off to revetments fifteen through seventeen and stand down. Repeat—Negative clearance, abort and clear main.”
    “What the hell’s going on?” Scalter demanded.
    “Wounded birds,” the vox replied. “Wounded birds inbound.”
     
    Twenty kilometres short of Theda MAB South, 07.46
    They could see the spread of the field, slightly hazy in the morning light. Guide paths were popping off. The knocking from behind Darrow was now constant.
    Major Heckel called in the fuel load from each Cub in turn. All were miserably low. Darrow could only answer full as he had no other reading. Hunt Sixteen had begun to dribble smoke in the last ten minutes, and its pilot reported rapidly dropping hydraulic pressure. Hunt Sixteen had taken at least two hits to the belly during the brawl over the mountains.
    “Hunt Flight, this is Hunt Leader. Sixteen and Four have landing priority. Let them go in first and we’ll follow as soon as they’re down. Confirm.”
    Darrow stretched his shoulders against the