By Dan Abnett
While the elite fighter pilots of the Phantine XX arrive at the beleaguered global of Enothis, they be aware of this can be a determined hour. The forces of Chaos are last in and their ultimate push may good wipe out all human lifestyles on this planet. hundreds of thousands of refugees flee the darkish armies and the notorious Chaos fighter pilot Khrel Kas Obarkon is often searching the skies for extra prey...And so it falls to the courageous women and men of the Phantine fighter corps. Can they delay the Chaos increase until eventually reinforcements arrive? within the high-speed white-knuckle terror of aerial strive against, can they defeat an enemy possessed by means of daemons?
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Ten-eight-four, copy Leader,' Operations replied. 'Nice launch. ' 'Copy that, Operations. Fast up, fast away. ' 'Understood. ' 'Copy that, Leader. Good to know. ' 'Eleven-eight-five. Understood. ' 'Four-One, Seven. ' 'Four-One, Ten. At your heels, to port. ' 'Clear as a bell, Zemmic. ' Marquall adjusted his mask. 'Four-One, Eight. ' 'Stay close, Marquall. ' It was. He knew it was. He was going to make sure it was. He'd screwed up on his virgin outing. He could still see Pers Espere, sitting in his cockpit, blood on everything.
Her machine roared forward, crossing the field at fifty metres, ducts violently thrown to level flight. Clovin gunned after her, then Zemmic. Marquall nursed his throttle and then bulleted after them. The ground shot away underneath them like speeded-up pict images. The punch kicked Marquall back into his seat. At full burn, they'd cleared the deadlands beyond the field and had already reached close to six hundred kph before they formed up and began to rise. 'Four-One Leader, we have cleared the field.
Darrow was about to ask a question, but Eads reached out and squeezed his wrist. They had just entered the chamber, and a hush had fallen. Darrow gazed around him. Central Operations was a vast rotunda, three floors deep. There were two tiers of consoles around the walls, the upper one accessible by an iron walkway. These console stations were manned by Navy operators, some of whom were servitors plugged directly into the interface sockets of the displays. Above them was an observation deck where senior officers gathered to look down on proceedings.