'Lord Eidolon will take a company-sized force aboard the Proudheart to the Satyr Lanxus Belt, where he will ensure that the Imperial governors are maintaining the lawful rale of the Emperor. Captains Lucius and Tarvitz, you will ready your men for immediate transit to the Proudheart. This will be your first action as members of the Brotherhood of the Phoenix, so I expect nothing less than perfection from you both. I know you will not disappoint me.'

Both the newly elevated warriors saluted, and though Solomon could see their regret at being denied the chance to travel with the rest of the Legion, Fulgrim's faith in them filled their hearts with joy.

Solomon saw that no such joy filled Eidolon's heart and knew that the lord commander must feel shame at his exclusion, though to honour the Warmaster's command, the force had to be led by a commander of such stature. While Vespasian commanded the forces at Laeran, there was no other choice. He realised that Eidolon must know this, but the knowledge would have been no comfort to Solomon had he been in the lord commander's position.

'We will sing songs of your bravery upon your return, but for now, let us drink and feast to the doom of the Laer,' said Fulgrim. The Phoenix Gate was flung open as servants and menials entered, bringing platters of hot meat and case after case of victory wine.

'We shall toast the victory to come!' shouted Fulgrim.

The force of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks that took to the air against the final Laer atoll was amongst the greatest aerial armadas yet launched in the Great Crusade. Nine hundred craft took off from a score of captured atolls as the last of the daylight faded, the timing of their launches and approach vectors calculated by the primarch to ensure that each wave arrived precisely when he intended it to.

Howling interceptors and gunships took off in clouds of jet wash and gritty coral, followed by scores of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks. Within minutes the skies above each atoll were filled with dark, predatory shapes that circled like flocks of screeching crows set to embark on a mission of murder. At a signal from orbit, the flocks of craft angled their courses, streaking through the cloudless skies on plumes of blue fire towards their prey.

Fulgrim launched from the Pride of the Emperor in the Firebird, a gunship he had personally designed and constructed in the armourium decks of his flagship. Its wings had a greater span than a Stormbird, curved in a graceful backward sweep, and its hooked prow gave it a fearsome war visage that struck terror into the hearts of the primarch's foes.

The Firebird streaked through the atmosphere of Laeran, its fiery re-entry wreathing its wings and body in ghostly flames that lit up the night sky like a glittering comet.

The metal fixtures of Solomon Demeter's Stormbird were gilded and the internal facings decorated with mosaics depicting the Legion's conquests won alongside the Luna Wolves. Grey-armoured warriors fought alongside the purple of the Emperor's Children, and Solomon felt a sudden pang of regret that they no longer fought alongside the Warmaster's Wolves as he stared at the scenes that bounced and shuddered before him.

'It's only going to get worse,' said Gaius Caphen, seeing Solomon's unease.

'Thanks,' he shouted back. 'I'm trying not to think of the wall of flak we have to fly through to reach this damn place.'

Even though the roaring of the engines was muffled by his helmet's auto-senses it was still deafening. The crack of explosions sounded dull and unthreatening beyond the Stormbird's armoured walls, though he knew exactly how deadly they were.

'I don't like this,' Solomon shouted. 'I hate the surrender to the fates that comes with being delivered to a warzone in a manner that's beyond my control.'

'You say that every time,' noted Caphen, 'whether we go in by Stormbird, drop-pod or Rhino. The only other way is to this battle is to walk on water.'

Solomon said, 'And look what happened to our speartip on Atoll 19, the bird barely made it to the damned rock! Too many good men will die in this fire before they have the chance to earn their warrior's fate.'

'Warrior's fate?' laughed Caphen, shaking his head. 'Sometimes I swear I ought to report you to Chaplain Charmosian with all your talk of fates and gods of battle. I don't like it any better than you do, but we're as protected as we can be, yes?'

Solomon nodded, knowing that Gaius was right. Understanding that the rest of the fleet had to share in the honour of conquering Twenty-Eight Three, Lord Fulgrim had permitted the fleet interceptors to launch several raids to knock out the worst of the Laer air defences.

Much of the Laer's defensive capabilities had been rendered to rubble, though there was still a fearsome amount to endure. Solomon glanced down the length of the crew compartment to see what effect their violent journey was having on his men, pleased to see that they appeared as calm as though they were on a training mission.

His warriors might be calm, but he was not, and despite Caphen's reassurances, he knew he wouldn't be happy until he was at last watching the pilots guide them in. Solomon was trained to fly a Stormbird, and even had some time in the newer Thunderhawks, but he was the first to admit that he was only a fair pilot at best.

Others with greater skill were to fly them into battle, and since the primarch's plan required absolute, perfect precision for this assault to work, he had kept his concerns to himself until it was too late to do anything about them.

He slammed a palm into the restraint of his grav-hamess and pushed himself to his feet, gripping the brass handrail that ran the length of the ceiling.

'I'm going to the flight deck,' he said.

'You going to fly us in?' asked Caphen. 'I feel safer already.'

'No, I just want to see what's going on.'

Caphen didn't reply, and Solomon turned towards the cockpit as the aircraft bucked in the air and he felt the hammering of a nearby explosion. He made his way along the companionway and pulled open the door to the flight compartment.

'How long till we reach the landing zone?' he shouted over the din.

The co-pilot spared him a glance and shouted, 'Two minutes!'

Solomon nodded, anxious to speak, but not wanting to distract the pilots from their duties. The night sky beyond the armoured glass of the cockpit was lit up as bright as day with traceries of gunfire and flak, the fleet's interceptors duelling with the remaining airborne units of the Laer to clear a path for the Legion's warriors. Ahead, Solomon could see a bright island of light floating in the sky, the temple atoll like a beacon in the darkness.

'Foolish,' he said to himself. 'I would have enforced a blackout.'

The compartment was filled with an eerie red light, and Solomon suddenly found himself thinking of blood. He wondered if it was an omen for the battle to come, then shook off such a gloomy thought. Omens and portents were for weak minds that did not know the truth of the galaxy and feral barbarians who needed a reason for the sun to rise or the rains to fall.

Solomon was beyond such petty superstitions, but he smiled as he realised that his obsessive habit of modifying his battle gear and entreating it to keep him safe before going into battle might be considered superstitious. No, he decided, honouring your battle gear was just sensible, not superstitious.

He crouched down in the doorway, unwilling to return to his seat and perversely fascinated by the web of light and explosions painted on the sky. Even as he watched the intricate ballet of fire into which they flew, a blazing light filled the cockpit as the Firebird passed overhead, its greater speed meaning it would be amongst the first of the assault craft to reach the atoll.