Dark Apostle

Corporal Leire Pyrshank held the controls of the Marauder bomber tightly in his gloved hands as he guided the massive aircraft through the darkness. The dark clouds far beneath the aircraft crackled with lightning, and the massive red planet Korsis hung in the black sky overhead, so close that he imagined he could land the heavy bomber there if he wished.

He also wished that he couldn't hear a thing over the roaring drone of the four turbine engines, but unfortunately he could.

'You'd think they were the High Lords of Terra, the way they acted,' said Bryant's incessant voice in his ear. The navigatius operator seemed incapable of remaining silent for more than a few minutes at a time. 'Bit on the dim side, though. All brawn and light on the brain matter. Still, the way they held themselves, looking down on us Marauder crewmen, I was happy to clean them out. The stupid frakker couldn't have had nothin! But he stayed in. I think it was only 'cos he was a damn glory boy storm trooper, didn't want to fold to the likes of me. He didn't say a word when I won, neither. One of his eyes just sorta twitched, and he stormed away from the table, taking his muscle-bound cronies with him. Five ration packs, a bottle of amasec and five lho-sticks I took off them. Oh, you missed a great game, Pyrshank, a great game indeed.'

'How far to the target?'

'A while yet. Man, it was good. Ended up drinking the whole bottle of amasec with Kashar, you know, that bomber-tech girl from the 64th? Did I show you the scratches she left on my back? That girl,' said Bryant, 'she's really something.'

'How about you cut the damned chatter and concentrate on your screens, huh?'

Bryant merely laughed. 'Thirteen five to target.'

The navigatius operator leant up against the side window of the cockpit and whistled in awe. 'Damn, I'm glad I'm not down there in that mess. I haven't seen a firefight like this since Khavoris IV, and the Guard units there suffered something like eighty percent casualties. The whole mountain range is lit up.'

'It happens in times of war, Bryant,' said Pyrshank. 'I can't see a damned thing out here.'

'Just use the nav-screens. You don't need to see a damn thing. Ten five to target.'

There was a moment of blessed silence. If you could call the deafening noise of four "ear bleeders" silence. That was when he felt the cockpit rock, as if with a sudden impact.

'What the hell was that?' asked Bryant.

'I dunno,' said Pyrshank. 'Could have been some bird, I 'spose.'

'Pretty damn high for a bird,' replied Bryant. 'Have you seen any birds on this salt heap of a planet?'

'No,' said Pyrshank. The entire breadth of indigenous wildlife of the cursed planet seemed to consist of the brine-flies that thrived in vast clouds along the banks of the salt lakes, and the tiny grey lizards that ate the brine-flies.

The cockpit shuddered once more, and there was a tearing sound of shearing metal.

Bryant released the clips of the harness crossing his shoulders and removed his rebreather mask. He pressed himself against the cold side window, trying to look down the side of the bomber's fuselage.

'What in the Emperor's name was that?' he asked.

'Herdus, can you see anything out there?' said Pyrshank into his comm unit. There was no response from the front-gunner, who sat in the forward facing turret just below the cockpit.

'Herdus, can you see anything?'

Bryant swore, and Pyrshank looked over at him. His eyes widened as he saw the skinless creature grinning in at him from outside the cockpit window.

'Throne!' he uttered, recoiling from the hideous visage. Bryant fell back from the window, a cry of horror and shock escaping his lips.

The creature began scrabbling at the corners of the cockpit window, its long talons scratching at the edges of the clear panels. Finding no opening, it reared its skinless head back and slammed it into one of the panels of the window with sickening force.

Pyrshank swore as he realised he had turned the bomber into a dive, and he pulled sharply at the controls. He saw motion behind him and turned his head to see Bryant, a laspistol in his hand. Before he could shout, the navigatius operator fired, and a neat hole was seared through the window and into the creature. It screamed horribly, but the sound was lost amidst the roaring of the air rapidly evacuating the cockpit. The roaring died as quickly as it had begun and Pyrshank saw that the horrifying creature had inserted a long, bloody talon into the neat hole.

A second later, the entire window panel was ripped clear and the skinless daemon crawled into the cockpit.

Without his harness, Bryant was ripped out of the bomber instantly, sucked out into the icy, airless night. Pyrshank struggled frantically with his own harness, escape from the hideous creature his only thought.

He felt his stomach heave and he vomited inside his rebreather unit. But it didn't matter. The daemon grabbed his neck, talons biting deeply.