Brando Prerogativitus stood in the launchbay, holding an ice-pack to his head. He was the current Watch Commander of the Nachmund Gauntlet, survivor of the Driftwood Travesty and under the command of Inquisitor Stella.

The bruise on his head was a reminder of the difficulties of working with Battle Sisters: their Living Saint had absolutely decked him earlier in the day when he suggested her battle tactics left a lot to be desired. The only reason he held off fighting back was decades of hard-boiled training, experience and dignity.

Several Corvus Blackstars landed in the launchbay, reflecting off the blade of Brando’s Vigil Spear. He had once piloted one of these aircraft, back in the day at the Top Lasgun Deathwatch Fighter Weapons School. This was where Veteran Deathwatch Marines spent years of training to tame the Corvus machine-spirit, to be able to pilot the Blackstars.

The hanger creaked under the sustained weight of fighters and ammunition. One particular Corvus Blackstar came in heavily damaged, its pilot killed in action. It was to remain grounded as its machine-spirit was corrupted, according to the technicians. A shame.

“You fly?” A Sister of Battle, Canoness Clair, asked.

“I used to,” Brando answered. “Before I became a Master of the Vigil. Do you fly, Sister?”

Canoness Clair nodded. “Only with my trusty Jump pack or in a Drop Church.”

“A Drop Church isn’t flying, that is falling. Falling with style.”

Canoness Clair looked at the busted Corvus Blackstart in front of them. “It looks like falling with style is the only thing this will be doing for the foreseeable future. Our supply lines have been decimated, your Watch is short on spare parts.”

“Indeed. It is for that reason I am envious of you and your Seraphim, for you can weave through the skies as you please.”

“As the Emperor pleases,” Canoness Clair corrected. “Though there is still fuel in the tank. Perhaps we can ‘fall with style’ in our next battle. Together.”

Brando raised an eyebrow. “I am psychologically castrated.”

“And I am married to my faith. What does that have to do with falling?”

“… For the Emperor,” Brando said, moving right on.

The Watch Commander waved technicians away and climbed into the broken Corvus Blackstar. It was old. It was wounded. It was a marvel of engineering. She could, no, she would fly one last time. He connected his suit to the cockpit, in an attempt to awaken the corrupted machine spirit.

“Machine spirit. Awaken,” he asked.

To his surprise, the machine answered. “Watch Master. You are familiar to me. You worked with an allegedly now-deceased Rogue Trader?”

“I did,” Brando answered, unsure what this line of questioning had to do with turning on.

“Do you know Greg?” the machine spirit asked.

Brando cast his mind back. Yes, the late Rogue Trader’s suspiciously Necron-looking servitor. He had been forbidden from destroying it. An annoying creature.

“I knew that cursed machine by proxy,” Brando answered. “It was part of the Rogue Trader’s entourage. We fought together in the Hope-Nyx passage.”

The Machine Spirit’s hardware grumbled, clearly thinking. “Any friend of Greg, is a friend of mine. You may call me Adjunct Defiance. We may fly. Is the Sister of Battle coming?”

“Adepta Sororitas are not allowed onboard a Corvus Blackstar. It is forbidden.”

“Why?”

Brando shrugged his ornate shoulder pauldrons. “Because that’s what it says in the Codex Astartes.”

*

The Corvus Blackstar flew through the city, weaving in between skyscrapers and ion blaster fire. The Watch Commander yanked on the flight-stick, narrowly avoiding a warp rift. He would have grinned if he had a jaw and not a servo-replacement chin.

“You should slow down,” the machine spirit recommended. “My controls are rusty and the thrusters damaged. Hull Integrity at 32%, that is the shaking you hear.”

“Quiet, machine spirit. We must reach the spaceport,” Brando said. “Missile at sector Alpha-Gamme-Decima-57.”

“Huh?,” the machine spirit replied.

“Avoid the Hunter Killer to the left!” Brando shouted.

Working in tandem, mind-linked-to-machine, they avoided the incoming Hunter Killer Missile. Those things never hit anyway. The Corvus Blackstar stabilised its flight-path and exited the Cathedrel’s combat zone. Nearby, a winged hero of the Adepta Sororitas was shot down and got crushed by a building. This was the sixth death of the Living Saint. No tears were shed from the Watch Master as he knew she’d be back.

The airspace above the spaceport was even hotter, full of winged creators, heavy bombers and… Was that Canoness Clair flying about? The Corvus Blackstar approached and gave what fighter support he could without hitting her, spinning up the hurricane bolters welded just behind the cockpit.

Watch Commander Brando charged up the lascannons and targeted the enemy fighter above the Canoness. A solid hit that saved her life. It seemed his glory days weren’t behind him after all.