It carried far enough, but it found a target long hardened to the macabre. The war in the air had led to so many garish displays in an attempt to inspire fear, trepidation. Perhaps when he was a neophyte pilot it could have worked. But fear had been burned from his body by the hellish crucible of war.

It was a good trick. But against him, the man who both friend and enemy called the Hammer of Hell, it found no purchase.

He started forward again, hunter's instincts flaring to their full. If he could push his foe back, choose the ground - he could win this engagement. And he had to - flying a strange craft, at night? There was something important going on here, on this night.