OK, OK, I pledge to get the Night Rovfugl and get some decent pics this weekend. I've been sitting on it for long enough. I apologise, family commitments over the holdays and the joy of being in hospital for a few days (yay?) somewhat threw me off track.

Below is a passage about the Night Rovfugl, the Night Bird of Prey.

She's a predator. She will only attack if she is sure of a kill. Under other circumstances, she will flee. If cornered, she is like a cat, she'll put on a show all the while she is looking for a way to get the hell out of there. But she does bite, though not often. Lascannons and missiles are not to be messed with.

=====
 

Krzysztof had just settled the Rovfugl into her loiter when the tone changed. Not an alarm, but more a caution tone. Just a subtle shift in the background noise of the displays - the kind you only notice if you’re already listening.

Behind him, his navigator stiffened. “Hold,” she said quietly.

Krzysztof didn’t move his hands. “Talk to me, Anja.”

Anja leaned forward, eyes narrowing at her scope. “I’ve got a coherent return resolving where there shouldn’t be one. Clean line. No sweep.” She paused. Then, softer: “We’re painted.”

The words landed without drama.

Krzysztof brought the auxiliary display up with a flick of his thumb. A thin red trace crawled across the overlay, steady and deliberate, tracking the Rovfugl’s belly as if it had never lost her.

Below them, far beyond visual range, Brutus had woken.

Anja’s fingers danced over the panel. “Source is ground-based. Heavy emitter. Not Imperial standard air-defence. This is… older.”

“Brutus,” Krzysztof said.

“Yes,” Anja replied. No hesitation.

The sensor feed updated again. A mass shift. A long, slow arc resolving into a firing solution. Not rushed. Not uncertain. A turret coming around with all the patience in the world.

Brutus wasn’t built to hunt aircraft. But he didn’t need to be. One good solution was enough. Krzysztof exhaled through his nose. “Nope.”

He didn’t punch the throttle. Didn’t flare. Didn’t brake hard. He bled altitude instead, easing the Rovfugl sideways and down, sliding her into the terrain mask. Heat held tight. Angle shallow. Everything disciplined.

Anja watched the red line cling for a heartbeat longer, then begin to drift. “Tracking’s degrading,” she said. “He’s searching.”

“Let him,” Krzysztof replied. He armed nothing. Not yet.

The Rovfugl slipped lower, engines hissing under restraint, a predator refusing to show its throat.

On the ground, Barcza felt it. Not a sound nor a signal. Just the absence of something that had been there moments ago. He slowed, then glanced back over his shoulder, eyes lifting instinctively toward the dark sky. The Rovfugl was gone. Just… no longer there. Barcza raised a fist, the squad freezing around him. He tapped his mic once, low gain. “Krzysztof,” he said. “Status.”

Up above, Krzysztof didn’t answer immediately. He waited until Anja nodded. “Paint’s off,” she said. “For now. Adjusting orbit,” Krzysztof replied at last. His voice was calm and even. “Stay sharp. You’re not alone out there.”

Barcza didn’t ask who else was. He gave a short nod to no one, turned back to the dark, and signalled the squad forward. Above them, unseen, the red line faded into nothing.

Brutus watched the space where the Rovfugl had been. Then, slowly, his turret eased back to neutral.

The night settled again, uneasy, alert, and very much awake.