He checked his helmet, his armored vest, and his weapons. Everything was in place. This wasn’t his first time into battle, but it never got easier. Now he closed his eyes and prepared for the carnage that was to come.

“We have 30 seconds!”, the pilot yelled over the roar of the prop engine. The cargo door opened, and below them was Hell itself; a roiling blackness of oil, flames, and broken bodies. The plane was buffeted by flack; the acrid smell of sulfur, gunpowder and death enveloped them.

He watched as one by one, they walked toward the exit hatch in single file. There were 12 of them in all. At the hatch, each one turned, clutching a sword to their chest, and dropped out the back of transport in a reverse dive. In free fall, their bodies made for difficult targets; even so, the air was thick with artillery fire, and some would not make it. When it was his turn, he began his prayer.

Lord, give me strength.

Below the artillery fire, he unfurled his wings, drew his sword, and swooped into chaos.