"Tactics sharpen the mind." Someone mumbles, the creed prompted by the horrendous shuddering of their cramped, dimly lit space.
"Discipline strengthens the will." Another answers the first. Everyone rocks about with another bump, but they sway instead of colliding with one another. Another tremble from the outside trying to reach the seven bodies stuck in here.
"Bravery shall overcome… evil."
Another, larger bump makes everyone in their tiny room bounce in their seats, makes their kit clatter and clink. They all instinctively check themselves for loose bits.
"Benevolence… saves lives." A Cautus woman whispers to herself in the back corner of this cramped space, hand clenching tighter around the haft of her weapon. Orianna always hated this part- she wasn't made for cramped, closed-in places; she was more an open-air kinda woman, a country bumpkin, a grass-toucher. Oh sure, signing up for the Crownsguard Dragoons sounded exciting at the time. The idea of riding upon burden-beasts for the glory of Victoria, routing the villainous folk of Her enemies, and… well she hadn't exactly clarified with the career recruiter at the time what that all meant. That was her first mistake-
Another bump, another shudder, the steel frame of their surroundings groaning in protest; that last burst had been closer than the others. A soft hand grabs her shoulder, helps hold her in place, the Feline man sitting beside her feeling that rattling energy inside her and doing his best to calm her in that quiet, reassuring way of his. He knows the pain of being a replacement, too.
She quietly thanks Dunni with a soft smile before it fades away with the next burst of excitement.
"Ramp in thirty!" A voice echoes through the compartment, sends that buzz through everyone within. They are all fidgeting now, all checking, double-checking, triple-checking themselves. The roar of the vehicle's engine timed with that lurch of it picking up speed. The hiss of originium laced steam, the dulled thumping from above, the clattering of spent casings hitting their roof- the floor of the compartment above them.
"Stand-by!" A feline woman calls out. She's the one by the ramp, always the first out the door, and her equipment reflects that. Where everyone else got one tightly packed seat, she gets two- the steam-powered exo-skeleton that shrouds Lance Sergeant Thera's already muscular frame takes up most of the front of the compartment. The grey-haired woman watches through the tiny viewport- their only connection to the outside world.
"Trench! Brace!" She booms with that voice that only a sergeant could muster- one that really wasn't necessary in this close of a space…
But Ori would never complain about that, as the good sergeant's voice controlled their very bodies- everyone's trained instinct having them brace in safety positions. A rough crash, the front-end of the vehicle slamming into something before that momentary weightlessness… and the whole comes crashing down.
"B-Benevolence will save lives." Ori manages to gasp- she had been holding her breath again. Bad habit still, she wasn't a greenhorn fresh out of basic anymore.
"The jumps are th' fun part, Leepu." The man across from her, Ori's squadmate Darwin, grins. The squad's other bombardier just cackles when they hit another dip, like the coming storm didn't affect him in the slightest.
"Crazy Vulpo." Orianna mutters, watching Darwin pat his belt down to make sure he didn't lose anything. Supposedly the guy didn't get the nickname "Fumbles" for no good reason-
"Ramp in ten!"
Sure, Ori is nervous as all the hells, but the moment their good sergeant calls "ramp", she knows there's no room for those jitters anymore. Just watching Sergeant Thera start pumping her gear, readying the steam, she knows they're in for it. The pistons of that stripped-down steam-knight frame hiss as she reaches back and pulls the two massive slabs of metal from the floor; all the troopers instinctively lift their feet as their "footrest" vanishes. The first tap of the brakes is the signal for everyone to hold on tight, the second braking wasn't a tap.
Do or die.
"Out!" The driver fatefully calls, punctuated by the double-time thumping from above.
The sergeant doesn't even wait for the ramp to drop on its own, she pulls her shields forward and shoves the door down, charging head-first. The squad piles out behind her, charging with lances readied.
But Ori and Darwin are the last to disembark, and she can already see the problems: they had been dropped farther out from the target trench and with no smokescreen. Bolts ranging from simple bow-guns to gods-damned harpoons are flung in their direction. Only Sergeant Thera's shields keep them from piercing the disembarking troopers… and the farther Thera got from the transport, the less cover the tail-end would have.
Still, they were rather lucky to get this close to their target section when it was clear that some others didn't make it. Other carriers down the line, the ones that hadn't bogged down or been disabled on the approach, would start pulling back once their cargo was in the trench, the benefits of them attracting most of the fire would be gone.
Because looming just beyond the hellish earthen maze is the prize; Ursan Fourth Army's mobile base Aleksandr. Out of date by Victorian standards, but the thing still bristled with cannons- guns that flashed in the distance as it exchanged shots with HMLS Justice. Still, the gunners on Aleksandr found the opportunity to send a few shells down on their own defensive line to hit Steel Cavalier transports or infantry in the open.
So either they take their trench segment, and the next, and the next… or die here when the Justice pulls back if the assault fails. Easy enough choice given the options really.
Ori pushes herself out amidst the whizz of crossbow bolts and crack of Arts, but none of that phases her low, striding run towards Sergeant Thera. No, what makes Ori flinch is the whoosh of the transport's ordnance flung over her head, the gouts of steam that come streaking off of them condensing above her into tiny pelting droplets; her own little storm cloud.
At least until a massive Ursan pops up from a flanking trench, harpoon-cannon over the shoulder. Ori can only watch as they send a pike the length of a man straight through the transport's cockpit. The steam cannon goes silent and the six-wheeler's tires spin in a sudden and sharp reverse, kicking dust and rocks at Ori as she scrambles faster than before.
And all hell breaks loose when the covering fire stops.
Bolts thud and crack against Thera's shields, piledriver spears thump and hiss their response, but the difference in rate of fire is painful. Ori reaches a shell-crater, sliding in to find her fire-teammates "Dim" Dunni and "Bull" Bragg anxiously waiting for her. The rest of the squad has stacked up behind Thera as she tries to advance, but they push forward slower than before.
A gunner in a nearby pillbox had taken note that some of the squad straggled though, and directed their machine-bow at the advancing team, trying to catch anyone who got caught out of cover.
Ori knows the score before the lance corporal even gives the order. She disconnects the piledriver valve, twisting open the breach. Six chambers, four loaded with just steam for the piledriver, but she drops in two yellow-tipped cartridges into the remaining empty, red-painted ones. A snap of the cylinder shut, a twist of the cans against that spring tension, listening to the ratcheting clicks until the first red chamber is aligned with the barrel. A flip of the leaf-sight-
"Seventy-five metres." The Pero lance corporal rumbles when he peeks from over the lips of the crater, "You got it, Thumper?"
Ori scoots back in a crouch, just enough so that the tip will clear the cover. Piledriver lance to shoulder, chin over haft, left eye focused on the seventy-five metre marker while her other readies for the soon-to-be target on the horizon.
"Got it, Bull."
Ori pops up, angles her lance, and… adjusts slightly. Instinct, or just a damn good eye, she lowers a bit, takes a few metres off the arc before squeezing the lever. The punch against her shoulder followed by the distinct "thwump!", the puff of steam out the underside-muzzle. That yellow dot whizzes off into the distance, still sizzling, before vanishing through that shadowed firing port. A flash of orange, a gout of acrid smoke, and no more bolts come from the position.
Bragg slaps Ori heartily on the back when she drops back down, and good old Dunni just gives her that quiet, lop-sided smile of his.
"That's our Thumper! First shot, every time!" The short Perro man laughs before he leaps from the crater to rejoin Thera. Dunni gives her a quiet nod before going over the top as well.
'Deep breaths.' Ori tells herself. A raucous roar over the echoing din of explosions, the rest of the squad finally in assault range. Hand grenades, the pistoning of piledriver shots, the screams of agony, rage, terror-
'Deep breaths, Orianna.'
Hands tight around her weapon's haft, Ori charges forward to chase after her teammates. Up and into the trench, gracelessly flopping down beside… Kat- one of Team One's privates. Ori does her best to try and ignore the blood that is streaked across Trevolt's face, or how the Feline is so calmly reloading her steam canisters despite having just pinned some poor Ursan bastard to the wall of the trench in front of her- not even pulling her weapon free of him yet.
"Team Two went left." Kat grins, pulling her lance out to let the body crumple at their feet, "Better keep up, Thumper, or you're going to miss all the glory!"
Glory.
Right, this was all for Her glory. Ori grabs her lance and takes off without another word to Kat.
'Left. Catch up with Bully and Dim.'
Leap over the groaning wounded, reach the bend in the trench, regroup with her teammates. A scream of pain from ahead, but not that deep grumbling bark like Bragg's, and… well she wasn't sure if Dunni could even talk, but it didn't sound like him either.
She rounds the corner just as Dunni mercilessly puts a round of canister-shot down the line, whatever wounded that had been laying there now very-much dead. The clunk of Dunni's cylinder rotating, a fresh canister of steam-projected steel pellets ready for the next Ursan to pop from an adjacent bunker as he and Bragg push forward.
Unfortunately, the next enemy to pop up was at the end of the trench section, and wasn't a helmeted, crossbow-wielding trooper or sabre-rattling infantryman. Hooded, robed, and pulling their hands back-
"Caster!" Ori yells, bracing her lance in the ground. She squeezes the round off, but not in time to stop the Arts from crackling loose.
A blast of heat knocks Ori on her ass, sends her rolling to the side of the trench before the flames could lick at her. It washes past her, scorching the back of her uniform and, more painfully, her ears that she kept loosely tied behind her head like a ponytail.
"Bull? Dunni!?" She coughs, managing to push herself back up with the haft of her lance. Bragg pushes himself up from the dirt too, but it's clear he's pretty badly burned…
And Dunni… Dunni was in the very front.
Ori doesn't look at him, but instead the caster that had laid him low. The Ursan was still moving despite taking the brunt of the grenade blast. Bloodied, uniform torn ragged and exposing the armoured plating beneath, but still moving.
She doesn't remember reconnecting her lance's valve before charging forward, nor does she really register the pain when she runs through the streak of flame flung at her.
The only thing that sticks in her mind is the way the bastard holds their hands out- maybe to cast, or maybe to beg for quarter- Orianna doesn't care. Braced on the charge, her lance rams home as it bites straight into the armoured chestpiece, and to make sure the caster stops moving, she squeezes the lever.
The second thump, the hiss of steam as the tip fires forward, driving the Ursan into the trench wall. When the weight of her weapon retracts back into place, the Ursan slips off the now crimson-red steel, slumping into the dirt.
Her lungs burn, her skin seared and cracking, but the fresh pain with every hissing breath she takes through her clenched teeth lets Ori know she's alive. She is alive…
The rushing hiss of steam and that pistoning "thump!"
Thera loves the feeling, loves the sensation of holding that tremendous power. She also has to hold back the gleeful laugh at the absurd sight of the Ursan soldier being punted up and out of the trench. If the impact of her shield's edge didn't shatter his body, that poor sod'll still be down for the count- and if he knew what was good for him, he'll have a good wink or two if his own damn friendlies above didn't shell this trench section.
A right one-woman army, she pushes down the trench like a wall. Body shielded by one of her steel slabs while she holds the other tucked in tight on her side- the bottom-end of the thing facing forward like she'd hold a piledriver-lance. Technically she was holding a Sapper Pavise -a sort of deployable tower shield- where the steam-powered piston was supposed to help anchor the shield in rocky soil…
But when used specifically against all the safety warnings, it could fuck up a person all the same. All about using your imagination; anything could become a weapon if you just lacked common sense. The second footsoldier to come at her learned the hard way when she lays his ass flat-out with just a shove of her shoulder.
Yep, no-one really expected an engineering steam-frame to be so damn useful, but Shae had the ingenuity to realise that it was just the same as what the Victorian elites used. All she needed to do was substitute the armour for something else!
A few crossbow bolts slam her shield, but none find enough purchase to bite in, and she answers them with… well nothing. Bigger concern-
"Bunker!" Thera calls back as she approaches a log-reinforced fortification dug into the side of the trench, "Fumbles get up here!"
She moves with two long, swift strides, crashing one shield against the doorway while covering herself from bolts with the other. Braced, ready, she fires the anchors just as the yelling within picks up. She understands enough Ursan to know that whoever is inside is cursing up a storm, and as their team's bombardier makes his way up the trench, the impacts against her shield start .
"Keep moving!" She shouts, motioning for everyone else to push past. At first it's just metal clangs against the shield- swords, fucking swords. The poor sods knew they were going up against Victoria but weren't packing armour-piercing kit? A bigger impact takes Thera off-guard, makes her dig her heels in nice and proper. The soldiers inside the bunker know the score now, they're throwing their bodies against this unwanted door, trying to escape. Just a bit too late; should have come out and fought her and her troops toe-to-toe while they had the chance.
Fumbles reaches her just about then, putting down his lance to pull the pin from one of his hand grenades. The Vulpo holds it close to his chest- his nickname a constant reminder to not fuck up ever again.
"Ready." He announces.
Thera nods, tilting the shield back to open the top- just enough to have the little explosive and originite-packed ball roll down off of it. She slams the 'door' shut once more, hears the panic, feels the one last desperate throw of weight against her, but with the leg joints of her frame locked, it would be like trying to move a landship's brake.
A dulled "thwump!" , the sensation of something significant punching against her shield-arm…
And she opens the top a little bit more, just so Fumbles could pitch another grenade farther into the back of the room. Not as much panic this time, the second "thwump" not as loud, not as hard.
A quick clear, and as much as she'd rather confirm, her frame is too big. When Fumbles comes out, his face is grim, lacking that usual grin. He nods though, and they push up once again.
Straight towards the thumps of steam-shot, the cracking and splintering of wood from hundreds of metal pellets and flechettes. It drowns out the groans and the cries, lets Thera ignore the Ursan bodies she passes by.
"Tactics sharpen the mind, discipline strengthens the will, bravery shall overcome evil, and benevolence… will save lives!" Thera chants between sharp breaths as she rushes forward once more to continue their merciless assault. There is no room for trepidations and petty feelings on the battlefield- only the righteousness of one's cause.
They were all soldiers here- but the calibre between these Ursan troops and Victorian couldn't be all the more clear when she charges to the fore again, sees their reaction to Victorian steel and shot.
Fear, surprise, despair.
She barrels into the next scrum before the Ursan infantry could lock up her team. A pistoning shield strike laying another Ursan swordsman flat on their back, Fumbles' grenades arcing overhead scatter the group of crossbowmen gathering into a firing line, and when Kat and Valentine join in behind Thera's shield-wall with canister shot ricocheting down the trenchline, the resistance here crumbles easier than a piledriver pistoning cracked through rock. It was like herding cycstybeast with the way the Ursans retreated back to the cross-roads trench.
Too much of a difference between bloody professionals and amateurs- between those who earned the right to pick up their weapons and those who were simply handed them. Where was the glory, the thrill of standing toe-to-toe against a warrior of equal calibre? Like the tales of eld, of titanic legends clashing upon the trampled fields?
These poor fucking sods never stood a damn chance, sent here by some officer to try and stall the Victorian landings no doubt. Defence in depth, the quality scrums would be deeper in, the closer they got to the Aleksander. Ash and trash to the Ursan command, a warm-up for the Steel Cavaliers.
Her team reached their objective- the reinforcement trenchline that ran perpendicular to the forward positions, but when Thera peaked over the parapet she could see there was still fighting from where Team Two was supposed to hold. A flurry of movement, explosions- a lot of explosions. They only needed to hold the intersections, so why was Thumper pushed that far up and dumping that many rounds?
A flash of blue bolts light up that trench, followed by a gout of flames that licked out the top of it, enough to answer Thera's question. More resistance than what they hit here, maybe even reinforcements.
"Corporal Valentine, take Kat and Fumbles, link up with Third." Thera orders, swapping out steam canisters for her frame. Thirty more minutes of juice, if she was to be a bit conservative.
She wasn't planning on being conservative though; always all-in.
"Oh, aye sergeant."
Valentine looks ready to question her, but when he sees her crouch, letting the steam in the leg pistons pressurise, it's clear that good old Sergeant Thera was going to go do something lacking common sense again.
The leap up and out sends steam every which way, giving Thera that fun bit of weightlessness before she slams down into the dirt, right out in the open. At first, she thinks that her move is so brazenly stupid that the Ursan gunners don't believe their own eyes. They don't fire, not until she's going full-tilt towards where Team Two is. By then though, she's already in a full striding sprint, both shields tucked in tight in to cover as much of her body from bolts and explosions that rightly start coming in for her. Harpoons the size of whole piledriver lances, crossbow bolts, snaps of Arts, even mortars come crashing in around her… and Thera laughs.
Laughs at the sheer madness of what she's doing, flying in the face of everything she tells her soldiers not to do.
"Lead by example-" They had told her back in school, "-and your soldiers will follow."
She leads by example of what not to do.
"Victory's comin' in!" She cries out, leaping over the trench parapet and into the dirt below… or rather the full weight of Thera, her frame, and her shields comes crashing down onto some hooded cunt that was throwing bolts of witchcraft at one of Thera's soldiers. That split-second to assess:
'Left side: Thumper aiming here- right side, enemy.'
Thera cracks a shield-edge to the caster's helmet before pivoting. A bolt of blue crashes against her bulwark, energy sizzling and popping as it washes past the edges of her Pavice. Scalds, makes the next deep breath in burn that little bit more, but otherwise, Thera is unphased. That telltale "thwump!" followed by an explosion, the ratcheting mechanical clacking of a piledriver lance chamber rotating-
Thera glances back at Thumper and pauses. Their quiet little Cautus is burnt and bloodied, but there is that look in her eyes. It's one that Thera knows intimately, seen it so many times before.
Anger, righteous anger. Someone was dead, and judging how Leepu's got Dunni's belt of canister-shot slung over her shoulder, Thera didn't have to ask who.
"You good, Bull?" She calls back to the crispy and charred Pero that tails Leepu.
"A bit overdone, but aye, I am Sergeant"
He's wounded though, clearly strained from trying to keep up with Thumper's little crusade. The green flare from First's section has gone out, so they'd sweep to the uncleared sections.
"Bull, can you hold for First Squad?"
"Can a scalebass swim?" The corporal answers, grinning through his obvious pain. If he had enough in him to snark, he could hold out. More movement down the reinforcement trench, more manpower sent in to try and drive a wedge in. A proper fight this time then with folk looking for a scrap; not scaring some poor fucking shellbeasts out of their little hides.
"Thumper on me, we plug this little hole, aye?"
"With pleasure, Sergeant." Leepu growls, snapping that six-shot-cylinder shut once more.
She had pushed like a woman possessed after that moment. World gone white and blurry at the edges of her vision, the only thing she could focus on was whatever target was in front of her. Tunnel vision, exactly what they trained to avoid, but she wasn't exactly going to stop a moment when Ursans kept popping out of the damn woodworks before her. With Dunni's canisters, she spat steel-laden contempt down the trench. Every bunker she passed by, she left one hand-grenade lighter. So as long as there was an Ursan in front of her, she'd keep moving forward until either they stopped or she stopped.
Shoulder numb from the continuous impacts, arms tired from holding her heavy lance at the ready, lungs crying out in agony at the pace that she pushed herself through, but adrenaline held her all together, somehow.
Yeah, she'll keep going 'til her inner steam's all burned out.
A lull, screams and cries in that dull and throaty Ursan tongue, the bark of orders from ahead. A manual ratchet of the cylinder, a high-explosive round puffed out when she sees the movement. She sends a second one for good measure too, while it's loaded. Screams, that's all she needs to hear to know she's on target enough.
But these damned Ursans, they're like swarming slugs. For every few that Orianna cuts down, more keep coming. This time, it's robed figures coming through the smoke, blasted and scorched, stepping over the shattered bodies of their comrades. Ori barely has time to duck into a divot before a blast of fire rips down the line. Crack the chamber, three explosives loaded, double time lob them blind down the trench-
"Victory's comin' in!"
Orianna reflexively takes her hand off the lever the instant she hears Sergeant Thera's voice over the parapet, even as the casters close in on her.
And she can hear the stomp of steel-laden boots, the hissing and creaking of progress come thundering down amidst the enemy. The lead caster is quite literally crushed underfoot, the muscle-bound Feline cackling like a madwoman as she lands. Thera throws a punch down on the Ursam, the crack of bone giving way to steel louder than anything Oriana has heard-
It offers a brief moment of clarity, a pulling back of the curtains to let some of that light back into Ori's mind. The look in Sergeant Thera's eyes…
She could never be like Thera. Never.
A bolt of Arts comes whizzing down the trench though, puts Ori right back into the moment as she shoulders her lance and puts a round down range. Wizzes past Sergeant Thera without even making her flinch, and when the walking tank of a Feline is confident they're clear for the moment, she shouts back.
"You good, Bull?"
'Bull?' Orianna blinks wildly before looking back over her shoulder to see that Bragg was behind her as well, having kept up and no doubt fully clearing behind her as she pushed her assault.
"A bit overdone, but aye, I am Sergeant"
Bragg… Bragg kept up with her? No no no, he should be back with… he should be making sure that Dunni was… Gods, she should have obeyed his order and halted. A twang of guilt, making a wounded man chase her; a good man who didn't want another one of his buddies facing the enemy alone.
"Bull, can you hold for First Squad?"
"Can a scalebass swim?"
Ori's body shudders, the adrenaline starting to fade as the darkness of conscious thought really sets in. Even with shaky hands though, she manages to reload just in time for Sergeant Thera to turn to her.
"Thumper on me, we plug this little hole, aye?"
The confidence in Thera's voice hasn't faded like Orianna's. Maybe… she could keep up with Sergeant Thera's commanding presence for just a little bit longer.
"With pleasure, Sergeant." She manages to rasp, throat dry.
And it all starts with the hardpoint just down the trench, where she had run into a team of casters. With proper cover now, she could advance, and more importantly, she could have time to aim. Stacking behind Thera, the two push forward behind the cover of her layered shields, at least until they both feel the air around them charge. A hooded figure behind a makeshift barricade of boxes- red bands on him.
Officer.
The caster winds their hands back as the atmosphere around Thera and Ori grows thicker. Trained reaction, months of getting subjected to those wicked students from Institute for Higher Studies, Ori hits the dirt while Sergeant Thera reorients her shields.
The very air sizzles and pops, a sort of static crackles over them, the Arts striking against Thera's shields and fizzling out. Orianna answers it instantly with a contemptful coughing of two rapidly fired grenades.
First blast on target, but right on the barricade; second shot over the bastard's head as he throws himself down for cover. The Ursan officer scrambles away, ducks into a nearby bunker, flushing out those inside.
The way that they stumble, look down the trenchline at Thera and Orianna without even drawing their weapons yet- they were sent like cystybeasts to slaughter. Some glance back behind them, down the supposedly friendly trench with equal fear- like men caught between a cliff-face and a Catastrophe. No choice but to draw their weapons and charge, better to face a Catastrophe head rather than scratch in vain at the cliff…
The first one to reach Thera was the bravest, and he went down with a shield-punch punctuated by that pop of steam-powered pneumatics. His body is flung backwards like a rag-doll, crashing into the poor men behind him. Knocked them all over like a bunch of tenpins. Even if they wanted to live by playing dead, there was the coming vengece they'd have to survive next.
"On line!" Ori calls when she's loaded and ready again. Thera shifts one of her shields, holding it horizontally for Orianna to crouch behind. Lance braced, chamber twisted over to canister shot, Ori squeezes the lever.
Once.
Twice.
Three-
"Hold fire," Thera orders, "Advance."
Right now, in this terrible, exciting, and horrifying moment, Orianna's legs are not her own; they are property of Victoria, and if Victoria calls her to move, she must move. Together with Thera she drives forward, crouched low behind this mobile bunker of muscle, steam, and steel as she reloads the last of Dunni's canister shot. Focus forward, a way to ignore the shredded meat and pockmarks of crimson that her hate and anger have left in its wake.
A glimpse though, a morbid curiosity, and a place to sharpen that hate. The poor bastards didn't even have armour! Thrown out to face the might of Victoria with nothing but a winter coat, tinpot helmet, and a damn sword? No, these children of Ursus deserved pity, even if they were enemies. At least her people had tried to prepare Orianna- trained her to the best of her ability, armed her with the weapons and the means-
A "woosh" past her head changes that sentiment right-quick. An anti-armor harpoon team had wheeled a gun up to the edge of the trench ahead, frantically loading another deadly bolt. Thera said something, but Ori couldn't hear it- her heart had leapt up into her ears, drowning out the din with the thunderous wardrum of her body entering fight-or-flight.
Except she'd been trained to never fly.
Chambers spin to explosive
-a harpoon locked into place.
"Leepu!"
No time to range proper- eyeball it
-the cannon lowers.
"C'mon Leepu!"
Lance levelled, the cough of steam
-a concussive pop of an Originite charge.
Both missiles are slow, cumbersome, yet equally deadly. Orianna knows death is sailing towards her, but she can't help but stare at the yellow-capped shell soar away. The panic, the fear in the eyes of those Ursans as they try and dive down. There's no time though, just like she'd have no time to get out of the way of their bolt.
The round squashes, crushes in against the harpoon cannon, and the Originium-laced explosive erupts from that tiny little package. It tears the weapon team apart, blasts their bodies away-
And then that "thunk", the groaning, the protest of metal being warped, but no scream, no moans of pain, nor the sick sound of flesh being impaled. She checks herself first- but no she's still crouched behind Thera's shield and not pinned to the dirt by a metal pole.
Thera sighs in relief too, and when Ori looks over at the sergeant, the barbed tip is just centimetres from her nose-
She managed to overlap her shields before the point of impact.
"Little close there, Leepu." Thera sighs, planting her shields into the dirt. The steel slabs were pinned together now, functionally useless as weapons until Thera pulled the massive lance free. "A little faster next time, aye?"
"Aye Sergeant. I'll tell the grenade we need it to go a little faster through the air next time."
The moment Thera had disconnected her steam-frame from the shields, Orianna figured they would fall back to Bull, but she could see that glint in the sergeant's eyes, that namesake fanged snarl. They weren't done here yet, and all Orinna could do was hang on.
The cheeky rabbit… Thera never thought that their little Leepu had that bit of snark in her, but the change was a welcome one. If she could joke around with their current situation, then… then she'd be alright in the end.
Yeah, she'd be alright, and knowing that, Thera could turn her full attention to the mission at hand. Well, her assigned mission had been completed- they held the trench intersections and had hopefully linked up with their sister squads. All in all, successful assault. Well, all except one tiny detail. Thera grabs the signal tube from her belt. A quick twist and tug to get the thing hissing before shoving it into the ground… and that unmistakable "pop!"
Celebratory, just like when someone cracks open a bottle of bubbly wine. The hissing rushes into the sky, a green light arcing up to match the growing constellation across the front line.
"Are we pulling back now, sergeant?" Leepu asks with her lance still mounted and ready, that quiver snaking into her voice once more. Now there was the squad's cute little Cautus.
"Just one thing." Thera growls. Yeah, the mission was complete, but Thera had a new one, a more personal one. "Let me have the rest of your hand grenades."
Leepu casts a concerned glance back at Thera, but continues to hold position as the sergeant pats her down for the last of those little spheres of death.
"Fuck up anything that comes down that trench, yeah? Oh, and make sure you're set to explosives- don't wanna be pickin' steel balls outta my skin on the ride back."
A quick pat to Leepu's back, hoping that the confidence would reassure the nervous little bombardier. Whatever spirit of battle had taken over Leepu now flooded into Thera as she pushed up to that damnable bunker. Stupid, risky, and unnecessarily vindictive… but Thera couldn't suffer a coward who'd send men to die and not face it themselves. Wooden doorway, dirt held in by a mix of concrete and wood lattice. She'd studied Ursan defensiveworks, knew there'd be a barricade or firing port of some sort… but she takes a quick peek anyways, just to get a lay-
She rolls away from the door the moment she sees the spark of light in open palms, Arts sizzling past. It singes her ears before splashing against the trench wall. Leepu moves instinctively, but Thera motions for her to stay put and hold cover. That quick glimpse was all she needed to know where to put the grenade.
But instead of just pitching it in there, she runs back to Leepu, grabbing one of her spent shell-casings. Packs it nice and tight with dirt, and of course while she's doing this her bombardier is looking at her as if she's gone mad. You'd have to be mad to be playing with dirt at a time like this- who knows what kind of reinforcements this one man was stalling for now?
Thera knows that judegment though, she is used to those kind of looks by now. The price of surviving so damned long was the things that you did instinctively, the kind of things that would look like madness to a greenhorn. Back to the bunker entrance, Thera pulls a grenade pin, cradling the explosive close to her chest as she picks up the dirt-filled shell. A test of the weight, confident that she could get it right where she needed.
"Oi, cunt! Come out now!" She shouts through the door.
"Fuck you, Victorian bitch." The caster officer shouts back in harsh, gravelly Victorian, "Suck big Ursan cock, whore!"
And while the vitriol spills freely, Thera peeks the corner and pitches the dirt-filled can in, hears the clattering and cursing. In that moment of panic and confusion, she squeezes in the door to drop the real grenade past the barrier and ducks.
That distinct, pressurised "whump", and as she readies the second grenade. The sputtering and gurgling, the tell-tale sign that the guy was a goner; question is was she going to put him out of his misery?
"Fucking coward," Thera growls loud enough for the bastard to hear over his own pathetic deaththroes, "at least have the balls to die with your men."
When Thera rejoins Leepu, she doesn't need to say anything. They both simply fall back to Bragg, secure the intersection until the reinforcement transports can stream in. She watches the Cautus carefully though, notes how Leepu doesn't flinch anymore when the cannons on the Justice and Aleksander fire, or when the mortar shells wail overhead, or when she has to squeeze the lever on her lance.
The training stuck to this one, moulded the right way, and this battle had tempered her. Yeah, Thera wouldn't have to worry about Leepu anymore.
Two more assaults, just like the first, ever closer to the perimeter of the Aleksandr. Leap-frogging through the maze of trenches, fighting and running from cover to cover. Darwin took a harpoon through the chest trying to get a grenade shot on a pillbox, mercifully instant- Thera had seen poor bastards live on for an hour or two when the shock didn't get them. Valentine took a bolt of lightning Arts, stopped his heart dead- again, merciful compared to what they were giving the Ursans. Trevolt took a nasty cut in a scuffle, killed the sod who ran her lance but she couldn't walk on her own anymore. Even Thera took some shell fragments in the back, some gunner on the deck of the Aleksandr firing willy-nilly down on their overrun trenches.
But the Ursans knew they were losing, and when the Aleksandr rumbled to life, everyone knew that they had both won the battle, but lost the prize. The massive landship groaned, creaked like some leaky old tub as the earth began to tremble in its retreat. Turned full-tail, burning away as fast as that lumbering, ancient frame could.
There is no way it'd outrun the Justice though.
A cheer of victory from one side, wails of despair from the other.
Soldiers left behind, abandoned by their command. Men gambled in a game that they had nothing to gain in. A delay action, a testing of Victoria's commitment to war, an attempt to bloody her nose met with embarrassing failure. Ground ceded to Her grand ambitions. Border wasteland, sure, but it was the first bite that the newly crowned Lion took into the ailing Bear's flank- of course it'd be nothing but skin and fat for now. The other nations would wait and watch, and when it was certain the old Bear would die, they'd come to pick at the carcass as well.
Casus belli? Thera hadn't a damn clue, but she knew that Victoria was just, Victoria was honourable, and when Victoria calls upon her sons and daughters, they answer with a raucous cheer in their hearts.
Or at least… that is how it should be. The soldiers gathered around her are dirty, bloodied, and exhausted, and as they watch the Aleksandr lumber away, many turn an eye back instead of forward. Their steel burdenbeasts ferried the dead and wounded back to the aid station, but Second had to wait their turn. Some other platoons had it worse, apparently.
Hard to believe, because it felt like someone had carved a hole into Thera's teams.
Dunni, Darwin, and Valentine dead, lying beneath canvas set right beside the living; Bragg, Trevolt, and Leepu all wounded in some way or another. Second Squad was combat ineffective. First and Fourth hadn't fared much better either, but that was to be expected of shock troops. Victoria's lance always winds up a little bent up after every assault.
"You got that, Thera?" The Leftenant Davies' voice snaps, eyes sharp, but it's clear it is out of her concern for the sergeant. Shae doesn't know why though, it's not like this is the first time she's been preoccupied during a debrief.
"Yes ma'am." Shae reflexively answers as she glances at the remainder of her squad. They sat there, quiet, eyes on Leepu. Orianna's speaking, and they are enraptured by her… and it makes Shae wonder why. Maybe Davies' knows half of what she said went in Thera's ear and out the other, because she sighs quietly. Thera stuffs the Shae bit of her back down, lets that rigid steel of her steam-frame hold her up.
"I understand, Leftenant, I'll pass it along." She reaffirms.
"Dismissed then, Sergeant Thera."
A snapping salute, march lock-stepped and rigid until she's out of Davies' sight. There was a lot to ponder, a lot to talk about, but Thera… Shae was never good at it. She's survived worse, seen worse back when everything they got into was hush-hush. Back then, the casualties were just statistics, but now… now each death was to be… well, not celebrated, but venerated. Is that really better? She doesn't know how to unpack all that, doesn't know how to help others unpack all that.
"She'll keep calling and her beacon lead, like a warship steadied through the storm; I am left unshaken, I am safe in her arms…"
A voice, sorrowfully sweet as it hits that hopeful note, betrayed by the horrors of the last few hours. It enraptures Shae, draws her in closer, and it takes her a minute to realise that it is Leepu. Leepu is the one singing.
And it is beautiful.
"The solace of Victoria, hopeful in Victoria, my heart will sing Victoria…"
The Cautus' soft voice seems to wash over Winston, Katherine, and… and Shae as well. Calming, contemplative, a spark of warmth as the cold creeps in… and Shae finds herself mouthing the words of the song as well as it reaches its swell.
"We will march past the dusty moors, shake off a thousand wars, leaving not left alone…"
"Victoria's our home." Shae lends her voice to Orianna's harmony, the rest of the squad adding their humming tune. When they realise that Sergeant Thera was towering over them though, they quiet down. Nervous energy, fidgeting with steam canisters or their lances. She can read it in their eyes; "What's asked of us next?"
Mop-up operations? Prisoner guarding? Clearing their dead-
"We're being pulled back to the assembly area, make sure everything in your kit is accounted for. Bragg, make sure Kat gets herself checked in at the aid station."
"It's just a flesh wound-" Katherine starts to whine, but the bound-up leg wound speaks otherwise when she tries to stand. Their remaining Lance-Corporal manages to catch her though, grinning with that wide, squished up face of his somehow even more wrinkled with the burns.
"Got it, Sergeant. C'mon you madlass, let's get goin'-"
Bragg grabs hold of Katherine, practically throwing the Feline over his shoulder as she kicks and whines, leaving just Shae and her last squad member. That black-haired Cautus, could barely tell she's be burned too until she's turned her back to look at… the casualties.
"Leepu..." Shae calls out, but it sails straight over the bombardier. Too soft, too... unlike what Leepu's mind percieved as her sergeant.
"Orianna." She tries again, just with that little bit more growl... even if she didn't want to put it there- not right now.
"Aye, Sergeant." Leepu snaps around.
"Your actions today… are noteworthy." Shae says, trying to keep muster in her sergeant voice… but something about Leepu's song had melted that down, put that unwanted humanity back into her. "The leftenant wants names of valour, I gave her yours."
"Sergeant?"
"I'm putting you in for a commendation. Bragg saw it, I saw it, Sergeant Coldstream from First Squad saw it- you took that trench assault in, beat back their reinforcements."
"Bull was there too, and Dunni… Dunni took the first half-"
"And I'm going to make sure Dunni will be posthumously awarded." Shae cut the normally soft-spoken Cautus off, watching as her subordinate naturally cows to Thera's authority. They both frown though- feels strange speaking about him as if he isn't there.
Because he is. He's right there behind Leepu, beneath that sheet; and Shae can see what kind of effect he still has on the young woman.
"Go. Get yourself checked out at the aid station too." Shae says lightly as she picks up Leepu's lance for her. The thing is lighter than she remembers- hadn't carried one in a while.
Leepu stares though, those sharp green eyes darting about Shae's face, looking for something that she didn't know what. Shae's words weren't an order, at least not yet, but rank still makes it so there's no room for argument. With a slow breath out, Leepu grabs her lance and kit, lingering for a second or two more by the shrouded bodies before she's right there behind Bragg and Trevolt, climbing into the hold of their six-wheeled burdenbeast. The ramp stays open though, the maw of that fate-bearing thing wide and waiting for Shae to climb in as well.
"You're not to feel unwanted, though the world might abhor…" Shae mumbles that final verse, watching as the medics arrive to pull those shrouded comrades onto stretchers destined for a different transport altogether. A farewell that she knows will not be the last. One final glimpse back, to the waves of transports running to and from the Justice's escort ships. A chance to think and to feel, a fleeting chance to be Shae, not Sergeant Thera.
"Your home is in Victoria… once more." She sings, quiet and timid. Doesn't have the same beauty as Orianna, lacks that… feeling that the young Cautus woman can put into her voice…
But it makes her feel that little bit lighter, if only until she takes that next breath in.