"On target. Good shots, Teller. Give them a few more." Orianna nods her approval before shifting to the other side of the apartment's roof beside Cunningham. Ever since they were posted up at dawn, it was clear that this'd be their nest until Davies called. Then they'd push up to the next set of buildings- whenever those were cleared. Just beyond their perch the city core's control tower looms tall in the distance, gouts of grey-and black smoke from the battlegroup's guns making the whole thing seem like a smokestack. They'd have to take that thing, eventually, but right now Victoria just needed to keep carving out bits of Moskov to call their own, buy enough time for one of the battleships to dock and drop more reinforcements.
"Round count?" Orianna asks the Perro who had just finished humping the last of their ammo up.
Cunningham simply dumps her satchel out, not bothering to count as she grins at Orianna. "Enough." The cheeky bombardier jokes, scooping up a portion for herself before moving to her corner of the roof.
Yeah, it's enough for this particular fire-support mission, but what about the next? And the one after that? As much as Orianna would love to sit on this roof and take pot-shots at Ursans all day, there was no telling what kind of trouble the platoon was going to get themselves into.
And speaking of demons manifests them; Orianna's radio crackles to life just then, the leftenant's voice barking through the static hiss.
"Leepu. Davies."
So call signs were out the window now, huh? Oh well.
"Leepu copies." She responds on the throat-mic while guiding Cunningham in on another target- Ursans setting what looked like a harpoon cannon in the window of a corner store, about two blocks down. Must be expecting an armoured push-
"Hold perimeter with eyes out. First and Third are regrouping at second rally for a push on grid Butter Seven, key three, sub seven. Copy?"
"Received. Holding perimeter on the east-west approaches, eyes up to two blocks north."
"Good. You see any dissidents gathering, persuade them to go elsewhere. Davies out."
Orianna holds back the eyeroll as the radio goes back to its silent sizzle- no change to the orders or engagement, not even an answer to how long she'd be sitting on this particular roof. Cunningham had fired, adjusted, and put two rounds into that storefront in the time it took for the leftenant to reiterate what Orianna was already planning on doing.
"Eyes out, our boots are regrouping to push northbound soon." Orianna orders as she checks her ranges. Standard munitions will reach out two blocks, but with Dunni's modified lance she's wound up as the testbed for the shiny new stuff too. Draco's Breath was just one burden heaped on her by the armourer, but she's got a bundle of more strapped to her chest. Supercharged rounds, Splinter-rain rounds, Dartboard rounds, Armour-piercing explosive… Orianna was already a walking munitions dump and she had to put her foot down around the time when the mad-scientists in the armoury tried to get her to load a damn arm-length harpoon down the barrel of her lance- fired by steam charge, of course.
She cracks her cylinder, loading a particularly disconcerting steam-shell in. Red-capped, pointed tip, the casing labelled in ways that an average trooper wouldn't have the time nor patience to read;
'Caution: High Pressure Content.'; 'Caution: High Explosive.'; 'Caution: Experimental. Handle with care.'; 'Caution: If you are reading this you are profoundly idiotic and in extreme danger if you are voluntarily holding this-'
Maybe not that last one, but the fact that the warnings are written on the sides with pen-ink makes it all the more apparent that what she's sticking into her lance was dangerous at both ends of her weapon.
But if it worked?
More stand-off distance meant safer bombardiers, right? Meant that they wouldn't get posted in an overwatch position this close to the enemy lines. Two thumps from Hammy punctuate that thought- the Perro woman wasn't angling her lance, firing out about a block then. Enemy was close enough, everything still fluid for that ebb-and-flow of battlelines to shift. Had to be mobile, had to be proactive…
And here they were sitting on a damn roof. They weren't like a crossbow team- weren't near-silent when they fired. Orianna's grunt of dissatisfaction was muffled by the sound of Teller sending a round down the throughway, the explosion's echo warbling back off of the nearby buildings.
"Be judicial with your shots." She warns. Though Cunningham acknowledges, Teller seems to shoot Orianna one of those glances. Questioning, confused, a bit of doubt that she'd need to whip out of his head- hopefully with logic first rather than the alternative to maintaining command.
"The more you shoot, the more they zero-in on where we are."
The frown on Teller lightens slightly. This wasn't like last night's judgement call, this order directly affected whether the team… well… lived or died; the Feline trooper understood that much at least. They could buy themselves maybe an hour or two, maybe stretch that out to mid-day if they changed up their firing locations to the next couple of floors down…
But eventually they'd be made, it was just up to the leftenant to make movements happen before then.
The first warning sign was when Davies missed a check-in with Orianna's team. Hailing back got her nothing but the hiss of static in Orianna's ear. Second warning sign was the distinct lack of friendlies moving around their area, and the third was the unsettling quiet that seemed to fall over this particular sector. A sort of pall that made the hairs on the back of Orianna's neck stand on end, like they were stuck in the eye of a storm, and no matter which way they went, they'd be heading right back into it.
Come the stretch towards mid-day, the Ursans were stirring. Maybe they just weren't morning folk, or maybe they had finally figured out that, despite the firepower coming down on them whenever they stepped from their apartments and homes, it was only three Victorians holding them back. Someone or something had put the backbone into them.
Orianne breathed out slow and steady, picking out movement on a roof four blocks out to the north. Little black outlines moving around like beetles- not Victorian. The gut sank about then. She might have been grumbling night seconds ago about having to sit up on this roof, but when faced with the proposition of taking indirect fire, well this spot was positively dreamy compared to the streets below.
"Hammy, bino's?"
The Perro woman tosses the binoculars, and thank the Gods Orianna catches them- it had taken her a month straight of harassing the QM just to get one. Could chew Cunningham out, but there was a time and place, and right now she needed to get some positive identification on some black-helmeted beetles crawling abouts.
Ursan mortar team on that roof, with more bugs moving past windows in the floors below them. Possible hardpoint; it was exactly what they'd need to hit, and it was just slightly outside standard range. Some Ursans escaped the sweep last night, must have told their buddies where the Victorians were. Compromised before even setting a proper ambush… and now they were bino-ing Orianna back too.
And they had the range on Orianna's team.
"Be ready to pack up, we're compromised." She grumbles as she loops the binoculars around her neck, but she doesn't go to help pick up the rounds Cunningham spilled out. Instead, Orianna readies her lance's leaf sight.
The guy who loaded the steam rounds said the flight arc of a Supercharged round was half that of a standard round… so effectively double the range, right? Some quick maths, checking her range estimation by scratching the calculation with the roof's loose gravel.
One more check of the sight… and Orianna thumps that experimental round out- or rather it thumps her. The force punches back, nearly flooring the surprised Cautus.
"Corporal?" Teller calls out his concern, but despite how her shoulder screams protest, Orianna practically slams the binoculars to her eyes just in time to catch the flash. Her aim was short, the explosive squashing into the side of the building the mortars were setting up on, and the sudden explosion seems to have put some pep to the Ursans.
"Keep packing up, we'll have to change perches soon anyway." Orianna orders as she loads another Supercharged round. Gods she is dreading this next one, wincing the moment she brings it to shoulder.
Another check of the sight, and this time she's got her stance nice and ready. Second shot is worse than the first- felt like getting slugged by Thera when the good sergeant wasn't holding back. Orianna keeps her footing though, managing to catch a glimpse of that steaming explosive through the binocular lenses as it clips the edge of the rooftop and explodes-
And Teller thumps three rounds instead of packing up. Orianna's about to chew him out when the red-headed Feline belts out;
"Urskies in the open. Crossing at eleven-"
"I've got beetles moving here too-" Cunningham calls out, the urgency of the situation making her voice crack.
And mortars to deal with too. A counter-assault, and who the fuck knew where the rest of the platoon was right now.
"Who's on our security?" Orianna shouts over Cunningham squeezing off a few rounds. The Perro woman gives Orianna that look, shrugging before loading up a fresh cylinder.
Shit.
Shit.
She hits the throat mic hard, nearly squeezes her own windpipe before belting, "Davies. Thumper. Perch is compromised, we need to pull out, over."
The hiss of white-noise responds, like a fog descending upon Orianna.
"Thumper to Davies. They're on top of us." she tries again, a bit of a crack to her voice.
A fresh hiss, more hair-raising than a snake-beast's. Comms down? Had to be, it's not like… Davies had left them here just to abandon them. Arts interference? A chill rolls down her spine, whispers of something terrible on the wind coming from the control tower.
Orianna is paralyzed, thoughts slamming in her head of all the different variables, but it's when the first mortar round lands that her body goes into auto-pilot. Three supercharged rounds loaded, her lance planted and braced against the concrete of the roof, range good enough. There's that tell-tale whistle of another mortar round drawing ever-closer, and she answers it with one of her own. A long range duel settled by who could bracket the other first-
"Boss!"
"Unload on anyone getting near our building." Orianna growls, squeezing another round out after adjusting; last shot was still short-
Thumps and steam hisses, a constant drumming pace from Cunningham and Teller. The angles they are firing at are getting shallower and shallower, the enemy drawing close to the point they are looking over the parapet. A blast on the other side of their roof top sends fragments of concrete and brick flying, but doesn't flinch her squad.
They didn't need to know that the Ursans were probably one or two rounds away from a bullseye.
But Orianna could load faster, shoot faster, and while her payloads weren't as large, they were just as deadly in the quantity that she could deliver. Third ranging round strikes beside the mortar crew, probably killed one, but Orianna's not about to check through the binos right now. She throws three more of those red-capped, hell-loaded rounds into the chamber instead, sends all of them sizzling into the horizon in the time it'd take for a mortar team to send just one-
"Thumper!"
Her nickname snaps her out of the tunnel-vision, heart thundering at the hope of seeing Thera ready to scold her… only to see Cunningham frowning deep, scrambling to gather rounds from the pile.
"You back with us, boss!?" Teller shouts, thumping a round directly down over the edge of the roof. He pulls back just as a few crossbow-bolts crack off the concrete, dumping his spent cartridges nonchalantly.
"Mortars are down. Bought us time."
"Time? Yeah, time? They're on top of us." Cunningham snaps, "Davies took our security with her!"
"Hammy, cram it." Orianna spits back, shifting her bandoliers around to the close-in stuff, the right fucking terrifying stuff. "Take only one load of explosives, double the amount of canister shot." She orders. Before Cunnigham could snap back that they didn't have enough canisters, Orianna grabs hers and rolls them over to her squadmates; and before Teller could worry about what Orianna was going to use, she patted the sword at her hip.
"Think of it as a trench run, only going down floor by floor, yeah? Standard trench load of four canisters, two explosive." Orianna cracks her cylinder, listening to the spent casings clink against the roof.
Her hand's shaking when she reaches for those gold-banded shells. The screams… were not something she'd just shake from a day or two. Might as well add a few more nightmares onto the bunch right? Three and three- she hadn't tried out the Dartboard rounds, but she could make… assumptions. Flat-headed things, a lot like canister shots, except she could see in the round. Six, well, steel darts.
Some Urskies were about to have a very bad start to their day.
"All up?" Orianna asks, back to her team as she watches the stairwell.
"Up."
"Up."
"Tally ho, then." She says grimly. Tucks her lance under one arm, sling helping hold it in place as she draws her sabre as well. There's a confidence born of sheer desperation; the crossed swords of her Assault Honours a stark reminder of her experiences in this war. She's been through this, she's survived worse than this, and she would make damn sure Cunningham and Teller would too. Only needed to descend ten floors.
Only ten, barely a brisk walk, right?
The team moves as quickly and as quietly as three people with a chattel-beast's weight of kit could move, but they only get a few floors down the stairwell before they hear the thundering of boots coming up the open stairwell towards them. Urskies really had narrowed down their building and there was no telling just how many there were. It leaves her with two choices- stand and fight in the stairwell, or find another exit. Elevator is out of the question, the stairwell on the other side of the apartment complex might not be breached… Wishful thinking but it's all she has right now.
Split second decision, and by Her grace, Orianna hopes she is making the right one.
"Move for the other stairwell."
Neither trooper questions her, but she can see Hammy turn to look over her shoulder, watching what Orianna is going to do. They just need to delay the Urskies, make the ascent slow and plodding out of fear. As stupid as it felt to take her hands off her weapons, she pulls a hand grenade from her hip belt and rips the pin. There's a lot of boots now, a lot of grumbles and mumbles as the Ursans file in from the ground floor.
When she lets that sphere drop past the railing below, she can hear it clink off concrete before the panic echoes up to her. The thump, the shouts and cries and groans- she ignores all of it as she swiftly grabs her lance and aims down the open stairwell. Cylinder ratcheted to Draco-breath-
Two dull thumps, aimed haphazardly, but flames don't need precision. She's gone the very next breath, the hallway door slammed shut behind her before those haunting screams could chase her tail.
Do as Thera would do; don't stop, keep pushing forward. She catches up to Cunningham and Teller, pushing to the front of the stack with sword in hand. They say nothing, the grim expression on her face and the relentless march to her step is telling enough. Need to get to the next stairwell, get down a few more floors, keep the Ursans guessing where and how many.
Orianna's earpiece hisses about the time they get to the next stairwell down. Hope sends her heart leaping into her throat as a voice comes through the static.
"... bravery shall overcome evil."
The creed- a code or callsign? Voice was male, scratchy too, definitely not the leftenant. Either way, they were friendly- right? She squeezes the throat mic while motioning for Teller and Cunningham to secure the stairwell.
"Benevolence saves lives."
There's a hiss, a momentary pause that had Orianna strangled by the throat.
"We have pulled back from this sector." The voice on the other end of the radio answered matter-of-factly, "Ursan Blade."
Another sort of code? Either way it was clear that Orianna and her team had been left behind. Her body moves on its own behind Teller, and try as she might to hide the desperation in her whispers, her voice cracks loud enough for the Feline bombardier to glance nervously back at her.
"Whoever this is, we need reinforcement… we're trapped in an apartment building, enemy within. Need a way to break contact-"
Another gut-wrenching pause, one broken by the sound of someone kicking in the stairwell door below. Cunningham grabs a hand grenade this time, hurling it down to the ground floor. A shout of alarm, the door slamming shut, the thump of the explosion and pinging of shrapnel.
And the line opens up once more.
"Have an idea, but can't commit troops. We have a mission-"
"Please!"
"... standby."
Line goes quiet, and Orianna wants to scream, but her thoughts are interrupted by the door below opening, some Ursan shouting obscenities as they hurl a metal can up the stairwell. Clangs off a wall only a few floors up from where they threw it, but the pressure-wave of the blast ripples up past her team's balcony. Cunningham curses, throwing another hand grenade back down…
Gods above, they were having a fucking grenade fight in a stairwell?
"... if you get to the third floor of that building, we might be able to exfil you. Radio in on this channel if you make it. You have five."
Five minutes. Four floors, easy enough.
If they weren't exchanging hand grenades-
"Third floor, now!" She shouts with a shove to Teller. Gets her lance up and braced, manually ratcheting it over to Dartboard rounds as she aims at the doorway below. Shite angle… but she might be able to persuade the Ursans to rethink their little exchange. Door opens, and she fires with a thump and hiss of steam. Six steel darts strike concrete, and while a few bury into the floor, a few more have enough angle to ricochet in through the doorway. A scream of pain, the clatter of a hand grenade on the ground, the door slamming shut-
Orianna moves to catch up, not even wincing at the explosion below. Cunningham had kicked the third floor door in with Teller at her back, and Orianna tosses one last "fuck you" grenade over her shoulder and down the stairwell as she tails her team.
"At the third floor," she breathlessly shouts into the mic as she brings her lance up, "Now what?"
Cunningham and Teller had unleashed two rounds of pellets down the hall. Ursans from the other breach team; far enough away for the canister shot to not have the same killing power. They were readying to ratchet to their explosives when Orinna shoves her way forward.
"Teller, rear!" She shouts, punctuating the order with a pop from her lance. Six steel darts take the Ursan swordsman at the end of the hall off of his feet, so she takes two long strides and sends another-
"... Get to apartment three-oh-oh-five."
Quick glance, they were at 3013 and 3012, descending towards the Ursans. Of course, towards the Ursans.
"Push!" She roars, firing the last of her dartboard rounds downrange at what she assumed were the crossbow men being brought to the fore. Two more fall, but they're taking cover now-
"Aside!" Cunningham barks, and Orianna flattens herself as best she can against the wall as the Perro woman takes her place. Three more steps, two more sets of doors- 3011 and 3010…
Canister pellets rip down the hall; pinging, scraping, puncturing in a deadly hail. The first Urskie that dared to peek puffs with a fine pink mist, his body crumpling into the hallway. The more fortunate ones behind him take less, but some are still struck by some of those angry iron hornets. Their agony is temporary though, Cunningham letting another canister rip down the hall at anyone who had stumbled from cover.
Another set of doors; 3009 and 3008…
Teller shouts something, his lance firing off now.
"U menya yest' ty, suka!"
A blade comes in on her blindside, before Orianna could swivel the deadly end of her lance on target. An unseen Urskie lunged from an open apartment door, and though she manages to deflect off her chunky bit of steel, the rest of the Ursan comes barreling in after, driving her against the wall. It's a chaotic flurry of shouts, adrenaline, desperate struggling…
She loses her lance in the scrum somewhere, catches a fist to the jaw too, but that was better than a blade. For her own part, she manages to get a good lick in herself, cracking the Urskie in the face with her sabre's guard. Buys her space, a bit of breathing room, but not enough separation to simply back up and let her squad's canister shot clear the hall. Everyone's tensed with fingers on respective triggers, waiting to see who comes out on top, but time isn't exactly on the Victorians' side.
Urskie comes in first. Overhead chop, the kind of firewood-splitting swing that goes great against an immobile bit of log- except Orinna was clearly neither of those two things. Her guard punches up with blade canted slightly, her body instinctively moving into the first defence she had learned from Thera.
Urskie steel clashes against Victorian, sword striking and sliding harmlessly aside Orianna's parry.
She takes a single step to the side, just enough to move her body off the line like she was taught… and in that same fluid movement, whipped her wrist back 'round.
Just like how Thera'd ring her helmet as punishment for overcommitting an attack.
Except instead of ringing a helmet, her blade bites neck. A yowl of agony falters her movements- but she can't stop, not until the man on the other end of her sword stops moving. Second stroke flows off the first as she pulls the blade through the now deepening cut, right down to the bone, and before she can finish the poor sod off she dives aside.
The snaps of crossbow bolts are met with the hiss of steam and the whip of a grenade past her. Orianna manages to roll into the doorway as the explosion shreds the hallway, and despite her deafened ears, she can feel the clack of Cunningham rotating her cylinder. Shouting, screams, the wretched iron in the air- all of it makes her head swim as she manages to pull herself to her feet in that covered threshold. Cunningham is roaring, treading down the centre of the hallway with lance hissing contempt…
And she sees Dunni's doomed march.
Sees that image of Bailey that's burned into her mind, playing havoc with the guilt that pulls at her soul.
Can't be like that again, not when they were this close. Black bolts answer from both ends of the hallway, inaccurate as the Ursans shoot blindly, but the moment when Orianna's team stops firing…
"Three-oh-oh-five!" Orianna shouts as she scrambles into the hall for her lance. A bolt whizzes past her ear, skips off the wall right beside her head when she stoops to scoop her weapon up.
One more Draco's breath before she was spent too.
"Go!" Orianna shouts at Teller, grabbing him by the shoulder and taking his place as rearguard just as the Ursans at his end of the hall open the door again. He never notices Orianna grabbing a hand grenade from his belt, nor does he see the frightening grimace on her face. There's the final thump from Cunningham's lance from behind her, right when Orianna sends her deadly glitter scattering as well.
The Originium fire wouldn't reach the Ursans at the end of the hall… but she could sure as hells blind them. It really was beautiful in that fateful second… even when she could feel the vacuum of the sudden ignition pulling her toward the white-hot inferno.
"Boss!"
The wallpaper and carpet catch fire faster than cold concrete, smoke flooding the hallway to choke out anyone who'd follow. Orianna whips around, lance ditched as she rips the pin off that deadly sphere.
"Door's open Thumper! C'mon!"
She pitches it as hard as she can down the other end of the hall, just as the first volley of aimed crossbow bolts streak to meet her.
And a rough hand grabs her by the collar and yanks her into a doorway blasted open by canister shot. She swears it's Thera, but finds only a Perro woman glowering at her.
Cunningham.
Cunningham is dragging her into the apartment as the fire devours where Orianna had been standing.
"Now what!?" Cunningham bellows, dragging Orianna up by the collar, face-to-face. Furious eyes- fearful eyes meet Orianna's. She… knows that fear too.
When she calmly breaks Cunningham's hold, her mic clicks. Hammy had… hot-mic'd, and Orianna's earpiece hisses in response-
"Look for a leap of faith, trooper. Onward to Her Light."
Orianna glances back, Dunni's lance there in the flames…
She wants to go back for him… but she must press onward. Ever onward for Her glory…
That is what they'd have her say; to hide the ugly truth of what she does under the veneer of professionalism, of national pride.
Orianna just wants to live. To make it through this day and into the fucking next, and if Gods permits, the day after that, too.
"Sorry… I couldn't save you again Dunni-" She whispers, and is on her feet in an instant, shoving a wild-eyed Cunningham out of the way as she makes her way to the balcony. Three stories up was a sure-fire death- but look for a leap of faith? She is staring at a courtyard between complexes, a sort of common area cluttered with trash, debris, and overgrown and forgotten shrubbery. No Ursans -yet.
And straight below, shoved right into the bushes, was a dumpster. Out of place, open, filled with black bags that wafted a particularly rank odour up.
Faith, huh?
Did she… really have that anymore? Just a body moving forward, pinned together by hatred of the enemy, fueled by the need to simply survive. There wasn't a thought in her head about the glory of Victoria, her heart not singing Victoria's praises. Only the fear of death, of burning alive in a fire of her own creation-
What a fucking irony that is.
Teller and Cunningham watch Orianna, eyes wide and incredulous as she tosses her heavier bit of kit first before climbing over the railing.
"Leap of faith." Orianna calls back, giving her subordinates a wild grin and a shrug. In the next instant, she's gone.
There's no denying she's scared shitless. Trusting a random voice over their radio channel seemed pretty stupid in its own right, but what else could she do? She… she wasn't hard enough yet, wasn't strong enough to be their saviour. She is just a scared country girl in over her head, and that's the cold truth she carries all the way to the ground.
A collision. Wind knocked from her lungs. Sudden pain, but not sharp, more of an ache that managed to hit through the adrenaline-shocked nerves.
But she's alive. Whatever she hit reeks of piss and rot, but it was soft enough to not break her back . It has an unsettling squish when she picks herself up, something liquidy just beneath the black bags, but who gives a shit when she's alive. Could always take a hot shower when they made it back to the Justice- a prospect that seems just the slightest bit more likely now. A poisonous mix of hope and determination as she hauls herself from the bin, waving for Teller and Cunningham to do the same. Manages to fish her kit from the bushes before Teller's lance crashes down beside her. By the time he's thudding down into the garbage, she's reloaded his lance for him. Last member of the team hits the trash with a wheezed groan, sucking in a sharp and pained breath.
Together with Teller, the pair fish Cunningham from the trash. She had hit harder, probably something to do with the trash more compacted by the time she jumped. As long as she could walk though- they needed to leg it before the Ursans began pulling security.
"Come on. No quitting now, Hammy." Orianna growls, helping hold Cunninhham up while her subordinate struggles to breathe.
"Don't… know 'bout you…" Cunningham wheezes, "...but I had… no faith in that leap…"
"Aye, and that's probably why you hit so hard." Teller grins as he grabs the other half of Cunningham. "I knew our corporal would get us out of there."
"Oh shut your mouth… yeh damn grafter… still won't get you in the corporal's pants-"
They manage to help haul the Perro woman into the darkness of a nearby alley, away from any possible eyes from the nearby buildings.
But eyes in the alleyway?
Orianna feels them just moments before they strike. Not enough time to grab Cunningham's lance and she barely manages to get her sabre drawn before catching the glint of several weapons aimed at her. The figures move in the very shadows themselves, grabbing Orianna and her team before they can utter a word. Mouths covered, they are shoved into the darkness; yanked, corralled into a low run through something then down a flight of stairs until coming to a sudden stop. Though it was a blur, Orianna can tell that they're underground- this place has the dampness, the musk of it. Her eyes can't quite adjust to the dark yet, but she can make out someone standing in front of her from a sliver of light that cuts into this room.
"Well, looks like you made it out of there. Got some fighting spirit."
Same voice from the radio, yet oddly more scratchy- like the man ate a carton of ciggies for breakfast. With what little light there is Orianna can make out pointed Vulpo ears of the one in front of her. It's when he moves a bit into the whiteness that she can tell he's wearing black-and-tan khaki uniform, blackout paint smeared patchily on his face, a crude looking gun made of stamped steel cradled in his arms, but what puts Orianna readily at ease is the maroon beret on his head. Not practical combat gear in the slightest, but it was a statement, a sign of allegiance and gallantry that demanded her respect.
"How fortunate for you that we just so happened to be on a stroll nearby, picked up that distressing little call of yours."
"Oh aye, lucky that you and yours picked such a warm and hospitable neighbourhood." Orianna snaps back. Trading barbs with Thera was one thing- Orianna knew Thera and vice versa- but now here she was quipping at a Royal Commando?
She… really has changed, hasn't she?
The commando grins, a sharp row of pearly-whites reflected in the light. Eyes twinkle in that predatory sort-of-way as he turns his head slightly.
"Hey captain, I like this one- she's got some bite. Can we keep her?"
Captain? Orianna's eyes strain against the shadows, but it's like… someone smeared grease over her eyes when they pass over a certain spot.
"Well, considering our options," Another speaks out from the darkness, rough but with a bit of feminine rounding of its harsh edges, "we're going to have to. Can't escort them back to friendly lines with that Blade prowling."
"Blade?" Teller squeaks from the back of the "room". Only one Ursan unit went by that moniker, and it was surmised that they weren't present in Moskov. Leave it to the intelligence folk to bungle their one job… Gods be, if Orianna survived this she was gonna lodge a very informal complaint to Bull-
"Aye, just one. Broke the line two hours ago, cut straight through three platoons. A right one-man counter-offensive." Another commando grunted from behind.
Two hours ago.
Davies… stopped checking in about then. It is a cold realisation, like someone had taken Orianna's head and dunked it into an ice-bath…
"Ursans bled into the gaps that masked freak cut in the line. We make any sort of moves to punch back, it'll be on us in a heartbeat. Like it or not, we're killing that thing." The captain says it like it's just a fact of life. Killing one of the Empire's prized soldiers? The ones spoken about in fucking legend? Yeah, easy, just another Tuesday. Only one of Victoria's elites could be that confident… and Orianna… Orianna didn't deserve to be standing here. She wants to shrink into the dark but she knows that no matter how hard she tries to hide, these people would still see her.
"Not all doom and gloom. We've got one shot at it, and it's a damn good shot, but we won't turn down any brave souls who want to help-"
Brave.
Brave?
Something inside Orianna snaps, makes her chuckle darkly. The sarcasm, the pessimism flows more easily than ever as she snorts back, "For Her glory, right?"
"You're mistaken, trooper." The captain disagrees, voice soft, yet stern. "This has nothing to do with glory."
Yes, that voice is familiar, comforting even in the reprimand. Gods above, her head was a right fucking mess now if she were mixing people up.
Or maybe… she had always been a mess, and it only took all of this to make her realise it.
"Recite Her creed, trooper."
Orinanna's jaw clenches at the order, her hands balled tight, but what choice does she have against the word of a superior officer. "Tactics sharpen the mind, discipline strengthens the will, bravery shall overcome evil, benevolence shall save lives." She answers quickly, dubious of what sort of morale trumpeting this woman is trying to get her to believe in.
"Dirk."
"Aye, ma'am." The Vulpo responds with that rigid snap.
"Recite the final line of the creed."
"Ma'am."
The final line? Orianna… can't help but be intrigued as the Vulpo man takes his beret off and crosses a closed fist over his breast.
"-but our blades shall save more."
An arm extends from the shadows, hand held in the light before her.
"It's not about winning glory, it's about killing them before they kill any more of us. Simple as." The captain answers Orianna's doubt, cuts into it like a dagger to the artery.
"You in?"