"A Tear For the Novice"
by Daft Phully
For as long as there have been vehicles, there have been men willing to race them, and those willing to watch them. In one way, racing could be considered a metaphor for man's need for competition. Then again, it could be that people like to watch things go very fast, and sometimes crash and burn. The tradition still exists. "And the crowd loves it..."
The hive city of Alrune Rod runs a "smuggler's Olympics" in the abandoned streets of the underhive, to the great concern of the Adeptus Arbitus, who have to clean up post-event wreckage. The ruling families of Shamal Prime use a version of "running with the drago"' as a means of choosing suitors for the marriage season's available debutant daughters. The winner would win the hand of a debutant, and marry into the royal family. The losers would be smashed to bits by the construction blade mounted on the front of the iron dragon. And on Terpandre, the competition of renown was the hill- climb.
The southern region of this planet consists mostly of heavily- forested hills and valleys, and this geography interferes with the transmission of long-range, broadcast communications. The Imperium did not permit Terpandre's tech level to progress to develop satellite technology, so an alternate form of communications was developed to fill the void. Enter the age of the regional courier households.
Important documents and packages were carried by the pilots of these agile, single- seater, trikes and motorcycles. And only the most seasoned pilots handled the highest priority dispatches. The elite delivery procedures works something like this, At each dispatch transfer station, a high speed document duffel transfer would take place between couriers- one slowing down and the next vehicle fueled up, accelerating to up to speed-snagging speed-snagging the duffel, and continuing off to the next transfer point. This procedure is repeated at the next station down the line, and so on. The courier hierarchy spreads out underneath these elite few. Slower communications are bundled in larger shipments, and ferried by junior drivers, and so forth. Dodging flora and fauna is part of the job, as well as defending against brigands. All courier vehicles are armed.
In time, one household would boast of having the best couriers, and challenges would be made, accepted, and events would be staged. An independent might be able to impress a household, enough, as to be picked up under courier contract. Roving troupes of independent couriers traverse the region, to challenge the drivers of the major households for contracts, and sometimes, just for the honour of beating the best of the houses. Fatalities could be expected and were frequent. In each of these hill-climb events, there would be on-course hazards to be avoided, and shots would be traded from rival drivers.
It all changed when the Freebootrz grounded.
"...And that's how I met your grandmother." Pettianne loved that story; the one her grandpere- Johan Stuart-Parnelle- used to tell about his first King's Mountain Hill Climb, and the quiet teenager in spectacles, that almost killed him with a flamer shot from the rear of her ride. Grandpere used to say that speed ran fast in their blood, and that is how someday, Pettianne would make first-courier for one of the bigguns and...WHACK.
A broom handle rapped across the back of her head; the tiny barbs digging into her scalp and each causing a tiny wound , as the handle was yanked back for a second blow. "Novice CiClaire! Daydreaming, again? And I am correct in guessing that you were not praying to The Emperor, over
that mop bucket. Extra prayers for you, tonight, after you finish the infirmary floors. Now Scrub! And pray for The Emperor's Forgiveness of your inattention. Praise be to The Emperor!"
Novice CiClaire answered, "Praise Be."
The sister was off, back down the hallway.
"How can this get any worse than it already is?" she mumbled to no one in particular. Then she winced in the understanding that it could have been worse. And she was thankful that it was as only as bad as it was. Serving The Emperor has got to be better than serving the Terpandre Hussars.
In His Mercy, he had delivered her from that other life choice, as well as saving her life, after all. In trying to repulse the marauding Freebootrz, the Imperial Guard forces of the Hussars had demolished her village by lobbing ordinance into it. This thought brought an all too familiar scowl to her face. An isolated part of her mind knew well what thoughts were starting to form. "...They were supposed to be protecting us..." It always started this way. "...and they killed everybody..." Any of notion of gratitude had mutated into full resentment again. The novice started to work the scrub brush furiously, as she could clean the thought out of her mind. "Emperor or not..." Heretical thoughts again. Her new family was the sisterhood, and the past was...the past. Her soul was truly lost.
It had been tough on her and Ruby- now Novice Nieuport- her only other connection to her life before the invasion. Ruby, several years her senior, and an accomplished mechanic, worked in the motor pool, maintaining the meager fleet of vehicles that belonged to the infirmary. Six years ago, both were refugees after the Freebootrz were repulsed. Both trekked across kilometers of woodlands to escape, first fleeing from the orks, and then, from the victorious guardsmen, that were looking to celebrate. The girls were caught siphoning fuel for Pettianne's prized possession- the custom cycle her grandpere had built for her- their way to freedom. Rather than face the justice or the caresses of the guard, they fled-leaving the cycle- to the Abbey, and begged for asylum. Six years ago, Pettianne was a rookie on the hill-climb circuit; just barely seventen, and with a future riding on a cycle. Ah...some scummer ork or soldier, had probably stripped it right after...
Right after the services chimes were rung. And this was urgent from the sound of it. She could hear many footsteps in the hallway and much commotion outside. Discipline had told her to run for the novice sanctum-back in the priory; it was here that she would be told what to do. As she made her way back to the priory, she saw her battlesisters, in full powered armour, taking up defensive positions on the ancient circle wall that ran parallel with the newer, (well, they were still four centuries old) outside walls of the abbey compound. One of the other novices- already in mesh and armed with an autogun- pulled her aside, told her to dress out, and join the other novices on the new circle wall. She then sprinted for her post. When Novice CiClair reached her cell, she saw one other novice lacing up the last of her armour and making for the wall- weapon in hand- and ammo belt over her shoulder. CiClaire was soon out of her infirmary habit, and into into her mesh, pulling the rest of it on, and fastening it into place, as she raced to the new circle wall. As she arrived, the Mother Superior was in the midst of giving the order of battle to her charges.
Novice Nieuport handed CiClaire an autogun. CiClaire saw that her friend had been working under some road vehicle, when the call came. The mechanic novice had traces of lubricant still on her hands, arms, and brow. Their orders were to cover the battlesisters who would be forwards in the ruins. "Mother Superior said the defense of the abbey grounds was to fall to us... and the bulk of the defense was to be handled by the marines, who had deployed in and around the governor's chalet," Nieuport explained to CiClaire. When the Mother Superior left to join her battlesisters on the ground's perimeter, a low chatter started up among the novices, who waited for it to all begin.
"Audrey said she heard a blow-up between the marine captain and the Mother..."
The veteran sister leading this squad hissed and motioned to her to keep quiet.
"They have left us out on our own."
"See anything out there?"
"Is that tanks behind us?"
"What happened?"
"Cut the chatter."
"Where?"
"The trees."
"Audrey said that the superior wouldn't allow them to desecrate our abbey. He turned around and left, with out saying a word..."
"Do you hear motorcycles?"
CiClaire jerked her head around, "Where, where?"
A novice motioned with the end of her lasgun. CiClaire looked up to see if she was being watched, and when she saw she wasn't, she squirmed over to sneak a look. For her thoughts of the upcoming battle had become secondary. This had been her first chance to see any sort of bike in almost six years.
"Audrey said the Mother Superior was praying her beads- the one with the spines on them. Her hands were covered in blood..."
CiClaire saw bike-like motion over to her right. She went from a wriggle to a crawl...
"Audrey said that the Mother Superior had reached the twenty-fourth station; she had never seen her so far up..."
Over to the left, out of sight, of the novices, came the sounds of gunfire and small-bore engines. Ah...small-bore engines... The assault must have started at the main gate.
Nieuport gave a low shout over at CiClaire, "Get back over here- you're out of position and you're to get us killed..."
CiClaire grimaced, stop and crawled back over to the squad. She knew she was in trouble, and the bikes were gone anyway. The sister leading her novice squad gave her a look, and motioned her back over to her position. Some novice would be well-punished when this was over.
"Did you hear that?"
"Over on the main road, to left..."
"No, from the woods, ahead..."
The sound of a large single missile whistling overhead signaled the start of their action.
Mother Superior looked up to see that missile was floating down to the battlefield, via a patched and tattered parachute. She had seen this weapon before, many years ago- when she- herself- was but a novice. The battlesister leader hurriedly turned around to wave her novices off of the ramparts. Then the ground threw her in the air, and off of her feet. The sounds of weapon's fire came in from everywhere.
The White Scars had been trailing this particular Freebooter band for months, and were never quite able to catch them. There had been some brief engagements. A few deep space missile shots had been traded, but nothing conclusive had been achieved. The marines couldn't even gather enough intelligence to learn his ork name, so they tagged their leader, 'Gomorrah', in all of their official communication.
Gomorrah had been the pirate responsible for the destruction on Terpandre, six years ago, and was passing through this system again- and low on supplies- and were trying to stay ahead of the 'beakies'. Now seemed a good time to ground, and re-supply. He could hide his vehicles under huge trees covering this planet, as he had done successfully before, and raid pretty much at the times of his choosing. His flagship 'hulk'-in planetary orbit- detected the marine cruiser sending down their landing shuttles. Gomorrah smiled, and thought of the prize bikes he would be adding to his Freebootr band.
Gomorrah, proved more difficult to trap, than the White Scars had expected. First, the warboss, had been here before, and was familiar with the arboreal features of Terpandre. The thick forests hid his machines well; both from sight and from scanning. The freebooters could then mass up for a raid, strike, and then retreat to the safety of cover, with a minimum of combat loss. This campaign was almost easy. Though movement from one village to another was slowed because of the undergrowth and narrow trails, the ork leader could advance through it, without drawing too much attention to himself. If only his 'boyz' didn't plug those light 'trukkz' and bikes that came zipping through the forest...well... the humies probably wouldn't know where he was at all. No matter. He was able to use the captured vehicles- or what was left of them (parts)- depending. And those bags found on those vehicles, sometimes had loot in them.
Based on their battle data , the marines figured that the regional governor's chalet would be in the path of the next logical route that the warlord would take, and this would be the place to trap him and make an end of him. The chalet's piazza would be the killing ground, if the defending forces were able to lure him into it. This plan would be accomplished by making the main gate seem marginally defended. The remaining PDF forces assigned to the chalet, as well as those who had converged on the chalet after some of Gomorrah's less successful raids, would provide the bait. Hasty works were constructed in front of the gate and the PDF survivors manned them;this was to convince the freebooter leader that resistance is weak, and this was the place to strike. The marines would be in hidden positions inside the compound and spring the trap when the orks stormed the piazza
Gomorrah hadn't grown large on stupidity. He could smell a trap, and this sure looked like one. If he went in that way-through the gate- his trukks and traks would surely be destroyed. A 'Kontrr stykk' as the humies called it, was what he would do. He set up his troops in a long line at the edge of the woods; as he would for a normal attack. He could see some humies out at the main gate, and up on the wall, and there were some 'beakies' over at the small fortress on the right that were hunkered down by what was left of the wall. The cunnin', yet brootl freebootr figured if he hit the 'beakies', over there with his main force, he could grab some loot, and run back to the woods before the main force could get out from behind the wall, to give chase. It would be tougher to get in through there, because there was no gate, but he had another 'cunnin'' plan to fix that.
About a dozen bikes came screaming out of the woods, headed towards the main gate- heavy 'shootas' providing suppressive fire on the way in. The men at the gate, returned fire, and tried to keep their heads down as the vehicles approached. They could see more ork vehicles behind the bikes, massing for attack. Following their battle-plan, they staged a fighting withdrawal to main gate when the enemy was almost in assault range- retreated inside- while the troops on the walls returned fire. a few battle cannon shells ripped out of the trees and hit the outside walls. The PDF thought that this was the signal for main assault to begin. They braced themselves, with confidence.
The White Scars battle-bikes positioned on the other side of the abbey, powered up for a flank attack. and moved out in front the sister's position. This blocked the sister's view of the enemy's approach. The defending sisters would have little time to adjust when the main assault hit their position.
As the flankers were turning the corner, a smoke trail appeared from somewhere in the woods and arched over the battlefield. Rather than impacting the abbey, a parachute deployed from the missile-which slowed its approach and caused it to float gently to the ground. It landed in front of both positions, and did nothing. The approaching bikes paid it no heed; intent on flanking the approaching ork horde. The only reaction to this missile that CiClaire saw at all, was from the figure of the mother superior, who was waving wildly at the troops on the wall.
Of its own volition, the missile started to vibrate- slightly at first. The visible cogs and wheels on its casings started, in sympathy with the vibration, and that vibration increased to into a rumbling. The pitch of the rumbling dropped lower and lower, and grew in intensity, until those on the wall could not hear it, but only feel it. The parapet wall then started to vibrate, and shake, in sympathy. The only sound those on the wall could hear now, were the sound of little stones falling, from the direction of the abbey.
To the horror of all those defenders, their wall started to break apart. Slowly, at first, fissures appeared and those fissures grew in to wounds, then grievous wounds, at deafening quicker pace. With a dusty great moan, the rampart itself gave way-spilling fill first and centuries old stone onto the ground just below the wall. Behind the novice's line, chunks of the ancient abbey were dancing loose. A major structural support of the balcony-located in the infirmary wing- gave way and crashed into what was left of the courtyard- taking the balcony with it, and crushing the defenders who fell back off of the ramparts. Now figuring that the ground was safer than the courtyard, CiClaire grabbed Nieuport's arm and jumped towards the ground. Five meters seemed like five kliks- and then came the impact. They landed well ahead of their part of the wall- which joined them in the fall- and not too far from the rubble wall that was defended by the battlesisters. The two dropped prone and started to crawl, slowly, towards it. Nieuport crawled much slower than CiClaire, because of a bad landing. They had both lost their weapons in the fall.
Other defenders were not so lucky. One hit the ground chest first, closely followed by a large chunk of wall, which hit her squarely in the back and splatted her in a ragged circle around the impact. Another was pinned between two pieces of debris, by a third piece- her right hand futilely trying to push the rock off of her crushed arm and left breast. Nieuport could hear here cries to The Emperor, for strength and deliverance, and then to her mumsie, to make it stop hurting. The rest was lost in the drone of motorcycle engines.
The sisters- out defending in the ruins were not fairing any better- being closer to the device. Figures in powered amour- bowled over by the pulses- floundered about, and were unsuccessful in regaining their weapons, and their feet.
Now the engine's drone was occasionally interrupted by falling ordinance, Both were getting closer.
The orks were shelling the abbey.
The accelerating marine bikers caught the worst of it, Driving a bike at combat speed through an ork 'pulsa rokkit' blast in no easy feat. Bikes were bouncing off bikes, off fallen riders, off the wall, and, generally, wiping out all over the battlefield. One zoomed past their position- almost ten or twelve meters away- wobbling back and forth, as the White Scar rider tried to pull it back under his control. The bike hit a dip in the field and lurched up, throwing the powered armour figure off the back of his bike. One wouldn't expect bulky powered armour to bounce so many times, but it did, and when the figure stopped rolling, it never stood up. The bike buried itself into a berry thicket.
It was still running.
All of this wasn't lost on CiClaire. In fact, the bikes were all she could think of right now; the one right in front of her- the object of her tunnel vision. It's appearance blotted out the battle around her. And the battle was now around her. Nieuport grabbed the front of the transfixed novice's mesh breastplate, and pulled her head down into cover. Ork 'bolta' shells were exploding all around them.
The orks which had attacked the main gate, skid-turned to the left, and gunned off, away from the gate. This exposed their flank to the troops still on the wall, who were hunkered down waiting for the assault. It got scary quiet. No assault came. By the time this reality set in, more orks were joining the assault on the priory. The White Scar bike squad was caught between the advancing orks, and flankers from the initial assault. Even though a pair of space marine landspeeders joined the fight- coming in low and hot- from over the top of the abbey, it wasn't going well for them.
Whirlwind missile launchers were hastily re-aimed, and this fact was telling, as the first salvo went way wide, and the next landed on part of the battlesisters defensive line, killing or wounding them in the resultant barrage. Because of the marine deployment, the defending sisters could only manage a potshot or two before the orks crashed into their lines.
The orks didn't even know that they were fighting Adepta Sororitas, but these 'humies' died easier than regular 'beakies'. This was good.
Many ork trukks rushed in to assault. One dropped its cargo of Freebootr assault troops in front of one of the staircases leading up to the infirmary. Some Freebootrz were pinned in melee with the defenders; the others trundled up the staircase to get into the fortress. Some boxy, four-wheeled vehicles with wicked looking large- bore cannons sticking out of their front armour, had appeared out of the forest. They continued to shell everything in sight, except of course, the abbey, and this only occasionally.
The two novices were far enough away from the main action to watch what was about to happen, through the newly-created gap in the wall where they had just been. To their continuing horror, the first thing they saw was a figure hurdling out of an upper story window. By the look of the way its clothing moved, on the way down, the victim was a patient. A bed soon followed, followed by other medical equipment, and furniture. It was oblivious that the orks did not like what they had found. From in the woods, another single missile arched over the field. Red and yellow flares descended slowly to the ground, and the orks started to pull back. The looters ran out of the infirmary, with their arms filled with booty, and started to fall to the bolter fire of the advancing marine force; the White Scars having regrouped and advanced to the fighting- mostly on foot.
One ork had figure draped over his massive shoulders, and was running fast as he could to the waiting trukk- dodging the incoming space marine bolter shells.
The figure was struggling to get free as it ran. Nieuport poked at CiClaire, and when turned around to look, Nieuport pointed out the two. The freebooter had grabbed one of the order's nurses, and she was part of the booty. "Orks take prisoners?" CiClaire looked at the figures, and then looked at the bike, and then tore off across the field between their cover and the bike. "May The Emperor bless her and keep her safe." Maybe there were enough distractions going on around her that she could make it to the bike. Nieuport- to stunned to react to this- stayed where she was, but shifted around to be able to watch her,while her head was down. "May your Faith in The Emperor keep you both safe from harm," she prayed out loud. No one could hear her words over the sounds of battle...
This battle had just become more interesting, and this was a bad word, today.
The brambles tore at what was left of her habit, as she freed the bike from its resting place. CiClaire was glad to have the protection of the mesh; now if The Emperor would protect her in her next task... The White Scar battle-bike was idling, and appeared to be intact. She hopped onto the saddle, fumbled for first gear, and gunned it around to chase the ork with the nurse prisoner. "Second. (grind) Third, fourth...fifth?" "This was some machine," she said, pleased. "Cousin Lloyd could have done won..." An ork appeared out of nowhere and took a swing at her with a really big bladed...thing. She ducked, the bike weaved a bit, but she quickly regained control, and went back to dodging marines, orks, and weapons' fire. This bike, and its rider, were now in hot pursuit. CiClaire was a Parnelle, after all. This was almost a hill-climb. WHAM! Shrapnel embedded itself into her mesh. If she didn't stop daydreaming...she'd be road scrapings. But still, she couldn't get that goofy smile off of her face. This was definitely the most fun she had in years.
The Freebootr managed to dodge all of the action on the battlefield and make it back to its
waiting transport with captive- resisting and intact. And the transport burned off, doing its level best to evade destruction by the advancing marine force. The driver slowed down at the edge of the woods, long enough for the waiting ork, to toss its prize in the back, and clamber aboard. It disappeared down many of the trails leading deep into the woods, in a haze of bolter fire and oily smoke. CiClaire was soon after them.
Seeing the rapidly approaching bike, the ork in the crew compartment, tried to pump 'bolta' shells into it, but was unable to aim and keep its footing at the same time. After bouncing around on the metal 'trukk' bed, and shooting a lot of trees, just hanging on for dear life was the best plan. The ork was sure that his 'trukk' could outrun the puny 'humie' bike. He would be proven wrong, soon enough. Sneaking down the narrow trails of the Terpandre forests, was one thing. Full tilt evasive driving was another thing entirely. Especially if the driver was unfamiliar with the surroundings. Such as this ork driver. Its wounded gunner slumped around in its seat, braced, and fired his pistol, over the head of his passengers. The bike being smaller and the more agile of the pair, was able to keep up and close the distance. She dodged most of the shots and the bike's armour, handled the rest.
It wasn't the first time she had to dodge live rounds from on a bike before.
CiClaire came to the realization that she was speeding after the kidnappers and had no real plan for a rescue. "Come to think of it, " she wondered, "who'd they get? all the novice saw was a back of a head hanging limply off the bed of this truck.
Her plan came together thanks to an obstacle in the trail. The ork driver down-shifted real hard and doglegged around a stump that had appeared out of nowhere. His loss of momentum allowed the bike to overtake the truck, Actually, it would be more like a shunt, rather than the overtake, as she was coming in way to fast to brake, and remain on her wheels. The single passenger in the back slid into the captive who had slid to the front of the truck, and then, inertia tumbled it towards the back, as the driver dumped on the accelerator, again. The ork rider grabbed one of the armoured sides of the compartment and hoisted himself to a kneeling position, when it heard the sound of a bike engine, way too close to its end of the 'trukk'. This is when it looked up and caught the plasticore cycle tire in the gut.
Sometimes a desperation move is in order. CiClaire realized the she would be hitting the back of the truck, head- on with the bike, so she clutch- popped the thing, and yanked the cycle up into a wheel- stand attitude. With any luck, the truck would slide out from under her front wheel, and she'd still be riding. The ork struggling to right itself was an unexpected wrinkle. When she hit it, it cushioned the blow to the front forks. The tire must have snapped its spine in two, because it folded up into an unnatural angle over her handle bars- head bouncing off of the bike's head lamp- and flopped back onto the blood slick "Green?" truck. The gunner, who had lost his balance, in the dogleg maneuver, had just regained his balance- as well as his weapon- and was aiming for the bike . When the crushed ork slid down the front of her bike, the novice and the gunner looked each other in the eyes.
In that instant, it fired, she hit her brakes and ducked, and then triggered the bolters on her the bike One blew from a jammed shell- sending more shards into her armour -and flesh- the other hit home and blew the ork forward from the momentum of the impact. He disappeared over the passenger section divider of the truck. The front tire of the cycle slid off of the back of the truck, hit the ground roughly, and bounced. By pulling up on the handle bars and shifting all of her weight rearwards, she fought it back into control. And then, she was back, after a rapidly disappearing truck- bouncing down another trail.
The driver saw its gunner sprawled face-up over the hood- with a huge hole blown in it-and the driver panic- accelerated in an attempt to get away from what felt like an entire marine bike squad on its tail. The 'trukk' hit a dip in the trail, and the dead gunner slild into the driver's lap. The driver roughly shoved the corpse out of the way. never taking its eyes off of the tree trunks and limbs that were dangerously close to the truck. and speeding even faster by. CiClaire saw the dip a little too late to slow down. so she tried to jump the gap.
Now when this novice was in her competitive prime, this novice raced stock medium cycles. At this moment, CIClaire was piloting an extra-heavy battle cycle- one designed for a seven foot tall space marine (The Emperor's Finest) in powered armour.
Situational physics was not going to allow her to get out of this one. The bike started to go sideways as she tried to recover from the missed jump.
lnstinctively, CiClaire let the bike go, and went limp. She closed her eyes and blanked her mind. When she hit the ground and started to tumble, she stayed limp- letting the undergrowth absorb her momentum and slow her down. She must have made about a half dozen revolutions before she stopped, face up, looking at the sky through the canopy of trees above. She hurt. She knew that this was going to hurt real bad by tomorrow. The good news was that she could hear the bike's engine nearby- purring In idle "They can sure build them" and then, a bad sound of metal impacting against wood. It sounded like the wood won. The novice turned her battered head towards the source of the noise, but all she could see over a small ridge was the top of a large tree swaying gently back and forth, and leaves floating to the ground. The other trees didn't even notice.
Painfully attempting to come to her feet- second time today "habit-fonning; so-to-speak." and not binding them, she fell forwards, on to her face this time. CICIaire then started to crawl towards the source of the noise. As full control of her limbs returned, she stumbled upright and over to the ridge, pulling twigs and leaves out of what was left of her mesh armour, as she walked. It wasn't in any condition to stop any shots now. Or stop any glances. She left a goodly bit of the useful part of it back in the undergrowth. And what remained strapped on to her was was loose. The remaining shoulder guard popped off her. on the way up the ridge. Fortunately. in this battle situation, modesty wasn't much of a necessity right now.
CiClaire limped up to the top of the ridge and braced herself for the worst. When she reached the crest. it looked as bad as it had sounded. The truck had buried itself into a tree trunk, and was covered in loose foliage shaken down from the collision The driver had been ejected from its seat and been impaled in some particularly nasty way onto a nearby tree. Steam was leaking out of a damaged cooling system. and there was a touch of a raw fuel smell in the wreckage. Looking into the back of the truck, she could see the leaves start to stir slightly. CICiaire hobbled over on bruised legs, and pulled herself painfully on the bed of the truck. It was stuck with some greenish fluid. She brushed away some of the leaves away and recoiled at what was revealed. The ork underneath was still moving. She lurched back from it, and winced in pain from the motion. Under the ork. a human hand had appeared-spattered in green; with traces of red, and this hand was trying to find purchase under the ork's carcase. With a grimace, CiClaire crawled forwards and brushed the leaves away from the body. When she dug the two out from under the branches she had to laugh at what was there, and that hurt loads.
The upper torso of the kidnapper was laying on top of its captive. As if in a lover's embrace. The whole lower torso of the sister was soaked in the same green fluid; this must have been the creature's blood.
The lower torso of the ork was nowhere to be seen. The prostrate captive was coming out of shock, slowly, and was weakly trying to free herself from what was left of the ork, CiCIaire helped to push the ork from on top of the trapped Sister. The freed captive's eyes had been glazed over, and were now starting to clear The captive must have remembered what had transpired, for she suddenly stiffened and screamed. Then she scrabbled back further In the truck, and with CiCIaire, kneeling over her, trying to hold her, gently, in place. Maybe the sister was stunned by the appearance of her rescuer, or just in shock. CICIaIre had the look of a battered dryad; as the remaining pieces of her mesh was covered in twrgs and leaves, and her exposed skin was scraped and bruised. A dried trickle of blood ran down from one nostril. And there was more exposed skin, then armour. The whole front of her mesh had vanished from the various collisions, CICIaIre looked down at herself, smiled, and commented dryly, "You don't look too good, either. Can you stand?" The shaken woman nodded. CICIaIre was helping one Initiate Immanuella to the back of the truck. "Great l just saved Sister 'Read the Manual'. "She's going to report me for being out of habit. Out of habit," CiCIaIre she smiled as she thought this, and they both climbed to the ground. "Can't report back to the abbey like this." she said. The battered novice went around to the front of the truck to see If there was anything she could use to cover up. The ork gunner was wearing some sort of vest with crude plates bolted to it obviously, for protection. The plates didn't help to stop the bolter shell that went through his upper chest. And it was only splattered a little with 'blood'. She wriggled him out of It and shook the vest violently to loosen any dirt or pests that might be there inside. Then she slipped it on. It smelt bad. The vest bowed out at her shoulders and came down to her knees.
While freeing up the vest. she saw the drivers sidearm, in a crude holster, strapped to the seat. Thinking it was a good idea to be armed, she took it. It was a revolver, but a large and crude parody of one. She also grabbed a bag of what turned out to be the weapon's ammo and walked back over to Immanuella. Immanuella was on her knees praising the Emperor for her deliverance. CiCIaire helped the kneeling sister to her feet, handed her the bag, and pointed in the direction of the bike. It wasn't quite over yet.
The two never noticed the small length of chain tucked under the truck bed that was connected to a manacle that contained a decaying human hand and forearm...
A couple of wrong turns and some hiding from the retreating orks, and the returning sisters found that the battle had ended without them. The space marines had moved off to finish off the raiding freebooters and had retrieved their fallen comrades and wargear. The two women and the dented battle bike would have been a sight when they finally made it back to the abbey, had there been anyone left to greet them. It seems that the marines were successful in driving off the raiders, but at great cost to the locals. The abbey and its confines, were in smoky ruins. Just like her village six years ago, And as had happened those six years ago,at the sight of this, tears formed at CiCIaire's eyes, and started down her cheeks. This was the second family she had lost to bombardment. As they rode up they could see some figures in powered armour moving about the rums. This looked like a good sign. Parking the bike a good distance away from those figures, she and Immanuella, walked the remaining meters to the grounds. To join up with the remainder of her order. Walking in was probably safer.
It became readily apparent that most of her order were dead. or close to It. They passed body parts half- hidden under fallen wall sections, and battleststers with shell holes in their armour, or ones torn asunder by blows received in the assault. Nobody was moving. No prayers came from within the courtyard the only sound heard was a shuffling coming from behind another wall section, to their left They turned to face the noise. It was a servitor. One of the man- machine hybrids that the marines used for menial labour. In his arms was the body of a battle sister., It placed her down in a line composed of her dead sisters. The servitor paid them no heed and continued its grim task. To CiCIaire, this line seemed to stretch to the horizon. Voices were coming from up in the courtyard. Picking their way through the rubble that was one of the ancient stairways, the pair climbed up towards the sounds. On the way up, they were greeted by the sight of even more dead. Off to one side of the courtyard, a White Scar Apothecary was examining some wounded. He didn't notice the two as they entered. Then a figure in mesh armour moved in, from out of their sight. This figure appeared to be a novice from their order, and she was screaming. The figure attempted to stop him from doing something; they were too far away to make out details. CiCIaire and Immanuella rushed over to the two. As they approached they could make out the pleading cries of the figure in dusty mesh, to stop what he was about to do. The novice pushed his arm aside, and he stopped in his work long enough to toss her aside, and to draw his bolt pistol.
The last thing Novice Nieuport saw after watching CiCIaire disappear into the fray. was a wall of earth and smoke that engulfed her and blew her onto her back. This she remembered as she shook off the effects of the blast a short time later. Or at least she thought it was a short time later, The battlefield seemed awful quiet. Crawling back over to cover and looking out over the stillness, Nieuport figured that the fighting had ended and that her side had won. Hopefully, had won. She'd have to be cautious, until she was sure.
She carefully started her way back up to the abbey. This is when she started to see the dead- the dead of her order. All who defended the rubble wall had died in its defense. Some were lucky and those were the ones killed instantly; others had died in the horror of hand- to- hand fighting. Others were wounded and died watching life leak out from them And there were ork bodies everywhere, In varying conditions of death and dismemberment. Nieuport was so taken by the carnage that she didn't notice the absence of marine causalities. The marines had been here, and had gone by this time.
Making her way up to the courtyard, Nieuport was greeted by the same grisly tableau. With one exception. A White Scar Apothecary and servitor, were examining the fallen Sisters. They did not notice her watching their work She watched as the marine knelt down next to a wounded sister. +"Female Citizen. Estimated chance of survival does not meet template minimums. Administering narthecium."+ Nieuport saw the marine draw a shiny metal tube with a pistol grip. from his med pack. He pulled back a lever and she couldn't make out the rest.
+"May The Emperor's Peace be with you."+
Nieuport heard him say something about 'The Emperor's Peace'. The sister convulsed once and stopped moving. The apothecary motioned to the servitor, who then picked up the body, and disappeared with it down a ruined stairwell. The marine moved to the next fallen sister.
From behind her, the novice could hear some weak cries for help. in the rubble of the courtyard was one of her fellow novice/sisters- Novice Virna- and she was stirring from under the debris of some part of the abbey. The novice was just barely alive. Her right arm had been broken, and it looked like her ankle had been smashed by a fallen part of a wall. Some of the reinforcing wire used to brace the structure had hooked part of the meat in her calf, and the wire would have to be cut out of her leg, for the debris to be removed. Through The Emperors Mercy, Novice Virna had passed out from the pain. but she was now regaining consciousness, and would need help .. .fast.
Novice Nieuport held her hand and yelled over to the Apothecary for help. She went back to trying to keep the wounded novice still, until he could get over here. The apothecary (and it must have been a lower level one. to be assigned such a menial task) was judging the survivability of the wounded Sisters of the abbey. If it looked like they would succumb to their wounds, without medical treatment, (and there wasn't any for them. for the medical faculties had been utterly destroyed), the marine gave them the Emperors Peace and terminated them. Slowly, the apothecary walked over to investigate.
+" Citizen, take shelter. leave this restricted area, at once. The Emperor has blessed you, this day."+
The marine waved her off, and then he turned, and knelt down next to Novice Virna. Nieuport stood up. and moved back, but stayed close enough to watch him. +"Female Citizen. Estimated chance of survival does not meet template minimums. Administering narthecium"+
Again Nieuport saw the marine draw the shiny metal tube with a pistol grip from his med pack. He pulled back a lever and placed the barrel end against the temple of the dying novice. Now she realized what the device was going to do.
+"May the Emperor's Peace be with you."+
She screamed and pushed his arm away. The device went off. and its bullet shaped tip shot out about two centimeters out of the end of the barrel, and stopped. Novice Virna was starting to black out again. "She's not dying- help her... please."
+"Citizen disobeyed direct order and interfered with The Emperor's work. Heretic. Terminate. Immediately."+
The marine flung Nieuport away from him, and on the backswing, drew his pistol weapon. She sprawled face-up m the courtyard. He leveled his now-drawn bolt pistol at her.
So far, today, only one Sister was intact enough to save, and this one was about to be terminated. in The Emperor's peaceful manner.
CiClaire was on him in an instant. Her fight/flight response kicked in- and fight, it was. Her body numbed itself to the damage she had taken during the spill, and she sprinted towards the huge form of the space marine- jumping up to grab his gun arm. The pistol went off, and the shell violently buried itself into the debris near one of the downed novice's arm. Now CiClaire found herself in the grip of seven-feet of irritated marine, and she was at great disadvantage. Mechanically- boosted gauntlets started to squeeze her roughly, and she was lifted off of the ground... This is when lmmanuella hit him with a flying tackle, at his knees. The two novices, with the help of some loose ground under the marine's feet forced him to his knees, and then, to the ground. And with the help of the third survivor-and some large rocks- the three pounded the life out of him.
Novice Virma had gone on to join the rest of her order during the struggle. Nieuport weakly smiled back, at her rescuers. CiClaire collapsed In a heap. lmmanuella stared dumbly at the bloodly masonry in her hands.
"We gotta go. That's the situation," CiClalre explained this again to lmmanuella, who was not accepting this rationalization.
"What are they going to do to us if they find out we wacked one of the Astarte?" she said, as she worked to tie down a bundle to handle bars of the bike. What was left of the bolters, fairings, and other non-essential bits were tossed off to one side. The cyclist was moving and working in obvious discomfort. lmmanuella had found in the apothecary's med kit- and applied- half a marine stim patch to the battered novice. lt had jacked CiCIaIre back up into a wide- eyed sitting position, and then she was able to function again, after the quivering from the initial chemical rush wore off.
CiClaire had fully regained control of her faculties, the mechanic and the cyclist had locked eyes, and realized that they were in it. Real deep. Without a sound, they both split off;. Nieuport sprinted off to the garage; ClCIaire, moving much slower, left to retrieve the bike from where she had left it. Immanulella, was left alone. with med-pack in hand and started to pray over the body of The Emperor's Finest. She couldn't think of anything else to do.
When she next saw CiClaire, the novice had found the work clothes of a patient from the infirmary, and had changed into them.
"I figure that we have about two hours- tops-before the local guard overcomes its fear of the our order and starts poking around. Its obvious that the Liasonelle was not in the governor's palace during the fight, or she'd have been here by now. I don't want to be here when anyone shows. Nether does Ruby... I mean, Nieuport."
The sound of a bike coming around the comer interrupted their conversation. It was Nieuport on a similarly modified bike. "This belonged to the marine," she said. The mechanic had tied on what she could In the way of tools and other gear, and removed as much of the White Scar paint scheme as possible. A couple of spray bottles later,and CiClaire,had a generic Iooking cycle,as well. Well, as generic as an extra-heavy cycle could look. It might fool the casual viewer from a distance. They split the fuel cans between them, and each took an autogun and ammo. Bolters were way too suspicious looking. "Last chance, lmmanuella. We could use a chirugien like you."
"Look, Pettianne- seches." Ruby handed her one out of the pack. Pettianne struck it on the bottom of her boot, and when it caught, she placed it in her mouth, and drew in the smoke. "It's been six years since we had our last one of these?" asked Ruby. She then tossed the pack to lmmanuella.
"You'll be trading yourself for these or food packs soon enough." Immanuella looked back at Pettianne. "That was our other choice when we joined. Of course. your other choice could be the Inquisition. Heresy comes in all forms; I'm sure you know that.
All of this was confusing Immanuella. Duty to the order; duty to The Emperor; duty to yourself; survival?
" ls survival a crime against the lmperium?" she thought.
Movement from around the corner caught their attention. Pettianne (her given name) had her autogun up, in a nonce. It was the servitor. "What about him?" lmmanuella cried. Faith or not, she could see that her cloistered life was over. How it was to be over, was yet to be decided. All eyes now focused on the man-machine. A single tear rolled down from the flesh side eye of the servitor, dropping onto the plaque, that proclaimed his crime to the world. 'Failure to tithe, appropriately' was what it said. He stood his ground and just looked at the three. Pettianne stowed the autogun, and answered, "Look at him. His lot has already been cast, and he is living with the results. Ours have not. We still have a chance...all three of us do." Pettianne slowly climbed onto the bike. She was still going to be hurting real bad when the stim wore off. "Ruby and I really have to go." She kicked her machine to life, and groaned with pain when she did so. "Well... Mannie?"
The three of them left the servitor standing in the ruins, using up what tears he had left in him.