by Danie Ware
One targeted the canoness.
The other aimed straight for Sister Viola.
On the ground, Augusta held her position, bolter and chainsword in hand.
She stood at the centre of her squad’s line, Mors on one side, Alcina on the other. Viola stood on the line’s inside, and Melia at its outermost edge – this was not a battle for flamers.
Echoing the canoness’ thundered song, the Sister Superior’s voice reached a crescendo as Mors hit the servitor, but the machine was still running with its fellows, through the rising smoke and straight at them.
In all the clouds of dirt, it took Augusta a split second to realise that the machine that had been hit was not firing. Without its pilot, it was simply following its last command, and, with His blessing, it would run straight off the edge of the road.
She dismissed it, concentrating on the one closest.
If that turning autocannon hit them, they would all be facing the Emperor.
But Viola was still shooting, the booming clattering of the heavy bolter filling the filthy air. Shouting the words of the Litany, she raised her aim as the thing came closer, shooting upwards and almost into its belly.
It juddered under the bombardment, explosions opening like wounds all over its frame, but still, it kept coming. Its feet were big enough to crush Viola clean to the ground. Mors shot it again, his aim not as blessed, and his streak of fire went wide. Rufus was shouting something at him, though Augusta couldn’t hear.
She said to Alcina, beside her, ‘Give me room.’
Alcina shot her a sharp look, but moved.
As the thing readied itself to fire, the Sister Superior held her chainsword ready. To their right, the other running machines were keeping pace with their fellow. One was closing on the canoness’ Immolator, the other on the far flank. Augusta could only see them as a blur from the corner of her eye, but she knew what was coming.
The running machines opened fire together, the autocannons seeming to shake the very sky.
On the far flank, scarlet armour scattered, figures were thrown in the air like toys. In the centre, the machine chewed more holes in the roadway; the canoness’ Immolator rocked, but that was all.
And in front of the squad…
The autocannon was aimed at Viola, identifying the greatest threat. As it fired, its muzzle flaring with light, Viola hurled herself bodily backwards, still shooting.
In front of her, the roadway became a series of craters, and steam and debris leapt into the air. Cursing, Viola rolled into a kneel.
Still, she kept shooting.
In the vox, the canoness: ‘Roku, right-hand machine, all bolters. Nikaya, right flank!’
Augusta heard the order, and understood that the Seraphim were moving to protect Eleni’s weakened squad, but the machine was almost on them now. She watched its foot rise, timed it as it came down, its impact shaking the road…
Lashed out with the chainsword, straight at its ankle.
The blade hit, bit, and got stuck.
A second later the running foot raised once more, wrenching her shoulder and elbow and tearing the weapon from her grip.
Grit scattered; she bit back a curse. She raised the bolter with the other hand, opened fire. Beside her, Alcina did the same. Rounds thundered; twin streaks of lasgun fire cut through the smoke. The combined shooting of the whole squad battered the thing as it ran through them, and closed on the Exorcists behind.
And then, the damage was just too much. Its armour dented and blackened, its autocannon now blocked by its own body, it lurched and began to stagger.
‘It’s going to fall!’ The shout was Akemi, as the Ironstrider twitched, rocked, and then slowly toppled away from them.
Augusta breathed a prayer of gratitude.
As it fell, the crash was tremendous. Its servitor rolled free, but Melia was already there and a single flaming whoosh melted flesh and metal alike.
A sickening, smoking smear was left on the roadway.
Ash blew on the wind.
Augusta went to retrieve her chainsword. With servitor and machine both down, she was already thinking about the rest of the battle.
‘Incoming!’ Caia cried the word aloud as five more contacts blipped on her auspex. ‘No – not incoming, they’ve stopped.’
The first wave of machines was down; the sheer, continuous onslaught of the combined bolter fire had just proved too much. Around the company, the roadway was devastation, pitted with craters, smeared by smoke and drifting with rising dirt. Four machines lay in ruins, their armour and pieces scattered. The fifth had simply run straight over the outermost curve of the roadway and vanished into the water.
Not one of them had made it through the company to reach the other side – but the inflicted damage had been severe.
At the right flank, Eleni’s squad had lost their Repressor, its driver, and two Sisters; a third was badly injured. Covered by the Seraphim, Eleni and her surviving squad-member had picked up the injured woman and had run for the canoness’ Immolator.
Rhene, still grumbling, had lowered the ramp for long enough to let them embark, and then closed it again. Her muttering continued as she tended to the downed Sister.
‘Sister Roku.’ The canoness’ bark was unaffected by the damage. ‘Move outwards, defend the right flank. We’ll hold the centre.’
‘Understood.’
On the left flank, Augusta’s squad was unhurt, but in the centre, the canoness’ vehicle had taken significant fire – its top and front armour plates were badly damaged, and although the storm bolter was still operational, it would no longer turn fully through its right-hand arc. The brass pipes of the organ were a mess, and the company’s banner was in shreds – but these seemed the least of the canoness’ concerns.
‘Locations,’ she said. ‘Caia?’
‘They’re on the rocks,’ Caia told her. ‘Two on the right, three on the left.’ She could see them – just – perched like predators, and silhouetted against the sky.
‘Extreme range.’ The canoness’ words were a statement, and rapidly followed by an order, ‘Immolators and Repressors, hold your locations. Exorcists, on my command.’
Wryly, Caia looked at the mess ahead of them. The various fallen machines had all but blocked the roadway – not Rayos’ original plan, perhaps, but effective nonetheless.
But the canoness, it seemed, was unworried. ‘Sister Jolantra! Ready missiles.’
Sister Jolantra was the commander of the Exorcist unit that guarded the company’s rear. It also, Caia knew, had the range to strike.
But, as the vox-coders began to broadcast again, the trumpet call that was the muster, the call to battle, the five waiting Ironstriders raised their autocannons at the company.
And they opened fire.
Chapter Five
The Ironstriders had the range, the vantage, and a clear field of fire.
The assembled Order had no cover.
The canoness barked at Caia to duck, shoving both of them into the belly of the Immolator and slamming the hatch as the echoing boom of autocannons filled the air.
Assailed by the noise, rocks cracked, rumbled and fell. They hit the roadway, splintering into fragments; the metal-flat water geysered with repeated impacts.
On the right flank, Sister Roku’s squad had barely re-embarked before their Repressor was slammed with explosive incoming rounds.
Roku was not intimidated. Her voice rang furious, singing the Dies Irae.
On the left, Augusta and her squad were knocked to the floor of their vehicle, falling on top of one another as the thing lurched into motion through a thundering hail of fire.
In the centre, Caia likewise hit the floor of the Immolator, nearly knocking Rhene to the ground. Kneeling over the injured Sister, Rhene snapped at her to watch herself and went back to her charge.
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br /> The injured woman had caught a spray of shrapnel in her belly, and the wound was bleeding heavily. She made no sound, but her chestplate was off, and gore seeped out through her underarmour. It leaked, steaming, across the cold metal floor.
Oblivious of the blood, Sister Superior Eleni knelt at the woman’s other side, gripping her gauntleted hand in both of her own. Her helm was off, and sweat matted her blonde hair. It slid down her skin, glittering, outlining the edges of her tattoo. She was praying for strength, for His light and mercy, and she was echoed by her squad’s only other survivor, who sat against the vehicle’s side, her flamer over her knees.
Caia joined them, the prayer bringing a flare of anger. She felt almost guilty at the woman’s injury, felt that she should have done more, been out there to defend her. By the Throne, she didn’t want to be in here, hiding – she wanted to be fighting, firing, bringing wrath and retribution…
Her nervousness was crystallising, becoming anger about its edges. Not only anger at the enemy, but anger at her situation. Questions plagued her, flickering like prayers.
Was this because of Zale, the witch? Had he touched her, too, with his heresy?
Were her squad really here to redeem themselves in death, like the two doomed soldiers?
And if so, then why had she been separated? If they were to die, then surely, she should be with them!
Or have I not proven myself worthy enough?
Ianthe’s voice cut across her thoughts. ‘They have excellent aim,’ she said. ‘If they wanted to, they could take both of us, clean from the top of the vehicle.’
Raising her voice, she called out across the vox-coder: ‘Stand fast, my Sisters! His light is with us! We do not fear death! We do not fear pain! We will fight with the last round in every weapon, with the last breath in every body! For the Emperor!’
‘The debris field is clearing. Full scan of the factorum in ninety solar seconds,’ Captain Mulier announced aboard the Kyrus.
‘Ninety seconds.’ The canoness muttered the words aloud. She had a grin like a blade, sharp and gleaming and utterly mirthless; one fist was clenched like she could take on the Ironstriders with her gauntlet alone.
She snapped, ‘Exorcists! Fire!’
Caia couldn’t see the missiles as they streaked across the filthy brown sky, but she could hear the detonations as they hit. And she could imagine the machines rocking and falling, the explosive craters blown in the basalt, the debris and rock and metal and flesh as it was flung in every direction, the plumes of superheated smoke…
She continued to pray with Sister Eleni, listening, and watching the auspex in her hand.
The explosions were moving past them, backwards through the company. She heard her Sisters curse as the shells found their new targets, and fell upon the Exorcists.
And then, from almost directly behind them, came the unmistakeable detonation of promethium fuel. A brief scream sounded in the vox, half-shriek, half-prayer.
Livid with fury, the canoness’ voice grew louder, thunderous and proud. Caia, too, prayed like a woman demented.
‘We beseech Thee!’
On her feet, her pistol still in her hand, Ianthe barked, ‘Reload! Again!’
A rumble of rubble seemed to shake the roadway.
Sister Jolantra, in the leading Exorcist, remarked, ‘One down!’ Then paused. ‘Two!’ Another pause, letting the music fill the almost breathless wait. ‘And by His grace – another one crushed by the rocks. Three!’
The canoness’ grin grew.
Caia kept praying, feeling the words surge in her blood; Ianthe was looking up at the hatch as though she would leap out of it, descending on the machines with weapon in hand and the wrath of the Saint herself…
The heavy boom of the remaining autocannons continued, now focused exclusively on the Exorcists as the greatest threat.
A third volley of missiles arced over their heads, and Sister Jolantra snarled, ‘Four!’
Briefly, the last autocannon rattled on alone. There was a rumble of falling rocks, and it fell silent.
‘Five!’ Jolantra’s voice rose in a shout, a savage paean of victory and thanks.
The gunfire had stopped, and the grumble of the Immolator’s engine seemed suddenly loud. Caia stood up, but Ianthe was already moving, opening the hatch above her head and scrambling up to look out at the battle.
Captain Mulier said, ‘Scan in twenty seconds… Nineteen…’
‘The roadway looks clear. Sister Caia?’ the canoness asked.
‘Nothing moving,’ Caia said. She jumped up, and looked round to assess the damage. ‘By His light!’ The words were a breath.
Sister Caia was no neophyte. She and Melia had served together as novitiates, and they had taken their Oath of Ordination at the same time. They had joined Augusta’s squad ten years before, had seen the savage death-green glow of the necrons at Psamitek, and the clicking seethe of massed tyranids, their rip and claw and hunger. They’d seen the graceful fury of the aeldari on Basilissica, the muscle and mockery of the orks on Lautis. They’d faced the slaver of daemons, their whips and teeth and laughter; they’d seen the roil and flare of the very warp itself…
But Caia had never been to war alongside her assembled Order, never seen her Sisters dying in numbers, nor such devastation as Rayos’ machines could inflict…
She steadied herself on the edge of the hatch.
‘We are strong, Sister,’ Ianthe said. ‘He is with us. Can you not feel His anger? Taste it in the smoke on the air? Understand His joy and wrath in the exaltation of pure combat?’ The canoness’ voice was like a plucked string, deep and strong and vibrant, and laden with blood and power.
The vox-coder broadcast, ‘Sisters! We claim victory in the name of the God-Emperor! We will not let these defiled machines stand in our way!’
The ruined banner at her back, Caia answered, along with her Sisters, ‘Ave Imperator!’
The shout carried skywards, its force almost enough to make a whorl of currents in the floating dirt.
The roadway, however, was a jumble of confusion.
Amid the drifting smoke, Caia could see the devastation – the pieces of red armour, the strewn fragments of the downed Ironstriders. The damage to the ferrocrete road was severe, pockmarks and craters marking where multiple rockfalls had tumbled after the Exorcists’ missiles had hit.
Sister Jolantra, it seemed, had been targeting the overhanging stone as much as the attackers themselves.
Mikaela’s Immolator was already rumbling over the top of the mess, crushing all beneath the vehicle’s relentless tracks.
Caia checked her auspex, but there was nothing else in motion.
Captain Mulier barked. ‘Five… Four… Three…’
She breathed a prayer…
‘And clear,’ Mulier said. ‘As far as I can tell, milady, the factorum is empty.’
‘The Ironstriders must have waited, and then run out to meet us,’ Ianthe answered grimly. ‘But, as the Treatise says, He defends those best who defend themselves… we will pause to make sure.’
Augusta’s orders were clear – the vehicles would secure and hold the junction, and she and her squad were to disembark and scout the empty factorum on foot. They were not to engage, they were just to observe and report. If there were any threat remaining, they would ensure its final destruction.
As the Order closed the gap upon its mission target, nothing could be left at its back.
‘Understood.’ In the back of their Repressor, Augusta relayed the new orders to her squad, and to the two waiting soldiers.
Viola pulled a face, thought better of it, and stayed quiet.
‘We move in three solar minutes,’ Augusta said, shooting a warning look at the red-haired Sister.
‘Aye,’ Viola replied.
The Sister Superior was very aware of Sis
ter Alcina, standing with her arms folded and her expression flat. Alcina had not been impressed by Augusta’s attempt to take down the Ironstrider by striking at its foot, though she was disciplined enough to say nothing. Augusta had the uncomfortable sensation, however, that Alcina was still watching her.
Watching all of them.
‘Sister?’ she asked.
The Repressor jerked untidily sideways as it crushed rock and machine beneath its progress. Augusta caught at the roof to keep her feet. From the front, Sister Cindal called, ‘Auspex still clear, advancing on target. Ramp will drop in two minutes.’
Alcina said, ‘I will speak to you privately, Sister. When we have a moment. The enemy is our first priority.’
Augusta gave her a long, steady look, but offered no further response – this was a combat situation, and not the time. When Alcina finally dropped her gaze, the Sister Superior nodded, then said, ‘Viola and Rhea, take point. Melia, take rear. Mors, with me. Rufus, with Sister Akemi. We will enter by the side access and follow the left-hand wall, staying under cover of the balcony and the empty hoppers. If anything moves, we observe and report, and we await further orders.’
The Repressor’s engines slowed, and the vehicle came to a stop. Cindal said, ‘Still nothing, Sisters. Twenty seconds ’til I drop the ramp.’
‘Helmets on,’ Augusta said. ‘May His light follow us into the darkness. May His wisdom watch our pathway.’
Cindal said, ‘Three seconds, Sisters.’
The ramp’s green light flashed, its hydraulics whined. And even before it hit the ground, Viola and Rhea were moving, their cohesion smooth and easy.
But a new problem had developed.
The factorum’s concourse was gritty with black ash and fine, metallic sand. In the aftermath of the battle, it had been stirred to wakefulness by the ripples of rising heat, obscuring the Sisters’ preysight and limiting their field of vision. Viola reached the bottom of the ramp with a curse, and dropped to a kneel, her heavy bolter aimed out across the factorum’s foreground – what she could see of it. Rhea followed the motion, letting Viola run forwards once more. Their deployment was faultless, a movement completed a thousand times.
