"...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 how some day, Pettianne would make first- courier for one of
the biggun's and.... WHACK! A broom handle rapped her across the back
of the 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
weren't praying to the Emperor over that mopbucket. 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."

Then the sister was off, 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 thankfull that it was 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 her other life
choice,as well as saving her life, after all. In trying to repulse
the maurauding Freebootrz the guard forces of the Hussars had
demolished her villiage 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 everbody..." Any notion of gratitude- again- had mutated
into full resentment. The novice started to work her scrub brush
furiously, as if she could clean this 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 belong to the infirmary.
Six years ago both were refugees after the Freebootrz were repulsed.
Both trekked across kilometers of woodlands to escape, first, fleeing
orks, and then. victorious guardsmen, looking to celabrate. The girls
were caught siphoning fuel for Pettianne's prize possession- the custom
cycle her grandpere had built for her. Rather than face the justice or
the caressses of the guard, they escaped, on foot, to the Abbey ,
begging for asylum. Six years ago Pettianne was a rookie on the hill
climb circuit; just barely seventeen and with a future riding on a
cycle. Ah...some scummer ork or soldier, had probably stripped it for
parts 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. Dicipline told her to run for the Novice sanctum, in
the priory; it was here where she would be told what to do. As she
made her way back to the priory, from the infirmary, she saw her
battlesisters, in full power 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 CiClaire
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 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 the her
friend been working under some road vehicle when the call came. The
mechanic novice had traces of lubricant still on her hands, arms and her
brow. Their orders were to cover the the battle sisters 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 govenor's
chalet", Nieuport explained to CiClaire. When the Mother Superior left
to join her battlesisters on the ground's perimeter, a low chatter
started among the novices, nervously waiting for it all to 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, without 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 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 Mother Superior was praying with her beads- the one with
the spines on them. Her hands were covered in blood...."

CiClaire saw some bike-like motion over to her right. She went from a
wriggle to a crawl....

"Audrey said 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. ( Ahh...small-bore engines...) The
assault must have started on the main gate.

Nieuport gave a low shout over at CiClaire, " Get back over here-
you're out of position and you're going to get us killed...."

CiClaire grimmaced, stopped and crawled back over to her 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 all
over.

"Did you hear that?"
"Over to the main road, to the left..."
"No, from the woods, ahead..."

The sound of a large single missle whistling overhead signalled the
start of their part of the action.

-----------------------------

Mother Superior looked up that the missle that was floating down to the
battlefield, via a patched and tattered parachute. She had seen this
weapon once before, many years ago- herself but a novice. The
battlesister leader turned around to wave her novices off of the
ramparts. Then the ground threw her up in the air, and off of her
feet. The sounds of weapons' fire came in from everywhere.

-----------------------------

The White Scars had been trailing this particular Freebooter band for
months, and were never quite able to catch him. There had been some
brief engagements, a few deep space missle shots traded, but nothing
conclusive. They couldn't even get enough intelligence to know his ork
name, so he was tagged 'Gomorrah', in all of their communications.
Gomorrah had been the pirate responsible for the destruction on
Terpandre, six years ago, and was passing through this system again, low
on supplies, and trying to stay ahead of the 'beakies'. Now seemed to
be a good time to ground. He could hide his truks and traks under the
huge trees that covered this planet and raid pretty much at his
choosing. The hulk's scanners picked up the marine cruiser sending down
shuttles. Gomorrah, smiled, and thought of the bikes he would be adding
to his freebooter band.

Gomorrah proved more difficult to trap, then the White Scars
had thought. First, the warboss, had been here before, and was familiar
with the features of Terpandre. The thick forests hid his machines
well, from sight, and from scanning. The freebooters could mass up for
a raid and strike; then retreat to the safety of cover, with a minimum
of loss. It was almost easy. Though movement from one viliage to
another was slowed because of the undergrowth, and narrow trails, he
could advance without drawing too much attention to himself. If only
his boyz didn't plug those light trukks 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 vehicles- or their
parts- depending. And those bags sometimes had loot in them.

Based on their data, the marines figured that the regional
govenor's chalet would be in the path he would take, and this would be the place
to trap him and end it. The piazza would make a good killing ground, if
they were able to lure him into it. This was to be accomplished by
making the main gate seem marginally defended. The PDF forces of the
chalet, as well as those who had converged on the chalet after some of
Gomorrah's sucessful 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 that resistance was weak, and they were
ripe for the taking. The marines would be in hidden positions and
spring the trap when the orks stormed into 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 strykk' 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 hummies
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 chase him down. It would be tougher to get in
through there, because there was no gate, but he had a another cunnin'
plan to fix that.

About a dozen bikes came screaming out of the woods headed
towards the main gate- heavy shootas providing cover 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 vehicles behind the bikes, massing for
the attack. Following the battleplan, they staged a fighting
withdrawal to the main gate when enemy was almost in assault range and
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.
They though that this was the signal for the main assault to begin.

----------------------------

The White Scar battlebikes positioned on the other side of the abbey,
powered up for a flank attack, and moved out in front of the sister's
position. This blocked the sister's view of the enemy's approach. The
defending sister's would have little time to adjust when the assault
hit.

As the flankers were turning the corner, a smoke trail appeared
from somewhere in the woods and arched over the battlefield. Rather than
impacting into the abbey, a parachute deployed from the missle- 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; seemingly intent on flanking the apraoching ork
horde. The only reaction CiClaire saw at all, was from the figure of
the mother superior, waving wildly at the troops on the wall. Then, of
its own volition, the missle started to vibrate, slightly, at first.
The visible cogs and wheels started to turn, in sympathy with the
vibrations, and that vibration then became a rumbling. The rumbling
pitch dropped lower and lower, and grew in intensity, until those on the
wall could only feel it. The paraphet wall then started to vibrate, and
shake, in sympathy, with the rumbling. The only sound those on the wall
could hear were the sounds of little stones falling behind them, from
the direction of the abbey.

To the horror of all of those defenders, their wall started to
break apart. Slowly, at first, fissures apeared, and those wounds grew larger
and larger, at a faster pace. With a moan the rampart itself gave way-
spilling fill dirt and centuries-old stone on to 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 on
the clinic's wing, gave way and crashed into what was left of the
courtyard taking the balcony with it-and crushing the defenders who fell
back from off of the ramparts. Now figuring that the ground was safer
than the courtyard, CiClaire grabbed Nieuport's arm, and jumped towards
the ground, dragging the suprized Nieuport with her. Five meters
seemed like five klics- and then came the impact. They landed well ahead
of the part of the wall which joined them in the fall, and not too far
from the rubble wall, that was defended by their battle sisters. The two
dropped prone and started to crawl slowly towards it. Nieuport crawled
much slower than CiClaire, because of a bad landing. They both had lost
their weapons in the fall.

Other defenders weren't 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 arounf the impact. Another was
pinned in between two pieces of debris, by a third piece- her right arm
futililly trying to push the rock off of her crushed arm and left
breast. Nieuport could hear her crys to the Emperor, for strength and
deliverance, and then, to her mommy, to make make it stop
hurting...please. The rest was lost in the drone of motorcycle engines.

The sisters out defending in the ruins were not faring any
better; being closer to the device. Figures in powerarmour- bowled over by the
pulses- floundered about, and were unsuccessful in regaining their
weapons- and their feet.

Now the engines' 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 a pusla rokkit blast is 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/ twelve meters away, wobbling back and forth as the
marine rider tried to pull it back under his control. The bike hit a
dip in the field and lurched up, throwing the powerarmoured figure off
the back of his bike. One wouldn't expect powerarmour 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 about right now; the one 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 breast plate, and pulled her head down, into
cover. Bolter shells were exploding 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
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, their
orks were joining the assault on the priory. The marine bike squad
was caught between the advancing orks out of the woods, and the flankers
from the initial assault. Even though a pair of land speeders joined
the fight- coming in low and hot- from over the top of abbey, it wasn't
going well for them.

Whirlwinds were hastily re-aimed , and this fact was telling,
as the first salvo went way wide, and the next landed on part of the
battlesister's line, killing or wounded some of them. Because the
marines had deployed as they did, 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 the Adeptus
Sororitas, but these died easier than regular beakies. This was good.

Many ork trucks rushed it to assault. One dropped its cargo of
freebooters in front of one of the staircases leading up to the
infirmary. Some freebooters 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 battlecannons 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 a newly created gap in the wall, where they
had just been. The first thing they saw was a figure being hurled out
of an upper storey window. By the look of the way clothing moved, on
its way down, the victim was a patient. A bed soon followed- out the
same window- followed by other medical equipment, and furniture. It
was obvious that the freebooters didnot like what they had found. From
in the woods, another single missle arched over the battlefield. The
two novices held each other in anticipation of another quake, but this
didn't happen. Red and yellow flares decended 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 had regrouped and
advanced to the fighting- mostly on foot.

One ork had a figure draped over his massive shoulders, and was
running as fast as he could to the waiting truck- dodging the incoming marine
bolter shells.

The figure was struggling to get free as he ran. Nieuport poked
at CiClaire,and when she turned around to look, Nieuport pointed out this
new event. The freebooter had grabbed one of the order's nurses.
("Orks take prisoners?") CiClaire looked at the figures, and then
looked at the bike, and tore off across the ground between their cover
and the bike. ("May the Emperor bless me and keep me safe") Maybe there
was enough distractions going on about her that she could make it to the
bike. Nieuport- a liitle stunned to react to this- stayed where she
was- but shifted around to be able to watch her, and keep her head
down. "May your faith in the Emperor keep you safe from all 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 bike was idling, and appeared to be intact. She hopped onto
the seat, fumbled for first gear, and gunned it around to the chase the
ork with the nurse. Second, (grind) third, fourth...fifth? "This was
some machine....Cousin Lloyd could have done won..." An ork appeared
out of nowhere and took a swing at her with really big bladed thing.
She ducked, the bike weaved a bit, but she quickly regained control, and
went back to dodging marines, orks, and small arms fire. The bike, and
its rider, were hot in pursuit. CiClaire was a Parnelle, after all.
Speed ran fast through their blood, and this was almost like a hill
climb. WHAM! Shrapnel embedded itself into her mesh. If she didn't
stop daydreaming, and didn't start paying more attention to what was in
front of her, she'd be road scrapings. But still, she couldn't get that
goofy smile off of her face. This was the most fun she had had in
years.


The freebooter managed to dodge all of the action on the
battlefield and make it back to his waiting transport, with his captive- resisting,
but intact. The transport was doing its level best to evade destruction
by the advancing marine force. The driver slowed down by the edge of
the wood, long enough for the waiting ork to toss his prize in the back
and clamber aboard. Then it disappeared down one of the many 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 single ork in the crew
compartment tried to pump bolter shells into it, but was unable to aim
and keep its footing at the same time. After bouncing around on the
metal truck bed, and shooting a lot of trees, just hanging on for dear
life would be the best thing. The ork was sure that his trukk could
out-run the puny humies' bike. He would be proven wrong, soon enough.
Sneaking down the narrow trails of the Terapndre 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.
The gunner was able to turn around in his seat, brace, and fire his
pistol back at the pursuer, over the head of his passengers. The bike
being the smaller and more agile of the pair; she was able to dodge most
of those shots, with the bike's armour absorbing the rest.

It wasn't as if this was the first time she had to dodge live
rounds on a bike before.

CiCclaire 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 off of the back of an ork.

Her plan came together thanks to an obstactle in the trail.
The ork driver downshiftied real hard and dog-legged 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 an overtake, as she was coming in way to fast to brake and remain
on on her wheels. The single passenger in the back slammed into the
captive at the front of the truck. and then inertia tumbled him towards
the back, as the ork 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 he heard the sound of a bike engine
way too close to his end of the truck. This is when he looked up, and
caught a plasticore cycle tire in the gut.

-------------------------------

Sometimes a desperation move is in order. CiClaire realized that she
would be hitting the back of the truck, head-on with her 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 himself
was an unexpected wrinkle. When she hit him, it cushioned the blow to
the front forks. The tire must have snapped his spine in two, because
he folded in an unnatural angle over her handle bars- head bouncing off
of the bike's headlamp- and flopped back onto the bed of the truck. The
gunner who had lost his balance in the dogleg manuever, had just
regained his balance- as well as his weapon- and was aiming for the
bike, which was about two meters away. When the dead ork slid down the
front of her bike, the two looked each other in the eyes. In that
instant, he fired, she hit her brakes and ducked, and then she triggered
the bolters on her bike. One blew from a jammed shell- sending more
shards into her armour and her flesh- the other hit home and blew the
ork forward from the momentum of the impact. He disappeared over the
passenger section 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 the truck,
that was rapidly disappearing down another trail.

The driver saw his gunner sprawled face-up over the hood, with a
huge hole blown in him, and the driver panic- accelerated in an attempt to
get away from what felt like an entire marine bike squad on his tail. He
hit a dip in the trail, and the dead gunner slid into the driver's lap.
The driver roughly shoved the corpse out of the way, never taking his
eyes off of the tree trunks and limbs that were dangerously close to the
truck, and speeding even faster by him. CiClaire saw the dip a little
too late to slow down, so she tried to jump the gap. When this novice
was in her competitive prime, this novice raced stock medium cycles.
CiClaire was piloting an extra-heavy cycle- one designed for a seven
foot tall marine in powered armour.

The physics of the situation 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.

Instinctively, 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 and looking at the sky through the canopy of
trees above. 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 coming to her feet, and not feeling them, she fell
fowards. CiClaire started to crawl towards the source of the noise. As control
of her limbs returned, she stumbled back to her feet 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. And
she left a good part of it in the undergrowth, from the roll. And what
remained was of it was loose. The remaining shoulder guard popped off
on the way up the ridge. Fortunately, for the novice, modesty wasn't
much of a neccessity 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 his seat and been impaled in some particularly nasty way on 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.
CiClaire hobbled over on bruised legs and pulled herself painfully on
the bed of the truck. It was slick with some greenish fluid. She
brushed away some of the leaves away and recoiled at what was revealed.
The ork underneath was still moving. ("How?") 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 carcase of the ork. With a grimmace
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 his
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 sister was coming out of shock, slowly, and was
weakily trying to free herself from what was left of the ork. CiClaire helped
to push the ork from on top of the trapped sister. The freed captive
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 returned to the truck, and with CiClaire,
kneeling over her. The sister was stunned by the appearance of her
rescuer.

CiClaire had the look of a battered dryad; as the remaining
pieces of her mesh was covered in twigs and leaves, and her exposed skin was
scraped and bruised. A dried trickle of blood ran down from one nostril.
And there was as much exposed skin as armour. CiClaire looked down at
herself, smiled, and commented dryly, "You don't look too good, either.
Can you stand?" The shaken woman nodded. CiClaire was helping Initiate
Immanuella to the back of the truck. "Great. I just saved Sister 'Read
the Manual'. She's going to report me for being out of habit.",
CiClaire thought, as 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 liitle with 'blood'. She wriggled him out of it and
shook the vest violently to loosen any dirt or pests that might be ther
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 driver's 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 it was 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. CiClaire 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 conected to a manicle that contained a decaying human hand
and forearm....

-------------------------------

A couple of wrong turns and some hiding, from the retreating
orks, and the sisters found that the battle had ended without them. The marines
had moved off to finish off the raiding freebooters and had retreived
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 villiage- six years ago. And as had happened those six years
ago, at the sight of this, tears formed at CiClaire'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 ruins. This looked like a good sign. Parking the
bike a good distance away from those figures, she and Immanuella, walked
in the reamaining meters to the grounds, to join up the rest 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 battle sisters 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 CiClaire, 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. CiClaire 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. 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 CiClaire
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 the life leak out from
them, onto the ground. And there were ork bodies everywhere, in
varying conditions of death and dismemberment. Nieuport was so taken
by the caranage that she didn't notice the absence of marine
casualities. 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 a
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 carnifex.

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 novice-sisters-
Novice Virna- was stirring 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 Emperor's 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 facilities had been utterly destroyed), the marine gave
them the 'Emperor's 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 to watch.

+Female Citizen. Estimated chance of survival does not meet template
minimums. Administering carnifex.

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 sister. 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 carnifex 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, on the backswing, and
she sprawled face-up in 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 a non-peaceful mannner.

-------------------------------