Chapter Fourteen
Opening Salvos

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war...

Jonas clinched his eyes tight against the horrific pain, amazed he was allowed to curl into a ball from what felt as if he had thrust his arm into a blast furnace. He cried and screamed against it, then as suddenly as it came, it went and cold lucidity over took him. For a moment, he thought for sure his arm was gone, burned away from the fiery agony of whatever had been put into his hand and he clinched his eyes tight to avoid seeing the horrible disfigurement he was certain he had. But the minutes drug out and there was neither the blast of the bolter against his temple aerating his brain, nor the rough, strident voices of the women warriors who were his current tormentors.

The longer he lay there in a fetal curl, the stranger it became to him that he was allowed to do so. There was light against his eyelids, more than could be accounted for in the Palatine's dark office, yet his own deep seated fear kept his eyes closed. Slowly, fearfully, he found his other hand free and he fearfully felt about his arm. He could feel his own grip, both in his hand and the arm that was grasped by it. Millimeter by millimeter his hand crept down, feeling for the stump he was certain he'd find, but instead he found his hand, clinched into a fist.

“How long are you just going to lie there?”

It was a familiar voice, light and sweet and higher pitched than any note he could sing. It had been so long since Jonas had anything to sing about. He felt a hand, delicate, slight, but strong gently take his shoulder, not to force him to move, but with compassion. “Come now, Jonas. Open your eyes.”

Jonas turned his face towards the sound of the voice and opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut with a cry of alarm as the bright, bright light flooded them. Against the spots that danced under his eyelids his mind put together an image, a woman, her head ennobled by a golden halo so bright her features could not be seen and at her back, massive wings spread out and were lit up by the halo so they seemed to glow themselves. “It hurts!” he cried, unable to resist the hand that was gently pulling him upright into a seated position.

“I know,” the voice replied. “Service does that, sometimes. But we struggle through it, for the Emperor Protects.”

With his face turned down, Jonas hazarded squinting through his eyes to find his hands resting in his lap, both present and whole. He was dressed in the Day Service Habit he'd been wearing, but now, strangely it was his male body he saw within it. Next to him, he could see the armored greaves and boots of Sororitas Armor, but it was not the black he was used to, but a white so pure it seemed to glow softly. He looked slowly up the armor to be greeted with a chestnut haired, doe eyed face he was becoming used to seeing in the mirror. “Hey there,” she greeted, offering a hand to him.

Amazed, Jonas took the offered hand and let the woman help him to his feet. “Rachael,” he whispered. “It's you!” The angel smiled at him and opened her mouth to speak, but horrible buzzing cacophony pierced the infinite light where they stood and Jonas was falling. The angel vanished and reality was re-established by the cold, hard deck of the Vigilant and the calm, but stern intonation of Captain Newberry calling the ship to battle stations.

Rachael looked up from the deck, finding her hair soaked in sweat and a small silver box in her palm to take in the shocked faces of the sisters standing over her. It was Fiona Vander to over came her amazement first and turned to the Vox Thrower on the desk. “This is Sister Vander, status report.”

“An Ork War fleet has left the Warp over Io,” the Vox Thrower replied. “Arm yourselves and prepare to repel boarders.”

Before Rachael could react to this horrible news, Palatine De La Concordia knelt down to her, her tired face intense in its focus. “What did you see?” she demanded, reaching out to Rachaels shoulders to help her up into a sitting position. “Speak!”

“I saw her!” Rachael babbled, trying to look down at the metal box in her hand, but was thwarted by the Palatine's hand holding her chin and gently making Rachael meet her gaze. “I saw Rachael! She...she was an angel, beautiful...”

“Palatine, the alarm...?” Whitworth interjected. Constance looked at Rachael for a long moment, then she reached out and helped the confused sister to her feet. She took back whatever she had put into the new sister's hand and nodded, as if coming to a decision.

“Whitworth, turn out the mission for battle.”

“Even...?”

Constance allowed her face to become slightly cross. “The entire mission, Eloheim!” she commanded. “The Emperor calls, and the Sisters of Battle answer!”

Ruth braced and saluted. “The Emperor protects! Winter, you're with me!”

Rachael looked back at Constance and somewhat shakily wiped the sweat from her forehead. “The Emperor Protects,” she affirmed and for the first time, she was rewarded with a smile from the Palatine and a reassuring grip on her arm. “I'll do my best,” she swore.

“I know you will.” Constance replied, then she straightened and turned to her Legatine. “To war, Sister Vander.”

“To war!” Fiona chorused.

Rachael quickly followed Ruth out into the corridor and down it towards the bunk room of the sisters. She was amazed to see her pulling off the habit as she ran and despite herself, Rachael found she was too disrobing and not caring if any of the ship's personnel running in the corridor with them saw. After weeks of uncertainty, something truly simple she could do to serve the Empire had arrived.

The two women burst into the barracks to find the mission in various states of undress, several sisters, unashamedly nude stood around a bucket of water and were passing a sponge to each other. The sister with the sponge would declare something quickly, while dragging the sponge over her body, forehead, to arms, then breasts, abdomen and finally legs, then had the sponge to the next girl and run to her bunk and begin pulling on the link suit of her armor.

Ruth and Rachael finished stripping off their habits as they waited their turn at the bucket and Rachael could hear the hurriedly repeated phrase enough to repeat it herself. Ruth handed the sponge to her and she dipped it into the pale of water and ritually purified herself with the holy water. “My mind is pure to the Emperor's Service, may he make my limbs strong to do his will, guard my heart to harden it against my foes and give my legs speed to carry out his truth!” she declared, and saw real approval for her diligence in Ruth's face as she took back the sponge and prepared herself as well.

It was the ritual purification of the Sisterhood, although, the most paired down version of it for use in times of exigency, such as this. Now the Sisters were pure, absolved of all sin or failing and their place by the Emperor in eternal reward should they fall in battle was assured.

Then both women ran to their bunks where their armor carriers were waiting for them. Fortunately, donning the armor was perhaps the simplest uniform she would have to as Sister of Battle. Once she'd fought to get the Link Suit over her skin, she quickly pulled the Battle Habit over it and muttered the prayers for each button up her chest before laying her palm on the carrier to let it identify her. A quick clap of her hands, then her arms were thrown wide as the carrier reared up and encased her in a metal and ceramite shell. There was only a standard Godwyn-De'az Pattern bolter in the carrier that she removed and checked as the robot valet attached a bandoleer of magazines around her hips.

Rachael hung the sling of the weapon around her shoulders so that the bolter hung across her torso, ready to be picked up and put to work in seconds. Finally, the helmet was placed over her head and locked into position which caused the link suit to contract silently hugging its wearing and assuring her it was ready for battle. Before her eyes, the smart glass that sealed the eye holes lit up, giving her information about the suit, her weapons, and once it linked with the ship's data feed, information of the battle space. All floating in front of her vision that would also give her low light and thermal should she need either. She looked up, just in time to see Legatine Vander and Palatine De La Concordia in the door to the barracks, both of them encased in their own armor, the white faced visors with their red eyes of the otherwise black Sabbat Pattern helmets down and locked. “Lock and load!” Vander commanded over the Vox line all of the sisters shared.

Rachael held out her hand to have her carrier place a full magazine of bolts into it, then with her free hand snatched her bolter's action open and locked it in place, then slammed the magazine home into the well. “Fix bayonets!” De La Concordia ordered. From it's frog on her belt, Rachel drew the wicked looking half moon shaped blade, a sarissa it was called, that looked to have more in common with an ax than a bayonet, but it locked over the muzzle of her bolter. “I am the Hand of the Emperor!” Constance shouted.

“His will shall guide my aim!” the sisters replied.

Continuing the benediction, her voice rang out, “I protect humanity from Evil.”

“By my might is it purged!” Rachaels voice cried, joining the chorus of her sisters.

“I know only victory and death!”

“Death that walks before me!”

“Neither Taint of Chaos, nor lies of Heresy touch me.”

“I am the Hand of the Emperor!”

The red eyes of Constance's helmet gleamed as she gave her troopers a final glance, then turned back to the corridor. “Sisters!” she cried. “Follow me!” As one, the warrior women broke into a run, neatly folding through the choke point of the door without being noticeably slowed as the Sisterhood of the Adepta Sororitas went to Battle.

If Mary Cotton had been thinking more clearly, it might have occurred to her that neither of the sailors under arms that guarded the Ship's Armory would be thrilled to see a Sister of Battle tromping towards them in full armor. It simply hadn't occurred to her that she should have taken the time to remove it before going to confront the machine priest. It also hadn't occurred to her that she should have returned her Melta Gun to her armor carrier, which took the disapproval of the sailors into full on fight or flight mode. As they were at the end of a corridor with no exit, they immediately went to fight.

With a shout of surprise, a pair of lasgun rays streaked out and struck the Sister of Battle on her armor, which, fortunately, had been designed for maximum protection, saving Mary Cotton's life. Still, there was a marked heat flash from the strikes, even with the ceramite of the armor defeating them, as the energy was dispersed about her. This made Mary cry out and reflexively stumble back around the corner, out of line of sight. “Friendly!” she shouted while staying around the corner. “Cease fire! Friendly!”

“Hands!” the senior petty officer shouted back. “Let me see your hands!” Keeping most of her body behind the bulkhead, Mary cautiously extended both empty hands out where they could be seen. “Advance to be recognized!”

Keeping her hands out, Mary slowly eased around the corner. “Sister Mary Cotton, Daughter of the Emperor, to see the ships armorer!”

“Why are you armed, sister?” the other shouted, the fear in his voice plain.

Mary looked down, realized she had carried the Melta with her cringed. “Forgive me, Guardsmen, this is the weapon I need serviced. I should have announced myself. The fault is mine, may I approach?”

The senior took more careful aim, doubtlessly at Mary's bare head. “Advance for identification, Sister. Slowly.” he ordered. Mary nodded and, with extreme care, inched forward to the scanner and allowed it to check her. Satisfied, once it cleared her once again, the Petty Officer returned his weapon to safe and shouldered it. “You may approach, Sister, but I must report this as I discharged my weapon.”

Mary walked over to the two sailors and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No, the fault was mine, Petty Officer,” she assured him. “I will so state when questioned, you have my word. Again, my apologies and commendation to you for doing your duty.”

“Thank you, sister. You may enter.”

Before Mary could even think to raise an arm to undog the hatch, the lighting in the hallway shifted spectrum all the way to red and the battle klaxon began to echo throughout the corridors. Mary cursed to herself for not having her helmet and turned to the senior of the sailors. “What's going on?” she demanded. He activated a viewer, built into the alley-cove he stood in and read the display quickly.

“There's an Ork War Fleet over one of the planet's moons,” he told her with remarkable calm for such news. “The Vigilant is moving to intercept, with the Saint Arabella as well.” He looked up, his face ashen. “There's a notation to the call to quarters to prepare to repel boarders.”

“Emperor's teeth!” murmured Mary as suddenly she had ample cause to curse her hurry, her lack of cleansing and not having her helmet. She touched the Vox thrower in the arm of her armor. “Two One, this is Two Seven, I'm at the ships armory, do you read?”

After a moment, Wendy's voice came from the little speaker in the Thrower. “Two Seven, this is Two One, are you armored?”

“Wendy, I don't have my helmet! I didn't purify...”

“Mary,” Marks' voice declared calmly, “The Emperor Protects. Are you armed?”

Mary Cotton swallowed her growing fear and took the Melta gun from the grabber on her thigh and opened it to return the Accumulator Coil and snapped it closed. “Armed and ready to serve the Emperor.”

“Defend the Armory,” her friend and superior officer ordered. “I'll see you at the Throne.”

“The Emperor Protects,” Mary replied and snapped off the line, turning to the two, ashen faced sailors, she smiled and touched each on the shoulder. “Well boys, it looks you're stuck with me for the duration.” She took the Melta Gun in hand and sank to one knee. “Let's be about the Emperor's business!”

On the bridge of the Vigilant, Captain Newberry stared at the massive holographic table before him. Beyond, at the far end of the bridge were massive Transparent Steel windows, but the Situation Table gave him a much better view of the battle space than his eyeballs could through a window. In one corner, the holographic busts of the captains of the warships in the system he had commandeered were floating, ghost like, awaiting his orders, while he quickly scanned a miniature and not to scale projection of Thuria and it's moons. “We're on full burn,” Thomas Harris was saying, the commander of the Atlanta, one of the two cruisers that were the back bone of the Thuria Sector Defense Fleet. “But we're on the other side of Keroessa, it will be three hours at least until I can get there.”

“My compliments to Commander Moore,” Newberry declared to one of his inter-ship communication ratings. “Have the VACBOSS order the CAP move with us and be recovered once the attack is in space. Get them refueled and armed quickly! Be sure he's prepared to launch as soon as we get in range.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Captain Newberry returned to Captain Harris and smiled grimly. “I'm sure there'll be plenty to do even in three hours, Captain. We'll keep them occupied until you arrive.”

“I'll check with my engineer to see if we can get more speed out of her.”

Newberry nodded, then turned to the only woman in the group, the Sister Captain of the Saint Arabella. “Captain Roost, I would like you to feint out in front of us and lay out half of your torpedo ordnance. The Orks will likely clump in the beginning, giving you a target rich environment.”

Captain Roost's hologram turned to the only civilian in the group, Duke Wren. “With your grace's permission, I'll use my nuclear warheads.” The Duke gravely pulled at his chin, then finally nodded.

“Captain Newberry, I give you authorization to use whatever weapons and means you feel necessary to defend us from this threat. I'll have our factories begin production of replacement ordnance at once so have no fear of your resupply.”

Nathaniel nodded and gave Captain Roost a glance of heavy regret. Her image faded as she began calling for the code books to arm her munitions. “We'll make the best fight of it we can, your grace, but I doubt I can prevent Io from being taken.”

“I understand, Captain. Do what you can to keep your forces intact while I mobilize our home guard. They make take Io, but be damned if I'll let them keep it!”

“I'll see that you're kept appraised of the battle.” For a split second, the duke's mouth opened, as if he had something else to say. Captain Newberry waited patiently on the nobleman, but at least he mastered himself, nodded curtly and the transmission ended. He had little doubt what was on the Duke's mind. He'd seen the way he looked at Palatine De Le Concordia, saw the lavish gifts he'd given her clutch of Sisters of Battle and the expense of a private ship to shuttle them to and fro. But the Nobleman realized who it was he had fallen for, and how much her duty would matter to her. Knew that requests of special messages or treatment would be unbecoming and steeled himself to accept the bad of his infatuation that went with the good of the woman's poise and beauty. Nathaniel smiled to himself, amazed that at long last he'd come across a nobleman worthy of the word. “Helm, all ahead flank and give way to the Saint Arabella.”

“All ahead flank and give way, aye sir!”

The Chief of the Watch caught the captain's eye as he turned from his board. “Ship answers all ahead flank, Skipper.” Nathaniel watched the blue white nuclear fire of the Saint Arabella's engines come across his view port for a moment, then turned back to his chief.

“Mike, maneuver us out to port and bring the starboard batteries to bear. Let's protect the Port side so Moore can recover the CAP and get our attack fighters in the air.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper. Watkins, Doyle! Sound the recovery alarm and Z plus twenty thousand kilometers from the orbital plane so our boys are well clear of the Arabella's wake. Helm, left full rudder.”

“Z plus twenty thousand, and left full rudder, aye!”

“Now hear this, now hear this, Alert Two throughout the ship. Prepare to recover space craft!”

“Tommy, let me know the second you've got a firing solution,” Newberry ordered as he walked forward to the front windows, unable to resist the primitive brain that itched to see with it's own eyes.

“The batteries are coming on line now sir, just a moment.” his weapons officer assured him.

Newberry looked out through the transparent metal for a moment, the reached forward to pick up the inter-phone and held it to his ear. “CIC, Actual. Ronnie how many of the sons of bitches are taking the bait?”

In his mind's eye, Captain Newberry imagined being his sensor tech, so connected with the ship that it felt like his own body, seeing with eyes and hearing with machines that had no human equivalents. Imagined feeling that deluge of information flowing into his brain alone with the sensation of being five and a half kilometers of star ship. “About half the Ork fleet is turning towards us and the Arabella, skipper. They're all over the place, about a third of that mass headed to meet her, but the rest are coming at us, but the other half is almost disciplined, skipper! They're in tight formation and headed right for Io.”

“Just what I didn't fucking need,” Newberry swore under his breath. “Organized Orks. Tommy, what's taking my guns so long?”

“On target, skipper! Firing solution locked.”

“Fire for effect!” The sides of the Vigilant lit up with yellow and crimson fire as her massive broadside flashed silently out into space. Newberry watched them until he could no longer make out the streaks of fire then, after what seemed like an inordinately long pause, brilliant white light blossomed out in space, followed quickly by much more colorful explosions as magazines, engine cores and other elements began to burn in the nuclear furnace he'd lit.

“Con, CIC, incoming fire vectors on the board! Enemy boarding craft mixed with ordnance!”

“Shields up!” Newberry commanded. “Helm evasive Z plus fifty kilometers! Ronnie, vector the sisters to intercept the largest of the boarding craft. Sound intruder alert! Point defense weapons to fire at will!” The Vigilant wallowed as she tried to dodge the Ork's response to her own kinetic mayhem, but she was a big girl and not at all nimble. Her Void Shields glowed up into the X Ray band as some of the incoming fire was defeated and exploded harmlessly hundreds of meters from her hull.

But even on the heavily shielded bridge, the deck trembled as Ork shells struck home and boarding torpedoes managed to punch through her armor. All over her surface, the faster firing point defense weapons spat death in defense of their home and the black of space was lit with explosions. Then, the torpedoes of the Saint Arabella found their marks and for a split second, a new star burned brightly in the sky over Thuria.

Jennifer Hamilton's heart was beating like a trip hammer as she trotted in the formation of Sisters through the ship's hallways. Everything was bathed in red, like it was on fire and despite her visor being down and locked, she would swear she could smell burning flesh and in the static that crackled over the Vox Thrower in her helmet, every now and then she could hear the screams of men burning alive. She gripped the pistol grip of her bolter tighter, kept her eyes on the ass of her squad leader and lover in front of her and tried to calm her breathing. Ghostly messages floated over her vision from the Combat Information Center of the Vigilant that her suit had uplinked to. The sisters were being directed to the starboard flight deck, one of the most vulnerable parts of the ship, and the most likely place the Orks would attempt to board.

She gripped her weapon tight, making sure the safety was on and her finger was well outside the trigger guard so she would not have a negligent discharge and dishonor herself. I can, she scolded herself. I can do this. Gretch is here, WE can do this!

Then to her amazement, she heard the Palatine's voice from up ahead, as clear and sweet as a church bell, unbothered from the run begin to sing. “The Emperor called me to stand on the wall, to defend from the chaos that threatens us all! My sisters before me brought me to the fold, I reap like a scythe in a harvest of souls! I am his hand, and his judgment is nigh!” It was an old marching cadence and the Palatine's voice made a beautiful, Gothic hymn.

Even as Legatine Vander joined the Palatine, the entire troop fell in step as the song forced it's cadence on the Sisters. “No longer with family, to the stars I've been sent, to purge all the heretics who will not repent! I kill without consequence for his word is law! Separating the Righteous as grain from the straw! I rain fire, and death from the sky...”

Then, with one voice, the mission took up the chorus and their voices echoed through their helmets, and the steel of the Vigilant herself as though heaven itself had opened and a troop of angels were descending to battle evil itself. “And I've given up husbands, parents and life, to basque in the glory and strength of his light! Neither Chaos, nor Xenos or heretic blight, shall triumph against our Emperor's might! I burn with his wrath calling you to atone! I protect all humanity, with my sisters alone!”

Time came to an eerie plateau as over the klaxons and alarms, everyone within ear shot of the sisters stopped and stared, jaws hanging open, awe struck as the Sisters sang on their way to war. The voices were glad, triumphant, eager for the opportunity to do their Emperor's will and wherever they passed, spines stiffened, resolve was cinched and every sailor went about his duty or took up a makeshift weapon and fell in behind the sisters with fire in their bellies to defend this, His Majesty's Ship.

Then, ahead of them, there were different cries; the keen of men and beasts in pain, the staccato burning hiss of LASGUN fire and the thunder of makeshift Ork weapons. “Live and free,” the Palatine's voice whispered over the Vox and as one, the mission clicked the safeties off their weapons, then completely without fear, they stepped over the barricades the deck hands had hastily erected out onto the flight deck itself.

“For the Emperor!” the Battle Sisters cried and the formation broke into a flood of black armor, red battle habits flowing behind them, then nothing but the roar of Bolters. Jennifer found herself in what was easily the largest open space she'd seen thus far on the ship, dozens of times larger than the little shuttle bays the mission had been given use of. It ran for a kilometer in either direction, scattered around a clutch of the kinds of vehicles you'd expect to find on a space port. Fuel trucks, tugs, forklifts and crash wagons.

She wasn't sure if she was glad or downhearted there were no fighters or bombers present.

She ran as fast as her augmented muscles would run after Gretchen who was firing her bolter off to her left as she ran towards a big tender of some kind that would give cover. Jennifer turned herself to find, a hundred meters away was a pile of boarding torpedoes and still flowing out of them like a green river were the deformed, muscle bound horrors that men called Orks.

They wore patchwork bits of armor and metal, some had Space Marine helmets with the face plates carved off, forced down over their misshapen heads like grotesque bullets, while others pressed everything from pots and pans to nothing at all on their heads. They flowed like a humanoid wave over everything in their path in a demented frenzy to reach the humans and kill them, heedless to risk or wound.

Jennifer held her bolter up and its trigger down. It roared and bucked in her hands, like an animal itself. Only the augmented strength of her power armor allowed her to control it as it spat self propelled miniature explosive missiles into the nightmarish wave and the explosions drown out the cries of the Orks as they were pierced by the shells, then blown apart from within. The sisters had all laid down withering fire into the mob as they found cover and began to reload.

As she pushed a fresh magazine into her own weapon, Jennifer saw sweet, reserved Melody Harris leap onto the top of an empty munitions truck, then brought the heavy belt fed Storm Bolter she carried to bear. The multi-barreled cannon spewed out liquid death and the sister raked it like a hose over the Orks who were butchered and cut down by the dozen.

“Cover me!” a sister near Jennifer yelled, and Hamilton didn't think, she acted. She broke out into a trot with the other sister who was leading a pair of men from the flight deck crew that had followed the sister's song. Jennifer burped the Bolter sparingly, holding her fire only to those slavering monsters that headed towards them. Then she realized they had taken refuge in the shadow of a fuel truck and the other sister was laboring with a heavy flamer.

The two deck crewmen frantically attached the fill point of the sister's flamer to the truck, and slapped it's valves open. Then, right as Jennifer's bolter locked open, her magazine spent, the flamer roared and a tongue of white hot plasma was hurled into the mass of Orks.

The screams were inhuman as the monsters flailed, their eyes melted as they staggered into friends, spreading the fire even further. Bile rose up in Jennifer's throat as she got a grenade from her belt by feel and hurled it. The explosion killed a dozen, flinging bits and gore through the air and forced more of the Orks into the flames. She watched the hell for a moment, the bodies writhing in the flame and she was glad her visor was down and locked so she couldn't smell the stench of burning Ork.

“No mercy!” Legatine Vander's voice echoed through the deck as Jennifer reloaded and got her bolter going again. “Let them burn! Herd them together!” Like her sisters, she used the rounds to push the Orks into the cone where the flamer and their dead kinsmen would light them on fire as well.

No one shot the flaming bodies of the Xenos filth as they burned, letting the flames be their purification and death.

Then, as suddenly as the battle had started, it was finished and all the Orks were dead and burning. With a Herculean effort of will, Jennifer kept herself from throwing up and heedless of who saw her, embraced her lover, armor to armor and through the metal of her helmet, Jennifer heard Gretchen's voice, “You're safe, baby. You did it. I told you you could!”

Jennifer's cried silently, glad the visor of the helmet hid her face from the jubilant deck crew that crowded around the warrior women, congratulating them on their victory.