“Off the Rails” Issue 9 Part 1 cont
With precision down to the nearest thousandth of an inch Ms. Thyme cleared the space between her engine and the armored caboose in one jump. Her body was already spinning on the downward arc. Steam exploded from her wrists and telescopic blades locked into place. One sharp shooter was hewn from shoulder to opposite side as she landed on the firing platform’s lip. Next in line to die was one of the artillerists as vibrating blade cleaved his skull. The other man on the mortar was shoved aside as the last sharpshooter tried to bring the muzzle of his gun to bear. Ms. Thyme sliced the weapon in twain with one sword and sank the other into his chest. As bright gore spattered the emplacement she didn’t even bat an eye. The other Sister’s were always appalled when they had to reap human lives. These sods were the enemy and thus there was only one true way to deal with them. A piston-aided kick to the last man’s temple ended the fight before three breaths were finished.
Ms. Thyme signaled the all clear as she stepped down to bloody floor. She immediately looked through the caboose’s window, then snapped her head back as a fullisade of bullets shattered it – peppered the other side of the door.
The other locomotive was a mere few yards away. The engineer dare not get any closer despite Harper’s suggestion. There was too great of a chance for catastrophe. Still it was close enough for the gynoids. Once both Ms. Rosemary and Ms. Parsley were atop the armored engine the former threw the later across with a great heave of augmented muscles. The triggerwoman’s crimson coat spread like the wings of a bird of prey as she landed atop the caboose. Her heavy pistols were out in the next instance and breaching shots were unloaded into the roof, tearing through the armor and down into human flesh. Her blind firing was based on where likely targets would be. If she hit or not wasn’t really the point. The suppressive fire would allow the other girls to get inside.
One of the Irishwoman’s steam-driven harpoons punctured the back-wall and she was pulled over with the whine of the pulley inside one bracer. No sooner was Ms. Rosemary over the lip then she ejected the chain. With a roar the redhead plowed right through the door, pulling it off of the hinges as an impromptu shield. Ms. Thyme rolled in after her. This all would have been easier with Ms. Sage to guide them, but things were going smoothly. The gunwoman crouched as the passed by low hanging trees and quickly reloaded fresh cylinders into her revolvers. Once Ms. Parsley could move again she dashed along to the front of this car, ready to blow away anyone that planned to come from the next. Inside the other two lovely living weapons made short work of the troops. No quarter was asked for and none was given. These cultists of the Vain fought with an insane zeal and military training. Some might call them martyrs. The Thistle Sisters would call them fools.
Ms. Rosemary poked at her side and the oozing puncture in combat corset. “Crazy bastards.”
“I concur with your vulgar sentiment.” The petite butcher didn’t wait for gunsmoke to clear. She tread a red path to the next door and whistled in signal. Ms. Parsley whistled in turn before hopping to the next car. By now the train full of loyal troops had fallen back to safe distance. The blonde was thankful for that. Basil and his men were only along so they could take control of the supply train once it was clear – or in a worst case scenario try to board it once they hit a section of double track. Things would have to have gone right proper for everyone if that was the case. The gunslinger was going to make sure that didn’t happen. She hopped down onto the landing between as iron ties flew by underneath at a breakneck pace. The next car was full of storage crates.
It was the perfect place for an ambush.
“Plan of action?” Ms. Parsley asked as her two sisters joined her. The trio exchanged a quick look between one another as air whistled by. This really was all the more difficult without Ms. Sage here. That didn’t stop them from having a job to do.
“Ms. Rosemary proceeds first, using her forearms as cover. I shall follow after and prepare to engage. You cover us from the door.” Someone had to take charge. Ms. Thyme decided she had to rise to the occasion. The route was agreed on with a silent shared nod.
The pretty pugilist tore the door open and strode in, her forearms up like she was getting ready to lay down the sweet silence. A grenade rolled down by her feet. “Oh feck me.”