"Confessor!" As the portly man of cloth crossed the way, Lisbeth fired a shot in his wake, the bolt bursting inside the chest of one of the heretics, turning the left side of their torso into a thick, sticky pulp. "Can you see milord Inquisitor?" Somewhere, he and the rest of his group seemed to be obscured by the oozing smog, filled with the dust of expended rounds and tiny fragments of metal from the industrial processes of the planet, thin trails of open air left in the wake of las-shots and bolter rounds. A flurry of shots scorched the edge of the wall Lisbeth was hunkered beneath, and she reflexively ducked back before the fire could do any damage. Firing back was no good - at the rate of fire they were producing, she would scarcely have time to draw a bead before they would blow her away, and while martyrdom was the ultimate expression of faith, a foolish death does not a martyr make.

This was no way to smite the foes of the God-Emperor, cowered behind rubble and taking pot-shots. She would have to get closer; Lisbeth was determined to get within spitting distance of the missile team before they could wreck the transport. Perhaps the blood she had lost a few hours ago was starting to affect her sense of prudence, but in the absence of a better plan it would have to do. "Sisters, cover me," she howled, before entrusting her fate to His judgement, firing as she broke cover. A few yards down the hallway, she spotted another missile being loaded, and flung herself behind a stack of shipping crates as the missile detonated somewhere back down the hallway. [i]Almost there.[/i] Making the aquila across her chest, Lisbeth broke cover once again, her boltgun hanging from the strap as she tore a grenade in each hand away from her belt, unpinning them with her teeth and flinging them toward the emplacement - and, selfishly, hoping that they would be more worried about the grenades than landing a hit on her.