Lisbeth did not make much noise during the journey; she simply saluted the Confessor as he and his entourage left, and filed away quietly into the transport. Despite the slowly-scabbing wounds beneath her gauntlets and the flash-burns from near-misses with lasgun fire, she was content. She had been given her orders by a duly appointed servant of the Emperor, and had in turn been a receptacle for His will, and an instrument of His judgement. She needed nothing else. Two hours of prayer beneath her breath, for victory and for vengeance, passed without incident, aside for a few potholes and the occasional sharp brake shaking the Sisters within the van around like beads in a jar.

The car stopped, and Lisbeth rose; even inside the van she was able to stand more or less upright, though her bulky frame meant that a modicum of shoving was inevitable. Her first instinct would have been to simply drive at the gates with fire and drive the disbelievers into the darkness, but the noble Inquisitor seemed to prefer more clandestine - some would say [i]dishonourable[/i] - methods. Her mouth hung open uselessly for a few moments, before she looked down to her belt and recalled the grenades jingling around beside her ridiculous belt of rosaries. 

"Inquisitor," she offered, raising a bouquet of frag grenades, "How big would a distraction need to be for you to get to where you are needed?"