9 CHAPTER 8 - STEAM TRAIN

We packed up and readied ourselves to leave Holy Dornoch. We got on the locomotive, an official business one, a train that wouldn't be hassled by the inquisition.

Government officials with their bodyguards sit throughout the various train carriages, all situated in their own chambers.

The train is is a pretty long one, the carriages hold steam-mobiles for those rich enough to afford such a luxury invention. Some cars had four wheels, others six, with comfy leather chairs and mahogany wood.

Our train was different from military trains, trains that transport steam-armour from city to city. They're filled with armoured vehicles, smaller versions when compared with our steam-tanks.

Due to our status seal, no one will check our cargo, we too brought our very own tank, with a seasoned driver and gunner crew. It takes up one full carriage but once unloaded, it'll be under guise, the same as us.

Covered in drape and wagon fibres, it appears as a mobile home or cargo wagon, only those silly enough to check under the drapes and board will find an armoured monstrously, a beast feared throughout Theia.

As a government train transporting important people, it too is fitted with the same cannons as our tank. The locomotive has three fitted, front, back and centre. No one in their right mind dares attack steam-trains, especially as some train are housed with entire garrisons of holy soldiers.

It'll take a few days to reach Dornochs border, from there the tracks end and it's up to us to transverse the rest of the way, alone with our selected few.

Trains transport citizens across the open mellow fields throughout Dornoch, connecting numerous stone cities, entering through giant steel armoured gateways, surrounded by 100 meters stone walls and towers.

Like tanks, the trains are vital and rare. They're not only gunned to protect its cargo but also itself, due to the expense and sophistication of technology and craftsmanship involved.

I'm used to travelling on military trains, we don't use our own Templar train due to putting too many eggs in one basket. Mixing with other regiments makes it more difficult for enemy sabotage and assassination within our ranks.

We are almost at the boarder, but the train starts to slow early.

One of our squires asks what's the problem, the train captain states the tracks are blocked. Unusually because train engineers check the tracks daily.

Our train comes to a halt, and sits in the middle of nowhere.

The nearest military garrison is six hours away and only our cadre remains on board except for the train crew.

We volunteer to help remove the track blockage, although I know exposing ourselves in the open is risky. Still, it'd be hours before help comes to remove, either way, we are sitting ducks.

We lifted the wreckage, looks like sabotage says Celine, and I believe her.

"Captain," I say to the train commander, "ready your guns." He looks back nervously, but without having to declare who I am, he prepares the guns anyway, acknowledging the tone of my voice.

Three battle cannons come online, steamed up and loaded, ready to batter off fifteen-inch steel balls.

I feel something, the ground rumbling under me, shaking, it gets heavier and heavier.

"Incoming," shouts Sergeant Harris. I turn and witness a dust cloud gathering high and higher and it closes on us.

The ground shakes violently, what was it, wild animal, no, the blockage, this was an ambush, an organised one.

The stell shutters quickly crackdown over the hardened glass windows and our train cannons point in the direction of the dust storm.

"Get back on board, we don't have time to remove the wreckage, we fight, now," I say.

Celine, Harris and I remove our capes, reviling our hardened shiny Templar armour. We climb to the roof of the train and prepare to fight.

Rangers stand ready, the fireteam of elite skirmishers ready themselves throughout the train, waiting to fire their self-loading revolvers and cut with their ranger daggers.

Standing with us is a fireteam of Dornoch Iron Guard, pikemen wielding thirty-foot pikes, masters of keeping the enemy a bay.

Standing with the rangers are Battle Nuns, they carry blessed swords specifically designed to use again demons. Also equipment are holy-water grenades.

The train crew are seasoned too, used to being attacked by bandits, but this was different, by the looks of the incoming force, it was hundreds of enemies, and a matter of minutes before they reach us.

"Guns ready Templar, fire on your order," says the train captain.

"Sir," says the tank commander, "preparing the tank, three minutes at the most."

Then the dust storm starts to focus, under the hot sun, the mirage becomes clearer revealing something unholy. A tsunami of ravengers, hundreds of them, charging towards us across the open fields.

The tracks are protected by barbwire and wooden pike emplacements on either side, but it won't hold the demonic fiends for long, we are in for a fight.

Someone organised this, someone knew we would be here. The ravengers aren't capable of planing anything or creating roadblock, they were helped, but who, no time to think, the battle is at hand, defend, kill, time to kill the beasts.

A voice from my side, "looks like you could use a hand Templar," to my astonishment, he was an Inquisitor, a cardinal inquisitor, high-ranking. He must have remained hidden on board. "It's my job to know everything that goes on in the city. Nothing gets past me, but not to worry, I might as well help."

The man is dressed in a long coat, over his armour. He wears a top-hat with a long curly moustache and wields a rapier sword with a puncher gun, (chambered revolver type one-handed shotgun, capable of smashing off six-high calibre shotgun shells).

He nods, I look at him for a moment, no time to wonder, just fight, I nod back.

"Captain, stand-by with the guns," I shout.

We'll manage to release four shots per gun before the demons are within melee range. Once they're within 800 meters, the guns can let rip. "Ten more seconds, standing by," I think.