Throws woman in power armour

It swooped in over Bastion 17-Z, the scream of its engines engulfing Rannik and Khauri, engaging its thrusters as the twin assault cannons studding its prow opened up into the mob below with a whining buzz.
‘On board,’ Khauri shouted, lifting Rannik like a child. Her protestations turned into a yell of fear as he physically tossed her two-handed towards the hatch of the flier, the entranceway dropping open a dozen paces above the edge of the sub-precinct’s roof. She experienced a gut-lurching moment of dislocation, and saw rounds fired from below spanking and sparking from the grey metal ahead of her, the noise of their impacts lost in the cacophony of the engines.
Then she hit the cold deck plate of the flier’s empty hold, the impact driving the wind from her lungs. She had time to scrabble to one side, gasping, before Khauri impacted beside her with shuddering force.
‘Throne,’ was all she could pant as the hatch levered shut, sealing them within the juddering metal container of the troop section.

Carcharadons: The Outer Dark