Sanghaim Ambush

Abram
The Sanghaim

The Log
 The long and winding road. The caravan's path has been long, but it has been fruitful so far. They reached Dusty Springs without incident, and managed to get oil from Shimmer as planned. They had doubled back to Black Lake, and now Gouge's Caravan was heading to Scorch, slowly but steadily plodding towards Dead Rock Pass.

It was windy today. Cold sand fluttered about, obscuring Dan's vision as he kept watch from what had been dubbed the Command Truck. In reality it was whatever truck he rode on at the time, but that was fine by the boss turtle. "Everything clear up in front?" he asked over the radio.

"Yeah, things are smooth boss. Right now, anyways."

"Roger that."

 Clive sat in the second truck along with a few other members of the Caravan and, as per usual, the coyote was fast asleep, snoozing limply with his head leaned against a wooden box. It couldn't have been a comfortable position, but somehow he managed it. In the rearmost truck was Cora and Ivan. Cora was idly playing rock-paper-scissors with someone else because she was just that bored... "So Ivan, when Keen and I leave at Dead Rock Pass, I think you should stick with the caravan..." she said to the owl. "Where we're going is going to be dangerous. I don't want you getting killed."

 Carlos was sitting in the back of the Command Truck, polishing his revolvers for the second time that day. For some reason he couldn't find that book he was reading; he probably shouldn't have left it lying around the common area. Silently he gazes out the window and observes the vast wasteland, the outlines of the clouds and distant mountains sparking a twinge of romanticism. So, this was his home planet. He starts to whistle a low, mournful tune.

 Cassidy was, of course, making himself quite comfortable and acquainted with the crate of whiskey he had loaded onto the truck, a good half a bottle already emptied. He sat rather peacefully today, humming an old country tune to himself and turning a silver locket in one palm over and over while he played rock paper scissors with his other.. He didn't have any strategy or mindset.. He just threw out forms at random.

 Ivan crossed his legs, grabbing the truck rail and bracing himself slightly as the truck hit a bump. The owl frowned a little, adjusting the parka and cowboy hat he wore over his work shirt. "Gee, danger," Ivan's frown shifted into a smirk, "couldn'tve gotten killed all those other times in the Desert, fighting the Mohawks and whatnot."

 Ahkati kept his eyes on the horizon, and his hands near his shotgun. This was work time, and he had his game face on. "There's always danger, no matter how placid it may seem," the hyena grunted only briefly taking his eyes off his vigil to glance at Ivan, but only for the briefest of moments.

 At the front of the caravan, through the blowing wind, the ones in the lead truck would spot an obstruction up ahead. It was a small one, but it was right in the middle of the road. Nothing but a flare, and a hooded and cloaked figure sitting cross-legged behind it. A rifle lay across their lap, but for all intents and purposes they seemed dead, statuesque and immobile. They stayed there, on the road, waiting and presumably watching as well as the trucks came ever closer, not even bothering to scoot out of the way. They demanded attention without even moving.

 Cora wasn't really paying attention to the game with Cassidy either; she was only doing it to pass the time, and it barely did that adequately. "I'll be glad to be out of this damn thing. I don't wanna set foot anywhere near Scorch... I'd have to kill six or seven people before we left just to let all of the pent-up belligerence out of my system." Cora, as she was fond of telling, despised slavers and liked to go out of her way to cause them grief in any form or fashion.

Clive's ears perked as the caravan came to a halt, and without hesitation he stood and looked over the cab of his truck. "Hey Dan! What the hell's going on?!"

 Carlos jolts out of his reverie as the truck stops, Clive's yelling pushing him further into a state of alertness. "Silently he cranes his neck and peers out the window towards the front, seeing part of...something in the way. "The hell is that?" he says quietly. Instinctively he checks his revolvers and makes sure they're fully loaded.

 "We've got something on the road. Get everyone ready. I'll be taking a look." Dan picked up the radio. "Everyone, be ready. There may be trouble."

"Right."

The caravan leader picked up his binoculars, taking a closer look at the figure with a flare.

 Cassidy barely realizes anything is happening at all until the last truck finally churns to a halt behind the others. "Aw, damnit.. why we stoppin'?" he inquired to nobody in particular, quickly finishing off his bottle of whiskey.. then grabbing another. "Iffen we keep stoppin', how'm I supposed to make this whiskey last the whole trip?"

 Keen cracked open her eyes as the truck rattled to a stop. She sees blowing dust, hears the wind. They were not near Dead Rock Pass, nor Scorch. The jackal shifts away from the truck cab, pulling her shawl back on. Her hands instinctively take hold of her rifle, and she turns around, standing on the crates to look over the cab toward the front of the caravan. The jackal narrows her eyes, seemingly unaffected by the blowing sand that filled the air. No, this did not feel right at all. This seemed... Keen scowls, turning and dropping off the side of the truck onto the dirt road. She steps out ahead of the truck, rifle held close, eyes and ears scanning.

 "Maybe you shouldn't drink the caravan's damn supply of whiskey, unless you want to not have any to sell when you get to Scorch," Cora suggested with a smirk.

"Son of a bitch," Clive mumbled, reaching down and grabbing his rifle. "Everyone get ready for trouble. No telling what's going down up ahead."

 The figure stood up, holding the flare out with one hand and the rifle out with the other. They stepped forward through the gale, and the wind began to pick up just a bit, obscuring the approaching figure. The flapping cloak seemed to flash closer every few seconds, sand hiding them for a few moments before showing them just a little bit further along. They made no hostile moves, the rifle hanging harmlessly off one hand. At last they got close enough that they tossed the flare into the sand, letting it sputter out and coming boldly up to the side of the lead truck. He planted the butt of his rifle into the ground, as when they looked up it was clear the figure was a male red panda, goggles lowered against the breezy weather. He peered at Dan. "I have a request," he stated loudly and clearly, in an accent very, very close to a certain Sangaim they had known not long ago.

 Ivan looked around, tensing visibly. He grabbed the shotgun out of the holster on his back, and got down low in the truck.

Dan looked blankly from above at the red panda. He rolled down the window. "And what is your request?"

 Ahkati clutched his shotgun as the trucks halted. "Not good." he stated plainly, almost calmly... "We shouldn't stop. Not ever. We're targets, people. Eyes up." The veteran caravaner kept his eyes fixed on their surroundings, shotgun stock pressed against his shoulder. He was ready to bring it up to fire at any second.

<Abram> "Whatever part of your cargo is spare guns, ammunition, an' the tools to maintain them," the red panda said very clearly and slowly. It was clear he was somewhat unfamiliar with the 'common' language. "I will be havin' it, now."

<Zeta> Keen pulled her hood up as she spotted the figure approaching through the dust and sand. Her eyes track the flickering red beacon of the flare. She scrutinized the stranger, the way he walks... It wasn't a walk of desperation, nor that of a wanderer. He had purpose. The jackal's grip tightens gradually on her rifle. The wind flutters her shawl and hood, dust and sand whipping past her in long tendrils. She watches the red panda intensely from under her hood, as he approaches the truck. She's not ten yards from him as he speaks to the turtle. The voice confirms what she'd suspected. Very, very slowly, her rifle moves, the muzzle coming down from the air to point at the ground between herself and the red panda.

<Grafsburg> Cora grunted and grabbed her assault rifle, making sure it was loaded and the safety was off. "Okay Ivan, Cassidy. Get ready. We should be okay if we keep them at a distance. We've got the advantage of cover and mobility," she said with a nod.

Clive propped his rifle onto the roof of the truck's cab and put his eye to the scope. "Just say the word Dan and I'll smoke this fucker."

<VelociRapper> Dan stared for a moment. "I'm afraid I can't do that." He then immediately threw the door open, in an attempt to knock the red panda over. After, the turtle would grab the radio. "We're being ambushed, get ready." From his yellow banyan, the boss grabbed his .45 handgun. Now it was time to show them why he was called Steely Dan. "Go for it Clive."

<Ryo> The wolverine let out a slow sigh when he heard the announcement over the radio, but he slowly nodded his head anyhow, reaching down and using the bottlecap he had just removed to make a small cut in the fabric of his sleeve.. which he then began twisting and stuffing into the bottle. "Somebody got a lighter? I figger it might come in handy in a couple seconds when them bullets start flyin'."

<Abram> The panda hopped back to avoid the door, watching the caravan suddenly prepare themselves. He didn't seem to be too afraid, for some reason. He shouldered his gun. "That is sad," he said quietly. "You aren't our enemies. I suppose askin' nice ain't gonna work." He looked down to the ground, appearing almost... regretful. And then he simply turned and started walking away. From the sand and storm around the caravan... nothing happened. Just more wind, more sand, and no sudden explosion of men and vehicles on the warpath. Whatever Clive decided to do, the panda just kept walking away into the nearby dunes, and the wind was the only thing that was constant.

<Grafsburg> Clive took a breath, centered his crosshairs between the panda's shoulder blades, and then squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked, the bullet flew, and the rest was up to aerodynamics. "Son of a bitch!" Cora hissed as the gunshot rang out. Did this mean there was a proper battle on their hands now?

<Miguel> Carlos isn't too keen in this course of action. "Wait hang o-" But Clive's shot rings straight and true. The hybrid grits his teeth and stares at the horizon, cursing the sands as they billowed into the air. There could be a hundred of those tribals out there and they wouldn't know it. "Don't we have anything to see with better?" he declares, clambering into the cab with Dan and the driver. "Scanner, maybe? Shit..." Looks like they're blind. He points his revolver out the passenger-side window, trying to prepare for the unpreparable.

<Fritz> "Gunfire, get down!" Ahkati crouched low in the back of the truck, bringing his weapon up and ready to fight. He'd fire on the first target that would present itself unless ordered to stand down.

<Zeta> Keen doesn't flinch, doesn't even appear to make note of the gunshot as Clive sends one downrange. She stands in her place, watching the retreating Sanghaim. Her teeth grit, jaw tense. If anyone could see her eyes, they'd be able to note her fury. Then, the jackal turns on her heel. She steps to the truck, putting a boot onto the step up to the cab, wrapping her hand around the side mirror and pulling herself up level with the window. "Drive!" she demands, yelling at both the driver and Dan. "Get. Us. Out of here!"

<Abram> The Sanghaim didn't really stand a chance. He went down without a sound, though there was a puff of red as he fell. The wind howled. Sand began to cover the body. Still, no repercussions came. As the seconds dragged on and no explosion of gunfire came, it seemed more and more likely that the young panda had, literally, just tried asking.

<Miguel> "Hold your heels, folks," Carlos says over the radio. "That was us." Beyond that he has barely any time to do anything before Keen takes command. He quickly shuffles out of the cab and back towards the rear part of the truck, but he stays close nevertheless. "Sounds like a plan, Keen!" he declares.

<VelociRapper> "Yes, let's get moving." Dan picked up the radio. "Keep moving. We'll deal with any threats if they show themselves."

The caravan sputtered to life again, and began going on down the path again.

<Ryo> "Ah, fine. I'll find my own," he mumbled to himself, fondling through his pockets and.. lo and behold, after a few moments of searching, there was the lighter he needed! His face lit with glee. "Ah, well, don't member puttin' that in there, but spiffy! So, miss Cora, figger we're about to see some difficulty?"

<Grafsburg> "Let's get moving. Don't want his friends showing up," Clive said over the radio. Though he began to wonder... Had that Sanghaim had peaceful intentions? Maybe he'd been asking for help in some kind of... socially-awkward way? The coyote went silent for the time being, cradling his rifle close to his body as the trucks began moving again.

"Cassidy, give me your whiskey bottle," Cora said, motioning at the wolverine.

<VelociRapper> Ivan shook his head. "You don't seem too bothered that we could be under attack," he said to Cassidy.

<Abram> As the caravan began to rumble along once again, there was a maddening lack of attackers spilling out of the desert sands. If anything, it seemed that the Sanghaim, if they were even there, were deliberately holding back even after seeing one of their own gunned down. Some kind of psychological tactic, maybe? Were they being watched, judged even, from afar? Whatever the case, still no guns sounded. The body in the sand continued to bleed out, eyes glazing over, giving their life back to the planet he had come from. Even as the final truck rolled on by, nothing in the way of a counterattack or a sprung ambush occurred. The wind did pick up however, and soon the body would be covered entirely by the endlessly shifting desert, hidden from scavengers. But as the trucks continued their journey, if one looked back, for just a split second through the gusting sand they would see a single shadow flitting, bending over the spot where the red panda had fallen. And then the site of the incident vanished, out of sight and, perhaps, out of mind.

<Zeta> Keen rode on the side of the truck, outside the passenger's door. One hand holds her rifle, the stock tucked under her arm. The other hand grips the point where the side mirror joins the cab. Her boots are planted on the two metal steps that lead up to the cab. She scans ahead from under her hood, the dust and sand whipping around her. The wind continued to whip up to dust and sand, keeping visibility painfully low. The Sanghaim... The Sanghaim were going to attack. She knew it, she could feel it. They didn't just sit back when one of their own was killed. Keen's slender muzzle swings around as she looks into the cab of the truck. Dan had ordered the shot that killed the Sanghaim, and because of that order, a lot of people might be about to die.

<Abram> The caravan had made it to the canyons. The small, straight spaces were not the best to be traveling in when one knew that Sanghaim were about, but there had been no further approaches by the apparently hostile tribe just yet. At least until a shot suddenly echoed through the canyon walls, and a hole appeared in the engine of the front truck of the caravan, sending it grinding to a halt. A few more shots followed, their shooters invisible to the naked eye, pinging off the armor of the trucks until they... stopped. Once again. And then a voice, much more malicious and threatening than anything the first Sanghaim had said, echoed between the walls, tinny yet booming, spoken on a loudspeaker. "I have a request."

<Grafsburg> "Son of a bitch!" Clive yelled as a shot rang out. "Son of a bitch!!" came again when he realized the leader truck had been hit. They were going to have to act fast now... "Everyone! Keep moving! Go around the lead truck. Everyone in the lead truck, climb into passing trucks as they go by. Do not stop for whatever reason!" he yelled over the radio.

In the back, Cora paused from cleaning her rifle and sighed. Well, it seemed like things were coming to a head. She stood slowly, putting a fresh clip into said rifle and then chambering a round.

<Fritz> "And now they start shooting... great..." Ahkati muttered darkly, flicking the safety off his shotgun, checking to be sure there was a slug in the chamber and steeling himself. He was about to "request" that those damn tribals would just find a shrub to go die under.

<VelociRapper> Ivan ducked reflexively. Fuck. This was like Muddy Waters all over again, but with trucks and less fire. Nonetheless, he got his shotgun ready.

Dan had just ducked ever so slightly in the cab, letting the truck absorb all the flying lead. Ah yes, the canyons. Great place for an ambush. The boss turtle picked up the radio, and asked calmly, "Anyone got a bead on where they're shooting from?"

<Ryo> Cassidy blinked his eyes a few times as the sound of gunfire started outside. He still, by some miracle, hadn't consumed the alcoholic beverage he had prepped earlier and glanced at it in his hand now, then looked at the handgun in his other hand. "Guess I'm actually gonna have to use em'."

<Zeta> Keen, on edge as she was, wasn't ready for the truck to grind to a halt like it did. She loses her footing on the steps, and is thrown into the dirt on the side of the road. She tumbles a few feet before coming to a stop. With the voice booming from the canyon walls, she pushes herself up, resting on one knee. Her hood is back, knocked there by the tumbling. There's a nasty scrape on her arm that's bleeding steadily, but nothing to be concerned about. Keen curses loudly in her native tongue, checking her rifle before jogging to the second truck. She pulls herself up into the bed as it rolls forward to go around the lead truck, boots scraping up the side panels. It's Cora that she lands next to when she drops inside. "Da vasa shon nyall," she rants, lifting her rifle and aiming it out, looking for a target. "We've spilled their blood," she says, "They will want some of ours, in return."

<Abram> Well. That was one truck they were guaranteed to get. As the caravan was dragged to a full stop, the shooting came to a halt as well. The voice thundered again, but no shooters were visible. "This time. *All* of your guns." Another shot rang out, and there was a blur of movement from the top of the canyon. A single tire on another truck was shot out, exploding in a gush of air. "*All* of your supplies." Another tire burst open after another shot. A shadow moved far back, behind the caravan. "And the head of the man who killed Deshra. Give us these things now, and leave. If not... we will take. And you will die. You have twenty seconds to abandon the trucks and the murderer in your midst."

<Miguel> "What kind of a deal is that?" shouts Carlos, who in the confusion had somehow made his way from the now-wrecked lead truck into the cab of Cora's truck. He grins mischievously and aims his two revolvers at the walls of the canyon where the tribals may be hiding. "I'll give you my bullets, all right! All of them! Where do you want 'em?"

<Grafsburg> Clive sighed. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered under his breath. Well, as this Deshra's murderer, they'd be wanting his head he supposed. And fuck if he was going to give it to them. "What do you suppose we tell them, Dan?" Clive asked the turtle through the radio. Even if he was willing to give his head to save the lives of his compatriots, he doubted the caravaneers would give up their guns and their supplies...

<VelociRapper> Dan reached into his banyan, pulling out a small, featureless black cube. He rolled it in his fingers for only a second, before he put it back. He wouldn't need that. Not yet. He picked up the radio again. "We would not last in the desert if we surrendered our supplies." The turtle began twisting a few knobs on the dashboard, turning up the volume on the truck's speakers, which would soon echo on the canyon walls. "Feel free to try. The desert will feast on your wretched corpses." Dan then threw open his door, making his way to the truck bed.

<Ryo> Cassidy wasn't entirely sure what was going on. He just knew they were being attacked and they wanted the supplies. His friends were being fired upon and his booze was at risk. Nobody took Cassidy's booze. Nobody. "Like FUCK you'll be gettin' my whiskey!" he shouted out loudly enough for his voice to echo off the canyon walls... then he leaned out and fired a shot. It wasn't aimed very well.. or at all, relying on pure blind luck. Fortunately, luck was Cassidy's primary skill.

<Zeta> Twenty seconds. Keen tightens her grip on her rifle. Around her fingers, her rings scrape against the brass, wood, and iron. She mutters under her breath, a constant, steady tempo of what sounds like names. How long had it been since she'd faced these people? The last time she'd gone into open battle against them was about ten years ago... She sees the shapes moving in the veil of dirt and sand, but doesn't waste her shots. They wanted to be seen, if only barely. It was as much psychological as it was maneuvering. Keen knows their tricks. Or some of them, anyway...

<Abram> There was no answer for Dan. Apparently, the Sanghaim had issued an ultimatum. There was no such thing as "replying." There was giving in, or dying. The one on the speaker sighed when he heard the creatures shouting their ineffectual war cries. They just didn't *get* it, did they? Must they take it so personally when this was all about survival? He turned to the ferret beside him. He raised his hand. It clenched into a fist. "... Begin." The Sanghaim did, at least, have the courtesy to wait the offered twenty seconds before the true attack began. From over the lip of the canyon, small projectiles trailing smoke began to drop down, clattering to the ground, shattering, in some cases bursting, near the front of the caravan, and it began to drift. The bursting containers was not the end... there was also an ominous hissing that accompanied the spreading of the white smoke over the ground, and then a *wrongness* to the air, as vision began to swim and air began to burn.

<Fritz> Ahkati tensed, finger tightening on the trigger. He jumped as gas canisters began to rain around them. "Gas!" he shouted. "Masks on if you have 'em!" The hyena pulled on his breath mask, checking the filter and it's seal.

<Miguel> Carlos, fortunately, has the foresight to don some sort of gasmask as soon as he saw the first canister break open. "Way ahead of you, man!" He shouts, his voice modulated by the thick filter. Thankfully he can still aim properly thanks to the special eyepieces. "We got any night-vis or thermal?"

<Grafsburg> "Son of a bitch!" Clive yelled yet again as he pulled a gasmask over his head. "Someone get on the fifty-cal! Light those sons of bitches up!"

Cora, way in the back, didn't think the gas would be reaching her truck very soon. But all the same, she, like everyone else, began putting on a gasmask. "Those cheating sods!"

<Fritz> "Cheating is just fighting, dear!" Akhati shouted in reply to Cora, before attempting to pick out movement outside the truck vacinity and start picking off tribals. "Yeeeeahahaha! Just like old times!" He whooped, the fire of adreniline coursing through his veins. This was what he lived for, his life's work...

<VelociRapper> Dan clambered into the second truck bed, ignoring Keen and opening up three trunks by the front. A wealth of ammunition, flares, medical kits, gasmasks, and other supplies were stored away for exactly this kind of trouble. The turtle put on a mask, and then got on the mounted gun. The excessively loud gun began to sing, as it chucked casings aside and cast debris from the cliffs as it propelled rounds into the canyon wall.

<Zeta> Keen doesn't have a gas mask with her. This wasn't a trick she'd seen before. She pulls her shawl up over her muzzle, and sets her rifle down long enough to gather the fabric behind her head, tying it in a rough knot. It wasn't enough to keep her from breathing the gas, but it helped a little. It still burned her eyes badly, and she knew she had to find a better solution. It's then that Dan climbs into the bed of the truck. She watches him as he opens the containers, coming in as soon as he's on the gun and snatching up one of the gas masks. She pulls it on and retrieves her rifle, ears pinned back against the thunder of the mounted gun.

<Ryo> Cassidy heard the warnings about the gas and glanced to his side.. A gasmask! Fantastic. He smiled to himself. What a delightfully well prepared caravan! He put it on like everybody else.. then began wildly firing his handgun up towards the cliffs, nearly-lucky ricochets causing a few rounds to very nearly hit a couple targets he didn't even see.

<Miguel> Carlos crawls into the back of his new truck and looks around for a spare rifle. He certainly won't be able to use his prized revolvers until the tribals get a bit closer. He quickly locates a long-stock and gets to work, propping himself at the cab window and aiming downrange, searching for enemies. "We got the other side covered?"

<Abram> The Sanghaim weren't about to show themselves and become easy targets. They stayed up top and far back, and the wild shots that careened upwards only made them keep their heads down. One wildly fired shot tears into the soldier of a careless sniper, making him roll back and curse as he claps a hand over the injury. The jackal at the radio rubbed his chin as he listened to the chatter of Dan's big gun. That was a prize worth having, as long as it was silenced and not aiming at them. "That one. Kill him," he murmured to the ferret, and the order was soon passed down. Concentrate fire on the heavy gun, with special emphasis on taking out the gunner. Dan's position was suddenly subjected to a firestorm of bullets from far above. A few more gas canisters clanked down, one lucky hit landing right into the flatbed of the third truck. The gas and smoke was beginning to obscure the battlezone, making it hazardous to remain where they were. Even exposed skin was subjected to burns and other nasty effects.

<Grafsburg> Clive hissed in pain as the gas canisters came down, burning his skin. Those goddamned Sanghaim... They were all going to pay for this. One way or another, he'd see to that. Especially if Dan was harmed. He fell back away from the gas, taking a few accurate potshots on the way.

<VelociRapper> The machinegun was subjected to a hail of bullets. Dan could feel the ricochet of lead impacting the gun, mixing in the rhythmic rattling of the emplaced gun firing. The turtle got peppered, and his robe became riddled in bullet holes. Despite this, he didn't seem to be bleeding yet.

"This is just wasting time," Dan said as he got off the gun, his voice muffled a bit by the mask. He rooted through the trunks again, pulling out some large shells and a handheld grenade launcher. The turtle aimed high, and fired a shot that arced over the lip of the canyon wall.

<Zeta> As the rounds flew around (and into) Dan, Keen hunkers down in the truck bed, bracing her rifle along the top of it. She fires, the resounding crack of her rifle joining all the other noise. It's a blind shot, as is the next one. She can hear the reports of the Sanghaim's weapons, but cannot see them. She turns to look at the turtle as he launches a grenade at the cliff. "Dan! We need to get out of here!"

<Ryo> Cassidy's ears were open. He heard the curse from up above, indicating he had likely hit something, but didn't seem surprised. What -did-surprise him were the raining canisters. Unpleasant stuff to be sure, but he wasn't driving the truck, and getting out would just make him more vulnerable. He just stomped his foot and kept on shooting until he had emptied his clip... then he ducked back in and took a swig of whiskey.

<Fritz> "We're cut off from the front, can't go forward!" Ahkati shouted as he fired towards the source of movement outside the caravan... "We need to either get that truck moving, or ditch it!" Or just kill every bastard that had put them in the situation...

<Abram> Two caravaneers are already dead, and another heavily wounded. These aren't wild Mohawks. The Sanghaim take their time and keep their distance, attempting to whittle down the teeth of their prey as bullets continue to stream down, colliding with the trucks and ricocheting, making just about every place a dangerous place. The grenade Dan fires arcs up and over. A hapless Sanghaim's gun nest is in the way of the debris that falls and crushes his hiding spot with a cacophony of thuds and cracks, and the body falls all the way down with a sickening crunch. "The big gun isn't shooting anymore," the ferret said quietly. "Yes, I hear it," said the jackal. "Take out the engine of the truck holding it." They didn't necessarily need or want all of them dead, just their things. Not that killing them all would be a bad thing in his eyes. A few more loud reports, and a second truck is utterly disabled. The chances of escape are dwindling with each passing moment. The jackal sighs and rubs his eyes. He had hoped for no dead on his side at least... but unless the fools down below were ready to all die for their product, this was going to be a grand haul back home.

<Ryo> "I wish they'd jes fuckin' come out and scrap. All this shootin' at nothin' ain't none too pleasin'.." the wolverine complained as he reloaded his handgun, poppng in another twenty-four round clip. A few more shots were popped up into the air toward the cliffs before he leaned out further for a moment, glancing up and actually trying to -spot- one of them before firing again.

<Zeta> Keen could care less about the product at this point. She just knows that if those Sanghaim catch sight of her, they'll definitely kill her, or worse... Some of Abram's words to her before he left ring in her ears. Then, the second truck, the one she's in, lurches to a stop. She keeps firing, loading, firing, loading... A muzzle flash strobes in the gas haze, and she takes aim at it, squeezing off another shot. It was impossible to know if she'd hit the attacker.

<VelociRapper> Dan felt the truck sag. That was not a problem to the turtle. No, he just rained grenade after grenade. Perhaps most eerie about this was not how mechanical and easy the boss turtle made each shot seem, but how unaffected he seemed by it all. Underneath that mask was a blank squint. All the bullets did not make him flinch.

Eventually, Dan had managed to perform a complete sweep of one canyon wall with all the grenades on him. But he wasn't satisfied. He tossed aside the hot, smoking red grenade launcher and went to the trunks again. The turtle pulled it back, revealing a trapdoor. He pulled up on the slab, wobbling slightly as another bullet hit him, and hopped into the compartment. He emerged with a large rifle, extremely unusual with the large box scope on top and several wires sticking out the side. The trigger was just a large lever, and the stock was wider than the gun itself.

Dan raised the weighty rifle, looking down the scope. He could see through the gas, the smoke, the dust, everything in varying shades of white and black. He could even see through the debris. He saw through the cliff wall, several figures crouching and lying prone. The turtle aimed, and pulled the lever. A loud whine and electrical pulse could be heard, a large blast of sparks spewed from the gun, and a bolt of energy flew into the canyon wall, blowing an arc away as it continued through without being hindered in the slightest.

<Miguel> Carlos wasn't able to find any thermal goggles, but he does find a convenient scope that snaps onto the upper register of his rifle. At first he jumps back into the fight with eagerness, renewed by his increased fire capability. But, the din of battle threatens to confuse, the blinding smoke and sand generating the dread of uncertainty. He is still for a while, stunned by the chaos, but as shot after shot strikes the area around the truck, he discovers the resolve pushes by the desire to survive. At once he cants the rifle to his eye and fires off several shots at the tribals, firing short bursts to ensure that he strikes them. Then, Dan makes use of his fantastic weapon, and the hybrid stares in awe. "Holy shit!"

<Ryo> Cassidy happened to be glancing out to line up a hopeful shot when he saw that beam of energy, though his inebriation mixed with his odd angle to give him less than a perfect view, his eyes growing wide. "Okay, now Dan's shootin' fuckin' laserbeams outta his face.. maybe I've had enough to drink.."

<Fritz> Ahkati stared in stunned silence at Dan. Well. Holy shit. Why didn't they just start off with that? "That'll shut 'em up," he hyena muttered as he took cover behind the thick steel of one of the crates, feeding slugs into his shotgun as quick as he could before popping up to unload towards the tribals. Bullets snapped past his ears, the veteran caravaner flinching slightly as he ducked back down. "Shit, we're like targets at the carnival down here!"

<Abram> And suddenly the ferret was dead. The jackal even flinched as the body flew up and disintegrated with a harsh red glow, hearing the crackle as the carcass burned away to ash. He stared at the space where his compatriot had once stood, and then nodded, a satisfied smile growing on his face. "*That* one," he says, as if making a decision of what to buy at a general store. "The bearer of that gun is the highest priority," he said into his radio. "Hunters, take him down. Whatever the cost. And *fast.*" And the jackal himself even plucked up a gun and hurried to the lip of the canyon. Their lives were not important so much as the loot they could drag home with them, not when a target that valuable had simply thrown itself into their lap. Functioning Dominion tech was worth a few more bodies. Him and two other snipers soon had the turtle and his outlandish gun marked for death, even as another Sanghaim fell. "Nan to, sin tash o dek," one of them murmured as they pulled the trigger.

<VelociRapper> The canyon wall that Dan had shot began to crumble, and debris began to roll or fall down, landing next to the trucks or in their beds, not including the rock that had not been outright melted away in the blast.

Dan pulled the lever back into place, and a jet of hot air shot out from vents in the gun's barrel. An extremely large box fell out the bottom, and the turtle casually slapped another one in. Then, he could feel three bullets passing through him. The turtle looked down for a brief moment, a small trickle of blood visible on his banyan at his lower torso, and droplets of blood forming a tiny pool at his feet.

Dan wasn't phased at all, continuing to aim as if he hadn't been shot. Nothing about his movement indicated that he even felt it. The turtle set aim again, firing the big energy rifle at the hunters. And again. And again. After the fourth shot, when Dan sets the lever back into position, a big box falls out the bottom of the gun's stock. The boss turtle ducks into cover, and begins casually reloading his high-power energy rifle.

<Abram> The snipers watched as the turtle seemed to simply shrug off their shots, and then four of them were dead. The jackal, who had somehow avoided the random rain of death and destruction, decided that this was getting a little too high in cost. No point in all of them dying if they could simply regroup and fight another day, and their prey had put up too stout a resistance for them to press the attack even if they took out that gunner. "Pull back," he said into the radio, and just like that, the attack stopped. The only sign of the Sanghaim retreating was a flash of sand-yellow cloaks and a rush of movement at the edge of their sight. The canyon was silent.

<Zeta> Keen stops firing. She watches Dan fire the energy rifle, her jaw hanging open. Just WHERE had Dan gotten such a weapon? Her lack of fighting didn't matter, it seemed, as the Sanghaim stopped shooting. As rocks smacked into the side of the truck and into the bed, the jackal shifts to sit against the side. "Dan," She says, voice easily heard in the relative quiet that now filled the canyon, "Where did you get that weapon?"

<Fritz> "No shit, I want one..." Said the hyena, ears ringing as he again fed more shells into his shotgun. "Oh... shit! Dan!" The hyena ignored the retreating tribals, pulling out his medical kit and rushing to the reptile's aid. He was bleeding, and he wasn't about to let the guy die after saving their asses like that.

<VelociRapper> A final sweep of the canyon wall through the scope showed it was empty. It might have four large holes in it, but that added character. Dan relaxed his grip, and began closing the trunks he had thrown open. Dripping blood as he stepped over the pulled out trunk, he stashed the brutal energy rifle back in the truck.

"There goes a year of profit." Boss turtle shook his head, letting out a sigh as blood dribbled from his banyan. "Bought it from a smuggler at the Cosmos Space Port. I save it for the smarter raiders," speaking as if the attack hadn't just happened despite the damaged trucks and his own bleeding body.

The turtle hopped off the truck, opening the door to the cab. He leaned in and grabbed the radio. "Damage report. Who's hurt? What's out of commission?"

<Grafsburg> Clive was right by Dan's side. "You alright Dan? Have a seat, I'll take care of this stuff," he said, putting a hand on the turtle's shoulder.

From the back of the caravan, Cora climbed into the cab of her truck (the two drivers were dead) and took the radio. "Truck six is decapitated. Both drivers are dead, but it's still running. I can take over for now if need be."

<Zeta> Keen blinks slowly as she sees the blood dripping from Dan's banyan. The jackal pries the gas mask off of her head, dropping it in her lap. She looks at the spots of blood on the bed of the truck and swallows. She'd help Dan, but Clive and Ahkati are already tending to that. Instead, she swings her gaze out to the cliffs, making sure the Sanghaim don't come back for more.

<Fritz> "Ah, hold still Dan! Yeesh, you're bleeding everywhere..." The hyena complained as he tried to tape a pressure patch over the turtle's wounds. "You need to hold still and relax, otherwise you'll bleed out..." He sounded like a nagging mother, which was an amusing thought...

<Miguel> Carlos just stares dumbfoundedly as Dan shrugs off his wounds. Well, he /was/ a turtle, after all, but even his shell couldn't hold back bullets for very long. "God damn, Dan, you need to tell us more about shit like that," he says, joining in the worry of the others. He continues to scan the cliffs for enemies for a few more minutes, hoping that they're not trying to lull them into complacency. "A /year's/ profit?"

<Fritz> "A lifetime's profit is worth it, when it means your life," Ahkati muttered darkly, giving the clifftops a wary look as he worked.

<VelociRapper> "Roger that, Cora. For now, try to help the wounded and fix what damage you can." Dan dropped the receiver, and turned to Ahkati, trying to patch him up. Dan would try to push him off gently. "My injuries are nothing to worry about. Seriously." The turtle shrugged at the comments about the weapon's cost. "That pretty unimportant right now. We need to get moving." He picked up the receiver again. "Trucks, sound off. Which ones can still move?"

Ivan mantled out of the truck he was in, following Cora. He looked at the drivers, grimacing. "Cora... what should we be doing right now?"

<Grafsburg> "Dump the drivers out and get in the cab," Cora growled to Ivan. She was quick to boot the dead out herself; there was nothing else anyone could do for them at the moment, after all. Fortunately, beyond the two dead drivers, no one in the sixth truck was wounded...

<Zeta> Keen's muzzle swings around, an eye peering over her shoulder at the crate Dan had stuffed that weapon back into. She stares at the crate like that, for a while. Eventually, she stands up in the truck bed, noting the holes where bullets had punched through the metal. She sighs to herself and climbs out of the truck, cautiously moving back toward the next one to check on the occupants.

<Miguel> Carlos gazes at Akhati with an uncomfortable expression. "...Point," he answers, hopping off the truck to follow the others. He seems to get to the truck behind them around the same time as Keen. "God, what a mess," he mutters.

<Fritz> Ahkati layed off the bandaging, frown seeming to reach a new level of severity. "Alright, suit yourself, sir..." The hyena went back to the truck Cora drove, hopping in the back and readying himself for the travel ahead, providing they didn't need help changing out the tires on the trucks that'd been shot out.

<VelociRapper> Reluctantly, Ivan assisted Cora with booting out the corpses. Poor guys. "Shit, uh, maybe I can try fixing some of the trucks, or something. Shit." The owl glanced around warily, unconsciously reaching to the shotgun holstered on his back on occasion.

"Really, don't worry about me for now. I'll be fine," Dan said as Ahkati left. "This isn't the first time I've been shot before. Anyways, Clive. Check the first truck. It's probably out of commission, but see if anyone is injured." Dan reached for the radio in the second truck. "Mechanics, see if you can fix any damage to the trucks." The turtle hung up the radio receiver, and looked at the first truck. Well, at least it'd be easier to move than rubble.

<Grafsburg> "Yeah, that'd be useful," Cora agreed. Ivan had engineering experience of some kind, right? Surely he could help fix a broken truck? In fact, one individual was doing just that: the blue jay known as Doyle was moving from truck to truck, toolkit in hand, looking to see what was wrong with each. "I think we might have to abandon a couple of trucks Dan," he said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his beak.

<Zeta> Keen looks at Carlos, and actually manages to put on a smirk, "Could've been worse. Could've been much worse," she says. While she might look relatively unbothered by the attack, her mind is churning. The Sanghaim... This close to Shantytown and Black Lake? And with enough confidence to raid a large caravan like this one? This was bad. Abram must have downplayed how strong the ones he opposed were becoming. Or worse, he passed on information on the caravan's route. She doesn't know for sure, but the second possiblity stings particularly bad.

<Miguel> "No kidding!" Carlos answers, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. Oddly enough many of his thoughts were akin to Keen's, speculating upon tribal politics and their belligerence against them. He's a bit muddled as to how it all fits together, but one thing's for sure: whatever romantic ideas he had about tribes are virtually gone now, blown away by the cruel winds of experience. "Why couldn't their ancestors just settle down like normal people? Uh, no offence," he adds as an afterthought, realizing that Keen is right there.

<Fritz> Ahkati sat somewhat impatiently in the cab of the truck, tapping the butt of his shotgun against the floor uneasily. "These are the violent ones. Lotta' tribes out here, most of 'em not like those guys..."

<VelociRapper> "I thought as much. Not much we can do on-site for an engine shot to hell. Find out what trucks can still move, and once we get a headcount, we'll see if we need to move supplies from any of the trucks or not," Dan responded over the radio. The turtle began to walk around, trying to get a grasp on how many caravanners were still living and mobile. His bleeding didn't seem as severe, and he still walked without any obvious trouble.

"Right, right, I'll get on that," Ivan said looking around the trucks. He begins to check the truck Cora was in, truck six. "This one seems, uh, fine, so far. No popped tires." The owl went to the front, opening the hood and looking at the engine. Looked like some bullets had hit it, but nothing was leaking. Just dents. "Engine seems fine too..." Ivan shut the hood. "See if you can back it up," he said loudly to Cora.

<Zeta> "It isn't their way," Keen explains, "One does not just walk out on many years of history," she says, clambering up to check on the people the cab of the third truck. Everyone appears fine. The truck has a flat tire, but nothing they couldn't still work with. Keen pulls herself into the bed of the truck and sits down against the cab. For now, she would wait until things got moving. She didn't know enough about the trucks to help work on them, and the Sanghaim really did appear to be gone for now.

<Miguel> "Their way," Carlos states, gazing at the looming cliffs from which their enemies, so far, have given them brief reprieve. The tribal ways were strange to him, but he resolved to try and understand, somehow, if that was what it took to find a way out of this mess...

<Ahkati> "I don't think these guys are looking for peace and understanding. Just guns. No clue why. Maybe some sort of warpath?" The hyena's question was rhetorical... No way of knowing for sure. "I've... run into these guys before, I'll have to tell you about it sometime. Didn't work out so smoothly."

<Grafsburg> After giving the trucks a once-over, Doyle grunted. "Seems like four of the trucks are in working order. The rest, we're gonna have to abandon them," he said, shaking his head at Dan. "We could load the cargo from the other two up, but I wouldn't recommend it. There's just not enough room to transport it all. But we can at least burn what we don't take. Keep the damned tribals from taking it."

<VelociRapper> "Sounds like a plan. I'd like to move the Wall Crusher first, though." Dan finished the headcount. 25 people still living, although some were injured. Damn. That was almost a third of the caravan crew. "Okay. Let's get the trucks in front out of the way, and then we'll set off the ordinance in them, leaving nothing." Dan's banyan still leaked slightly, but it seemed like the bleeding had slowed.

<Grafsburg> "Right, right." Doyle went to work setting up explosives on the ships they would be scuttling, whilst Cora moved the rear truck up past the downed ones. It was quite a clusterfuck here... A third of the caravan dead and part of their cargo destroyed? Someone was going to pay hell for this, that was for damn sure.

<VelociRapper> Eventually, everything worth salvaging that could be salvaged had been moved onto the functional trucks. The dead were pushed aside, mourned by the living caravnners that could not give them proper burials. The disabled trucks had been pulled back far enough, and once the other trucks passed by, were exploded with impunity. The caravan continued on to Dead Rock Pass.