Fealty Lost Posted Dec 21, 2020, 3:16 pm

The day had started like any other day of hunting for Slaughterhouse: they found another water-carrying caravan of Piratka and let them go...then turned for home, throwing up as much dust as possible and taking up a 'convoy' decoy formation; the four Carriers surrounded by the combat vehicles-all led by a line of 5 Buzzers. Prime feeding frenzy for Raiders, Mutants or other bad guys...Slaughterhouse was the chum. As the convoy neared Elms', "Zero," their Scout, popped comms': "We got company coming hard on our asses! Can't make out who yet!" The three dual-HMG Apaches trailing immediately slid into 180 turns, bringing .50 death to bear on the chasers. "Anybody got eyes on their colors yet?" Santos "JD" Smith queried. "Uh...Boss...never saw these guys before." It was Jason "Summer" Duval, driver of the Hatoitademon, one of the dual-HMG trailers that had just slung his rig around to face the bad guys. "Reversing...." "Zero?" Smith called. "Gimme an ID!" He looked to his right and saw the OR Buggy throw up quad' rooster tails as it cut hard to the right and tore up the side of a small hill, followed by three Landrunners, each sporting dual-CRs. They'd take the high ground and rain death on their pursuers while the big guns got lined up. Smith was in one of those snipe LRs. "Screech" Creech, their driver, floored the LR and threw it at the top of the ridge. The kid knew what he was doing. "JD" knew he'd have them in firing stance in seconds. He looked out the armored side window and saw the big Buzzers already starting their turns...giving the ballistic vans passage between their rigs...like a ballet or armored behemoths dancing around the thumpers. Seconds later, the "WHOMP WHOMP!" of Napalm Guns and Mortars rolled across the developing battleground...the rounds arcing over the Buzzers as they took up station next to the HMG rigs already moving backwards against the tide of rushing enemy. He was thrown against the restraining straps as his driver slung the LR into a 180 and a second later he could see the enemy. He picked out a Phoenix and laid his sights on. "Black Pho'...136 meters, 10 o'clock. Got him "Justice?" His co-gunner chimed in. "Got 'im. Sighted and holding." "Boss?" It was "Zero" Zylstra, the crew's #1 Scout. "Talk to me." "Uh...you're not gonna believe this: it's the Dingos." It took him a second. Dingos? In Elms'?? Whadda fuq? This didn't bode well. "Alright crew," "JD" opened up the intra-comms. "We have some serious bad guys on our ass. Luckily "Zero" spotted them early. Pick your targets. Call 'em out. Let's catch the first wave and see if we can turn them." The ground between them and the enemy was already ablaze with burning napalm as the Nape vans laid down a wall of fire. "JD" watched as the first Mortar rounds hit, smack dead-center of the Dingos' formation. He grinned. His sights lit up green: 125 meters. "Firing." "Copy that," his co' said. "Firing." The dual 'crack' of the big-caliber CRs rattled the dust off the roof of the LR. The rounds streaked across the intervening ground and sparks flew as both rounds hit home on the Phoenix. It jerked from the impact, forced left, the driver trying to regain his line, but he slid right into the flaming napalm. "We got him! Pour it on!" Smith shouted. The CRs slammed another round into the breech and this time the report was simultaneous. The Pho' never stood a chance. Armor was stripped away and the rig caught fire, slewed left even further into a spin. Their third volley sent flames scorching into the cabin. "He's gone. I got a Chomper coming up over the dune, left!" Smith called out the target. "I got him! Targeting!" replied Raymond "Justice" Warren. 95 meters. Smith looked out over the battlefield. The Dingos were coming on, trying to skirt the Napalm-field to their front. The vans had already shifted fire and started closing down their approach. He smiled. His ballistic crews were death from above. He saw several round slam down onto the roofs of the flankers. "Firing!" Warren shouted. Smith got his eyes back on target and a second later was adding his fire to the target. His first round missed. The second sent molten metal flying from the armored side of the Chomper. Warren hadn't missed one. The Chomper slung itself to the left, trying to save its shredded armor. It didn't have the turn radius...not as the speed it was moving. Their third volley tore the SUV open. They must have caught the driver; the lumbering hulk slung violently to the right, keeping its exposed side to them. The CR's chambered another pair of rounds. Smith and Warren triggered their guns as one. Smith caught a glimpse of one of the Dingos through the destroyed side armor a second before his head exploded in a cloud of pink. "Chomper's down. Looking for a target." Warren intoned. Symphony. 85 meters nose-on?" "JD" saw it coming through the rolling smoke of the napalm. "Got it. Targeting." "Targeting." Warren mirrored. "Firing!" "Firing!" "JD" answered. The line of five Buzzers were chewing up the main charge of 7 vehicles. Three were sporting 20mm pairs of HCRs. Nothing facing them could take more than 3, 4 hits from those guns and survive. They'd already 'killed' 5 vehicles. Most were rolling, flaming hulks, their crews dead or dying. One was moving, still, trying to angle across their front. It rolled straight into the sights of the Semyaza; a dual-HMG Buzzer. The Phoenix was torn to shreds in second and ground to a halt, afire, its lone surviving crewmember bailed, trying to escape the inferno that had once been a combat muscle car. The Baalxanth, Slaughterhouse's 'famous' dual-ATG rig caught him in the open. Body parts were strewn across the ground, nothing but a big red splotch of what used to be a human stained the sands. "Holy ####!" Smith heard someone yell. "Did you see that guy explode?" Laughter. "Hell yeah!" someone answered. It took him a second to pick out "Palms" Palmisano and "Jeepers" Jenkinson's voices, the ATG gunners. "Keep the comms' clear, guys!" Smith chastised them. "Sorry, Boss!!!" "We got King Silages!" "Zero" called out from her perch atop the ridge, where she was protected by the trio of CR-Landies...of which his rig was one. His gaze snapped left and there, coming through the boiling smoke of the napalm-field was a pair of the big repurposed farm machines. No sooner had he seen them than he heard the muffled 'fwomp!' of their ballistic weapons. Paint clouds exploded across their front, falling short but giving the enemy a small bit of cover from their fire, temporarily. "On it!" Warren called and Smith laid his sights on the King' nearest. "Got it. On it. Firing!" Smith called out. Their CRs threw streaking jacketed rounds across the ground between them and their target. Sparks flew, letting them know they were on target. They poured it on. It was clear the Dingos were in a bad way. 11 burning hulks lay scattered across their former 'front.' The crew coming inn behind them had to dodge around their dead comrades. Into this madness Smith saw a streak of bright green and the Slaughterhouse's rookie crew blazed into view, angling towards the King' they were firing on. Their BPU held a pair of forward-firing HFTs. The Dingos were trying to target the fast-moving BPU...Smith saw sparks leaping from the truck's armor and then the King' paniced and fired off one of its HRs...straight into the side of a Desert Siren. The little car took the brunt of the explosion but the BPU didn't get away unscathed. Smoke trailed from its right side. The kid at the wheel, Walter "Soze" Kaiser, never faltered. He kept the bouncing BPU lined up and a second later the big tractor was bathed in flame. The battlefield lit up 20 meters in every direction! But the move had cost them. The BPU bounced off the tractor and slung to the right, managing to keep itself lined up with the Silage! That kid could drive! Suddenly, it seemed the 'down' Dingos all woke up at the same time. Vehicles that had been 'down and out' suddenly sprung fire, using what weapons they had left to bracket the skidding BPU. Rounds scarred the armor on both sides and the rear of the truck as it bore down on the Silage, again laying scorching fire into it! They watched as the napalm streaked across the ground and enveloped the big rig...seeking and finding an opening. They could see the flames licking from the inside out. The crew was done for. Soze adjusted the BPU's travel and lined up an Apache that had appeared out of nowhere, sliding through the napalm field the BPU had been skirting. The aptly-named "Hurrenflamme" opened up on the untouched Apache. All around it, its teamamtes were dying. As Smith and Warren lined up the second King Silage, they could see nearly every other Dingo's vehicle was either in flames or shot up to the point of being ineffective as a combat vehicle. It was down to their target and the charging Apache. Smith caught a glimpse of multiple targeting lasers latching onto the Apache and then it erupted in sparks, flames and shredded metal. He turned his attention to the Silage. He still had a job to do. It wouldn't take much to stop the Apache and then they could 'mop up.' He called out: "Firing!" ::How wrong I was. That Apache took 16 round of mortar fire, 12 ATG rounds, numerous HMG hits, 8 direct Nape hits, 6 HFT shots that set it and the crew ablaze and I ran the mags dry on two of my CR Landies. All the while it was driving through a literal blanket of nape on the ground. The ballistics started hitting it 125 meters out. It was finally stopped 10 meters away from my Buzzer firing line when a pair of HCRs ripped the front open and destroyed the engine and the last two ATG rounds flipped it onto its side. Through all that, the BPU was shot up and breeched. "Kaiser" Soze was lost. We claimed 13 bounties for dead Dingos and, after repairs, scored a little over 220K for salvaged dead Dingo vehicles, including the pair of King Silages, which were 96% and 100% chassis. Those two were worth 100K. I love those big things. Dingos in Elmsfield?::

Fealty Lost Posted Jan 2, 2021, 2:38 pm

"I'M STARTING TO THINK SOMEONE DOESN'T LIKE US MUCH!" his co-gunner, Raymone "Justice" Warren screamed over the howl of the V-8 in their Landy as it scraped and clawed its way up the steeply angled rock escarpment. "WHATEVER GAVE YOU THAT IDEA?" I screamed back, laughing. "OH GEE, I DUNNO...THE THIRD CONTRACTED HIT IN 15 DAYS? OR DO YOU THINK WE JUST HAPPENED TO RUN INTO 30 BAD GUYS WE'VE NEVER SEEN IN THIS AREA BEFORE?" The rockface disappeared and the Landy clawed for purchase as it crested the cliff. We saw sky for a second or two and then the big war-beast slammed down onto dirt and sand and its driver, Patrick "Screech" Creech kept it floored and threw the wheel to the left, sending arcing rooster tails sailing through the sky as he slung the hefty Landy around in a tight turn to bring our nose back around and face the enemy that had jumped us less than 20 seconds ago. To my left I could see the flame-nosed "Hertz im Blud" starting its own dirt-slinging turn. Past him was the hulking camo-painted Buzzer, "Baalxanth," with its twin ATGs, skirting down the rise trying to get into position to rain steel on the unidentified enemy trying to catch them. He was moving pretty fast and the cliff edge was coming up even faster. My attention was torn away as the Landy lurched to a stop. I couldn't see anything but sky past its nose. "Holy shyte "Screech!"" I said, now that the engine had stopped screaming. "Little close?" Our driver laughed. "Maybe half a meter between us and what we just climbed. All the better to shoot the bad guys and not murder some worms!" Our guns were already warmed up, locked and loaded and I looked across the wide valley for a glimpse of our pursuers. We'd been lucky. Our Scout, "Zero," had spotted their outriders as they came up behind us. She was able to call out a warning. Without it, we'd have been caught flat-footed, ambling along at 25 or so, out for a stroll. That warning had given us a chance to 'put the pedal to the metal,' as it were, and get some distance between us and our pursuers. Half of us had been able to stay on the hard-packed dirt that passed for a road. The other half, made up entirely of our Buzzer cadre, had been forced onto the sheer rockface for a maddeningly fast descent into the valley. The Five left some rubber on the sharp rocks, but their tires had held, which was a good thing, because they'd had the steepest and longest climbs to get onto the opposite ridgeline. Their set-up hadn't gone all that well, if the "Baalxanth's" current charge towards the cliff-face was any indication. Santos "JD" Smith, the current 'leader' of Slaughterhouse, hadn't even been able to see another of the Buzzers. He could just hope they'd made the climb. He didn't have a lot of time to wonder. The combat vehicles that made up the core of Slaughterhouse had been able to stay on the hard-pack and had made it, barely, up the far side of the valley, where they were setting up as quickly as possible to meet the charge of whoever it was that had jumped them. Six Landys and a pair of Apes' slid up to the cliff-edge. Car Rifles and HMGs were armed and waiting for targets. "JD" took a look to his left and down, and sat up in his seat against the harness...because there, still in the valley...was his entire ballistic's team; including the newly-mounted quad mortars in the "Scoobyatorium" and "Drachenherz!" If that wasn't bad enough, he could see the three Nape' gun vans BACKING down the escarpment, straight towards the enemy! ::NOTE: The Nape vans were unable to make the climb and had to back down, directly, unfortunately, into the path of the 70 MPH+ mortar vans bringing up the rear. I managed to dodge one, but the "Drachenherz" broadsided into the Nape Van "Dunklerzauber," fortunately, only taking some slight armor damage and the loss of one reload.:: His angle of view was bad. The vans were too close to the ridgeline for him to maintain sight. He saw both Mortar vans slewing to the right, throwing up massive literal waves of dirt and sand as they tried to avoid the reversing Napalm vans. Not good. He wanted to pick up the comm' mic' and chastise hell out of them but knew, right now, they were more worried about the onslaught of bad guys about to crest the opposite ridge, which would allow them to be fired on. The vans had no defensive weapons. Big guns and ammo was all they carried...and reloads for the entire crew. Which, if lost, would put them in a world of hurt should they get jumped on the way home. But even in reverse, the Nape' vans were sending flaming gobs of oil towards the enemy. And he watched as they blanketed the downslope into the valley. The poor saps chasing them wouldn't even know what was awaiting them until they crested the ridge and started their descent into the valley...and that was what Smith had been hoping for. And then suddenly, the sleek nose of a Polty' and a Windsor II popped over the ridge and, too late, saw the flaming carpet waiting to greet them. They veered left and right, trying to avoid the tire-melting goo. A second later and the Poltergeist opened up. Smith saw sparks fly from the side armor of one of the Nape vans. It was directly in front of the sloping road! He could see it had thrown itself into a reverse "J" turn. Even now the wheels threw up sand, trying for purchase, any traction, to allow them to get out from under the sights of the bad guys. 20 meters and they'd have the cliff-face for cover. Smith gritted his teeth, because the wasteland assassins firing on his precious vans were still way too far out for their guns. He looked down and left and saw both Mortar vans heave into view. They were moving, angling towards the far side of the valley, hoping to get the same cover the Nape vans were clawing up turf to get to. His 'leader' brain kicked in for a second and all he saw was millions in investments, before his tactical brain slapped the bean-counter half aside and he refocused on the bad guys. The vans would make it or they wouldn't. He had to kill things to give them a chance. "SCREW THIS!" he yelled and brought his targeting reticule up and onto the Poltergeist. It was still at least 140-ish meters away. Not good. But he had to do something. "COVERING FIRE!" he yelled into the comm's, and along with the report of his own CR and his fellow gunner's, he heard multiple reports and the big, throaty bellow of numerous HMGs. Tracers leapt across the chasm of the valley, just as another three vehicles crested and discovered the floor was lava! He laughed maniacally at the thought. Most of the rounds tore up dirt and rock, but a few scored, including his own CR, which tore a huge chuck of the roof of the Polty' off! Luck was with him! He leaned forward against the straps holding him in his seat. Adrenaline was the drug! His CR was the needle about to stab whoever was trying to kill them in the brain! He would see his crew home this evening. ALL his crew! He fired again.... As he walked around the shattered remains of the "Honeygrate" Windsor II, he saw his crew slapping shoulders and shaking the hands of the ballistics crews as they climbed down out of their vans. The Napalm and Mortars, once they'd gotten clear of the kill-zone, had laid down fire that had saved the Slaughterhouse. Unable to cleanly maneuver down the steep roadway, most of the enemy, who, it turned out, had been contracted "Cyber Formation," had found themselves sliding out of control down the slope. This allowed Slaughterhouse to 'do their work.' And they'd shown no mercy. Normally, they were working to preserve the enemy's vehicles as much as possible, to give them salvageable rigs to sell or scavenge parts from. This hadn't been one of those times. Normally, the comms' were alive with chatter as the crews called out targets and called off fire when they saw an enemy was too broken to continue an effective attack and they moved on to another target; keeping each other informed on threats and disabled enemy. Not this time. This time they had rained death onto the bad guys. Breached and broken vehicles weren't enough. Slaughterhouse lived up to its name: even fleeing vehicles were reduced to twisted, burning hulks, their crews dying with their rides or bailing out to avoid burning alive, only to be gunned down like rabid dogs. Smith saw the mechanics lifting tool boxes out of their idling gun-boats; going to work tearing down the smoking and blood-covered former combat vehicles of the now-deleted "Cyber Formation." He wondered if they got paid in advance to die, or if the hiring entity had saved themselves some cash. Obviously, Slaughterhouse had made a difference in Elmsfield. The bad guys had given up trying to 'take them out' and were hiring out. So far, Slaughterhouse had decimated crews from "Wave of Mutilation," "Snow Snipes" "Hammerstein," "Dingos" and "The Replicants." All contracted hits. This time around, his Scout, "Zero" Zylstra, had given him the body count: 27. He'd wondered if there were bounties out for this scum? His crew had collected over 190 big-money bounties from the other crews that had been sent to hunt them down. They'd thrown a hell of a party for the crew with those bounty monies. Hookers and blow for everyone! ...no grotesque midgets allowed, of course. It had taken them 5 hours to strip the enemy vehicles. They'd scored a Beaster and it had been loaded up with parts, including a pair of HGGs he'd sell to some sucker, later, an ATG, which could come in handy for parts and a couple Medium Rocket rocket racks...oh, and 45 fuel cans. That brought their fuel reserves to over 800...all garnered by jumping Raider caravans loaded with goodies to resupply the scum that maintained hidden bases around Elmsfield. If he couldn't kill 'em all, he'd starve them out. He wondered who they'd send next?