IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

[welsh]

OCC- OK, I am going to finish off Niles now. I am also going to make a reference to something earlier in the post

Nat moved quickly across the floor to where the stranger lie.

While the others had been distracted by Nat's sudden arrival the man had suddenly begun to go into violent convulsions.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Asked one of the guards.

Talon turned to face the stranger, who was now shaking violently on the floor.

Nat was there, and was screaming at the others, "Hold him down!"

They others grabbed at his legs and arms, trying to pin them down, while Nat tried to force open his mouth. The man was beginning to retch, but his jaws were uncontrollable, and he kept trying to bite. Nat had to be careful to keep her fingers away from his teeth.

"He's choking on something. Something his putting his body into a kind of shock."

"Damn it, is he going to die?" Asked Talon.

"I don't know, I don't know." Cried Nat.

"We need.... more information..." Said Talon, struggling to keep an arm down.

But the movements suddenly began to ease up and relax, and then the man went limp.

"You won't get it, he's dead." Said the guard.

"Hold his jaw open, wait a moment." Said Nat, who carefully put on a pair of rubber gloves and then reached into the man's mouth. "Here' got it." She said.

She held up a small broken capsule, cracked.

"What the hell?" Asked the guard.

"Poison pill." Said Nat. "This man had a suicide pill inplanted in a tooth."

Pipboy had been watching the events quietly, trying to be unobtrusive, but then he noticed something.

Very faint, very low, a beeping.

"What's that?" He asked. "Beep Beep Beep."

The others looked at him curiously. Pipboy pointed a finger at the man. "From there."

The others listened, and sure enough there was a low beeping.
At it seemed to come from inside the man's head.

Nat ran her hands around the head of the man and then she stopped. "Turn him over." She demanded.

The others did as she asked.

Near the top of the neck, a puncture wound, about an eight of an inch in diameter.

OCC- remember where we saw this last?

 

[Gruug]

OOC: Not particularily.

IC: Sarge just stood there, watching with a night vision goggle. He'd wait untill the one with the minigun was right at his position, then he'd try to rip off the head for dear life.

They decided it, go ahead with the mission, and go now. Seemed they were having some trouble in one of the tents with someone, best to go in whilst they were all distracted they thought. And so it started, the 4 knights in high tech armour against a rag tag caravan that had stolen some tech. Or so they thought. All the while, Sarge stood there, ready to get the mini, Gruug stood at another spot, holding up the rockwell bazooka, suprisingly enough, it was the same one he had trained with, and the other 2 hid just under a ledge they knew the 2 other armours would go down.

"GO GO GO!" One said quietly inside his helmets, and they went, according to plan. Took them two minutes to go past where the mutants were, minigun man went within 2 meters of Sarge, crouched, ready to cover his/her squadmates fire.
It took another two minutes before the one with the flameboy stepped in a trio of anti personel and anti tank mines.

But it seemed that Gruug and his friends had fucked up with the mine laying, as it wasn't that big an explosion, probably gave the guy just a headache.

That was when the other two who were advancing on the camp got a taste of an armour piercing rocket, knocking them off their feet, hiting the ground.

Farther away, Sarge had grabbed the minigun mans helmet, but too quickly for comfort, miniman opened fire.

The blast went wild and high, stitching across the left of Sarge's abdomen and across the arm. The small, rapid firing bullets ripped through the metal plates Sarge had had put on as modified armor. All in all, 50 minigun bullets where fired, some hitting the big mutant. But that didn't stop Sarge from hitting the soldier a solid blow to the head, ripping off the helmet and sending the man down .

Sarge cringed. Then he looked down, what a mess. The man had been knocked aside, but was already coming to his knees, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light now that he had lost his helmet. But he had brought his weapon up and would cut Sarge in half if he attacked again. Sarge ducked back, into a ruined building and tended to his wounds.

Further away, Gruug watched as the three pa's got up. Mostly scratches, but a few bits of pa had come off their suits. Good, thought Gruug, who loaded up another ap rocket.

OOC: You can kill Torth and Burt, but please don't kill Gruug or Sarge, just a request though.

OCC- Welsh here. I will make a few mini fixes here, just to keep the action going and also to minimize some of the wounds to Sarge so that he can come back in. Also put that soldier back in play. Gruug this might be a fun bit. Have the trooper do a cat and mouse with Sarge in a ruined building.

 

[welsh]

PsychoSniper]OCC

My soon to be corpse guy's helmet survived, use that if you keep the PA

OCC- I am deleting this post above for the sake of trying to keep plain OCC posts down to a minimum. OCC posts combined with an ICC post will be ok, but I would like to keep this thread clean of OCCs.

Ok so the battle has commenced!

ICC-

Four's head was ringing. Damn, where had that thing come from? It was like some giant beast out of a nightmare, ugly and powerful.

He was conscious of the explosions going on before him. The others had also run into trouble. One had figured that coming through the town would give them cover until they closed with caravan, but someone else had turned the shadows to their advantaged.

Surprise had shifted in other ways as well.

Like most people of the region, these Slayers had yet to encounter the mutants and having now done so in battle, had become cautious.

Four trained his mini on the place where the mutant had disappeared into. The building was dark and full of shadows, full of close spaces. It would be easy for the Mutant to close in on the Slayer, giving him little time to bring the mini to its full advantage.

It was dangerous.

But at the same time, they had entered a village full of shadows, full of opportunitites where the enemy could close in on them.

Well I won't make it easier.

Four let go a long blast from the mini into the house, the fire at about mid level, sweeping through, hoping to score a wound if not kill the creature.

Inside Sarge had gotten down low, and heard the bullets come, heard them pass over head. Armed with his own makeshift melee weapon, he would wait for the Slayer to come to him.
_____________

Grim watched as the other three Slayers got up. Two, one with the rifle and the other with the launcher got up fairly well, but the fourt, with a flamer seemed to be having trouble.

The mines had done some damage, and the first slavo of rockets had caught them by surprise, but now the surprise was over.

Rogue, using Syphon's big rifle, fired at the one with launcher. The big bullet hit the soldier in the torso, leaving a clear dent and hole. A small stream of red began to leak. A hit. But the man was not yet dead. Instead he turned to fire at Rogue, but Rogue had already disappeared into a shadow, looking for a new vantage point.

Nearby, and behind a ruined Dodge Interceptor, one of the guards was opening up with the M-60 on the others. The bullets hit the rocket launcher like he was being pelted by stones, when the M-60 gunner turned on the one with the rifle, the launcher had his chance.

Quickly he dropped to a knee and let loose a rocket that smashed into the side of the car. The explosion tore a terrific explosion, throwing dirt and debrie everywhere, lifting up the car and turning it on its side and then on to its roof, atop the gunner who had barely time to scream until the car crushed him.

The man with rifle turned back to see what had happened to the minigunner. "Are you ok?" He called back clearly.

The minigunner lifted a thumbs up.

At that moment one of the mutants, Burt, attacked from behind the gunner. Burt was incrediably fast, like Sarge he had a long steel improvised melee weapon and with Burt's remarkable strength would have wounded the gunner.

But the rifle man was faster, and let off a quick shot. While the shot didn't kill Burt, it stopped him for a moment. The moment was long enough for the gunner to turn and open fire. Under the merciless fire of the minigun, Burt virtually disappeared in a cloud of blood, tissue and gunsmoke.

"You see that you Fuck! You see what I got for ya! Now come to Poppa!" Screamed the minigunner back into the house where Sarge lay tending his wound.

Meanwhile the one with the rifle had found another target and fired. Again a hit as a man vaporized from the pulse of electric energy. Although Grim didn't see the hit, he heard the impact. Little did Grim know that Thing Two had just been killed.

Grim aimed the RPG and fired, hitting the man with the rifle in the back, knocking him down. Before the rifle man could fire again Grim had ducked back and had retreated to another spot.

Grim ducked down and crawled through an old building, over shattered glass and yellowed newspapers, till where he found Thing One.

"Where the hell is McReady?" asked Grim.

"Behind the tin cans. Brother is with him."

"Well get back to camp and tell Talon that we definitely got three power armored troopers coming in. We have done some damage but have lost three. He needs to have a second line of defense ready."

"Got it" Said Thing One, who crawled in off in another direction.

Behind him the others were beginning to fall back to their next positions. They had decided this before. To go toe to toe with the men in power armor would be suicide. Instead they would use a series of position to hit and run, slowing down the human tanks, and perhaps destroying them, in a series of small hits.

They would use darkness and surprise as their advantage, divide the power armors up and take them down one at a time. The one that Rogue had hit was bleeding and would weaken. Probably the one with the minigun would go off on his own and try to nail Sarge.

While not one of the power armors had been destroyed, they had been hit and would move more slowly now. Perhaps, there was a chance.

But the caravan had lost three good men already, and certainly would lose more.

OCC- Ok, the way this battle should go-. These guys in power armor are good and tough. Imagine this kind of like the final scene in Private Ryan. The guys in power armor are like human Tiger Tanks, virtually unstoppable, moving through a ruined village. Make it night. Our advantage is to hit and run, hit and run, pick them off one at a time, divide them up so they can't defend each other and destroy them. They have better armor and some good technology, we have surprise, some adequate weapons, and are on the defense.

 

[welsh]

Make in the campsite, Talon heard the battle commencing. There was no more time for any of this.

He looked at the others. "Figure out what the hell is causing that beeping. You," Motioning to two guards, "take the body to Ibis and see what he can learn. Tell him to expect wounded coming in."

Quickly Talon moved towards the edge of the tent and looked up where the battle had begun. About a mile away, in the deserted village they had seen more clearly during the early evening, the battle had started.

He could see the flare up of explosions, the rattle of machinegun fire and the whirling of minigun. He also heard the sound of a lazer rifle. But he could see little. THe darkness of the evening blurred much.

The camp site was now fully alert and alive with activity. The camp was quickly broken down and many of the carts were already being hitched. People were moving and preparing. Some were gettng the caravan going, others were grabbing at weapons and getting ready for the fight.

They had waited for the battle to begin to start these preparations. To do so earlier might have alerted their adversaries that the caravan knew of the impending attack. But now battle had begun and survival instincts were taking over.

"How go our plans" Said Talon to one of the senior guards.

"Well, Grim, Gruug, Gabriel and the others have taken advantage of the mines and have laid some traps. Behind that, some other booby traps. Prepared positions through the town almost all the way here." Said the guard.

"And if they get through?" Said Talon.

"We are continuing with the inventory, but its mostly ammo, some grenades. The better weapons that we found have gone up for the fight, but we got a couple of others back here."

"Good, we will need to prepare some positions." Said Talon.

"That's a fact. The kids are moving the herd away, and we are already hitching up the caravan to move what we can, but it won't be enough. Some of the boys are digging pits out there. Three of 'em, along the path most likely for the buggers to come. It won't stop 'em, or even kill 'em, but it will keep them trapped."

"Good. But I wish we knew what was going on up there."
________________

OCC- ok, here's the deal. The slayers are after two targets. The first target was the tracking device. However, they had hoped that the spy would be able to find it and reclaim it and they would not have to send a special team to reclaim it. But now one of their "special" units has come unglued (psycho's character) and came into the caravan. This project is still in development and occassionally malfunctions. We saw this at the beginning of the caravan in Tabis when Virgil's character encountered one such fellow who became somewhat unglued and gave us a first warning.
Sander or Jacin, do you want to pick up on this and the thing that goes "beep", maybe with Pipboy, Virgil, Ibis, Reggie and Jim or some mix of the above. But remember the last time this was discovered.

 

[Gruug]

Sarge had gotten out, and headed to another building, this one smaller, but the walls were bloody cement, it looked like a bunker. Sarge started laughing.

"That all you got brahmin fucker? Or didn't your mother ever tell you not to let your superiours bumfuck you and mollest you?" Shouted Sarge. It was having the effect he wanted.

"FUCK YOU, COME OUT AND FIGHT!" Yelled Mini.

Well, not yet totally working.

"Ohhhhh, poor little boy, have ya wet yourself yet? A little boy has no place here." Said Sarge, then laughed.

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHH" Mini said.

Good, that means mini's going to try and come charging in, perfect oppurtunity. Except he just came in.

Quickly, Sarge kicked the mini gun out of his hands, down into a basemeant. Mini turned, and laughed as he withdrew a plasma pistol.

"Your fucked now, whatever you are." Said mini, and grinned.

Sarge took a few steps back, and tripped over the remains of a chair leg, and fell hard in the corner.

Except he landed on something. As he brushed his hand over it, an old long piece of wound with a dozen sticking out of one end. Not much of a weapon.

"Tell me where the rogue pa is." Demanded Mini.

"NO" Defied Sarge.

"And why not when I have a gun pointed at your head?" Asked mini.

"Because I put a curse on you. May your orifices congeal, and your extremities fall off." Sarge had always liked that one.

"WHY YO..." But the trooper had not thrown the safety on the plasma pistol. Sarge had taken the time for one quick hit and he took it. One quick blow was all he had.

Sarge swung as the Mini started laughing.

The would essentially shattered into splinters as it met the Slayers head. But unprotected, the head was vulnerable, and the nails dug in deep. The look was one of surprise, and a convulsion, one shot.

The shot his Sarge mid section, and Sarge felt the angry burning in his stomach. Sarge felt for the wound. Blood, lots of it. Using a rag he often carried, he wiped it away, and it came back wet.
Sarge threw it away, and took some newspapers and wiped his hand. It had eaten through maybe one layer of skin, no biggie.

What was a biggie, was his stomach, but this was not the time for it.

He also heard Three coming up. "Razor Squad! Rally up!!! Rally up!! Four, you in the game?"

Sarge reached for the dropped minigun. Too late, Three saw the move, and was quicker.

A whoosh and a long tongue of flame reached out and engulfed the mini. Sarge barely got his hands away in time, or it would have been consumed in the burning napalm.

THere was no time, no time to collect the power armor, no time to find the plasma pistol. Sarge, holding his wound, stumbled out the door as the building became an inferno behind him.

OOC: Tell me if that worked or not

OCC- ok Smar, it didn't quite work, unless you want to write like Psychosniper. I have made some changes. No, we are not getting any great guns or power armor out of these engagements.

 

[welsh]

ICC
One found a building and ducked inside, followed quickly by Two and Three.

"Where the fuck is Four?" Said One.

"He's back there, I think." Said Three. "He got jumped by one of those big ugly sons-a-bitches. He might be going after one."

One shook his head. "Well, get him back here. Pronto!" He told Three.

Three nodded and left the room, to go back for Four.

One turned back to face Two. "How's it goin?"

"I'm hit. Shit, I never got hit before." Said Two, obviously feeling the pain

"How bad?" Asked One.

"Fucking thing penetrated my armor. That never fucking happens. Jeezus it burns." Said the wounded man.

"Sit tight, man. We'll come back and get you." Said One.

"I'm bleeding. If I don't get some help, who the fuck knows how bad this is." Said Two, not hearing.

"Take a stim for now, take some painkillers, but not too many. Call in base. Tell them we need to evac." Said One, trying to remain calm.

"Fuck, man. They aren't going to evac us out of here? I'm a goner." Said Two.

"We'll get the item and tell them we are under heavy pressure. They'll come for us." Said One, trying to reassure. "Stay cool."

"This sure did turn into some cluster fuck didn't it?" Said Two, still not believing it.

"Yeah, it sure did. But we'll come through. Don't we always." Said One.

"We need another plan." Said Two. He had been with One for so long the two could speak straight. The bonds of trust and comradery were strong between the two men.

"Yeah, looks like we won't be suprising anyone tonight." Said One, smiling within his helmet. He peaked outside the building. So far it was still quiet.

"We need to keep it together." Said Two. "We split up and we're easier to take down."

"What we'll do is this. You and Four, take up a position at the edge of this town. I'll take Three and we'll close on the caravan." Said One, now wondering where Four was.

"You won't make it. None of us are going to make it." Said Two.

One looked at his wounded second, and knew that Two wouldn't make it. As for the rest of them? Well, one had to play the cards that got dealt.

 

[Gruug]

Three was just about to go off and chase him when he saw 4.

"Oh fuck no, ahh fuck please no man! No way... This can't be happening, fucking ragtag bloody caravan!" Cried three. 4 was his brother, though that rarely meant anything in the field, it sure as fucking hell meant something when he was dead.

"GGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Screamed three. He stopped.

"Take deep breaths, I know, I know." He said to himself.

"One" Loud intake. "Ooooouuuuut" loud exhale. He did that two more times, composed him self, and went of in search of that mother fucking dogbreakfast ugly.

Sarge was a behind the building behind the bunker, and saw flameboy come out, though flameboy didn't see him. He crawled away.

There, 3 thought he saw movement. He'd go through the house, not the best of things to do in a battle, but hey.
He walked into the middle of the room, and gave a quick burst of flame, lighting up the area for a second.

Gruug saw the flame from the thrower, and knew it was one of them, so he let off an explosive rocket at the building.

3 saw it with his peripheral vision, a bloody rocket, great. So he ran to the door where he had just come through. He was 2 meters away when the rocket hit, too little time. But over that second or so he had managed to go a meter further, before the house came down on him, blacking him out.

 

[welsh]

OCC- Ok Smar, But I think you need to fix this last post "Threre, 4 thought he saw movement" is probably supposed to read "There, Three thought he saw movement."

ICC.

Three was out, but only for a moment. His eyes slowly became unblurred and he realized that he was buried under the remains of a ruined house.

HE tried to lift himself up, but there was too much weight and he was a too weak. He waited, rested in the shell of the power armor suit. Then he tried again. This time he could feel some success against the bricks.

This is turning into a fuck up, thought Three.

Have to get back to the others.

Three tried crawling forward, and when he had made some progress was able to lift himself up.

It was the armor that gave him the added strength, the added power to get up. Otherwise he would have been crushed.

He looked to where the missile had come. Another one of those big ugly motherfuckers was loading up another rocket and where the here the sergeant and the corporeal where holed up.

Not going to happen.

Three moved fast, and Gruug didn't see him until it was too late, and only after he heard the whoosh of the Flambe.

Instinctively he jerked and the missile was fired high, going over the place the other Slayers were using for shelter before exploding high into the sky.

Gruug jumped back as the room he had been standing in suddenly became a burning hell. Another whoosh and Gruug was fleeing the building as the rush of fiery napalm turned the building into a bonfire.

But Three didn't pursue, but rushed down to where the others were waiting.

 

[Syphon]

Syphon was alone...again. He sat in his tent, trying to get dressed with his free left hand. The explosions and gun fire had awoken him and he felt inendangered for his life. Plus, he didn't wanna miss a great gun fight.

"Where's Kelli?" Syphon mumbled as he stopped dressing himself, as looked around for the young, always returning nurse. He shrugged as he quit, considering it a non-important search now.

While his numb, mangled right arm dangled weightlessly. It was almost pitch dark, only seeing the outline of things. He had already put his pants on, and his shoes. Syphon tried to put on a shirt, but it kept hurting his right shoulder. He kept trying different ways to get that damn shirt on, but that bastard wouldn't go on. It was so frustrating, considering he was drugged up tramendously.

"Fuck It!" Syphon screamed as he bundled up his shirt and threw it. More explosions erupted, quickly lightning up the tent then dying out again. As he waddled to the tent opening, the noise grew louder and more grousom. Screams, and the sick sound of bullets hitting flesh raged on. Syphon was afraid but he also enjoyed the rush of a fight. Finally as stood up, he could see the whole thing. It was a hellish, battle!

As a landmine blew, he flinched down in a bit but stayed in a squating position, trying to duck stray bullets. His tent was in the far left of the battle but he could see both sides lose, and gain.

The smell of gunpowder gave Syphon a chill up his spine, hideously. He had wanted to fight in this, but now he was hurt severely. Syphon thought a fight as a honorable way to die. Had he actually been wanting to die, by fighting a skirmish?Almost so much as a suicide by cop deal? Syphon could believe this. Why did he care so much anyway? He really never cared for much in the passed.

Continually squatting, Syphon looked for one of his friends or a weapon.

 

[Reaper]

These fuckers were taking them apart. Gabriel felt a twinge of pride as he observed the carnage wrought by the Slayer team. These men were once his comrades and watching them efficiently battle their way through the caravan defenders made him remember why the Slayers were a feared military power.

These men were human weapons just like him.

But like any weapon, they could be used. Sometimes they were used for good, sometimes for evil. Men like him and these commandos were nothing more than blades or guns.

He was a knife in the dark, they were a full on nuclear blast. Each had its place but both could be equally dangerous in the right situation.

Lying flat on the roof of one of the buildings, Gabriel observed the Slayers as they regrouped. Only three of them left now, which was promising, he thought. Still, he felt a stab of anger that a brave warrior of his order had been wasted in this desert backwater. At least he must have accepted his fate, as all Slayers did. They were soldiers and knew the risk of combat.

Gabriel knew he was no use here, while the men stayed together. He knew the weak points of the armour: the knees, the elbows, the neck, the waist, pretty much all of the joints. He could kill any of these men in a second if he got close enough. But that was the beauty of power armour squad tactics. You had to be close to make use of any weak points but while the men watch each other’s backs, no one can close the distance without being turned into human hamburger or charred ash statues.

Were they here from him? Were all these men down there getting killed because of him. More death and carnage following him his wake. He felt he had been appropriately named, though he was no archangel, he was an angel of death without a doubt. Bloody marvellous.

Waiting and watching while others shed their blood used to suit Gabriel fine. He was an assassin, he watched, then he killed, then he left. But he was different now, he was a warrior again, not just a night-time killer. A soldier’s spirit still lived in his cold heart.

The black-clad warrior slid off the roof and climbed silently down to the ground, all the while glancing back at the gunfire and battle going on in the streets. Gabriel reached the dusty road and slinked into the deepest shadows. He had to strike and he had to make it count. But he couldn’t just bide his time and wait for the opportune moment, he had to make that opportunity himself.

“Here we go.”

 

[welsh]

OCC- Reaper nice to have you back.

ICC-
Three finally reached the other two members.

"Four is dead." He said, "One of those big ugly bastards."

The others paused to let the information sink in. "And his weapon and armor?" Asked One.

"Destroyed. I had to torch the mini." The napalm would eventually destroy the weapon, melting the barrel.

"Set your self destructs to your vitals." Said Two. Each armor was built to be sensitive to the needs of the wearer. It was a Slayer modification. If wounded, the armor could deliver painkillers or stims. If the man inside were killed, the armor could be set to destruct.

All three set their armors to self-destruct. One of the parameters of the mission, leave no man, technology or weapon behind.

"Ok, we still got a job to do." Said One. "We are going in. Two gives us cover fire. Soon as we get the prize we come back here, and then we leave."

"Death of Victory?" Said Three, questioning their motto.

"Victory or Death." Said Two, realizing that it was all the same to him now.

One listened to them, squeezing off shots at any targets.

"Where's the target?" Asked Three.

"In the big tent." Said One. "We got to move fast. They are breaking up the camp."

"What about him?" Asked Three, but meaning Two.

"I stay here" Said Two, preparing his launcher. "I give you cover fire from here. As long as I can, till you return."

"Well, then lets get this fucking show going so we can pack up and go home."

"Staggered attack." Said One.

He stepped out of the door way and down to the nearest shelter, squeezing off rounds at what ever targets he could.

Rogue didn't have time to fire as a bolt of electricty singed the wall behind her, forcing her to duck.

One of the M-60s saw the figure and hit it with a burst of fire that pelted One's armor like pebbles against thick steel. Three dashed forward to a position nearer to where the gun was firing.

The M-60 turned to fire on the new assailant. One put a bolt of electricity through the gunner's head. The loader took the trigger, but too later. Three had already fired a burst into the gun position with his flamers. The living and the dead where suddenly bathed in flame as the ammunition began to explode.

Grim saw the Three, fired another round from the RPG, but the Flamer moved again just after the trigger was squeezed, and the rocket went wide.

Grim shook his head, two more.

One moved up to Three's position, firing quickly, then moved ahead, ducked behind the derelict hulk of an ancient truck, using it for cover, while Three again advanced.

Behind them, Two prepared his launcher for longer ranges. Picking out a cart that was moving into the darkness, he fired.

Those in the caravan saw the long streak from the rocket cross the hundreds of yards to impact on a cart, which exploded, throwing burning wreckage, men and brahman in all direction.

Two reloaded quickly, now at peace. He would die, but he would take many with him.

OCC- Sorry Reaper not going to make this easy for you. Go for the rocket launcher. Maybe you can catch up to the others.

 

[Gunslinger]

OOC- Let’s keep the ball rolling, gentlemen.

IC-

Dante surveyed the skeleton crew manning the Blade camp before him, his heart aching in patriarchal worry. The forty men who would normally occupy it were waiting at the base of the hill, ready for battle. In their place were town volunteers and five mercenaries.

The five mercenaries were from a caravan from Red Waters. Earlier, Dante had requested supplies and aid from all the towns, hoping that their goodwill would be influenced by past help the Blades had rendered. But the League’s spread of terror had worked: all of the towns did not dare to send supplies to the Blades. Merchant Reed in Tabis had agreed to send supplies but at a ludicrous price; the cost was staggering. But the caravan from Tabis had yet to come. However, Red Waters, an influential trading town situated near the Blade fatherland, were willing to lend aid. Recently, a Blade troop had routed raiders who had been killing the gecko population that the trappers depended on. Red Waters had remembered the Blades and a caravan was sent.

Originally, the caravan had been massive convoy of wagons and men. Red Waters couldn’t afford much, having to depend on the influx of trade coming to them, but their leather crafts were renowned. The convoy had included many tooled and tanned breastplates of leather. The brahmin hides were supple and light yet thick enough to block a knife stab. In addition to that, a troop of experienced trappers and mercenaries had opted to join the fight.

However, making the journey from Red Waters to Grey Cliffs was perilous. The normally empty road was choked with an influx of League troops. The caravan had dwindled as they incurred losses. When the caravan finally entered Grey Cliffs just days ago, the troop of trappers and mercenaries had been whittled down to but five men. Only one wagon of breastplates had made it, these having been distributed among the Blades.

Understandably, the mercenaries who had arrived were upset. But they had been paid before leaving Red Waters and their contract was made out to Dante. The Blade leader had worried that they would desert, having incurred such losses, but they remained resolute. Obviously, they were made of better mettle. They were all relatively young, boys who had somehow made it in the adventuring business intact. The scars on their faces were a heart-warming sign, really. Some had dented up armor on, while others let crucifixes and reflexes protect them in a fight. All of them had cobbled together weapons, all personalized and customized to fit their trade.

Now, after a brief watch, the five mercenaries were posted before the gates of Grey Cliffs were the Blades should be. The entire Blade company was amassed below. The camp had been cleaned out; all of the rifles and leather breastplates equipped and all of the ammo distributed. Only the M-60’s, which were too burdensome to carry, the mortar tubes, and the recoilless rifle were left. Dante was worried if such a small group could actually defend a town but the mercenaries looked capable.

The Blades were rearing to go, ready to fight. Their faces were covered in war paint. Underneath their coats were the leather breastplates, protecting their vitals. M1 Garand rifles were greased down, prepped and ready. Bandoliers of ammo clips hung around their waists and shoulders. After months of idleness, the forty men were ready for action. All they needed was for their leader to give the word.

Before they left, Dante wanted to make sure the camp was well protected. The idea of a League counter-attack worried him. The people of Grey Cliffs were capable of defending themselves, but only to a certain degree. Really, the defense of the town depended on the five mercenaries.

Dante walked up to one of the mercenaries, the apparent leader of the group. The tan man in the trench coat was sitting on an ammo crate, oiling down his Kalashnikov. Dante noticed that there were plenty of the banana-shaped magazines at his feet.

On seeing the Blade leader approach, the mercenary set aside his weapon and got up to his feet. Not familiar with Blade protocol, the mercenary started to salute but then stopped and extended his hand, palm side up in the manner of the Blades. “Uh, hello,” the mercenary stuttered, “…sir” he added for good measure.

Dante smiled from underneath his Blade mask, pressing his hands against the young man. The mercenary scratched his dusty blonde hair, fidgeting and looking at his feet. Dante pointed at the ammo box, gesturing for him to sit, but the mercenary declined and remained standing.

“My men and I are attacking this supposed league’s encampment tonight,” he told the mercenary. “We’re depending on you and your men to defend the camp in our absence, mister…” the old Blade paused, realizing that they had not been introduced.

“Jackson,” said the mercenary. “You can call me Jack, though.” He grinned wryly, as if remembering an old joke. “I guess my parents thought Jack was too common so they added a ‘son’ to round it out.”

Dante stared. “I’m named Dante, after Dante Alighieri. My father and his wife expected me to survive all manner of hell thrown at me.”

The wry grin on Jack’s face drooped and flattened. “Uh, alright then…”

Dante let it drop. He gestured at the encampment. “This is the only thing left defending Grey Cliffs. Short of a miracle, it will probably not survive a full attack made by this mysterious league. Five men will be hard pressed to repulse an attack.”

Jack nodded, fully serious. “I can accept that.” And Dante believed him, seeing the way he handled his assault rifle. Jack may be a gun for hire but he was a good gun for hire. The mercenary nodded at the four other mercenaries who had manned the M-60’s. “We’re willing to fight to the last, sir.”

The Blade leader patted the mercenary on the shoulder. “Hopefully, that won’t be necessary. This league we are fighting is expecting a fight. My nephew sent our intentions earlier through the dead corpse of their guards. If anything, they’ll be preoccupied in readying themselves for a fight.”

“Is that wise, attacking when it is most expected?”

Dante stared. “We’re Blades. Don’t worry about us.” He gestured again to the encampment. “This should be your sole concern, my friend. Then he walked down the hill to rejoin his war party.

The mercenary watched the old man walk away. “Good luck!” Jack shouted down. Dante did not turn around.

Seconds later, the forty Blades mobilized, ready to wreak havoc on the League. They left the five hardened mercenaries to defend the camp.

OOC- Okay, Maverick, I’ve introduced your character, trying to keep in line with his description and attitude. The League is likely to send maybe a scouting crew to test the defenses so that will leave you something to do. PM or post in the OOC for something to do.

 

[welsh]

Down in the camp, Jim and Virgil where going through the inventory quickly. Jim pried open a long wooden box with the letters PTRS clearly marked. Inside, he found a long barrelled weapon in several parts. Nearby were boxes of large cartridges.

"Hey, check this out." He said, to Virgil. "What do you think."

"Old Russian antitank rifle. Hmmm.... And these, these are high velocity rounds." Said Virgil.

"Lets see how good it works." Said Jim.
_______

Above and away Two was watching his colleagues move as he prepared another rocket.

He would have to call in the op soon enough, but wanted to give the others more time.

Down below he saw a single man, his arm bandaged, directing others. Maybe a wounded officer still in charge.

Command and Control? A target of opportunity.

In the back room Gabriel edged closer.

_____________

Grim watched as the other two troopers moved forward, covering each other.

Each of the M-60 units had been overrun, and he could see neither Rogue, nor Gabriel, nor the mutants. It also dawned on Grim that the two attackers had gotten past them.

A loud boom form nearby and Grim looked. Rogue, firing Syphon's big rifle again. The girl saw him, gave a quick smile and then ducked back into the darkness as three bolts of electric energy impacted around where she had taken her shot.

Grim looked back. One of the troopers, the one with the rifle, was now limping.

Grim moved back and then quickly ran forward, on the left flank of the group. Gruug saw the movement, and followed, now on the right.

Using their rockets they might be able to hit one of them together.

 

[Syphon]

OCC- OK, Welsh here. I am using Mod powers to make a few edits. Syphon, remember, your character was badly wounded and is on the brink of losing his arm. It's not likely he's going to be able to swing into action, match step with a super mutant and kick ass with an AK-47. He can do other things however-

ICC-
Syphon, scurring during the fight, managed to find Virgil and Jim. They seemed frantic and speedy, almost unhappy to see Syphon even alive. Syphon really didn't know the two, but he had see them around a few times. He's even said "hello" or "hey" to them a few.

"I need a gun or something!" Syphon said, now growing frantic too, to Virgil. Virgil nodded, quickly pointed Syphon to a pile of weapons. Syphon reached for an Ak-47, in horrible condition.

"...That's all we can spare!" Virgil said, as he went back to inventorying the weapons and stockpiles. Jim did the same.

Syphon grabbed for the rifle with his right arm. Big mistake. The bandages and the wound had left him too weak, and the gun seemed somehow heavier. He could barely carry it.

Worse he was feeling himself weaken. His legs had already started to go numb.

Syphon dropped the AK and reached for a pistol, an old Colt .45, and grasped the weapon in his left hand. It was still too heavy but it felt reassuring. He put the gun in his wasteban and rushed out, eager to fight.

Another rocket tore across the camp, destroying one of the carts in a fierce burst of fire and debrie.

THere was a female scream.

It sounded like Kelli.

 

[welsh]

OCC- Ok, this continues the battle. Reaper- I expect you will be taking out Four pretty soon?

ICC-

Four reloaded. His target had disappeared in the smoke of battle, and he had elected another target, another cart, and delighted in the big explosion.

There he is. The one with the bandaged arm was out again. He seemed somewhat lost, his focus on something else.

Four aimed the launcher at the single man. Syphon.

________________

At the send of the street, Grim stopped, got to a knee and prepared his laucher.

He could see Gruug at the far end doing likewise. This was the last line. At the end of the street they had strewn anti-tank mines, expecting that the weight of the power armor would set the mines off.

After this there was a mere few hunderd yards through a patch of dead wood, and then they would be among the caravan. Grim quietly hoped that Talon had finished preparing a second line.

Three ran out into the street, his Flamer ready.

That's when Gruug launched.

The rocket screamed across, and hit the man in the side, knocking him aside in a tremendous explosion.

Grim let the smoke clear.
The armor was damaged, but the man got up to a knee, shaken and dizzy but still in the fight.

Grim fired.

Another hit.

The chest of the man exploded in a fireball, and he was knocked aside, where another explosion threw the man into the air. Apparently he had landed on an antitank mine.

THe last of the power armors ran forward, put a hand on the man.

Gruug quickly reloaded as did Grim.

THe man turned, towards Gruug, fired his rifle. Then turned to face Grim, fired a couple of rounds. Both Gruug and Grim ducked the incoming fire.

When they looked up from their cover, the last of the power armors had disappeared.

Gruug looked around, lifted his hands, he didn't know where the man had disappeared too.

Grim motioned to follow, towards the caravan. Chances are the last of the power armors was still trying for the caravan.

Gruug nodded, and went down into the dead wood.

Grim slung his rpg over a shoulder and went to inspect the one they had dropped, hoping to finish the man off if he wasn't dead yet.

He wasn't dead yet.

Grim was half way when he saw the man get up on one knee, and turn to face Grim, bringing up the flamer.

No time for cover.

The Flamer squeezed his trigger, expecting a tongue of naplam to bath he assailant.

But nothing happened.

THe Flamer looked, at his weapon. It didn't feel empty, but perhaps it was too badly damaged to be usable.

So Flamer reached down and removed his Ripper from its sleath. Then he got up and began to run towards Grim.

Grim realized he would have no chance against the man in power armor, and quickly raced for one of the ruined buildings.

The man with the ripper followed.

____________

Down in the caravan.
Virgil and Jim quickly moved into a position near Talon.

"Look what we got?" Said Jim. Meaning the new rifle.

"Do you think it will work?" Asked Talon, noting the old condition

"It better." Said Virgil.

"Right, get that gun position ready. We got one left to deal with." Said Talon.

Talon looked a the small group of fighters that he had assembled. Everyone else was trying to move the caravan off.

But if only one power armored man were to get through, it would be like a deathclaw among a herd of Brahman.

________________

In the camp, Nat was quickly trying to patch up a child that had been thrown to the grown in the last explosion. Deep shards of metal lacerated the child's face and body.

She heard the screaming from nearby form where the cart had exploded. Then she saw Syphon running in that direction.

"Syphon. Get down! You are in no condition to be out out."

"Kelli!"

Ibis and Reggie, both working on the wounded also saw Syphon moving across the campsite.

Reggie shook his head, "Damn that boy will lose that arm."

"No time for that now. We will lose others if we don't work quick." Replied Ibis.

'Where's Kelli?" Asked Reggie.

OCC-

Ok Syphon. I edited your post to put in back in the caravan and give you something more to do. Kelli is in trouble and needs a rescue. This seems more realistic than having you following Gruug in the battle.

 

[Reaper]

Gabriel ran in a loping crouch. Moving swiftly from shadow to shadow. He had to reach the downed attacker. He was like an immobilised tank, limited but still very dangerous.

The assassin heard the man reloading his rocket launcher. Gabriel knew he had to move fast. He raced round the doorway, darting into the room and saw the man in power-armour and watched him lift his weapon to fire. Gabriel sprinted silently like a maddened ghost.

Then he was on the man, pressed to his back, his fingers moving swiftly around the neck connectors, unlatching and flicking the man's helmet away. The soldier could do nothing to fight back, save blow them both up with the rocket launcher and that thought failed to pierce his sudden panic. He looked up at Gabriel and saw the bright blond halo framing the Nightblade's cold face.

"You..." he managed before Gabriel's tanto lanced into his throat.

As the Slayer's lifeblood pumped, Gabriel glanced at the insignia, seeing it was indeed a Slayer warrior and knowing his life was truly changed forever. The Order was not his anymore. He was not an instrument of good or justice anymore. It was just him doing what he thought was right.

A quiet beeping and whirring eminating from the armour jerked Gabriel from his thoughts and from the dregs of his old combat training came the recollection of the self-destruct feature implanted in these suits.

The assassin bolted as fast as he could and he heard the room behind him fill with the strange noise of plasma ripping matter apart.

So much for equipment salvage, thought the assassin.

 

[Syphon]

running fearfully in the dark, cold night and through a gunfight Syphon seemed focused on one thing: Kelli. As he got closer to the inciderated cart, with debris and parts everywhere, he continued to hear her screaming. Kelli. But this time, it was closer and almost muffled. As he searched and eyed everywhere, he grew more and more frantic.

"Kelli?" He said, screaming loudly. A moan rose quickly after, and was extremely close. But Syphon couldn't find her undernethe the debris and material which littered the area. Body's too, layed silently everywhere, making Syphon afraid he would stumbled across Kelli's dying body.

And there about ten feet away, underneith a huge, damaged power generator, Kelli laid motionless. She screamed and Syphon quickly came to her, panicking. He knew the weight must be killing her, slowly.

"Hold on!" Syphon said as he franticlly tried in numerous way to free her but he couldn't. His shoulder hurt badly but he set it aside he tried saving her.

"GRUUG!!!?? GRIM!!!?? TALON!!!?? ANYBODY !!!!? PLEASE!!!" Syphon screamed violently, but no one returned a call or yell. Things seemed so grim and now Kelli started to quiet down.

 

[welsh]

"Damn it where are those medical supplies?"Asked Ibis to no one in particular.

"More wounded comin' in" said a guard bringing in a stretcher.

"Stims? We need stims here, a med kit, a doctor's kit?" Demanded Reggie.

"No gots doc. Sorry." Said the stretcher bearer.

The rocket attacks had caused more wounded than dead to the caravan, but without medical supplies, there was little to do.

Nat came in, helping a wounded man who was badly burned. "They hit the cart carrying medical supplies. Its all blown to hell."

 

[Rogue Hex]

ICC-

Grim raced towards the closest building to his position which was a rotten looking one, like it was on its last legs after many hard years of wear and tare.
The mass of metal armour followed closely on Grim’s heals with ripper in hand. The power armoured soldier was close enough for Grim to hear the sounds of mangled hydraulics. The suit must have been damaged by the RPG’s and anti tank mines giving off a shy hissing noise with each step.

The soldier cursed his luck. At least he knew better than to turn the ripper on which would have alerted just about everything in his proximity.

As Grim closed down the gap between him and the nearest building with speed, he heard the distinct thud of Syphon’s powerful rifle from some where up a head. The flash from the muzzle gave away the gunner’s position as a second round followed closely after the first.

Their destination was a clear hole in flamers armour. The first round found only metal and didn’t pierce through but the second found the spot as it tore through the soldier’s garments and into his gut. The armour stopped the round from tearing right through leaving it lodged in the mans abdominal area.

Flamer gritted his teeth as he struggled to keep his balance. He could feel the blood flowing freely under the armour from the shot wound.
He glanced up to where he'd seen the flash from the rifle's muzzle quite aware of the fact he was armed with just a ripper.

Grim allowed himself a glance. The human tank had stopped for an instance giving him a time advantage but he had started moving again. Slower than before but he still came.

“What does it take to stop these fuckers?” he cursed loudly before ducking through a collapsed wall and into the building. There he made his way into one of the back rooms.

Rogue eyed the man in disbelief. “For fuck sake.” She spat, “Won’t you just die!”
At least one of the shot’s had gotten through, that Rogue was certain of and it should have knocked that guy down. But no, these bastards just keep on kicking.

She tried to sight up again for another round but flamer boy had seen the flash and was aware of Rogue’s position and moved with more care to avoid giving the sniper any clear targets.

He moved from object to object keeping his ass close to the ground, hiding behind buildings when possible, limiting the sniper’s chances of a clear shot as he did so. He made good use of the shadows provided by the moonless night to his advantage.

Rogue scouted the area through her scopes but couldn’t pick up anything, she was to far away to hear any noises given away by the armour.
She cursed, muttering something under her breath that would have shocked the most common of wasteland scum. It was no use sitting here anymore; she needed a better vantage point.

Grabbing the rifle and ammunitions, she scrambled through the sand to look for a better position.

Grim looked about the room, everything was so dark he could barley see his own hands.
He needed to think of something quick or this was going to get messy.

 

[welsh]

Down in the campsite, Sarge had finally scrambled in. He was wounded from the minigun bullets and other wounds he had picked up and needed medical attention. The improvised bandages he had wrapped around himself were only a temporary curative.

"Help! Somebody, help!" He heard the calling from one side.

There were many such cries. At least two of the carts had been blown apart and there was the smell of wounded and dead, burning men and brahma. The camp had been hit repeatedly, and there were wounded be treated where they fell.

Not being able to see the aid station, Sarge went off to find the desperate voice.

It was Syphon, and together with a few others they were trying to move a large object that seemed to have pinned a female to the ground. Sarge grabbed found a solid log and using it as a lever, jammed it into the ground under the object, and heaved.

____________

Grim didn't have long to contemplate his situation. He had barely caught his breath when his pursuer crashed through the wall, ripper in hand.

Three could feel the blood now seeping in his armor, dripping down his body and filling his boot. But he wasn't dead yet and would make them pay.

Using the additive strength of the armor, Three smashed away anything that stood in his way as he pursued Grim. Grim, faster, had to navigate around fallen beams and collapsed walls, that the Slayer could merely knock away.

To stand and fight was to die.

Grim scurried out of the room, out into the street and across, into the next room. He could hear the whirls and jerks of the damaged armor as he pursuer followed. Through the door, Grim ducked, dodged to the side.

The Slayer stepped into the room right behind the badge.

And right into the swing of Torth's metal pool.

The mutant had seen Grim's movements and had predicted the escape path, and so had decided to lay an ambush of his own. As soon as Grim had passed and the man had entered, Torth had been able to put all his remarkable mutant strength into the blow.

The blow connected with the Slayers helmet and for a moment the metal headgear rang like a bell, jarring and dizzying Three, who stepped back into the street. As dazed as the man was, he was conscious enough to turn on his ripper.

Torth, seeing the man's confused state, attacked again. This time he used the sharp end of his metal pool as a giant spear, stabbing into the man, through the man, through the armor. Using his strength, used the pool to life the man up off his feet.

Three would have screamed out had his mouth not been full of blood. He felt himself lifted off the floor, and then his body sliding, down the metal pole. He was losing consciousness quickly but saw the visage of the mutant close to him, close enough to strike.

Using what remained of his strength, he brough both hands to his Ripper and plunged them into Torth's throat, and chest. He was aware of the chainsaw blade of his weapon digging and tearing apart the mutant's chest, mortally wounding his killer. Then his strength failing, he locked his arms around the large mutant, and then died.

Torth, in incrediable pain, desperate to escape, was vagually aware of is impending death, could barely hear the beeping of the armor's self destruct just before it exploded in a metal, fire and plasma.

Grim was barely able to duck back into the building to escape the concussion of the explosion. Even so the walls of the building were rocked by the explosion.

"Grim?" He heard a familiar voice. Rogue.

"Yes, here." He said.

"You ok?" Asked Rogue.

"Still alive. What the hell happened?"

"One of the mutants, not sure which, took out the one chasing you, but he got killed in the process." Said Rogue, she was now carrying her grenade launcher.

"Damn, these bastards are costing us too many good people." Said Grim, getting up and reaching for his weapon, the RPG now lost in the debries.

"Still got one left." Said Rogue, checking to make sure she had a grenade in the barrel.

"Lets finish this."

______________

In the dead forest, One stopped for a moment to recharge his weapon and to wait for three.

No more rockets had flown. That could only mean that Two had been killed. Four had been killed earlier and now Three had been hit badly and had gone off to the side, gone off to die.

It was the right of a man to try to kill his slayer.

His squad was gone. His friends and comrades of five years and so many missions, now gone.

A large round went off to his side, exploding a tree. One ducked and moved forward, staying low.

Another tree exploded.

They had prepared another line of defense. He would try to close in before attacking it.

He checked the tracker. Now he was in range. The prize was in reach, but he would be alone to get it.