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Sneaky Slavers, Highway O-Death

Fealty Lost Slaughterhouse: Bloody Remains Darkwind Guru Renegade Group: Members Posts: 1,261 Joined: Jan 6, 2009 "SLAVERS!" The call woke Patricia "Pile On" Dalton from her nap so violently she knocked her knees on the dash as she sat bolt-upright in the gunner's seat of the big combat vehicle. She grabbed the mic' and said "Where? How far?" as she strained to turn around against the loosened combat harness. Raising her left hand, she extended the first finger of the hand and made a swirling motion in the air. Her driver spun the wheel and the Buzzer called "Buffrication" slewed in the sand sending up giant rooster tails. The Apaches arrayed behind her swung in the opposite direction much like a wave effect, each following the lead of the vehicle before them, then swung back in the direction their Leader's vehicle had gone, effectively sliding back in behind her. They'd also heard the call from their trailing compatriots in their Flaming-oil jet equipped Apache "Dantanian." As her Buzzer swung back in the direction they'd just come, she could see Abdul "Durka Durka" Saad's Apache cutting a tight 180, throwing up a wall of sand. Through the dust she saw the gunner Ahmid Ibrahim, struggling with the armored shutter. She grinned. They'd have some cleaning to do later. But Saad's instincts were perfect. She cut past him on his left as the Apache slid right and straightened, heading back towards the bridge they'd just crossed. As the nose of her Buzzer crested the drop off the bridge she got her first glimpse of their pursuers. "F_cking Ultraviolence!" she yelled. Her driver and partner John "Tom Tom" Collins gripped the wheel tighter as the big-block 5 Liter roared. He had it floored, already anticipating his lover's orders. "Get us there John!" she hollered. "We can't let them across!" As he looked, more and more of the crazed wastelanders poured onto the bridge. Their frenzy was apparent: they bounced and banged into each other as they tried to get onto the bridge. Sparks flew, fenders ground, but on they came, noses of the muscle-cars rhythmically rising and falling as their drivers ripped through the gears, accelerating ever faster. Both sides knew the Slavers had to get off the bridge before their quarry could mount a defense. The slavers must have been waiting behind the low hills that flanked the road leading onto the bridge. If Pat' hadn't left Saad and his Apache trailing, they'd have been caught for sure. Luck was on their side so far. Luck would take a backseat in the next seconds though. Her crews' collective skills wouldhave to step in and push luck to the side if they were to survive. "Holy hell, how many of them are there?" Collings said as the nose of the Buzzer neared the bridge. Dalton was tightening the harness that held her secure in the bouncing gunner's seat. She looked up to see a wave of horrifically-painted vehicles streaming onto the bridge. She hesitated a second, then grabbed the mic' attached to the radios they all carried that allowed for short-range comms. "Fernandez! Gonzales!! Get those rock-chuckers up here NOW!" she ordered. "Roger that!" "On my way!" She heard in confirmation. "I can't see sh_t!" she said, straining to look out the armored gun ports. "Damn sand! Remind me to never go wandering out so far again!" "You got it, Boss." Collins said, grinning and looking over at his long-time companion. "Smart ass." She said, giving him a smile. "Swinging around." Collins said and gave the wheel a sharp turn to the left, jamming the clutch pedal to the floor, reaching for the e-brake with his right hand. The big war-machine spun around sharply, sticking its ass-end back towards the bridge. "Where are you Edwards?" she yelled into the mic'. "Look to your left!" came the reply. She did and there, sliding sideways, looking like they were coming just a bit too fast, came their twin Buzzer, the "Rakshasa." Collins brought the Buffrication to rest, then leaned right in reflex to avoid the dusting of sand and dirt the Rakshasa showered them with as it slid perfectly to a stop within inches of them. Dalton could imagine the huge grin on the face of its driver, Patrick "Blue Balls" Edwards and his gunner Angela "Angel" Edwards. The two were nutso, but made a great crew. She didn't have time for reflection. "Saad! Go! GO! GO!" She watched the Apache tear past, headed straight into the fast-approaching enemy formation. It was up to the Buzzers to give them a chance to survive. She did not doubt the bravery of the two men in that machine so she could not fail or their lives would be forfeit. "Targetting!" she yelled within the Buzzer. She grabbed up the aiming yoke, felt the actuators leap to life, the big rig rocked as the high-velocity shell-chuckers in the rear of the Buffrication came to life. She centered her reticule on the lead vehicle: a fast-approaching Phoenix, red flames had been painted across its front but were marred with the gunk and who-knows-what the Slavers had smeered across it. "We're stable, targetting!" Collins replied. He centered his sights on the Mercenary trailing the lead Pho'. It dodged and weaved behind its compatriot, trying to get past and get first blood. "Come on you son of a bitch!" Dalton keyed her mic, one hand holding the sights on the Pho'. "Gonzales, Fernandez; off our noses and get those things working!" She watched as the pair of CGL-equipped Apaches slid to a stop in unison 15 feet off the nose of their Buzzers. Hatches popped open on the upper rear of each. A hand waved from one of the hatches. She smiled despite the tension. "We're up!" She heard Gonzales report. "Commencing firing! Range 110!" Saad flashed past and onto the bridge. It was too late. That lead Pho' was flying! She almost screamed for him to abort, but it was too late. She made to depress her firing trigger then snapped her fingers away. Saad's Apache slewed left to avoid the onrushing Phoenix, driving directly into her LOS. She heard the twin Cannons on the Rakshasa open up. The nose of the Mercenary, wildly manuevering to avoid his sliding companion, who was trying to dodge the Apache, lit up with fire as a cannon shell caught it. The second shot skipped off the roof, caromming off into the distance. It was enough to push the nose of the Mercenary down, forcing it left into the bridge structure. Sparks flew from the impact. The rear of Saad's Apache belched fire and oil. The Pho' raked its side with shells. HMGs, she thought. He's not going to survive. Behind the lead pair, not 75 meters distant, came the rest of the pack. It would take a miracle for the Dantanian and its crew to get back off that bridge. Suddenly Saad's Apache slid back right, exposing the side of the Pho' as it streaked past, not 50 meters to her rear. She thumbed the firing switch. The Buzzer rocked as the Cannons belched, Collins firing nearly the same time. Both rounds impacted the muscle's side and the armor buckled, fire licking around the tears. It jerked violently left and slammed nose-first into the bridge's side, effectively blocking the right lane. She grinned. Perfect. "Pour it on! I want that thing hulked!" "Roger that!" Collins answered. She could hear her lieutenant, Gordon "Castaway" Wilson directing the rest of the Slaughterhouse gang. He'd realized his Leader needed to concentrate on stopping the first wave of the attackers and had stepped in, shouting orders over the tactical freq'. She saw the Apaches and LandRunners tearing off left and right on their flanks, heading for high ground on the ridgeline to both sides of the bridge. Then she went back to destroying the Phoenix. "Castaway" yelled over the comms, herding the gang into position. He had heard and then seen both Buzzers slide into a blocking position at the bridges terminus, followed by the CGL-mules, who'd opened fire almost immediately after stopping. They didn't have time to set out aiming stakes, so they were using dead-reckoning. They'd still get the job done, he knew. "Bernael! Urobach! Right flank! Move it! Get up there!" "Copy that. On our way!" "You guys need to watch that rise midway." "Roger." Urobach's rookie driver Ramirez answered. The Apache's nose slammed into the soft sand at the bottom of the rise, then leapt upwards, sand swirling off the spinning wheels. Bernael's driver, another rookie, Iraida Sabala, swung round on Urobach's right. Those two would make good crew. He smiled. "Everybody else left!!" He yelled, the same time jabbing the forefinger of his right hand left for the benefit of his own driver. He lifted his finger off the mic' button. "There! Follow Ima!" The Apaches and LandRunners of the SlaughterHouse gang lurched and clawed up the soft sand onto harder ground atop the ridgeline. Each grabbed a patch of ground and set up to wait for the onslaught of the Slavers. Gunsights were up, weapons checks and systems being readied was the job of the moment. "There's a lot of them!" his own rookie, Nathan Spikes, said from the driver's seat as he brought the "Eurynome" into position. "Wow." He jammed on the brakes; the nose of the Apache slid to within a few meters of the ridge's drop-off. Perfect. Kid could drive. "Guns up!" he yelled over the comms. Now they waited. They could all see the bulk of the pursuing Slavers' formation ripping across the bridge. One crazed ganger was leaning out the open window of a pickup, firing a pistol at something. Probably whakked on Zerk. "Target!" He heard someone yell. "Top o' the ridge, 11 o'clock! Apache!" He jerked his eyes left. There! A big ram-plate smashed through the top of the sharp ridge and the Apache it was attached to sailed after it. Wilson made to grab the mic'. "I got him!" He heard. It was Thomas "Thumbs" Smith in the "Tetrax." The rear of the Apache lit up with gun-flashes as the large caliber HMG and HGG rained fire. "Target!" He heard again. He saw it this time. Pick up. Straight on their 12. Followed by a sedan. Too grimy to ID. Then another! The slavers had sent a flanking force off the bridge, using the depressions to either side as cover. Their enemy had broken into the open at just over 125 meters. It would give his crews time to sight in. Doom on them. He grinned. "Target!" Came the call. This time it was Hassan Chupp. "Target!" Dennis "Pollock" Pollock chimed, echoing his gun-mate aboard the "Shax." Up at the bridge, Patricia was firing madly. They'd hulled the Phoenix, turning it into twisted, burning metal. The Rakshasa's crew had made short work of the Mercenary. Between dodging Saad's wildly careening oil and fire-spitting Apache, and its own crew's Phoenix, it had t-boned the Pho' and left itself open to fire. One crew hung dead out the side window. The other could be seen flailing around inside, burning. "Sucks being you." She thought. She and John were already firing on a Sunrise trying to thread its way past the wreckage and the flaming oil Saad was leaving all over. Then the Apache and the Sunrise collided. Saad managed to get the wheel turned and avoid a head on, but it still left the Apache nose-first into the side of the bridge, broadside to the charging bad guys. And then the bridge shook. One impact, another! The CGLs were on target! The lead pick up bounced left, its side grinding against the weathered concrete of the bridge. Sparks flew, metal ground. The second and third impacts hit the Chomper trailing it smack on the roof and hood. The suspension buckled under the impacts, armor ripped from the explosions and the driver lost control, diving right, straight into the side of another pick up that had managed to avoid its partner. Both vehicles slammed hard into the side of the bridge. The fourth CGL round exploded smack in the middle of the pileup, adding to the damage. There was now a perfect 4-vehicle road block 100 meters up the bridge. Saad had a chance! "Way to go lobbers!!" she yelled, grabbing up the mic'. "Pour it on!" "Hey, was there ever any doubt?" Fatima Ohman. Driver of the "Baalberith." "My boys are bad ass!" "That's right! We bad!" "Who da men?" Omar Bahe and Adad Haddad, CGL gunners. They'd be getting a bonus, along with the more silent and humble crew aboard the CGL-equipped LandRunner, "Ornias." "Kudos!" She said. "Now, FFE!! Rain smoke!" "Roger the rain." On the bridge, Saad had reversed the Apache. It was taking fire, but only withering. As more and more CGL rounds landed on the bridge, the Slavers pinned there behind their crumpled and bent compadres was more worried now about getting OFF the bridge than firing at anything. "Saad?" She queried over the comms. "We're alive!" Came the reply. "Tore up, but alive. I think we're clear!" She looked behind in time to see the nose of the Apache burst from out of the smoke covering the bridge from the two burning vehicles the Buzzers had reduced to scrap. Seconds later, the oil-spewing Apache tore by, clear of the bridge. LOS open again, the Buzzers started looking for targets. They didn't have to wait long. Amidst the falling explosive rounds, the enemy came on. To her left and right she could see and hear the staccoto reports of heavy weaponry and the cracking sound of Car Rifles as they tore into their enemy. Now the serious killing began. Luck had smiled on the SlaughterHouse crew again. Their gamble backfired, the Slavers were fighting for their lives. The SlaughterHouse crew was doing what it did best. Taking them. She wondered for a second if there'd be anything left to drag back home? Then she went back to killing. [img][/img] ......................... vet wv Posted Apr 26, 2011, 1:33 pm

*Jagged Monkey* Bazooka Joes Darkwind Guru Deathrace Mafia Faction Group: Marshals Posts: 597 Joined: Jul 13, 2010 The Boss doesn't like you messing with the business. Stop the boycott or else. ......................... vet wv combatL1 semiprocombat marshal elmsautumn northernsummer0,1,0 Posted Apr 27, 2011, 2:31 am

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