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Homo Homini Lupus Est.
Topic Started: Oct 29 2010, 11:02 AM (136 Views)
LitD
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Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
John Rakowski sighed in frustration as he looked over the offending mechanism, there was absolutely no reason for it to not work and yet it stubbornly insisted on not doing anything. With another frustrated sigh the former mechanic pulled out a screwdriver and began to loosen the bolts as he prepare the carbine for another strip clean. He had succeeded in placing the individual parts on the oiled cloth and was looking through the springs when a pair of boots appeared in his vision.

- ‘Anything?’
- ‘Nothing I can see.’

He replied without looking up from the parts. Harrison knelt and looked through the parts as well causing John to frown but as the man was not causing any trouble he decided not to say anything. Without a word John slid the various parts together, screwed the mechanism shut and dry fired the weapon.

The former mechanic couldn’t stop a look of surprise appearing on his face as a satisfying click sounded, signalling the pin striking an empty chamber.

- ‘You got it!’

Harrison stated with a grin. John frowned, kicked the carbine, shook it and pulled the trigger again. The click sounded once more and John glared at the offending weapon as if it was mocking him. If Harrison noticed he did not say anything about it.

- ‘So, what was wrong?’

John, frown still present, handed the weapon over to the owner.

- ‘The pin might be faulty, delicate. I’d have it checked with a proper armourer.’
- ‘I’ll do that.’

Harrison nodded as he pulled out a tin and handed it to John who quickly pocketed the tobacco and proceeded to roll up his tools. Harrison in the meantime stood up, slid a magazine into place and slinging the carbine over his back bellowed.

- ‘’Breaks over! Get into positions. Falcon! Stop your shit trip and get back here!’

Rakowski slid the oiled cloth containing his tools into his pack and slung it over his shoulders, the caravan was on the move again.

*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>**>

Rakowski had spent about a week with the caravan, ever since his busted leg healed up, as a guard/mechanic though as time went by more the later than the former. There was plenty he could do in that regard and no so much as a guard, after all their were wagon axis’ to keep working, problematic and faulty firearms to be investigated to say nothing of a load of junk which on occasion yielded treasure, like a pip boy that with a bit of tinkering turned out to be capable of catching a radio signal, or at least he assumed it was a signal, it was hard to tell.

All in all the man had no reason to complain, safety in numbers, he was moving in the direction he wanted and he was earning a bit, even taking into account that he had to pay for his meals.

>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>

- ‘So what is it?’

John asked Falcon as the two knelt behind shrubs growing in the shade of stunted red trees. The guard did not reply immediately and John did not rush him, just as the man did not bother him when he was working on something. After a moment the man put the binoculars away and put his steel helmet back on.

- ‘Nomads.’

He explained.

- ‘Probably a single clan, not enough guns to take us on and they don’t seem interested in sending out riders to collect others. We’re lucky to run into ones that don’t feel like slitting our throats.’

The two men crawled away from the forest and back to the caravan where they reported their findings.

*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>**>

- ‘The fuck?’

Falcon’s statement was a sentiment shared by most of those present, after all how often did one walk next to a pole covered with human skulls?

- ‘Territory marker.’

Harrison commented, spitting out a wad of tobacco.

- ‘Tribals set them up so as to tell everyone that the land belongs to them. Bastards must’ve expanded recently, this wasn’t here last time we covered the route.’

The members of the caravan were taking the moment to rest as the ones in charge discussed what to do. Jerky appeared as did travelling bread and canteens out of which only a small number contained water after all what sort of retard would drink water unless he had no other option?

- ‘You get many attacks on the road?’

John couldn’t himself and asked even as he slid jerky into his mouth.
- ‘Not as many as you’d think. Most people see a well-armed group travelling and they go, “That shit ain’t worth it.” It’s when you run into nut cases that problems start.’
- ‘Better tell John what you mean by nut cases sarge.’

Falcon stated as he spat out a wad of tobacco. Harrison nodded.

- ‘Religious fanatics, cannibal hordes, deserters and other such groups that are either desperate or actually want to fight not carin’ much about casualties.

The man put the canteen to his lips, took a draught, coughed and pointed at the distant territory marker.

- ‘Take them for example. Don’t know about all tribals but the ones round her got a ritual, a youth is only acknowledged as a man and allowed to have a wife when he brings back an enemies scalp, or even better the whole head. That makes ‘em crazy enough to attack large groups.

He put the canteen away and looked around,

- ‘So don’t go to far from the caravan when you gotta take a shit. Stay awake on night duty and keep your weapons handy.’

A quick paced thudding sounded and the men looked up to see the mounted form of the caravan’s leader riding down the line of resting men. Harrison stood up and called out.

- ‘What’s the word Bridger?’

Bridger stopped and leaned down.

- ‘We’re pulling back, go west and skirt around. With luck the bastards won’t be interested if we do that.’
John Rakowski Level 3 S:6 P:6 E:6 C:4 I:7 A:6 L:5
Full-length hooded duster. Pipe rifle. Kitchen knife (serrated blade). High Quality Autorevolver. Rock Knuckles. Gunpowder Mine.
Large Hide. 17 Piece Lock Pick Set. Stimpack. Tin of Tabacco. Sketch Pad+Charcoal. Magic 8ball, NCS 5 dollar note. Odd Holotape. Precious metal.
Average in height but underweight. Cold grey eyes set in a thin skull above a thin nose over a thin mouth set in a frown. Bald but with a beard streaked with grey.
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LitD
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[ *  *  *  * ]
- ‘Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!’

The call seemed to sound from all sides with no sight of the throats delivering the sound. Men, guards and drivers looked around in sharp movements as they followed shadows and movements at the edge of their vision. As if on order rifles slung to shoulders accompanied by the click of safeties being turned off, firing pins being primed and rounds being slid in to chambers.

Bridger stood in the stirrups as he looked around before turning around and shouting.

- Get those wagons in a laager! Guards in a line either side!’

The orders were repeated down the line, drivers moving the wagons into position before unlimbering the horses and pulling them to the centre. In the meantime the guards formed a rough line to either side facing the mixture of shrubs and stunted red trees to either side of the road and all the while the “Whoo! Whoo!” calls from their hidden stalkers seemed to grow in intensity and volume. John shifted his weight nervously as he tried to see something in the growing gloom.

- ‘Savages.’ – The man next to him spoke, - ‘They got little stomach for a real fight so they spend a good time whoopin’ and hollerin’ in the hopes that you’ll run. Ain’t nothing easier than killing running individuals.’
- ‘True.’

John forced himself to calm down and succeeded to a degree, he only jumped about a foot when the shot rang out and one of the guards’ head exploded into a fountain of blood, bone and brain. Several guards fired towards the puff of white smoke that had appeared.

- ‘Cease firing! Cease firing!’
- ‘How long till that fucking laager is ready?’

The chief drivers reply was drowned out as more shots sounded and two more men fell to the ground, both screaming and kicking the dirt in agony. John saw movement had barely had time to register the fact when a the half naked form of a man, painted in dark colours burst from the tree line and charged at the line, he nearly reached it before he fell back with a raged hole in his chest. More dark shapes had appeared, visible despite the gloom and white smoke growing in thickness. “Whoo! Whoo!” The howling intensified and men began to shift nervously backwards.

- ‘Form a double line!’

As if by magic the shifting stopped and men jumped to do as told. All the while the “whooping” grew in intensity and volume and more cracks of gunfire sounded accompanied by the occasional cry of pain.

- ‘They’re coming!’

John looked up and the saw the small, wiry shapes clad in leather leggings, their skin liberally coated in dark paints. Heads shaved save for topknots with bones, feathers and trinkets swinging from their necks. The ran towards the ragged line of guards whooping an shrieking waving hatchets, maces and spears, the occasional individual kneeling to fire a musket. John cleared his throat and spat nervously, they were definitely tribals.

- ‘First rank! Pick you targets!’

Harrisons authoritative voice sounded. John looked through the iron sites, and shifted the aim down so the rifle pointed at the tribals gut.

- ‘Fire!’

The rifles roared, smoke from poor powder obscuring the view of their targets.

- ‘Step back! Second rank! Ready!’

John moved behind the second line, pushing the lever down, ejecting the spent case as he pulled a new round from his pouch.

- ‘Fire!’

The second volley sounded as John stopped moving and slammed the breech shut.

- ‘Get back! First rank! Ready!’

The rifle rested on the mans shoulder as he looked through the iron sights, trying to line them up with one of the dark shapes visible in the smoke.

- ‘Fire!’

The volley sounded and the men moved back as the second line already rested their weapons on their shoulders. Harrison took a step back before stumbling. Surprised he looked down to see his ribs poking through a viciously bleeding hole in his side.

- ‘Interesting.’

He managed to say before collapsing. Another guard following suite as an arrow whistled through the smoke and slammed through his neck. The tribals were now so close that individual traits could be seen and the volley sounded ragged, some of the men panicking and aiming too high, the bullets harmlessly overshooting their shrieking targets, who now covered the distance between them, many literally jumping at the guards.

Rifles were raised to ward off blows, dull knocks sounded were successful, the sickening sound of steel piercing flesh where they were not. The man in front of John was pushed back into the mechanic who pushed back; the combined strength was enough to knock the savage down where the guard proceeded to slam the rifles stock into the tribals head. John fired from the hip and was surprised when he hit the tribal he wanted, the other covered the distance with such speed that John barely had time to draw his knife before he attacked.

The rifle went high to ward off the hatchet meant for the mechanics head and the two collided against each other. The tribals fingers clamping on Johns neck as he reached and stabbed into the small of the savages back. The grip loosened and John slammed his forehead into the tribals nose, deftly sending the man to the ground.

*>*>*>*>*>*>>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*>*

The sabre connected with the hatchet, stopping the weapon before Bridger shifted his grip, freed his weapon and slashed downwards, the savage fell back with a scream, his arm hanging on a few strands of muscle and skin. Momentarily free from enemies he looked around and noted that the wagons had been set up and the drivers were manning them, keeping the tribals away with gunfire.

- ‘Everyone to the laager!’

He stood in his stirrups as he shouted. Before he could repeat the order a tribal rushed him and attempted to slash the horses tendons. A squeeze from his knees made the horse turn round, away from the war scythe and Bridger slashed in the tribals direction. The man stepped back before lunging forward only to be thrown back from a pistol round. Bridger lowered the gun and turned to repeat the order when the horse screamed, blood flying from a gaping hole in its skull. Bridger attempted to get his feet out of the stirrups but the horse collapsed before he could do so and his leg was trapped under the dead weight.

Several savages ran to him, one outdistancing the others and pulled back his head by the helmet, knife rising but it never fell. The tribal was thrown back as a rifle round punched through his chest and Adams rushed up with two guards who immediately began to free their commander from under the horse, while Adams stood watch. While the man succeeded in blocking one blow the next connected, the mace shattering his shin and the guard collapsed with a cry, the tribal who did the deed shrieking in glee as he knelt and scalped the guard before slitting his throat.

One guard fell, struggling to get air into his lungs, air that bubbled out of the bullet hole in his chest as he slowly drowned in his own blood. The other succeeded in skewering a tribal with his bayonet but the weapon caught between the ribs and he was killed as he reached for his hatchet.

Bridgers struggles were cut short as two tribals held him down and a third, teeth white in contrast to his red painted face, knelt and scalped the man before slitting his throat.
John Rakowski Level 3 S:6 P:6 E:6 C:4 I:7 A:6 L:5
Full-length hooded duster. Pipe rifle. Kitchen knife (serrated blade). High Quality Autorevolver. Rock Knuckles. Gunpowder Mine.
Large Hide. 17 Piece Lock Pick Set. Stimpack. Tin of Tabacco. Sketch Pad+Charcoal. Magic 8ball, NCS 5 dollar note. Odd Holotape. Precious metal.
Average in height but underweight. Cold grey eyes set in a thin skull above a thin nose over a thin mouth set in a frown. Bald but with a beard streaked with grey.
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LitD
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[ *  *  *  * ]
The guard bent double as the hatchet slammed into his gut, his eyes and mouth opening wide as if in shock even as the hatchet was pulled free and brought down on his head with a sickening crack. Another was thrown to the ground, the tribal responsible whooped as he brought his club down only for the guard to grab the tribals arm and pull hard, throwing the man off balance. The guard was on him in a second, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest and neck.

John brought the rifle round, swatting aside the spear meant for his gut before lashing out with the weapons stock towards the tribals face. The savage stepped back before dropping his spear and tackling John, catching the man by surprise and the two hit the earth. Both men went for their knives and both lunged at each other while lifting their other arm to block the others blow and both seemed to freeze bar the shivering of their arms and gritted teeth as both men pushed their strength to their arms and slowly, steadily, the tribals knife began to sink lower, Johns knife hand likewise being gradually pushed down till it hit the earth. John tried to move his legs, tried to throw the tribal off of him, nothing seemed to work as the knife steadily sank lower towards his neck till the tip touched and began to force it’s way in.

There was a spray of blood and John cried out as the knifes tip scratched a line through his duster and leaving a red line on his neck. The mans face and goggles were liberally coated in blood and he couldn’t see the tribals headless corpse slide off of him nor did he see Falcon bend down and pull him up by the belts crossing his chest.

- ‘Get your gun and back to back with the others!’

The man shouted before moving on. John wiped the blood from his goggles the best he could and looked around things were looking bad. A pony ran by, eyes wide and frothing at the mouth while around tribals were fighting scattered guards and drivers. John ran a gloved finger over his wound and was surprsed to see it wasn't bleeding too badly. Satisfied he bent down and retrieved his rifle, ejecting the spent case inside as he ran towards a small knot made from members of the caravan who stood back to back shooting any tribal coming too close.

The tribals seemed to prefer to avoid the stubborn group of defenders, going after isolated individuals, most didn’t even seem interested with that as they knelt next to the dead and wounded, scalping them in a calm manner as if the slaughter around them was not their concern.

Safe within the ring of men John lifted the rifle and fired, ejecting the spent case and sliding a new round in before repeating. Others did likewise, the act broken by the occasional casualty due to arrow or bullet, John curse loudly as the blood of the man next to him splattered over his goggles, blinding him again. The man wiped the blood away and looked up in time to see a savage brave the fire of the guards and rushed them. Miraculously none of the bullets hit him. John cursed and lifted the rifle to his shoulder and looked down the iron sights, setting them on the tribals chest before pulling the trigger.

The “click” of the firing pin striking an empty chamber was felt more than heard, “That’s right, I forgot to load” The thought came clear and surprisingly calm to John as he reached for his revolver while shifting his grip on the rifle. He succeeded in knocking the spear aside as he drew his sidearm and levelled it on the tribal. The savage reacted by dropping the pole weapon and knocking the revolver enough so the bullet only tore his ear off rather than punch a hole through his head. The tribals other hand came up and John had to step back to avoid the mace before shifting his weight and bringing his arm down, the pistol cracking against his enemies skull, sending the tribal off balance. John corrected the attack with his other hand, the metal studs on his gloves tearing skin off the tribals face. The man stumbled back before regaining his balance and lifting his club as he readied for another attack, it never came.

Johns neighbour stepped in and stabbed the tribal with his bayonet, twisting the blade before pulling it free from the mans gut. The ex-mechanic holstered his revolver and picked up his rifle and pushed the lever down and cursed as the bullet did not jump out. Pulling his knife free (Why didn’t I use that on the savage?) he succeeded in prying the case out. His first pouch empty he had to reach to his second to find a new round to load.

After that it was fire, load, fire, load, fire, load, fire and load till his shoulder ached and gained a nasty bruise from the constant recoil and the knot of men was covered in smoke.

- ‘Ceasefire! Stop firing you retards!’

It took a moment and several more shots sounded before the order was followed. John coughed and listened, he couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears and the heavy breathing of himself and those around him nor could he see anything. Slowly the surrounding smoke cleared and the group saw a field littered with overturned cars, and dozens of bodies, many of them still moving as the wounded tried to crawl away and the dark shapes of tribals vanishing in the trees shadows.

The men looked at one another, faces unrecognisable under the mixture of sweat, blood, dust and residue from dozens of fired bullets as they slowly realized the fact. It was over.
John Rakowski Level 3 S:6 P:6 E:6 C:4 I:7 A:6 L:5
Full-length hooded duster. Pipe rifle. Kitchen knife (serrated blade). High Quality Autorevolver. Rock Knuckles. Gunpowder Mine.
Large Hide. 17 Piece Lock Pick Set. Stimpack. Tin of Tabacco. Sketch Pad+Charcoal. Magic 8ball, NCS 5 dollar note. Odd Holotape. Precious metal.
Average in height but underweight. Cold grey eyes set in a thin skull above a thin nose over a thin mouth set in a frown. Bald but with a beard streaked with grey.
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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
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Eli "Slim" Ambrose
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Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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