"OK man," said Nix to the driver of the town's pickup truck.  "You need take it easy with that engine.  Wait three seconds from putting the key in to starting up.  Got to be exactly three seconds mind otherwise you'll upset the electric sprites!  And when you put juice in make sure you pour it even 'n slow!  Don't let the tank gulp when it drinks, she's greedy!"

The Templar stood with his Squire, silent, stoic, and awaiting the next move.  Looking around him, he felt strange and isolated from the world amongst a group of people that were as much different from him as anyone he could imagine.  He had finished his breakfast quickly, and remained apart from the others, offering silent nods of acknowledgment as he contemplated recent events.  However, it was probably as good a time as any to start getting to know people if he would spend any time traveling with them.

He began by approaching Brother Edgar, and spoke his intention without pretense or preamble.  "Myself and Michaela, we will ride by your people and safeguard you from harm should any attempt to waylay you on route to your destination," he said.  "I do not have weapons to give them, but if any wish to learn the art of hand to hand combat, we will train any of them who are able bodied to defend themselves.  This world is full of the ignorant and I suspect they may encounter trouble again in their time, though I wish it not on them.  In trained hands, a stick can be as effective as a sword.  Well, almost."

In reply to The Marshall (msg #56):

The Colonel grunted and began to climb the rungs up to the roof of the cab. Once he was up, he checked out the sandbagged fighting position; just by looking around he found that his assumption that he would need to find a position on the trailer had been right.

With a sigh, he climbed from the rig onto the trailer. once up there, he walked its length, looking for a place where he could tie himself securely.

Brother Edgar would be busily helping the Chosen climb aboard the trailer and stow their meager belongings.  At the approach of Arthur and Michaela he would be sure to pause his work, to be attentive.

The offer is received graciously, with a hand extended to seal the deal (a hand that has been noticed glowing in a rather radioactive way), "My people would be very grateful for the instruction, if you can spare the time.  Many carry such weapons and swing them with enthusiasm.  Control and skilled defense would benefit them and others nearby, greatly."  He pauses a moment, a wistful smile, "I dream of the day when such skills may not be necessary...  But that is not this day."

Arthur looked uncertainly at the man's hand for a moment, but reached his hand down to shake it anyway without hesitation or flinching, retrieving it as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  He nodded at Edgar's reply.

"A man....or woman," he added after getting a look from Michaela, "has sometimes few options, but always a choice to stand by and allow wrongdoers to trespass over him and others or to take action into his own hands.  You and the people who seem to clearly follow your lead stood tall in the face of opposition today.  No one would dare gainsay your courage.  However if your people are both brave as well as trained, then woe unto those who would do harm unto them."  Arthur was known for breaking into bits of impromptu inspirational speaking, meant to inspire courage into the hearts of his companions.  He wished to help as many as he could, but his method involved seeking out the best parts of men and women and inspiring them to be better so that he would have a reason to fight for them.

"Things were a bit...crazy before, and I'm not sure if I had the chance to properly introduce myself.  I'm Arthur Dayne, and this is my friend and close companion, Michaela."  He never introduced them as Templar and Squire, though those in the know would have few choices but to draw such conclusions at a man who walked into battle bearing a sword and shield.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #58):

"Oh, right. Three seconds. The sprites."

Although a little puzzled by Nix's instructions, the townies seemed glad to have their truck in better working order. There was a middle-aged driver and someone riding shotgun, literally. The passenger wore overalls and a ball cap, and carried a double-barreled shotgun.

Aside from the Chosen, there was a small quantities of supplies to be loaded into the back of the trailer under Brother Arthur's supervision.

Jane ate quietly but quickly, and gave Peter a nod as he left.
As it seemed introductions were going around, she waited until there was a pause and her mouth wasn't full, and said simply, "Jane Guin. Gunner."

After finishing the meal, Rowan wandered over to Brother Edgar and Arthur Dayne. Having walked with Brother Edgar and the Chosen from Tucson, they were well-acquainted enough. He wasn't sure what her mutation was, only that she had joined them in Tucson for the journey. Rowan had listened to his sermons like everyone else at the end of the hot exhausting day but looked too tired to discuss her thoughts. Still, she always managed to tell a story to keep people's spirits up.

To the truckers and their crews, Rowan stood out from the rest of the muties. She wore good quality clothing of mostly natural fabrics (leather, cotton, wool), although she did have a Gore-Tex jacket too keep out the elements.

"Good breakfast, nice to meet you all. I've been traveling with the Chosen, I have some medical training and I'm good with a rifle. It's great to meet you."

Wearily, she saddled up with the rest of them and got ready to move out. Because she was one of the few within the Chosen who had a weapon and ammunition, she would be best stationed where she could shoot. From the fighting position on the roof of the rig seemed to be a good idea to her.

Rowan pulled a bright green scarf out of her satchel and wrapped it around her head to protect her skin from the sun, then slipped on her sunglasses. It would be warm up top, but the wind would be nice. She propped her AK against the sandbags so it would be handy and not fall out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:28, Wed 30 June 2010.

0900
Heating up.

It took a couple hours to eat and get geared up. After they were done, the convoy hit the road.

By then, it was starting to get hot out. The townies gave each of the travelers some water to last 'em, about a gallon each in various containers from pint bottles to plastic jugs and buckets with lids on them.

Peter's dusty but capable technical was in the lead, with Jane as gunner along with Dakota, Arthur and Michaela in the back as the group's mobile fire support. Next was Roadkill's rig with Rowena in the cab and Col. Schaeffer and smoker riding shotgun in the fighting position on top. Finally, the townie pickup followed with two townies, one armed with a shotgun, and Brother Edgar in the truck's bed filled with lumber and tools.

Those riding outside pulled up various bandannas, shemaghs/kheffiyahs or other drive-on rags to protect their faces from the dust and sand blown up by their travel. Those that had them put on their sunglasses or goggles.

The 20 mile run lasted all of a half-hour or so. There were a few rusting skeletal wrecks dating back from the war and the chaos on the highways that followed after. All had been long-stripped. There were far more potholes and sand drifts on the road to worry about.

The turnoff south to Chance City was a little speck on the map named Grant, now it was less than that. All that remained of Gage were a few tumbled-down buildings no one had bothered to strip for anything but the most easily-obtained salvage, including an old gas station.




At Gage the small convoy turned south onto a cracked but paved road and passed to the east of Gage butte and the Victorio mountains. There were several abandoned Ghost-Rock and other mines in the Victorio mountains, including the Last Chance Mine, once owned by Randolph Hearst. Chance City had provided needed services and R&R to them all. But the Ghost Rock had played out in the 1880s and Chance City, also known as Victorio, went bust. The whole area around the Victorio mountains were honeycombed with shafts and tunnels.

On the plus side, Chance City was on the south side of the Victorio Mountains, on the side opposite the Interstate. So it would be close to the road but not directly visible. Unfortunately, water looked like it would be a considerable problem unless there was a well. Otherwise, they would have to go about 3 miles to a creek that had water all year around.

To get to the abandoned townsite, they would have to leave the paved-but-potholed road and travel up a poorly-maintained dirt track. The rig would have trouble on the rough road, although the technical and pickup would have little problem.

The choice was to take the rig and risk getting stuck, or send the smaller vehicles on ahead and have some of the people walk the rest of the way. They reckoned it couldn't be more than a mile or two.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:07, Tue 29 June 2010.

After breakfast Roadkill had been eager to start the journey and had been quick to get into the cab of the truck and head out saying, "Well, the sooner we get on the road, the sooner we get there."

When they reached the badly overgrown dirt track Roadkill pulls the rig to a stop along the side of the road and turns to Rowan sitting next to him. Over the rumble over the engine he shouts, "Well, looks like that's the end of the line!  This baby wasn't meant for off-roading and I don't think the tow companies are answering their phones any more! Should only be a mile or two further now, but I imagine you guys can handle it from here! I'll stop by when I can and see if you guys need anything hauled or traded! Good luck with your new settlement!"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:11, Tue 29 June 2010.

The Chosen got to unloading the semi trailer. It was clear that taking the rig over the dirt road with a trailer was asking to get stuck. Soon, there was a small crowd with a pile of belongings on the pavement.

It was quiet in the desert, with only a slight breeze and the ticks and pinging of metal as it cooled from the engine heat. From the road, the track to Chance City led up into the scrub-covered hills. The various armed guards got out and stretched, although it hadn't been more than a 45-minute trip, if that.

To turn his rig around, Roadkill would have to take it further south until it intersected with another road because the road here wasn't wide enough. The road cut across the eastern flank of the mountain, so one shoulder dropped off a little, and the other was uphill.

The townie driver got out and walked over to the technical. He said to Peter, "I figger they ain't quite there yet. Why don't we shuttle their supplies up there to where they're goin' for them? Won't take more'n a couple trips with both of us workin' together."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:05, Tue 29 June 2010.

Safing and slinging her rifle, Rowan climbed down from the trailer. Stretching, she sipped the warm water the townies had given her and the rest. The good-looking 30-something young woman seemed more talkative today.

"Man, that sure beats walkin'. A girl could get used to that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:55, Tue 29 June 2010.

Jack rolled out of the bed of the truck and his feet wobbled just slightly as he touched the ground.  No matter how much it beat walking, riding in the back of a pickup, bobtail, cargo trailer or other such thing which wasn't originally meant for passengers always put a little crick in his back, no matter how good the driver was.

Bracing his hands against the small of his back, he leaned back and pushed.  His eyes darted around before he relaxed, shrugged, and realized he'd come this far.  Seeing the townie driver talking to Peter, Dakota butted in on the conversation.

"Hey, if you're going to do that, I'd like to make a suggestion.  There may be a welcome committee in Chance City a' waitin' for these folks, if'n you know what I mean.  If they think it's on okay place to try to make it, odds are purty good someone or somethin' else done had the same ideer.

"I ain't got nothin' better to do, so I'd be much obliged if'n we could do us a little scoutin' run to take a quick looksie at where they think they's gonna set up.  Might be better to make sure the coast is clear before'n we send the whole gang of 'em on down the road into an abandoned town that's possibly full of God knows what.  Hell, we could be doing that while yer coming back for the ones that don't walk so good."  Jack shrugged.  "If either one of ya'll wouldn't mind making the run."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Tue 29 June 2010.

The ride had been quite enjoyable, especially the view from the top of the trailer had been something of a treat for the Colonel. To his own amazement, he felt rested and not stiff as he would have expected.

While everyone got out of the vehicles, Shaeffer climbed down from the trailer again using the rungs on the side of the cab. He arrived back on the ground just in time to overhear Rowan's comment. Once again smiling carefully, he tipped his boonie in her direction.

"Yes, a pleasant change from the usual." With a wink the Colonel walked to the group at the pick up. He listened to Dakota Jack and then offered his own opinion.

"Ja, scouting makes a lot of sense. Though I think a recon should be better done on foot, to avoid any visible raising of dust and thus any alarming of possible opponents, ja? If you give me some time, I can certainly take a good look at the location."

"Save the fuel that way too.  Not a bad ideer there Hans."  Dakota Jack informed the funny sounding ferner and joked:  "Hell, maybe if somethin' done holed up in thar you can jus' kill it from here."

Peter looked from the Townie to Jack to Schaeffer. His lips quirked a bit and his eyebrows rose up. "Soooo....you two that are volunteering have anything in the way of radios to let us know if it's 'safe' to approach? Or will we all be waiting for you to return?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg #73):

"I tell ya what, once we're done I'll just play an acostic cover of 'Don't Stop Believin' three times in the key of d minor an' that'll be the signal."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Tue 29 June 2010.

When Dakota Jack called him Hans, the Colonel couldn't help rolling his eyes. It was always the same with the Amis. Somebody would call him "Kraut" next, but in that case, his reaction would be anything but friendly.

Even worse than Dakota's ignorance was Firecrow's implied insult. A proud man, Shaeffer was not going to let that slide so easily.

"Well yes, I've got a working radio in my helmet. But surely we'll be able to use smoke signals or drums to let you know of what we find. Maybe you would be more comfortable with those, ja?"

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #75):

Dakota Jack couldn't help but laugh.

"Yer all right feller.  But seriously we got to stop jokin' around about this, this here's serious business."  Jack stopped smiling and let his penetrating gaze wash over those assembled before speaking again in a rough and gritty voice.

"It doesn't have to be Journey.  Could play Achy Breaky Heart or some Spice Girls instead, I can fake it."

OOC: Dakota Jack has both "The Stare" and "The Voice" for whatever it adds to such a lame joke.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Tue 29 June 2010.

Peter leaned back, eyes narrowing mostly focused on the 'Colonel'. "Is there a reason why you are acting like such racial-profiling jackasses? I asked a simple question with no malice trying to ascertain whether or not you would be able to radio us or no. Apparently you do, so that is wonderful. Not EVERYONE has radios so it was a VALID question."

He shook his head and moved away from the two before he had to worry about getting angrier or inciting them to anything else. "Fucking assholes."

Shaeffer ignored Firecrow's outburst. Judge not lest you be judged, or something like that. While the question itself had been valid, the way it had been delivered was not.He turned to the Gunslinger.

"Me, I'd prefer Brothers In Arms or Money For Nothin'. But it is your choice."

There was some slight humour in the German's voice. The he shrugged and continued.

"Anyway, I agree that we're just wasting time. I'll leave my pack back here and put my Ghillie suit on."

Shaeffer took his pack off and took his Ghillie out. Then he put his pack unceremoniously into the back of the townie's pick up. Next, he pulled the Ghillie suit over his armor and as soon as he was done picked the Mauser rifle up and nodded to show that he was now ready to go.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:08, Tue 29 June 2010.

"Fellah you're wound up tighter than the girdle of a Baptist minister's wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.  Even Hans here can cut loose, and that's purty good considerin' they ain't even got no jokes where he comes from.  Yer comin' wit' me an Smokey one night... Hans too.  We'll learn ya how to relax."

Arthur stood nearby, next to his horse, listening silently as the other men conversed.  As they argued or flung insults at each other, he shook his head sadly with the expression of an old and patient father watching his bickering children.  He didn't say anything about it though, it not being any of his affair, though he shared a look with his Squire.  He walked up to them.

"We could go as well.  They would be less likely to suspect one who appears such as I, riding a horse such as this, and with a woman riding alongside.  If trouble arises, we are more than capable of defending ourselves."  From the bundle of rags that he carried he drew forth his blade, which looked the more impressive in the sunlight.  Those who knew of such things could see the broadsword's double edged blade and perhaps gain an inkling as to the fine workmanship with which it had been wrought, though such would truly be revealed only upon closer inspection.  Hundreds of years after swords had fallen out of use, he did not expect others to have a true appreciation for such a fine craft, but at least for the work that he and Michaela could do with such things.

Dakota Jack really seemed to like that ideal for some reason.

"Well dang, someone scare up a keg and we got us a party.  Careful there hoss, you'll put an eye out with that thing... probably mine."  Jack pauses.  "Just where in the blue hell did you get a real sword anyway?  I ain't no expert but that don't look like no movie prop recovered from some guy's basement apartment.  Oh, hold on a second, speaking of swords I got to tend to my axe..."

Jack went to Nix.  "All right Smokey since you like this thing so much, I need you to hold it if yer stayin' put.  But I'll warn ya, anything you do to her while I'm gone, I'm doin' to you when I get back.

"Course, given my luck that means you'll suck on the head and violate the sound hole."

The Colonel checked out he sword in the Templar's hand. It was a piece of fime workmanship.

"A beautiful blade. And from what I've seen, you know how to use it as well."

He got his own sword from the pick up. Reverently, he drew the blade. A single-edged officer's saber, its watered-steel Solingen blade shone in the sun.

"A real Solingen blade. My vater's sword. The mark of an officer."
Shaeffer's voice was full of reverence. It was impossible to say if it was for the sword, the man or what it symbolized.

"Sadly, I'm not very good with it. To say the truth, schrecklich...how do you say it...abysmal, ja?"