Harry's chainsaw arm whirred as he followed Fletcher's directions. It wasn't very delicate...it was, after all, a chainsaw. So he mostly did work on the larger parts.

The Man howled as if in complete, heart-rending agony as they began to dismantle the armor.  He ignored Kelly's request for a map completely as he writhed and squirmed in absolute desperation.  His gyrations and scrambles threatened to tear his already dislocated arm right off.

Then Fletcher, with the help of Harry's chainsaw, disconnected the suit's main power feeds as they were starting their work.  Safety first after all.  At the same moment the Man just....stopped...  Went dead silent and horribly limp in Kelly's grasp...

The Armor seemed to shift by itself for a moment, then begin to suddenly rust and corrode.  As though years of neglect and wear was catching up to it all at once.  It began to crumble in places, crumpling and buckling in others.  Falling into a pile of junk...


Spirit Roll!  Make it in Secret Spend what Chips you wish.  Highest gets to count Coup....
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 04:26, Thu 06 Aug 2020.

Well.  Kelly hadn't expect that.  Maybe she'd be glad she had measured her response.

Fletcher stepped back as the the armor crumbled.

That certainly was a result that more or less accomplished part of what he had been going for.

Harry also stepped back. Well. That wasn't something you saw every day. He looked over to the man now crumpled in Kelly's grasp, and wondered who had been piloting whom.

Everyone looked on quietly while the man ceased and the armor fell to sudden,strange entropies.  Even for the day to day weirdness that is living in the World that Is, this felt strange.  Especially after all the fighting, shooting, chasing, screaming.  Just.  Quiet.

So quiet, you can faintly hear the repeated pop. pop. pop. of now distant gunfire back in the direction of the collapsed bridge.

The Lockesburg militia don't quite know what to say or do.  They absently start checking over the weapons.  Falling to training without guidance.  One is still tending to their wounded.

Crowboy remained at his perch, now on the roof of the cab.  He had been enjoying the show of watching Kelly manhandle the crazy man.  But the sudden-ness of the end seemed to steal even the talkative bandit's usual stream of conciousness.  Instead, he just gave a low, impressed whistle.

Prudence let her song fade away, nodded once, and carefully uncocked her pistol, "That'll do."  Without any more explanation, the gunhand limped her way back over and up to the big gun to give it a quick check.

Delilah did not seem particularly pleased.  In fact, she looked like the whole damn thing left her with a very bitter taste.  She shoved her Peacemaker back into the holster, "Well.  Fuck."

"Sounds like they might need some backup." Harry says as he looks in the direction of the gunfire. "With Iron Man here down, that's a major hit to these guys. And we still don't know what happened to the crew we were supposed to be ambushing. That's a whole lot of innocent people still unaccounted for. I reckon we ought to head back to the bridge. We'll need to find some sort of ford to continue on to deal with their camp." He looks over at Delilah. "You still got plenty o' chances to shoot folk, if you've a mind to."

Kelly sighed.  It never ended, this fight.  Connor, the man not the sword, had told her that.  Though before too long the sword would be speaking to her too if this kept up.

"You got it Harry.  Let's tie this bastard up in the back of the dog.  And gag him.  He will be held to account."

"Sounds like a plan."  Fletcher commented in reply to Harry's suggestion they head back to the river.

He spotted a few bits amongst the rusted remains of the Iron Man's suit that he stuck into various pockets, then made ready to leave.

The primary order of business was retrieving the dirt bike and getting it back on the trailer.

He spared a glance towards the raider's abandoned generator truck but logistically he'd have to see if someone from Lockesburg could come retrieve it.

It was too much good scrap to just leave by the roadside to get slowly picked over or consumed by nature.

"Is he even still alive?" Harry asked as he clambered back into the Dag's driver seat.

Upon checking the Man closer, Harry had a point.  He was no more. He had ceased to be. He'd expired and gone to meet his maker. He's a stiff. Bereft of life, he rested in peace.  Well, based on what the Dogs knew, it was very likely the Man was not going to be resting in /peace/.  And thought of meeting /his/ maker....

The militia got back aboard as Harry headed for the cab of the Black Dog.  Prudence, already aboard, tsked quietly as she cleared the breech of the .50 and counted the remaining couple of shells.  It didn't take long.

Delilah gave Harry a narrow look at his comment about having a mind to shoot people.  She might prefer his tone, but she had little argument to his sentiment.  Needing something to do though and since she as already down, she jogged over to pick up Fletcher's bike and roll it back to the Dog.

Crowboy hopped down from his perch to assist Kelly in whatever direction she chose with the body of the Man.  The bandit grinned, "Went down like a punk without his armor.  You tossed him around like a sack of sticks.  Scrawny bitch..."

"Don't judge him too harshly.  Something... something was wrong about him.  I'm sure he made bad decisions, but it's a question of whether he got the evil he earned, or something more.  In the end I'm not sure if this was truly a man or a monster."

She looked at Crowboy.  "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.  Toss the body in the back, we'll put him in a grave later."

If for no other reason I don't want him to raise as some weird techno zombie.

Crowboy looked a bit shamefaced at the rebuke by the Knight, but nodded as though he understood and did as asked.  Everyone else loaded up and The Dog rolled out.

---

It didn't take long to get back to the broken bridge.  The crew of the strange truck were forced to deal with a few more of the stinking waterlogged dead that sloshed down the road.  But without numbers, they were easy, stinking pickings for the Dogs.  When they reached the bridgehead The Dog's bright lights cut through the darkness back and revealed a scene of ongoing carnage, unbelievably pungent carnage.

Without the truck to attract their attention, the mass of stinkers had crawled from the water onto the opposite shore.  On this shore they had been met by a steady hammering firing line from the force with the vehicles on the other side.  The pop pop of the carefully aimed fire of small arms was accented by a deeper, metallic TUUUNG sound.   The heavy metal bolts plowing disgusting lanes into the dead tide.  Some of the dead seem to be steaming and smoking, the grass near them scorched and smoldering as well.   The dead were being driven back to the water by the force.

The additional firepower that the Dogs brought back put paid to the small horde of drowned dead.  But obviously a heavy price was paid in ammunition at the very least.

Between the CB and signals from the militia group with the Dog, it was verified that the force across the water was the rest of the response force from Lockesburg.  Most of the taken had been rescued.  There were some casualties.  Martin is revealed to be in pretty critical way.  Dean is with the Lockesburgers.

An observation squad is left at the river to watch for any more risings.  The rest of the force, the Dogs, the hostages, the wounded, the tired, the weary, the beatdown... all pull back to the walls of Lockesburg for what little is left of the night.

---

There is grim joy that the raiders have been dealt two severe blows.  The first raiders stopped cold at the Harrison stead.  The second group taken apart at the Bear Creek bridge.  Hell, seemed like the wanderers even managed to bring down what might just be their leader.  There were losses.  Wounded. Some of the Whitten folk were gone on to whatever's next.  A few of the militia too while stopping the waterlogged dead.

Never rains, but it pours.

But Lockesburg seemed to be awful grateful for the wanderers and treated them a damn sight kinder than before.  Not bad folk.  Just cautious.  But after fighting that hard for them, the Dogs are basically family.  Martin got taken off with the rest of the injured to be tended to by their medicos as best they could.  The sight of the Templar revealed gets no small amount of reverential awe and whispered wonderings.  They really do exist...  Like the stories...

No rest of the wicked though.

McKellar is convening a meeting to plan what to do next about the rest of the raiders and their camp up on De Queen Lake.  And the people-eating reactor in the middle of it all.  The wanderers were, of course, invited.  Hoped for really.  Its obvious that the town and the militia want them to help, but don't feel able to ask.  McKellar... well.... he's a tough nut.  Won't beg.  But likely, secretly, hopes too.

---

For any that go to the meeting...

McKellar lays out what is known.  About the reactor.  About how the two raiders forces they'd smashed weren't the sum total.  They were still out there.  Possibly leaderless.  Probably very angry.  And with their hateful, hungry eyes set firmly on the resistant Lockesburg.

McKellar also makes it clear, "I mean to end it.  I can't leave them assholes sitting there while they figure out what they're gonna do next.  If'n I have the right of it,  They're gonna be disorganized right now.  Right now is the time to end it.  No waitin'."

Harry was nodding along. That had been his intention, as well. If they could put paid to this reactor, all the settlements for several hundred miles would be a damn sight safer. And it would also clear the way for them to finally continue West towards Bullhead City...or what was left of it.

Kelly joined.  Her tabard was long gone, she was in a borrowed gown of plain, offwhite canvas with only a few blood stains on it.  She had been playing nurse, which meant playing doctor.  Her medical skills were humble, but too rare to not deploy when they were needed, a weird combination of old world know-how she'd absorbed by osmosis and homespun post apocalyptic witchcraft.  She had done what she could.

"I can't argue with that."

Fletcher showed up, of course.  Lockesburg was just about at the top of the importance list to TexArcana.  If its people and its farms were overrun, more than just Lockesburg would be harmed.

"What sort'a resources is Lockesburg able ta commit?"  He asked.

The threat was certain, but Fletcher wasn't much of a gambler.  He wasn't the sort who'd be willing to go all in, but it (luckily) wasn't his responsibility to make that decision.  That fell on McKellar.

McKellar seemed to consider the question a moment, looking around the room at the other Lockesburg folk that were there.  Not everyone from the town.   The generally followed leaders.  The opinion makers.  A pair of young militia members that make be some kind of officers.

Finally, McKellar said, "I want to send the whole muster..."  The mood of the room changed in an instant.  You could almost hear the collective gasp.  The whispering.  It was plain that the idea of sending off everything they had was not going to be an easy sell.

One older fellow, Mister Brown maybe?,said, "Dammit son, ye can't send off ev'rybody.  You ain't got no way a knowin' what's up there.  What'll we do if'n you lose?  We'll be done fer certain..."  More voices began speaking up or whispering in side conversations.  Mention was made of ammunition already low...  Wounded...  Some already killed...

It was one thing to defend a wall or a homestead or ambush a raiding party...  It was quite another to go assaulting some raider camp with unknown numbers of enemies and goodness knows what else.

McKellar's lips thinned and he raised a hand.  The voices quieted respectfully, he continued, "And both of our new trucks.  I want to hit them with every damn thing we got.  We'll have to wipe them out.  Make it so they can't trouble anyone again."  He wasn't going to argue directly.  He was stating all of his intentions plain.

The townsfolk, obviously, were not ready to sign off on an All or Nothing raid.  One of the militia members stepped up.  She shouted to get some attention, "C'mon now!  We can do this!  We've been trained for this!  You want to wait till they come sneakin' up at night again?  What if they try to burn the farms?  What then?"  There were calls back...  You young folk...  You don't remember what it was like...  Let them try, we'll stop 'em at the walls...  They'll get through...  Overrun... The walls will hold...  Bring everyone in...  Attack them now...

The group began going back and forth.  McKellar looked grim.  Like he's not used to not just getting what he wants.  Many eyes in the room glance around at the wanderers; looking for backing for one side or the other....  Maybe just hoping the strangers will volunteer to take care of the problem...

Kelly took a seat.  She waited a moment, then began to speak.  She only raised her voice for the first sentence.

"Listen to me in silence, let the peoples renew their strength; let them approach, then let them speak; let us together draw near for judgment."

She wasn't loud, or pushy.  She was however curious if anyone would listen.

"Who stirred up one from the east whom victory meets at every step? He gives up nations before him, so that he tramples kings underfoot; he makes them like dust with his sword, like driven stubble with his bow.  He pursues them and passes on safely, by paths his feet have not trod.  Who has performed and done this, calling the generations from the beginning?"

She paused.  "Who?"

It wasn't rhetorical.

Fletcher waited to see what the reaction was to Kelly's statement.

He'd heard rumors about the Templars and the way they did things, though he really didn't know what was truth and how much of whatever might be was coming into play in this particular situation.

The townsfolk grew gradually quieter as Kelly spoke.  The first ones to notice indicating the others.  She may not be wearing the cross right now, but by now everyone knew.  They'd heard.  Templar.  IT was enough that they were willing to listen.

Most seemed confused, possibly interested in her poetic sounding beginning.  Wondering where it would go.  They didn't have any particular answer to the question.

A scant few seemed to recognize something in it.  Nodding faintly, encouragingly.  Like the seemed to know a bit about where it was coming from. They didn't answer either.

McKellar remained stone faced, but didn't interrupt.  Just let it play out.

Kelly was quiet a moment.  Then she spoke.

"I do not believe you are fundamentally bad people.  I know this is damning with faint praise, but the circumstances have forced me to make a snap judgment.  I erred on the side of your being worthy, because I think it's better to do so."

She paused again but only briefly.

"You face a mortal threat to your very existence.  It is natural to be terrified.  I am.  It is natural to talk yourself into rationalizing courses of action which soothe that terror, even if you know there's more to consider than just that."  She took a natural pause.

"Permit me an indulgence in a clumsy and stupid analogy.  Imagine you all have a cannon and a small charge of explosive powder.  If everyone contributes all the powder they have, the cannon will fire at its maximum velocity.  If only some contribute while others run away to safety, it will still fire but who knows if the shot will travel far enough.  If too few contribute, well, they might as well have not bothered, the cannon ball won't leave the barrel.

"But it's more complicated than that.  Because aimed at you is another cannon.  You know it's going to fire at you.  The only rational responses are either flee, but if you do that, your fort will be razed and gone forever.  But you might live.  Might.  Or you could fire first and try to take out the enemy cannon.  You might pull it off, or it might turn out your cannon isn't powerful enough to win.  But half-measures either way don't make any sense.  So this is it, this is the threshold of death's door, mere moments from death if you don't do one or the other."

One more extended pause.

"You see, in their last moments people show you who they really are.  Who are you people?"

And with that, she was done making speeches, at least for the moment.

Many of the townsfolk bristled a bit at the notion that they might not worthy and the Templar made a fast decision...  But they didn't interrupt.  Just stung a bit.  To their credit.  They listened to the whole thing.  And considered the question quietly for a moment after the swordswoman was done.....

It was the older lady that operated the EZ-Mart who spoke first, Lydia?, "We're survivors.  Always have been."  Nods of agreement accompanied her words, "Our families stayed when the town was near died out.  No jobs.  Nothing.  We stayed when them bombs fell.  We stayed when them raiders tried to move us.  We stayed when the dead rose up.  We stayed through damn near every awful damn thing that this world throws.  We defended it.  We built it.  We stayed."  She nodded towards McKellar, then Kelly, then the rest of the Dogs, "We ain't never been afraid to fight to defend it.  And if these folks that seem to know the business says we need to attack to defend it.  Then I reckon that's what we do."  Lydia shrugged, folding her arms over her chest, "I run a gas station.  I don't know how to run a war.  Maybe listen to them folks as do."

More general agreement.

Mr. Brown had staked his position earlier and wasn't going to give up easy, "I agree with all that.  I been here longer'n most anybody.  But in' that why we built all the damn walls?  Let these raiders come her like they done before.   Let them walk right into the cannon and we'll fight'em here. Like we always done.  Why go all the way up there?"

Spit.

The tobacco juice splapped into the floor near to the door of the room where Mr. Harrison stood, still holding his longbow.  He hadn't been there yet when the meeting started, but he'd stepped in at some point, "Cuz these bastards don't fight like we're used ta.  They sneak up in the dark.  They flash and scream and raise an all fired ruckus.  They'll blind you.  They'll scare the piss out of you ev'ry which way they can.  They'll make you look one way while they come in t'other.  They'll climb right on over your damn walls.  They see in the damn dark.  I know all this cuz they did it on my stead."  Spit. "If not for these here road folk, they'd have kilt or taken all of us.  They did it to the Whittens.  It ain't but luck that any of them are here."  He looked straight on at Mr. Brown, "Your walls won't mean shit to these cheatin' bastards.  You wait for them, you're dead."  Spit.  Harrison looked back over to Kelly and McKellar and he grinned a chaw-stained grin, "Jes imagine how surprised they're gonna be we show up in the sunshine.  Ready.  When we flash and scream and raise an all fired ruckus at their house.  Ought to be a good time."  Spit. "Now.  What's the damn plan?  I'm tired and I'd like to get some sleep once we kill these assholes."

After that, there wasn't much disagreement left in the room.  Even Mr. Brown didn't have much argument left.  Sure.  There were a few particulars to be nailed down.  Fast.  But Lockesburg was all in.  They just need a plan...

Good speech. Harry though to himself as he listened to everything. Just one question...what is the plan?

All their attempts to question the weirdos about the layout of their camp had, after all, not wound up going especially well, and he had no idea how they were actually going to get The Dog over the river with the bridge out.

Kelly knew her limits.  She could maybe motivate people into fighting, but she was a standard-bearer, not a general.  But she could throw out directives to jostle people who  did know something to act.

"We need maps.  We need inventories of weapons, supplies, manpower and transport.  Leave the less capable, maybe people who are not mobile but who can still operate a weapon, here as a garrison.  Someone here must be a hunter or a scavenger who may know an approach the raiders would not."

She didn't remember her parents too well sometimes, but one thing she remembered was her mother telling her that before the world ended, the fastest way to get the correct answer to a question was to put the incorrect answer onto a net and sheer human spite would bring the correct answer more quickly than one could find it doing proper research.  She had no idea why people before the war wrote questions on nets, but the principle applied.

Once the decision was made, McKellar and the folk of Lockesburg began the work of mobilizing.  Kelly's general suggestions seem to be right within the frame of what the townsfolk were doing.  The logistics seemed to generally be under control.  Some of the folk in the meeting did leave to help take care of that.  The rest stayed as part of the planning operation.

Most of the older folks had grown up around here and know De Queen and the Lake pretty well.  Crude quick maps were sketched and the details argued over only a little.  They offered a few ideas for routes the raiders might not have considered.  But, ultimately there are only so many ways onto a peninsula by land.  If that's even where they were.

Some suggested the possibility of boats.  They didn't have many, but there were some bass boats around that probably still floated.

McKellar does not seem too keen on the idea of splitting up forces too much.  A small raiding force or distraction perhaps, but he wants most of his folk to stay together.

But the discussions ultimately lead to a few key points:

-The need for intel.  Somebody has to go ahead and scout the enemy position.  The location of the main raider band must be confirmed before the main force gets committed.  But who?  How many?  With what?

-If they are going to use a raid force, what is the objective?  Harrassment?  Distaction?  Or a targeted strike on some key point at the raider camp?  How is it going to get there?  Along the northern lakeshore?  Boats?

-The reactor comes up again and again.  What will they do with that thing?  How dangerous is it?