Chapter 7: Broken Land

Jessica sat in the Overseer’s chair staring blankly out across the sunbaked plains of the eastern wastes. Nothing but broken red dirt and rubble from a nation that fell a millenia ago. In the distance the rim of the Dos-Cov crater loomed, the smoke of burning sandships long gone. Three years since that day. Dos-Cov, the greatest loss of Caravanner life since the civil war. Dos-Cov, with dirt that all but glowed at night from the radiation of three broken sandships. Dos-Cov, the rebirth of the wastes. Dos-Cov, the place her father died.

She gritted her teeth, no need for her crew to see her showing powerful emotion. She had fought long and hard to get this mission. To get closure. A Blackship had been sighted in this region, possibly the one that damaged Warrior’s Strength three years ago, setting off the chain of events that lead to the catastrophic battle within the crater.

She subconsciously touched the small scar across her face, flinching at the memory. How apologetic he had been after that, only to give her no reason for the murder of her father. Not even a sad attempt of a excuse.

She gritted her teeth harder, forcing the memory out, she had to be ready. The vessel they were hunting was crewed by more than the shades or the corpses of the old crew puppeted by dark magic, most likely humans with waste monsters helping them.

The lookouts had spotted a small group of raven people, most likely a scouting party, so her target could not be far.

Blackships, outside of a full waste army nothing approached the threat of one of those cursed vessels. Most were the hulk's of sandships destroyed during the civil war, or were dragged down by the Sea of the Lost. A few had been captured by waste monsters, or damaged badly enough by another blackship. That being said there were rumors of foundries within the wastes constructing vessels.

“Worried Orven?” She asked the helmsman.

“Somewhat.” He stuttered.

“No need. Things are barely functional anyway. Don't have the parts of know-how to keep it running anywhere near peak. And they are all obsolete designs anyway.” The fire controller interjected as he adjusted the large mechanical computer that allowed them make targeting calculations in seconds.

**“Sand plume spotted. Bearing 264. Moving north. Estimating fifteen miles an hour, distance thirty miles.” The lookout reported.**

**“Battle stations, bring us up to full and put us on an intercept course.” Jessica ordered. Moments later the claxon sounded, followed by the sounds of running feet and heavy steel bulkhead doors slamming shut.**

With a grinding crash the transmission changed gears, throwing the massive vessel forward, a rooster tail of dust spraying behind.

**“Fire the MLRS. Max dispersion, announce our arrival.” Jessica ordered. Hopefully the blackship would speed up so they could get a better reading on it's position so the main guns could do their work.**

**About a minute later, with a ragged roar and great gouts of flame the multiple launch rocket systems has lived up to their name, dozens of small “burning rain” rockets howling in the general direction of the target. Individually they were quite weak, and the chance of causing damage to the corrupted sandship was near zero, but they would make a lot of noise and kill any creatures in the blast radius.**

Jessica leaned back and waited.

“Target slowing down, appears to be turning to face us.” The lookout reported.

“Perfect.” Jessica muttered.

The buzzsaw chatter of quad mount machine guns and a storm of tracers signified the beginning of the Karsu attack. The chatter of machine guns, the rhythmic hammering of auto cannons, and the the dull groan of Karsu waste magic rifles filled the air for nearly a minute. As quickly as it started it was over, the guns falling silent as the remains of the raven people spattered the earth.

“Minor exterior damage. Two 25mm guns offline.” Came the damage report through the intercom system.

“Understood.” One of the other bridge crew answered.

For several tense minutes little happened. The two vessels churned forward, closing in on each other.

“Rockets incoming!” The lookout shouted down the intercom.

Jessica could see the black smoke trails of the waste produced rockets spiraled towards them. The armored shutters rattled shut, covering the bulletproof windows with a layer of steel. Moments later the rockets impacted. Much like the earlier Caravanner barrage most missed, and those that hit did no damage to the heavily armored behemoth they targeted.

“Follow their smoke. Send them a response.” Jessica ordered as the shutters were retracted.

The main guns began turning to face their target, the forty foot long barrels gleaming in the desert sun. With a roar the orange jets of flame unfolded themselves from the barrels, the shells shrieking into the sky.

“Target entering thumper range.” The gunnery officer commented.

“Engage, but conserve ammunition. Just in case.” Jessica replied.

In response the HAC-75 cannons began firing, the oversized auto cannons letting loose a short burst, the three inch shells splintering against the hull of the cursed vessel.

And suddenly they could see their target, finally nothing separating them. Jessica felt a slight sickness at the vessel, hull blackened by the dark magic that dragged it from the sands, it's communication masts twisted, cranes little more than rusted out wrecks.

Both ships fired.

Jessica felt her ship rock below her, as several shells from the blackship's main guns struck home.

“Heavy damage to the front turret, bearings jammed. Fire in the mess hall.” Came the damage report.

“Focus on the hull. Hit it with everything.” Jessica snarled.

To someone on the blackship it would have appeared that the Caravanner ship suddenly burst into flames as the combined muzzle flashes from the dozens of weapons that all opened fire. From the heavy machine guns meant to defend against boarding, all the way up to the mighty nine inch cannons, every weapon rained down on the cursed vessel. An explosion blew one of the blackship's turrets into the sky, the thirty ton hunk of armored steel crashing into the earth.

And yet the waste vessel strove onward.

With a rending crash a waste shell punched through the armor near the engine room, a second one striking the glass of the command bridge. In the following explosion of glass and metal the helmsman ceased to exist.

Jessica's vision flashed briefly, the mangled body replaced by that of her father, pinned to a wall. She shouted in impotent rage before snapping back to reality.

“....Unless the pressure is released the boiler will rupture. Valve control room is currently inaccessible due to fire.” The damage report  came.

Jessica closed her eyes. Simple luck and her own aggression had put her in this position. She should have just hung back and let the superior range of her ship's guns keep them out of harm's way.

She slowly stood up and spoke into the intercom, switching it to the main channel “clear the decks. Prepare for impact.”

With that she took the controls and flung the ship into flank speed. The vessel lunged forward, the tracks thundering as they moved.

“The Hope class was meant to kill other sandships. No matter the range. No matter the condition. The most heavily armored point is the prow, with 36 inches of hardened steel.” She whispered to herself.

The shutters slammed down, and she yanked the periscope into position, watching through it. They were closing fast, shells from the functional forward turret punching into the wastes vessel, as the weaker shells of the blackship glanced off the angled frontal armor of the Caravanner ship.

**“Fire the mortars. High explosive shells. Timed to detonate five seconds after impact. Put them in the ground.” She ordered. With dull thuds the 18 inch heavy mortars fired. Originally built to crack the stone shells of shade cities uncovered by shifting sand, the massive shells weighed nearly three tons and were designed to plunge deep into the ground.**

The two mortar shells rumbled through the sky before dropping to the earth slightly ahead of the Blackship. For five painful seconds nothing happened, the only sign the shells had landed was the small plumes of dust.

The explosions each flung massive clouds of dirt into the air, the dirt that wasn't launched was turned into incredibly fine powder, the aftershocks of the blast causing the dust to act almost like a liquid. The blackship sank several feet into void, the dust flowing around the tracks, seizing up and holding it in place.

Jessica pulled on the restraining belt as the gap continued to close. The front turret fired again, the trio of nine inch guns sending their shells through the enemy vessel and near point blank range. Once the guns fired Jessica hit the “Brace for impact” alarm button, claxons sounding throughout her ship.

Unlike most sandships, the bow of the Hope class was inverted, the longest point at the bottom, sloping backwards from there, like the plows reacher farmers used for their land.

With a shrieking crash the Caravanner ship slammed into the side of the waste vessel, the reinforced bow ripping into the transmission and tracks of the corrupted ship. As it strove forward the inverted bow sliced through the ancient armor, degrade by the magics that pulled it from the depths of the wastes, and perforated by the earilier storm of steel. The sloping hull lifted the waste ship upwards, the weakened metal unable to support the weight. With a mind blanking scream the waste ship cracked, the keel snapping.

The halves fell to the side as Jessica kept her vessel at full speed, the jagged edges of the cleaved vessel gouging the hull, creating the sound that Roc talons would make on a mile long chalkboard.

Once they pulled through the two untouched rear turrets each fired from point blank range, turning the entire superstructure, including the command deck, into a burning pyre of twisted metal, shattered shades and broken bodies.

A few small caliber shells pinged off the Caravanner ship as it pulled away. Jessica sat in daze for several minutes before shaking her head to clear it. “Turn to present our broadside. Turn it to slag. Leave nothing that can be salvaged.” She ordered as she stood and walked to a door leading to a balcony.

She stood, hands behind her back as the waste sandship was hammered into oblivion. The concussions of the guns of her vessel causing her long Captain's jacket to billow like a flag.

With a flash the magazines exploded, splintering the remains and breaching the reactor, poisoning the wreckage for generations to come. With a smile she returned to the command deck.

“Make best speed to the shipyard, and provide a double ration of alcohol tonight. They deserve it.” She ordered.

“Typically once a sand ship is named it retains that name until it is either destroyed by the wastes or broken up to be used for the next generation.

Those that are renamed it is in recognition of some great deed.

The most recent renamed vessel is Sword of Hope, originally Bringer of Hope. It is recognizable by the five long black stripes painted along each side of the hull, symbolizing the enormous gouges it once bore from the only successful ramming attack in nearly a century.”

Excerpt from “Sandships, a enthusiasts guide”

written by Ethan Vandire

“I have done more in a day to break the wastes than your military has achieved in a decade. Your opinion is as worthless as your armor.”

Her ladyship Ambassador Jessica Stuart in response to a Knight that questioned the honor in the Grail way of war.

Excerpt from The Hydris inquirer, a gossip periodical.