xp_logs | Great Rift: The Convoy

A smuggler's camp is located, and the raid is a productive one. There are a few small complications, but improvisation is an art, after all.

It happened almost as quickly as the attack on the Tanzanian village. Just like the villagers, the smugglers were content with their situation, unaware of what was about to descend upon them. Even the sentries they had out, guarding the small valley where they'd stopped for the night, were yawning and inattentive, lulled by the quiet of the night.

When the storm descended, they were all taken entirely by surprise. It was fast and furious, completely unlike any 'normal' weather in this area. The clear, starry sky was suddenly choked by clouds, and a brutal wind slashed through the camp, collapsing tents on their occupants.

Then came the rain, hard and driving and far colder than rain should be, even in the highlands. The smugglers were still struggling to catch their balance when it became clear that the storm was just cover.

--

They had left John, with the getaway Jeep, at what they'd thought was a safe distance from the smuggler's camp. It was far enough away, in any case, that the shouts and other noise of fighting was distant, and whatever was actually happening down there around the fires, underneath the stormclouds, was impossible to see. Just the odd flash of lightning, or flying vehicle.

That didn't mean, however, that it was going to stay distant. Four panicky smugglers, running away from the chaos that had suddenly engulfed their quiet camp, were stumbling across the rough ground, looking for an escape. They were, of course, being pursued.

Pursued, in fact, by someone rather less panicky and more determined than any of them, even if the rough terrain was a stumbling block for him too. And Angelo was gaining on them - almost to within a distance where he could reach out and grab them.

Flick. Flick. Flick. John snapped the lid of his lighter shut and started to fiddle with the radio, completely unaware that there was any trouble ahead, or rather, that there was trouble close by.

One whirled and pointed a gun at his pursuer, shouting shrilly. He fired off two shots that went wild in the dark, and one of his companion stopped and did likewise, emptying his entire clip. The other two kept running.

That just meant the two that were left had lost even more ground, and one of them had just disarmed himself. Angelo grinned ferally and closed on them, strips of skin going for their throats.

He caught one, who yanked futilely at the strip of skin, cursing with what little breath he had, and then scrabbled desperately for the knife on his belt. The other managed to dodge, and then yelled and charged Angelo at full speed.

The two that kept running, unfortunately, were headed right for the jeep.

The sound of gunfire earlier had caught John's attention and he muttered a curse under his breath as he spotted the two men. He slid down in his seat, grateful for the cover of darkness then threw the door open, slamming one in the chest.

Angelo was ignoring the would-be escapees, being a little busy with the two he'd managed to catch. He was vaguely aware of John acting to intercept them, though, before he gave all his focus to the man charging at him. If he could remember how he'd pulled off that new trick, back in the village... and as it turned out, he could. A skin blade sliced down the side of the second man's leg, inflicting a deep flesh wound.

The man stumbled, but kept coming, biting back a snarl of pain. At the end of the other whip of skin, the other man had gotten his knife free and started trying to saw his way through.

John threw Angelo a quick glance as he clambered out of the vehicle. "Great job at keeping them away from the getaway jeep, man," he yelled the words out as he ignited a flame. The fire coated his entire fist.

"Fuck off, Allerdyce, an' set fire to them or somethin'. I'm busy", was the strained response, as Angelo tried to ward off the second man with rapid whips of skin at his face, while hopefully disarming the knifeman with another strand of skin before he lost pieces of himself.

"A license to kill." John smirked. "I kinda like that."

All of a sudden, there was a roaring golden presence in John's mind, as Nathan yanked him into the switchboard without so much as a bye-your-leave. #NON-LETHAL FORCE, ALLERDYCE.# It wasn't quite a bellow. There wasn't really much question of whether or not obedience was expected, however.

Angelo was swearing up a storm under his breath as one of his opponents kept dodging his attacks and getting closer, and the other was stubbornly refusing to give up his knife. Angelo's skin was tough and the knife wasn't particularly sharp, but if he kept that up long enough...

Non-lethal force? Jesus fucking Christ. John charged forward with every intention of getting into a fist fight instead. He threw a punch out, hitting one of the men directly in the jaw; effectively burning his skin off in the process. "Why don't you just slap them around, grey? According to your boss, smart man that he is, you're not supposed to kill 'em!" He blocked a hit and wrapped his flaming hand around the man's wrist.

"Our boss", Angelo snapped back. "So you do what he says." Giving up on struggling with the knifeman, he just used the loop of skin around the man's neck to yank him off-balance and a pace or two closer, to within reach - and then kneed him hard between the legs.

The man went down like a sack of potatoes. Angelo's attention was focused entirely on him to do that, however, and the other man managed to successfully rush him, slamming into Angelo and bearing him to the ground.

John was fast losing his patience. For lack of a better move, he set fire to the man's hair and made a quick grab for his gun, slugging him on the head with it. He then took a step back, aiming his weapon at the one on the ground; the one he'd slammed the door into earlier. "Now how about we just call it a truce, huh?"

Now his attention was free to concentrate on just the one man, Angelo was fighting hard and dirty - but all told, he had a fairly significant disadvantage in size, and he couldn't get a good grip on the man's throat. "John, when you're done there, a little help?"

"What?" He glanced over at Angelo then fisted a hand in the man's shirt, roughly pulling him up from the ground just so he could keep an eye on him. John ignited his lighter and drew a fireball out, decreasing its heat to a less dangerous degree before he sent it forward. The fiery flame enveloped the man's body and tendrils of fire swirled around his face, giving Angelo the upperhand as it worked to distract his opponent enough.

Angelo flinched back instinctively from the fire before he controlled the reaction - he had asked John for an assist, and the flames were obviously deliberately not touching him. "Thanks", he called over before turning back to the fight, punching the man in the belly just to knock him further off balance.

The man fell - off Angelo, thankfully, and laid there retching and gasping for air. The other one still conscious, the one John had a grip on, fell back down to his knees and started begging for mercy. That seemed to be the gist of the tone, at least.

--

"Angelo's taken care of the runners," Nathan said, barely breathing hard as he turned to Ororo. Unconscious or semi-conscious smugglers were laying here and there around their camp; there were quite a few of them, but they hadn't had much of a chance. They hadn't even gone for their guns quickly enough, for which Nathan was grateful, given that his catching-bullets trick wasn't infallible. One friend shot this week was enough.

"Good. Then barring any communications that occurred before we were able to neutralize the smugglers, the situation is under control," Ororo said, her hair ruffling in the breezes that began to push the heavy clouds overhead away. "Still, it would be wise not to stay too long."

"Well, no. Highly illegal doings and all," Nathan said, with the sort of slightly manic smile that was unsettling even under the best of circumstances.

T'Challa, coming over to join them even as he perused the map he'd found in one of the convoy's vehicles, gave Nathan a quick, yet dubious look, before he focused again on Ororo. "Nothing useful on the map, apart from the route they were taking," he said with a sigh, folding it back up. "Six months ago I would have been glad to have it, but it was picking these convoys off one by one that escalated the situation in the first place."

"It seems unlikely that we will find the necessary information merely lying about... unless of course you located any sort of GPS navigator in the cars. With that we could try to extrapolate the location of a base camp, using what we know of their route and habits."

The smile suddenly slid off Nathan's face as Ororo spoke, and he looked around at the prone smugglers, not quite covering a wince. "Actually," he said, almost under his breath, "lying around is precisely where we might find the information."

Ororo followed his gaze and his train of thought almost immediately, her expression darkening minutely. It was more for Nathan's discomfort than her own - they needed that information, and the smugglers were no friends of hers - and she glanced back at him carefully. "This is true. We do need it, Nathan, if we are going to put an end to any of this."

"... it keeps coming down to this," Nathan muttered distractedly, his hands clenching and unclenching at this sides before he went over and knelt beside the closest smuggler, reaching out and laying his hands on the man's temples.

T'Challa, frowning, came to Ororo's side. "I have never seen a telepath at work," he said.

"It is not much to watch," Ororo murmured, eyes flicking to the tall man's face before returning to Nathan, crouched beside the smuggler. Obviously the man had no idea what Nathan was going to do; his expression was frightened. "But it will tell us what we need to know."

It only took a moment. Nathan shuddered, then let his hands fall and stood. His expression as he turned back to Ororo and T'Challa was stony. "Give me that map," he said, reaching out for it as he came over. T'Challa handed it over, and Nathan opened it, spreading it out on the hood of the nearest vehicle.

T"Challa shook his head slightly, raising the walkie-talkie he carried with him and transmitting a brief, crisp message in one of the Wakandan dialects. He listened for the response, then nodded, turning back to Ororo. "Colonel Azzari's men will be here shortly, to take the smugglers into custody." He eyed Nathan, who was staring fixedly at the map. "Nathan?"

"Be quiet, I'm trying to concentrate." The smuggler had looked down at this map, or one like it. Tracing the route home with his mind, from where they'd deliver their shipment back to where he... "There," Nathan said, his fingers resting on one spot on the map.

With a nod, Ororo fixed the spot on her own mental map, knowing without a doubt that the information was correct. "Then we have a point of attack. Now all we need is a plan. We may be outnumbered, but with our abilities and this information we should be able to accomplish our goal. T'Challa, we will need every last bit of information about Moses and his men - all that you know. Nathan, tell John and Angelo that we do not have much time and they will need to be ready to move again soon. Now that we have the advantage let us not lose it due to too much hesitation."