The sun hung low over Solo Nobre, clouds of smog coughed up into the atmosphere from the factories and mines. A single solitary unmarked van was posted on a hill, overlooking a munitions depot. The incumbent forces loyal to the Great Leader were keeping watch, a fence topped with razor wire surrounding the depot.
	“Herschel, see anything?” One of the inhabitants of the van asked.
	Two members of the resistance were watching over the garrison from their position on the hill. The first to speak was the driver, Duval. She was the more experienced of the two, deep wrinkles formed between her eyebrows, a few greys peppering her hairline, a fairly large scar crossing her broken nose. She loosened her grip on the van’s steering wheel and checked the back. Guns, a rickety shield generator, a bedroll and a rusting toolbox. With any luck, they wouldn’t need to use any of them.
	“Herschel?” She pressed further, only to be met with a shushing from her partner.
	“Yeah I can see one of them.” Herschel replied, reaching up to push a lock of muddy brown hair out of her eyes. She put her binoculars down for a moment and Duval could see the purple bruise covering her left eye. “Couldn’t get an ID on them yet, but the uniform looks like NEP brass.” She sighed, looking over to Duval. “This is all they trust us with now?”
	Duval smiled and shook her head. “This is work.” She told her hot-headed partner. “If you’re lucky enough to go on a mission, chances are you’ll be collecting information and praying you never need to pull a trigger.”
	Herschel pouted, then looked to the back. “Oh, pass me the scouting rifle, the optics are better on that.”
	“Ok,” Duval hesitated, “But tell me you’re not planning on firing this thing.”
	“No. Not after last time.” She said, handing her binoculars to the driver and taking the rifle back from her. She took her position back up, locking the bipod on the windowsill, and looked to the military base down below.
	Aside from idle conversation, Duval and Herschel worked in near silence. The two had been in the van for hours at this point, trying to stay undercover while posing as regular citizens of Solo Nobre. They had planned their route to avoid all of the major checkpoints from their home out in The Deads, and a bit of good fortune had led them here. The two watched the patrol routes of the guards in the exercise yard and wrote down the registration numbers of the vehicles for any officers that arrived that day. Occasionally a small squad of soldiers riding Troubadour-class treadbikes would leave on patrol. The bikes had a pair of handlebars, a seat, and an adjustable hardpoint for a mid-size weapon, all above a single tank tread. It may have been designed as an all-terrain vehicle, but the speed of the bike made it a popular fixture of NEP checkpoints.
	“I think I can see…” Herschel leaned into the scope, as if trying to will the target closer. “You’ve got to be kidding… I think I’ve got a visual on Clarke Pritchard.”
	Duval’s head turned immediately. She recognised the name, he was top brass of the military’s Design Bureau. Certainly a high-value target, the Corvids had a price on his head if you could provide proof of his demise. “Don’t do it Herschel.” She lowered her voice. “This isn’t worth it. You take that shot and you think we’ll make it home to cash in?”
	“It’s clear. I’ve got a clear line of sight.” She reassured Duval, not taking her eyes off of the oblivious official in her scope. She emptied her lungs. Lined him up in her sights. Placed her finger on the trigger.
	The engine coughed to life, Duval yanked the handbrake and pushed the gas pedal down. “Incoming patrol. We can’t stay here.” She declared, pointing to a trio of Troubadours heading towards their position. “Herschel, get ready to start the generator. I don’t want to shoot our way out, but I’m not sure we have much choice.”
	The spotter sat back in the seat, glancing to the road to see a small detachment of mounted soldiers heading their way. “I nearly had him.” She called out to the driver.
	“No, you didn’t.” Duval cut her off, “You could have winged him with that rifle, but we’re supposed to be keeping our heads low.” The wheels kicked up gravel as the van tried to get away. “And if that patrol saw us spying on the base they’d want to do more than ask questions.”
	There was a series of loud cracks from the rear of the van, a volley of bullets ventilated the back cab. “Get the shields up!” Duval ordered, Herschel obliged by climbing behind and kicking the generator a few times. There was a low hum as their jury-rigged shield device slowly croaked to life.
	“They won’t hold for long. Can we lose them?” Herschel asked as the cracking slowly changed to dull thuds against the thin steel hull.
	“I can try.” Duval said, gunning the engine and maneuvering down to the main roads. “Can’t you do anything?” She pleaded.
The gunner grimaced, sinking down to her knees and rummaging around the pile of firearms in the corner of the van. One of them stood out, a relatively lightweight rocket tube with a simple trigger mechanism and foregrip. Their quartermaster called it the Carlos, but Herschel was willing to call it a lifesaver. She didn’t even need to check with Duval, instead changing position to the back of the van, readying the rocket launcher on her shoulder and bracing herself against the ceiling. Placing one boot on the back of the van, she kicked the doors open.
	The three treadbikes had quickly closed the distance. Driving in formation, they were opening fire in bursts, making sure not to burn through their ammunition while still keeping the van in their sights. Herschel wasn’t going to give them another chance. She could see the ripples in the hardshield as the incoming fire ricocheted off.
	“H-Herschel?” Duval asked, looking over her shoulder. “No, not in the van, not in the-”
	Herschel squeezed the trigger, there was a deafening crack, and the shell discharged. It impacted with the central Troubadour, the tread splitting and whipping around at a high speed. The pilot lost control and careened into another treadbike, knocking them both off the road.
	Duval could only croak out “Fucking hell, Hersch.” As she tried her best to keep the vehicle going straight. There was a ringing in Herschel’s ears as she scraped herself off the floor to deal with the final treadbike.
	“Where is it?” She asked, reaching back to the pile of guns to find another 84mm shell for the Carlos. “Where’s the third bike?”
	“Passenger side.” Duval said, “But we’re out of shells. You’ll need to improvise.”
	Herschel groaned, grasped a .357 revolver from the pile, and closed the back doors of the van. “Don’t let them get ahead of us.” She said as she clambered back into the passenger seat.
	The entire vehicle rocked to the side as incoming rounds from the Belter chain gun rippled off the side. “Whatever it is you’re planning on doing, do it now.” Duval told her, the van’s shielding on its last legs. The treadbike was directly alongside the two front seats now, Herschel could see the pilot looking over whenever they took their eyes off of the road.
	Leaning out of the window, she pulled the trigger on the revolver. There was a ping, and the rounds bounced off the treadbike’s shields harmlessly. “Shit!” She cursed, checking the chamber to make sure she still had some shots left. “Bring us closer.”
	“How much closer?” Duval replied, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel.
	“More than that. Like I could lean out and punch him.”
	The two vehicles began to close the distance. The van and treadbike neck and neck. There was an uncanny screech as the two shields bounced against each other, and the smell of ozone filled the driver’s cabin. But they were close enough now. The treadbike pilot looked over in a panic, trying not to be run off the road by the van. Herschel aimed the revolver at his head.
	She fired.
	There was a spray of blood, and the treadbike hoved off of the road. Duval concentrated on getting out of there. Herschel could only watch on in grim fascination as the pilot crumpled like a rag doll and fell, as the bike crashed by the side of the road.
	“Duval?”
	“Yeah?”
	“Get us out of here.”
	“Yeah.”