[right][h3]Beck - The Jundland Wastes[/h3][/right][hr]

The Czerka barked once more, and on the next pull of the trigger gave a hollow click. 

“Shit,” Beck growled, throwing his back against the skiff’s rail guard and sliding down to cradle the cycler in his lap. He jammed slugs into the magazine, muttering curses the long while, wishing he hadn’t lost his stripper clip back in Anchorhead. Swore it was in his pack, but it wasn’t, turned out. 

A slug skipped across the handrail near his ear. “Oy, lads, get this cannon online and give us damned suppressive fire!” he roared, pointing out the inert anti-personnel cannon hanging limply on the rail. It should have been manned, but the would-be gunner was nowhere to be seen. Must have caught a slug in the fray and fallen off. Not a lot of rhyme or rhythm to a firefight, in Beck’s experience. Mostly luck. 

He jammed the last bullet through and pulled the bolt handle home. Another slug plinked against the skiff deck, and he attempted to find the offending sand person through the scope. It was rough shooting. Between the heavily camouflaged attackers and the moving skiff under their feet, hitting a target was a tricky proposition. Beck did his best, loosing one shot after another in an effort to get the sand people to put their heads down at least, if not shoot them outright.

He found one, standing on a ridge, outlined nice and clear against the red Tatooine sky. Beck’s first shot skipped on the rock in front of his target, kick up shards of stone. The second struck true, and the sand person went down. 

He didn't have much time to celebrate. There was a deafening crack from the hover train to their side, and Beck turned to see it shudder, as if some massive hammer had just been taken to it. The train was heavily armored, and it kept moving despite the blow, but something big had just hit it. Did sand people have anti-armor? 

“Keep an eye out for whatever that was!” he shouted, scanning the ridge with his optics.