Chapter Nine: A Fiery Harvest:

The Bullet Farm's armada had sped out of the gates as soon as the flare had been spotted. The lead-reapers of the Bullet Farm prided themselves on being ready to ride out and kill at a moment's notice and the sudden call to arms had tested their boasts.

Still it had taken a long time for the farmer fleet to even get close to the battlefield and that fact had turned Big Stack's irritating frustration into a burning rage.

Her trigger finger itched as she ran it along the grip of her semi-automatic and the frown on her face deepened with every passing minute. Sighing, she leaned a little further forward in her seat and once again silently cursed her decision to take the tank to battle.

Angel's Embrace, her own personal chariot, was a repurposed main-battle tank that had been recovered from a ruined base built in the Before Time and reworked slightly to make it faster and stronger. It had belonged to another Farm lieutenant that had taken it into battle many times and had won much glory with it. It had been hers for over five thousand days and she had spent as many of them as possible making sure it was kept at total perfection. A few of them men had dared to question her when she had christened it. A few rounds in the fighting pits had later dissuaded any more jabs at her choice of chariot.

Never before had such a perfect vehicle of the blessed Angel been built. She didn't like to boast but she had thought her chariot outstripped even the Peacemaker.

Unfortunately the mighty juggernaut was also incredibly slow. It had taken far too long for her forces to make it south to the battlefield. With every passing minute Big Stack's mood had become worse.

"Sir," a voice called to her from outside the access hatch of the tank's turret. "We're moving past the Jaw now." the dip of the tank's chassis immediately told her that they had made their way through the subsidence that the gate was built around.

"Good," Big Stack replied. "Get all of our boys ready. We'll be getting close now."

"Yes sir," the lead-reaper replied before climbing back out and shutting the hatch.

"Sweet Angel Combustion guide my eye and arm in this coming battle," Big Stack intoned quietly, shutting her eyes and holding her gun in reverence. "May you bestow your gifts of fire and powder upon me so that I may smite the unbeliever and honour your holy name." Finishing the prayer, she kissed her weapon and sat back.

It was times like this that made her wish she actually had ammunition for the Angel's Embrace. Even after five years of work the powdersmiths were still struggling to make proper replicas of the antique shells they had recovered. Not even the sainted Major Kalashnikov had dared to waste even one of the five working artillery shells they had available to them.

"Sir," the lead-reaper called through the access hatch, "We've got engines and gunfire in the distance."

"Obviously them," Big Stack muttered to herself. "Alright. Get the lads ready to fight. We're going to battle. Let's show these Wastelander scum what happens when they face bullet farmers."

"Yes sir," the lead-reaper replied with a hint of excitement in his voice. Like any good bullet farmer the man revelled in the possibility of battle. She could feel the energy, the rush of adrenaline. The blessed Angel Combustion was giving them strength so that they could defeat the apostates that would dare to use her gifts against the righteous.

Tired of waiting in the dark of her chariot's interior, Big Stack clambered up after the lead-reaper, squeezing her armoured frame through the access hatch. The ammunition belts she began to wear when she took the Major's place now covered her arms and torso completely and she even wore a skirt of belts that, when strapped together, reached down to her knees. On her head was a thick helmet, another artefact salvaged from the Before Time but it too had another belt draped over the top like a wig or a crown. Attached to the helmet was a pair of goggles on a pivot. They were currently raised.

The outfit was uncomfortably heavy but she bore the weight. It was symbolic of her new position. She was the Bullet Farmer and she needed to both look and act the part. On top of that the armour the belts provided her made her about as invincible as she now felt.

Finally exposing herself to the dry air of the Wasteland, she looked about her mighty armada. Despite its slow speed, the Angel's Embrace was at the fore, leading the Farm's armed forces to battle. Alongside it were two other tanks. One was the exact same model, its armoured tracks kicking up dust as they roll over the rocky surface of the Wasteland. The other was smaller, much swifter and rumbled along on six massive wheels.

Behind these three behemoths come an assortment of cars, each one manned by excited lead-reapers. Though they lacked the loud encouragement of the Citadel's Doofwagon, the bullet farmers did a good job whipping themselves into a battle frenzy nonetheless with cries of joy and rage, the egging of one another on to displays of violence and, of course, loud and righteous prayers to the Angel Combustion.

Together, the armada numbered about nineteen vehicles, including the tanks and was backed up by a squadron of eleven assault bikes. A formidable assemblage of warriors and machines that would be the scourge and the envy of any other warlord.

Big Stack looked away from her army and out in front of her. They were past the Jaw and in the wild region of the Southern Wasteland. Here the more gentle flatlands gave way to a treacherous land of bluffs, cliffs and natural buttresses. Any armada that came through here either had to bunch together to spread out, either option leaving it vulnerable.

Still she was glad she wouldn't have to go that far into it. She could already see the dust of battle and hear the distant sounds of explosions, engines and the crashing of metal.

Grinning like a child, Big Stack reached into the access hatch of her tank and fumbled for the microphone of the sound system she had installed into the Angel's Embrace. Switching it on, she turned back towards her lead-reapers.

"Battle and the Angel await us brothers!" She shouted into the microphone, her amplified voice reaching over the sounds of the other vehicles. "To war!"

The entire armada cheered, those who hadn't heard her joining in regardless.

Painfully slowly the armada approached the battle. It was after the Angel's Embrace rounded another small buttress that she finally saw the enemy. A large rig was bearing down on her, other vehicles behind it. Some flew the colours of Gastown and the Citadel while others were battling them. The rig stood at the centre of the embattled formation, fire billowing from a wound in its side as a Gastown Polecat harassed it.

"This is it," she muttered to herself. "This is the time."

She reached back into the hatch, putting her firearm on her lap, and pulled out a small tube with a round tipped device sticking out of it. It was a war-rocket, a propelled explosive device of the Bullet Farm's making. Whilst not that accurate it was one of the most powerful weapons in the Triumvirate's arsenal.

She steadied the rocket on the turret's top, adjusting every now and then to make up for her chariot's rocking. She aimed at the rig, even as it rumbled towards her.

"Sweet Angel guide my arm so that my offering to you may find its mark in the flesh of the unworthy," she said as she pointed the rocket at the enemy rig's grill. "May your touch by furious and true." She bent down and kissed the casing of the firing tube and then tensed.

With The press of a button, the fuel of the rocket ignited and she felt a great kick into her stomach. The rocket sped out of the tube and shot forward towards the rig. Several tense seconds separated the speeding rocket from the Wastelander vehicle but all too quickly, the explosive connected.

Big Stack whooped for joy and threw her arms into the air as she watched fire blossom underneath one of the rig's wheels. The rocket had crashed into the underside of the engine-block where the left-hand wheel connected to the axle. The rig rocked, flipping up and leaning on its right and then fell over as the engine exploded spectacularly and the damaged wheel fell away in fragments.

The rig ground to a halt, only to be shoved forward as whatever vehicle that had been unfortunate to be right behind it crashed into it.

The road now obstructed by the collision, the two battling war-parties swerved to a halt. The Triumvirate's forces now had the advantage.

The situation now very different, Big Stack grabbed the microphone once again and began issuing orders.

"Back 'em in and pick 'em off," she shouted. "Break out the automatics. We're going reaping." She set the microphone down and picked up her firearm again with a savage grin.


Furiosa slammed the breaks as she saw the battle come to a halt. The fighting wasn't over by any means but every single vehicle had been stopped. She could see fire at the front of the warring convoy and heard the sounds of gunfire.

"I need you to stay down," she said to the girls in the back. "This is going to get nasty."

She picked up a handgun that had been hidden under the seat, another one of the former Immortan's beautiful silver revolvers, and handed it to Capable.

"Take this," she said to the red-headed girl.

"I… I ca," Capable stammered, looking in both fear and disgust at the weapon.

"Take this," Furiosa insisted, her voice growing stern. She risked a glance back at the battlefield in front of her and saw that warriors on both sides had disembarked and engaged one another in combat. She could hear the music of the Doofwagon behind them, announcing the return of their rear-guard.

Capable hesitated for another moment and then reluctantly took the proffered weapon. She held it awkwardly and uncomfortably but the idea of her now being armed and capable of defending herself soothed Furiosa's worries. She turned to see that Cheedo had grabbed a crossbow from somewhere in the back. The much younger girl looked even more terrified, her fingers pale as she clutched the crossbow close to her body but she gave a determined nod when Furiosa looked at her.

"Right," Furiosa said. "We're going in!" she shouted to the Imperators behind them, thumping the ceiling once for good measure.

Gingerly, she drove the Gigahorse forward, picking her way carefully into the fray. Despite the immense car's size it was surprisingly nimble and smooth. As they manoeuvred around wreckage and parked cars, the Imperators picked off Jeet's men with rifles.

"Ma'am," one of the Imperators shouted from behind her. "We've got our backup comin' in hot."

"Tell them to slow down," Furiosa shouted back, "and keep the Gastown rig at the back. I don't want it going up in smoke."

She heard a grunt in affirmative and the shouts from her Imperators as they tried to flag down the rear-guard and get them to keep out of harm's way. The enemy's numbers were thinning as the more numerous and better equipped War Boys, goons and lead-reapers wiped them out.

Already she could see the Triumvirate's soldiers teaming up from areas they had cleared of enemies. They were running off in packs to wherever they could still hear fighting. It wouldn't be much longer now.


"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Jeet cursed over and over as he fired at another bullet farmer that was brave enough to come too close to the smouldering remains of his chariot.

A biker shot towards his position, firing wildly as it approached. Jeet ducked back behind the armour panelling of his ruined rig, raised his hand over it and fired several shots. The sound of the bike's engine didn't stop and neither did the rider's fire. The bike shot past instead and Jeet took a moment to aim his handgun and hit the biker in the back before he could turn around.

Bullet Farm bikers were circling around the pitiful remains of his war party whilst he packs of War Boys, goons and lead-reapers gathering nearby. What had once been a mighty armada was now being torn apart, all because of a lucky shot to his rig.

He had broken something in his chest, he wasn't sure what but it was tearing him up inside. He had numerous bruises and smaller cuts across his body and his ruptured blisters was streaming blood and pus down the right side of his face.

His handgun ran empty and he dropped it, grabbing for a semi-automatic machinegun instead. He didn't bother to aim, simply preferring to fire, roaring in anger as he unleashed a hail of lead at the approaching warriors. His wounds were acting up again, several of the burn blisters having burst from the crash. This only served to fuel his anger and his throat began to turn raw as he continued to scream at the enemy.

He didn't know if any of his men were still alive. All but one of his crew had been totalled in the crash and the last one had broken his leg. He had lasted another minute or so before a bullet farmer capped him as well.

His gun ran dry but Jeet didn't care. He reached for another ammunition clip, dropping the empty one and slotting the replacement into position before getting back to firing into the dust and smoke.

Suddenly the wreck jolted. Jeet wobbled as the remains of his chariot rocked and began to shift. He risked a glance behind him and saw something unbelievable through a rent in the metal. His rig was being pushed by a tank. A fucking tank!

As the wreckage gave way before the armoured behemoth, Jeet found his cover changing angle as well. He was slowly being exposed as the rig tipped and swayed. It probably wouldn't be much longer before the tank stopped pushing and began climbing over his chariot instead. He would be crushed if he stayed where he was but if he went outside he would definitely die.

Jeet clutched his gun tightly as he weighed his options.

His decision was made for him when, with a tortured squeal, the metal of his rig began to give way and the tank began to climb over it.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Jeet cursed over and over as he clambered out of the wreck, his machinegun in his right hand and a bag full of ammunition clips in his left. He immediately ran at the assembly of cars in front of him, firing blindly as he did so.

"There 'e is," he heard a voice shout and soon gunfire was directed at him.

Jeet ran as fast as he could. He planned to reach the wreckages in front of him and find new shelter. However, just as he was about to make it to an overturned car, he felt a crossbow bolt impact his leg. He stumbled and almost fell to the ground. Panicking, he pulled himself back up and tried to limp forwards, every step sending an unbearable flare of pain through his body as his movement jostled the barbed tip of the bolt in his flesh.

He barely made it a few feet before a bullet hit his arm, causing him to drop his weapons. Another round impacted his wounded leg and he finally fell over.

He lay on the ground, breathing hard and clenching his teeth to distract himself from the pain. He tried to pull himself along the ground on his unwounded arm but found he didn't have the strength to do so.

The sounds of battle had died around him and now the only noise was from the victorious warparty's warriors as they prepared to clean up and search for survivors.

The heavy sound of boots echoed in his ears and suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his boat and someone stepped on his back, forcing him to the ground. Jeet turned his head even as it was shoved down into the dirt with the rest of his body. A masked lead-reaper loomed over him, a semi-automatic machine gun in his hand, the barrel hovering over his head.

"Well look what we got 'ere lads," the bullet farmer said with contempt. "Looks like I caught their boss."

More boots joined his and soon Jeet found himself surrounded by armed men. Many of them seemed amused at his plight, several were simply furious. The face of the lead-reaper above him was covered by a mask but Jeet could see a sadistic smile in his exposed eyes.

"What say we slit 'im now and get it over?" the man, who was still pressing down on him, said.

"Leave him!" a voice suddenly echoed, the unnatural, mechanical tint making it obvious it was being broadcasted by a machine.

The lead-reaper backed away with a scowl but not without delivering a kick to Jeet's back, forcing him back onto the ground.

Jeet tried to look up and was able to catch brief glimpses of a large figure covered in metal clambering out of one of the Bullet Farm tanks. A quick glance before he fell down again revealed the armoured figure was a woman, a huge slab of a woman covered in ammunition belts and crowned with one like the old Bullet Farmer.

The roar of an engine and the sound of metal scraping on rock and dirt suddenly came from behind him. Jeet moved his head to see a small car get slowly pushed aside by the enormous shape of the Gigahorse, the bizarre chariot of the Immortan Joe.

The mechanical behemoth slowly rolled up to the front of the battlefield and came to a stop not too far from where Jeet lay.

The armoured woman stopped walking and stood her ground, glaring at the Gigahorse and pulling out a revolver. She opened the chamber, span it and shut it again after a quick examination of its contents, all with a sour expression on her face.

The door opened and out climbed a familiar figure. Imperator Furiosa wasn't unknown to him, practically everyone who was anyone in the Wasteland knew about the infamous Bag of Nails and her metal arm. Now she looked somewhat tired, her face hard but pale and her face unpainted and bare.

Two girls in white also climbed out of the back, perching themselves next to two War Boys on the raised rear end of the Gigahorse. They looked slightly worried, obviously unfamiliar with the ways of the Wasteland.

Bag of Nails Furiosa leapt from the access ladder of the Gigahorse and hit the ground with an audible grunt. She had a similar stern look that mirrored the armoured bullet farmer that was glaring at her.

Furiosa spared a single look at Jeet, glancing at him for a moment before turning back to the other woman again. Jeet had no idea who the farmer bitch was but it was obvious that she and Furiosa disliked one another. He could understand both of their perspectives. He hated them too at this moment.

A deep and sonorous horn was suddenly sounded in the distance before either woman could start talking. It echoed long and loud over the quieting battlefield. Every head in the area turned back down the road to see more wrecks being forced aside by the War Rig that had been left behind earlier in the battle.

Jeet tried to wriggle away as the lead-reapers were distracted but was quickly kicked back down when one of the War Boys noticed him move and cried out.

"Don't even try it smeg," the lead-reaper that kicked him seethed. "Try that again and you get a bullet in yer skull."

"So we finally caught him?" A new voice said.

Jeet heard several sets of feet walking towards him from several directions. A boot connected with his side and forced him onto his back. He was now facing the drab red sky, soot reaching high in numerous dark plumes. The armoured woman was standing over him with a contemptuous sneer on her flat, ugly face.

"I can't believe it was this easy to take him down," the woman said, her voice matching the previous one. "Has he really been such a sharp knife in Gastown's side?"

"More like he's just not been worth the effort before now," the rough voice of Furiosa suddenly said as she loomed over him.

"Well let's make sure we never have to bother again then," the other woman said with cold glee. She once again opened the chamber of her revolver, span it and snapped it shut with a quick flick of her wrist.

Jeet opened his mouth to speak, spit at her or do something for their comments but quickly found the bullet farmer woman stepping down on his chest. He struggled to breath as the massive woman's boot pressed down on his ribs.

"Wait!" A new voice, a male one shouted out. Jeet turned his head and saw a new group walking out of the smoke.

Most of them were the familiar black masked elite goons of Gastown, armed with portable flamers and crossbows. However leading them were a bizarrely dressed duo. The leader was a somewhat pudgy young man in a dark suit. Next to him was a reedy woman in a black dress, an open umbrella in her hand and her sleeve over her nose and mouth. It was, by their appearance, obvious that they were Gastown big wigs. No other people would dress like they had.

"We got him," the man said with a sick grin. "We finally got him. He's finished this time. Finished." He pulled a handgun out of a pocket inside his suit-jacket.

"Hold up," the farmer woman shouted, pointing her revolver down at Jeet's head. "I took out his rig and my boys brought him down. He's the Farm's by right."

"Oh no," the Gastowner shot back, glaring at the bullet farmer. "I've been waiting to do this for a very long time."

"Well you can keep waiting," the woman replied, cocking her revolver.

The Gastowner duo walked up to join the two other women now looming over Jeet. The Gastowner woman gave one contemptuous look at the other women and then turned it on him, peering down her nose with a sneer.

"I don't think it matters," the Gastowner woman chipped in before the two could turn their guns on one another. "As long as he gets shot now."

"We can't stay out here," Furiosa also added in, earning a glare from the bullet farmer woman and the Gastowner man. "Do you really want to be exposed in this territory when it gets dark. A scrap heap this big is gonna attract every scavenger in the south."

The Gastowner turned away from all three women and looked down at Jeet. He gave him a thoughtful look, pondering his fate.

"I've got an idea," the Gastowner boss said. "We truss him up and take him with us. We can have him watch as we tear his stronghold down in front of him."

The bullet farmer woman gave a similarly thoughtful expression. "I like that," she then said. "I've got plenty of spare chains and hooks for towing."

"If we're doing this then we need to move," Furiosa said impatiently. "We need to get to high ground and set up camp."

"Fine," the Gastowner responded. He then turned to his group of goons. "You two," he said to the leading pair, "go with the farmers to wrap this guy up." They nodded and then set off to stand beside the lead-reapers.

The farmer woman nodded to the Gastowner and signalled several of her men to get whatever they would need to bind him. She then looked down at Jeet with one last contemptuous smirk, raised her boot and brought it down on him.


Furiosa watched as the new Bullet Farmer, Big Stack, checked Jeet's body.

"Still alive," she said as she put a finger to the downed man's neck.

Furiosa simply nodded and then walked away from her and Jost, heading back to the Gigahorse. She saw Capable and Cheedo still watching from atop the back of the vehicle with her Prime Imperators.

"What's going on?" Cheedo shouted down to her. Both women were obviously concerned about the aftermath and what it would entail.

"We're heading south," Furiosa shouted back. "I've agreed to end this. We'll be staying out here for the night and laying siege to Jeet's stronghold tomorrow."

Cheedo nodded, understanding and accepting very quickly. Capable on the other hand was watching the Gastowners, a worried look on her face. Cheedo looked at her adoptive sister and then shook her.

"What?" Capable said with a start, finally turning to look at Cheedo. "What's going on?"

"We're staying out here and attacking the rest of these men tomorrow," Cheedo explained to her.

"What about the wounded?" Capable suddenly said as she caught up with what was going on. "And all this wreckage? What do we do with them all?"

"We'll be picking them up before we leave," Furiosa said as she clambered up the ladder up to the driver's seat. She then turned to the Prime Imperators who were standing to attention and watching the battlefield intently.

"We'll need more supplies," Furiosa said to her Prime Imperators. "Send a scout back to the Citadel. Order them to fill up the War Rig and send it to our position. We'll be camped out on a ridge overlooking Jeet's tower."

The Prime Imperator nodded in affirmation and began to climb down from the back of the Gigahorse to organise a detail.

Furiosa climbed into her seat and watched as the rest of the convoy were running around, dealing with post-battle duties. Men were cleaning out bodies, picking up the wounded and sending those of the enemy that still lived to the Bullet Farm's skilled torturers. Other men were picking over the best wreckages and hauling it to the Salvage Rig which had already parked closeby and was waiting to be loaded. Others were taking out chains and hooks and attaching them to their cars, ready to pull the other wrecks with their own vehicles.

The Bullet Farmer was actively issuing orders to her lead-reapers, directing men back and forth. Jost and his wife, on the other hand, had returned to their rig and were sitting in it quite languidly.

Furiosa frowned at the predicament she was now in. Once again she had gone to war and she had been prepared for that. This, however, was a larger conflict than she had expected. She had not known what exactly was going on when the flares had gone up and she didn't like that. Now she had been pulled into an extended campaign, all at the behest of a man she already loathed.

Resisting the urge to put her head in her hands and sigh in exasperation, she settled down. This was going to be an unfortunately long war.