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Lowtown wasn't much to look at when compared to its upper and richer counterpart.
A polluted undercity beneath Hightown Salvación- once united, they are now separate symbiotic cultures. Reckless industry had rendered whole swathes of the undercity highly toxic. It is a place both supported and ruined by unchecked industry and mercantilism run amok. The pollution from the countless great smelters, slag collectors and mini-factories is constantly spewed into the environment. Its urban heart is often choked with smog that blocks the morning sun and drains the sky of its pastels. Its subterranean levels are far worse. All of the runoff waste pool together in its sewers, mixing into toxic and mysterious concoctions, birthing all manner of abominations that only the mind driven mad could imagine.
But considering the mess left in the Dominion's wake, aesthetics weren't too pleasing on either side by the end of the day. Smoke gathered from many burning, collapsed buildings arced into the sky. A siege was taking place at the Dolarhyde manor in Hightown. It got most of the attention as the massacre of the Dolarhyde clan and the Salvación elite stirred the canyon city into a murderous frenzy. It got the people so riled up that by the time the Dominion armored convoys got to the foot of the canyon, right at Salvación's doorstep, they didn't notice the tanks busting down the gates until it was too late.
Little John watched the chaos unfold from the safety of an overhanging bluff. He had Snowball with him, and a small sack containing his stuff. In a little while, he figured, he'd be on his way to Summertown to square things away with Reese Dolarhyde.
He wished he had some binoculars so he could see better. Back then, he held little malice for the people of Salvación. The rich snobs who built their empire of sweat and tears off of the backs of workers like him and his family. Like everyone else, he kept his head down and did as he was told. Not a grumble, not a word of spite- at least not in public. Now, the same anger he held for the Dolarhydes for what they did to Molly extended towards them as well. There was some kind of macabre gratification he got seeing the jewel of Four Seasons go up in flames that way. As far as he was concerned, whatever the Dominion planned to do, it was a comeuppance way past its due.
As for the little folk who just might get trampled along the way, Little John prayed they'd have enough sense to step aside and let the Army do its bloody work.
With the kind of layout Salvación had, all stacked up like stairs with almost no pathing sturdy enough to hold the weight of a 40 ton tank, let alone a column, the armored attachment was forced to hold up and consolidate at the Lowtown districts. The locals who resisted were shot, those who didn't were dragged out of their homes and brought to the city outskirts. Some tried to run, so the rooks tased them. Streets were locked down, steel barriers were set up, the infantry moved on from there and cleared the city block by block. Spearheaded by power-armored troops and backed by Condor close-air support, opposition gradually broke down.
By dawn, the city surrendered and the capital fell into Dominion hands.
Soldiers filled the streets of Lowtown and Hightown, while Condor gunships patrolled the airspace, both signifying the defenestration of the old powers and the subsequent swift change in administration. As far as Four Seasoners were concerned, the Dominion was calling the shots now. Whatever remained of the previous government was being flown out of the area to an undisclosed location closer to the Dominion homeland, so that the provisional government could enact the transition unabated.
The Dominion didn't recognize Four Seasons as a foreign power. Rather, it was considered as just a fledgling fiefdom mishandling its own population and resources. Granted, it was the first of its kind they've ever seen and it was a wonder that it lasted for as long as it did. It was the first time they'd used diplomacy as a front for a hostile takeover. The wars against the raiders, the tribes and the Brotherhood had taught them much. Most would call it hubris, but in the eyes of the Dominion there was no other proper way of life but theirs. Even those that have allied with them in the past would eventually be consumed. Through industry, culture, or violence. Either way, assimilation was inevitable.
Elena Kingsley and her clansmen entered the gates of Salvación tentatively, as it was the first in many years of exile they'd set foot in the capital city. They turned a blind eye to the corpses dragged and piled up in every district intersection, a deaf ear to the lamentations of city-folk displaced from their homes. What they couldn't ignore was the horrid stench of burnt flesh mixed with effluent leaking from blasted sanitation reservoirs. It didn't look much like a city by the time the Dominion was done with it. Explosive ordnance and bullets destroyed most of the sightly neighborhoods, leaving many buildings uninhabitable for some time to come.
The Dolarhyde manor had been cleared of the corpses, and most traces of the Dolarhyde clan's secreted deviancies, as the Dominion planned to transform it into another base of operations and were tidying the place up. Transport birds carrying supplies and equipment were due to arrive from Camp Torchlight within the next few hours. In the mean time, Lt. Hynes took the opportunity to discuss what would come next now that Salvación was firmly in Dominion control.
"Oh my, you people sure work fast!" Elena remarked. She and her clansmen were seated in the room where the other clans used to gather for their private meetings. It was just poetic irony that the exiled Kingsleys were using that same room to bring about the subjugation of Four Seasons.
"This has always been the plan." Nobby explained, taking his seat from across the table. Beside him stood the frightening Judge Reyncourt. "Whether it be through the cooperation of the clans, or a violent but brief altercation, the reclamation of all of Texas would be realized. Now for the most important part of every transition- a provisional government."
The Kingsleys nervously exchanged glances, but everyone politely stayed silent as the lieutenant explained.
They would aid in the transition of power, so that stability would be ensured in the region. Salvación was going to be their new home, and it would serve as the seat of power in the twenty-counties as it always did.
But to most of the Kingsleys, it wasn't their home. Their beloved ranches were ash and rubble, their properties partitioned and distributed between the other clans. They had no aspirations nor ambitions to claim the jewel of Four Seasons. Things will never be the same again, people will say they've traded in their autonomy in exchange for this meager compensation. But Elena didn't want things to be the same again, none of the Kingsleys did. Everything that once belonged to the Dolarhydes was theirs now, and the Dolarhydes owned a lot.
All those who were accessory to the wrongs done to their clan, directly or indirectly, paid with their lives. In hindsight, it wasn't so meager a reward. The Kingsleys were avenged and more, submission to the Dominion was a small price to pay for all that.
"However, there still remains the matter of the other clans." Kitty Reyncourt declared, "Resolution of this issue will be addressed first and foremost before the lockdown lifts."
"What exactly do you want us to do about that?" Elena asked, "The Kingsleys are in no shape for a fight, I stated this rather clearly when we first talked."
"We're not asking you to fight. People here in Salvación still respect the Kingsley name, yes?"
"More or less so, I suppose."
"What we need you to do is convince them to accept the new status quo. Make them see that the sooner they cooperate, the better their lives will be. Make no promises, just keep it simple. We'll handle the Jacksons, Forresters and Crowes."
All the while the other clans played nice with the Dominion, the Crowes kept themselves to Wintertown.
The forges and gun smithies burned and bustled with the kind of vigor a clan going to war could only bring. Slaves toiled to put together vehicles and weapons, while their masters trained in the rain and burning sun. Wayne Crowe Senior was determined to make the ones he felt responsible for his son's death bleed for the deed. Although reputed in Four Seasons to be a hot-headed brute, Wayne was smart enough to know that a direct assault on Camp Torchlight would only mean the complete annihilation of his clan. The wait was torture, but planning the eventual strike helped him endure the days.
'Come winter', Wayne would say, 'they'd weary of the slaughter and tuck tail right back to where they came'.
Time could only tell if his words would prove true.
Then, news came from Salvación. Godfather was dead, and the city had fallen into Dominion hands. Trade and distribution throughout Four Seasons were halted in the wake of martial law. What should have been disheartening or demoralizing was instead received with wholehearted praise. As crazy as it would sound to most ears, the Crowes welcomed the idea.
They were going to war!
The multi-generational Crowes had three hundred men, four dozen attack buggies and seven armored war trucks. Compared to the Dominion, it was like a droplet versus an ocean. But the clan could never see it that way. Wayne figured he would have to settle for nipping at the Dominion's ankles rather than go for its throat. They knew the land better, where to hide and where to waylay unsuspecting convoys. When they weren't rustling for cattle or horses, Crowes excelled in banditry. They would even go as far as claim that they perfected the art of raiding, though nobody else would call this a known fact. Fighting the Dominion would be something they had never done before, but pulling it off one ambush at a time would gain them their advantage.
Make them weary of the slaughter, that was the goal. Make them see that Four Seasons was going to cost them more than they could ever afford. They'd fight the Crowe way- burn the fields, gut their men, rape their women and enslave their children.
"The minions are gonna have to nuke us off this here valley, cuz we ain't stoppin'!" Wayne roared, getting his weapons ready for the first strike. "Come on boys, let's waylay them trespassers!"
With whoops and bloodlusting hollers, the clansmen followed their patriarch out of Wintertown while their slaves looked on with sad tired eyes. A crack of the whip forced them to return to work.
The Crowes rode by horse and attack buggies, using the hidden pathways in between the canyons to get to their ambush site- a lone red rock overhang that overlooked the main road to Salvación. It was named Redskin Bluff by some witty hillbilly who heard the tall tale of some forgotten tribe massacred by colonists in the 18th Century. The canyon was bare around the top and dry from the glaring heat of the sun. The road it overlooked stretched from about a hundred meters until it dropped to a wide chasm where an ancient river used to run through. Across that chasm was the old bridge of welded steel and timber, the only bridge for miles of that chasm and the primary route taken by Dominion convoys. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Wayne's buggy pulled over next to a collection of dried bushes, where a pair of scouts watched and waited for the armored supply convoy they'd reported earlier. As planned, the other buggies spread out and hid themselves in key locations all over their end of the bridge. The clansmen opened up the boots and started distributing rifles, grenades and improvised explosives. Two men were put in charge of the horses, leaving the others free to prepare for the ambush.
"They ain't here yet. Get some dynamite and rig up that bridge!" Wayne barked, "We're gonna box them in."
Some of the clansmen got to work setting up the trap while the rest took up positions along the rocky bluff. The bundles of dynamite and assorted explosives were taped to the underside of the old bridge, wired to a remote detonator in Wayne's hand. Everyone was armed and poised to kill. Wayne's standing order was clear, they weren't going to leave any survivors. All they had to do then was wait.
An hour passed, then two.
It took every bit of patience on the ambush party's part to wait out the arrival of the convoy, and in the end it paid off. The Dominion supply convoy was on its way to Salvación, but it wasn't alone. Two Condor gunships were escorting the convoy, much to Wayne's surprise. Nevertheless, the man was determined to strike and he wasn't going to let a bunch of choppers stop him and the Crowes from getting what they wanted.
"What are we gonna do, boss?" The rocketeer standing next to Wayne asked, "Those things are gonna turn us into mince-meat."
"We stick to the fucking plan, boy!" Wayne growled, grabbing the rocket-launcher from him. "We do that by taking 'em down a peg. Ready up, Crowes! Here they come!"
The first Condor flew ahead of the convoy while the other covered up the rear. The second was a bit bigger, like it was carrying just as much equipment as the trucks below. The convoy itself was made up of four Centaur Mk. IV-90's and four armored supply trucks. It was going to be a good haul, Wayne reckoned. The Crowes would benefit from the ambush as they thought they would gain from the Dominion's loss, taking their weapons and armor while killing all their people.
Wayne gripped the launcher tightly and waited for the first gunship to get close, before springing out of cover. He fired a shot, then grabbed the detonator. The timing was perfect as the convoy had already crossed the bridge the moment the rocket made contact. Wayne didn't aim right, but he was lucky with the shot nonetheless. The rocket spiraled through the air wildly and went right inside the cockpit, killing everyone inside and sending the gunship to crash dangerously close to the canyon overhang where a good number of Crowes were lying in wait. The wreck opened up a trench in the ground and crushed about five men to death, burying alive three others in the rubble that came after.
"Fire in the hole!" Wayne screeched gleefully as he pressed the button on the detonator.
The explosion was a lot stronger than expected, but it certainly did the job. The deafening boom sent everyone's ears ringing and a powerful tremor shook the entire canyon. The old bridge's frame bent and fractured, sending pieces of earth and wood flying high in the air. Smoke, fire and dust went up in a big black cloud that covered the Dominion convoy as it drove faster to get away from the ambush site. However, the Crowes were waiting for them to do exactly that and let loose a torrent of rocket-fire and lead.
Two trucks and one Centaur caught fire as their inhabitants were all shot dead. The burning wrecks slowed down and veered off the road. Still, the Dominion convoy kept going until it was out of range. The last Condor flew up and circled around to retaliate, firing a barrage of rockets and a burst from its auto-cannons at the gunmen positioned along the ridges of the canyon bluff. One of the rocketeers tried to get one off, but he ended up making a target of himself instead and was blown to pieces. The noises began to spook the horses, and it turned out that it should've taken more than two men to keep them from hightailing it out of the bluff. As soon as the beasts saw an opportunity, they bolted.
When the Condor made a pass for Wayne's position, the patriarch bellowed out orders for his men to follow the convoy. "Don't just stand there! After 'em! Don't let 'em scatter!"
He reloaded the launcher and aimed for one of the gunship's engines. To get a good shot, he had to squint as dust blew right into his face when the Condor moved to circle around for another strafing run. The clansman standing close behind Wayne uttered a screech of pain as the launching flash from the launcher's breech fried his face to cinders. The patriarch ignored him and whooped for joy as he watched the Condor go down in flames, "Yeehaw, burn motherfucker!"
Wayne got up to his buggy and swung his arm around to signal the other Crowes to head down to loot the ambush site.
The clansmen swarmed the wreckage of each supply truck, practically rubbing their hands in glee for the bounty they'd soon claim. Their hopes would be dashed, however, when they discovered to their disappointment that the trucks carried not weapons- but food and medical supplies.
"What the fuck?" Wayne growled as he grabbed a shot can of milk. He tossed it out, grabbed another, then tossed that one out too. He angrily turned his head to the scouts, "I thought you said this one was packing?! This... this haul is useless!"
"Boss, it's food and chems!" One of them insisted, "There's value in-"
Wayne shut him up by throwing one of the cans at him, "If it ain't shootin', if it ain't loadin'- it's no good for the long run, y'hear?! G'damn worthless sumbitch!"
He paused to catch his breath and surveyed the damage done to the once lovely looking countryside. The powerful engines of war that the Dominion boasted lay in pieces, their men were dead on the ground and any who survived were gutted where they stood. Wayne ordered a couple of them to be nailed to the canyon face, castrated with their severed genitals stuffed into their mouths. The clansmen did as they were told and set about the grisly work. There were some weapons salvaged from the dead soldiers, some pieces of armor, so the ambush wasn't a total loss. A noise from one of the Condor wrecks got the patriarch's attention, and his bloodlust was whetted once more. The gunship co-pilot, all broken up from the crash, could only look on in horror as the Crowes tied a noose around his neck and fastened it to one of the attack buggies.
Wayne grinned at him as he climbed aboard the buggy. The engine sang and the wheels churned up a dust cloud as the vehicle sped away into the wilderness, dragging the poor man behind it to be dashed across the rocks.
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