The western frontiers of the Republic of West had their share of troubles. Due to sheer distance, news was slow to travel between cities, and some of the outlying towns were completely behind the times in a lot of respects. Supplies were scarce, as well, since the lack of communication and the distance from centers of commerce and civilzation led to the rise of the Western West`s main problem: crime.

Law enforcement was left up to provincial sheriffs, who enforced as much law as they felt inclined to enforce in most respects. If things got particularly out of hand, then additional help was called in, and a Republic Marshal would turn up to restore order. And if a Marshal was called in, then any outlaws found themselves fast meeting their end, commonly from the ever-popular lead sandwich.

As such, bandits were very careful to avoid attracting the attention of the Republic itself. They weren`t too worried about local sheriffs and lawmen. They tended to run to one of two types: young, brash hotheads that could be led astray by the right threat, or aging chair-warmers that only got out of their office to deal with a serious problem like a murder. When the Marshals showed up, they eschewed hotheaded thinking, and dealt out lead with cold precision.

The southwestern portion of the Republic was home to some major manufacturing plants. There were a few small active geothermic vents, which provided power, and a good number of rich mineral veins, including a couple of magilyte deposits. Brownington was the largest city on this side of Walkerton, and so the refineries and factories were located in or near the city. Shipments were regularly sent back to Walkerton with refined goods, and other supplies were shipped back to Brownington, and from there disseminated to the smaller towns in the area.

Bandits, therefore, naturally hit the shipments, and hijacked them to go somewhere else. It didn`t matter if it was a convoy, because they`d just hit the rearmost truck and take it off the main road and then make for one of the canyons or valleys that crisscrossed the southwestern section of West. Lately, there had been a lot of problems on the Brownington-bound leg of the trips. Guns from Tasnica or other countries were shipped to Walkerton, and then on to Brownington. Large portions of these had been stolen as of late, and this had not gone unnoticed. It was estimated that close to three tons of guns and ammunition had been stolen by the bandits behind the string of robberies, and the Republic Marshals` Office had decided this was too much firepower in one group`s hands.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Black Heart Gang were the terrors of Brownington. When they first turned up, they had held up the saloon owner at gunpoint, and then done the same to the general store. They killed a pair of security guards at one of the factories and stole some refined valuable minerals. They did just about anything they wanted. When the sheriff had stood up to them, as the brash youngster he was, the Black Hearts had shot off his index and middle fingers of both hands, then dragged him behind their bikes to the valleys, then dragged him back into town. The young sheriff had miraculously survived his ordeal, but had been rendered completely useless because of it. He could no longer fire a gun, and any courage he`d had was gone, bled out on the dusty tracks outside of town.

Their latest hit on the supply convoy had gone as smoothly as ever. They`d ridden up behind the rearmost semi truck in their bikes and cars, keeping single-file and in the truck`s blind spots, then rushing up to the cab, killing the driver, and commandeering it. Now there were four Black Hearts on the cab: one driving, one sitting shotgun, and one hanging off each side, sporting some sub-machine guns. The Black Heart seated shotgun pulled the black bandana over his face down, and smoothed down his long, thick mustache and slicked back his hair, exposing the widow`s peak on his forehead. He clapped a hand on his fellow`s shoulder. "Excellent job, Artie. You`re a natural at this sorta thing."

Artie pulled his own bandana down. "Fuck yeah! These jackasses still don`t know who the fuck they dealin` with. Black Hearts, man, and we got us the best crackshot this side of Walkerton!"

Eagle Sharpe smirked. "You`re fucking right." He clapped him on the shoulder again. "Take us north to the canyon. Let`s get this shipment unloaded before the convoy figures out where we went."

~*~*~*~*~*~

As the Black Hearts pulled into the canyon with their stolen semi, none of them noticed the men behind the boulders lining the way. As the Gang passed, the unseen men placed their charges and hurried to join up with the rest of their group. The Black Heart Gang brought their haul to a stop at the canyon bottom, near the bed of the dried-up river, and started unloading crates of weapons and ammunition, putting them in the back beds of Pravz-Viper Hammers. (These hulking brutes of trucks =had made their way into West years back, and showed it.)

The charges exploded at the top of the canyon ramp, causing rubble and rocks to block the ramp. The bandits spun about, drawing and raising their weapons as the cliffs suddenly bristled with armed men, all wearing the copper badges of Republic Marshals. Cars appeared at either end of the canyon as well, blocking that route as well. Men stood up in the cars, pointing guns. Another raised a megaphone. "Attention, bandits! This is the Republic of West Marshals. Throw down your weapons and back away from the vehicles with your hands in the air! We have you completely surrounded!"

Sharpe and Artie looked around, the former looking pissed off, the latter scared shitless. "Oh, fuck me! The Marshals!"

"Shut up, Artie," Sharpe snarled. He was crouched in the back bed of one of the Hammers. Artie was standing up, slowly raising his hands. "Just stop standing up like a nice target." But Artie was looking at the Marshal with the megaphone. He wore an indigo suit and a gray cowpoke hat, his Marshal`s badge gleaming. What caught the bandit`s eye, however, was the black eyepatch over the Marshal`s left eye. A white spade-mark had been stitched on it.

"Oh, shit! Sharpe, that`s the One-Eyed Jack!"

Sharpe glanced that way, and his lips peeled back as he grimaced. "Fuck."

"I repeat!" called the One-Eyed Jack, "throw down your weapons and back away from the vehicles with your hands in the air! You are all under arrest for armed robbery, murder, and assault on government officials!"

Sharpe raised his Desert Wyvern -- his preferred weapon -- and fired three times in rapid succession, then hurled himself into the driver`s seat of his Hammer. "Get down, you idiot!" he yelled at Artie, who dropped onto his ass as the military-issue Hammer roared to life and tore down the canyon. The Marshal next to the One-Eyed Jack dropped as three bloody holes opened on his chest.

"Take `em down!" the One-Eyed Jack ordered, dropping into the shotgun seat of the interception police cruiser. Gunfire erupted around the canyon as Marshals fired on Black Hearts, some of whom returned fire, and some of whom sped off in Hammers or on motorbikes. Two Hammers and a pair of motorbikes -- one of them with a sidecar -- followed Sharpe, who smashed through the two cars blocking one end of the canyon. The others went the other direction, and some even tried to escape up the main ramp out of the canyon. None of these would make it.

Artie pulled another Black Heart onto the Hammer just prior to smashing through the blockade. "Come on, Jules, hop on, grab a piece, and keep the fucking Marshals off our asses!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

The One-Eyed Jack, Marshal Travis Tooms, turned to his driver, Nacias. "Follow that truck!" he ordered. "That was Eagle Sharpe, the bastard!" The interceptor sped after the fleeing bandits, followed by the two damaged police cruisers that Sharpe had smashed past in his escape. Another cruiser joined in the pursuit, following on the cliffs above.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the lead Hammer, Sharpe risked a glance backward. "What the fuck are you morons waiting for? You`ve got lots of guns! Shoot something!" Artie and Jules pried open a crate, which was filled with Kuat Alpha Assault Rifles. Artie gave a pleased laugh, grabbed a clip (there were loaded clips in the crate as well), and slammed it home. He cocked it, then swiveled and kept an eye peeled. There was another Hammer and a motorbike between them and the nearest Marshal cruiser, and the walls of the canyon would keep them single-file.

Artie popped a few shots off at the Marshals when one of their cars moved into view, then leaned back to look at Sharpe, who weaved the Hammer through the narrow canyon walls. "So what`s the plan, Sharpe? There`s no other way out of the canyon!"

"Yes, there is," Sharpe spat, not taking his eyes off the road. "But we need to shake some of the Marshals up on the cliffs." He pointed up at the cruiser keeping pace along a high cliff on the canyon wall. "Lose the rifle, get something with more oomph. If the coppers are still up there when I make my move, we`ll never lose them."

"No sweat! These rifles have grenade launchers on `em!" Jules laughed and aimed his rifle up at the cruiser. It rocked the Hammer slightly as he shot his grenade up at the Marshals, who didn`t even have a chance to react before their car was engulfed in a white-hot fireball. The Black Heart whooped. "Chalk up a couple Marshals! The buzzards`ll eat well tonight! Hahaha!"

"Shut it, Jules! Sharpe`s gotta concentrate!" Artie popped off a couple more shots toward the Marshals pursuing them on the floor of the canyon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tooms saw the explosion and slid a full clip into his sidearm. Nacias looked at him. "Well, sir? Aren`t you going to shoot? They just killed two of our men!"

"Sharpe`s the leader," the One-Eyed Jack replied. "The rest of these thugs are small taters. And if I shoot the truck in front of us, then our way`ll be blocked, won`t it? The canyon`s too narrow to go around!"

They both had to throw up their hands when the Black Heart riding the sidecar of the motorbike ahead of them turned in his seat with a sawn-off shotgun. Its blast spiderwebbed the windshield and destroyed a headlight. Tooms cocked his pistol. "I`ll make an exception on the little asshole who just shot us, though." He leaned out the window, took aim with his good eye, and waited for a clean shot.

The Black Heart with the sawn-off finished slotting two fresh shells in his weapon, and turned back to take another shot. He caught a glimpse of a black eyepatch with a white spade-mark stitched on it before two needle rounds blew his eyes out the back of his head. His flailing body thrust the sawn-off into the motorbike driver`s neck and spasmed on the trigger. The motorbike rocked to the side and plunged straight into the canyon wall, exploding.

Nacias swung their interceptor around it, scraping the walls of the canyon and throwing up sparks. Tooms swore as the manuever nearly tore his arm off. The Black Hearts in the Hammer ahead of them saw the loss of their comrades, and prepared their own weaponry -- which had the potential to destroy the Marshals` interceptor in seconds.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sharpe saw the motorbike`s explosion in his side-view mirror. He glanced back. "Artie! What the fuck was that?"

"Looks like the One-Eyed Jack took out a couple of our boys," the bandit shouted over the wind. "Where`s this secret way out you mentioned?"

Sharpe eyed the canyon walls. "Nearly there. Jules! Get your ass in shotgun and call the guys in the Hammer behind us!" The other bandit dropped into the seat beside the crackshot and grabbed the microphone for the radio.

"This is Black Leader to Black Two!" Jules shouted. "You guys on the air?"

There was a moment`s pause, and then the radio crackled. "Black Two to Leader. We got ya! That cyclops in the freaky eyepatch took out Mick and Sully!"

Sharpe grabbed the mike from Jules. "Two, this is Sharpe. You ready to follow me?"

"You know it, boss!"

"All right. You guys got a grenade launcher or something?"

"Yeah!"

"When I make the turn, take out the truck behind you."

"What?!"

"Do it! Or Tooms is gonna get all of us! What do you want? A bigger share of the profits? Or a lonely cellmate in Sandworm Prison?"

Another moment`s pause. "We`ll be ready, boss."

"Smart man." Sharpe tossed the mike back to Jules. "Artie! You help make sure the Marshals keep their distance, and stay low! The turn`s comin` up!"

Artie just laughed as he squeezed off a few more shots at the Marshals, taking out a side-view mirror and ventilating the hood. "I got more where this came from! Yeah, fuckers! Come on! Artie Toner, bitches! Come on, motherfuckers!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tooms leaned out the window when Nacias swung their cruiser to the left to avoid some shots from the Hammer in front of them. The Marshal fearlessly glared into the hot lead that was being fired at him, and cut down the two bandits in the bed of the truck, one of them falling over the side. Then he ducked back into the car as Nacias swung back to the right as rounds spanged off the hood.

"Got a sharpshooter or something in the lead truck," Nacias said by way of apology.

"Just don`t lose sight of it," was all Tooms had to say, as he leaned out the window again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ya like that? Ya like that? Huh? Yeah!" Artie was on full auto and drunk on the power of it. He`d handled his share of firearms, but the assault rifle in his hands was the best high yet. The shouts of Sharpe to stay down were far-off as he fired over the tops of the Hammers behind them, and kept the Marshals at bay. He scarcely even saw the canyon or his fellows.

Then a Marshal`s round put a hole in his throat. As Artie Toner slumped down, his vision darkened, until the onlything -- and the last thing -- he could see was a white spade-mark on a black eyepatch.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jules saw this. "Fuck! We lost Artie!"

"His problem, not mine," Sharpe said. "Hang on!"

All at once, he grabbed the handbrake, hauled up on it as he spun the steering wheel. The Hammer threw up great clouds of dust and rock as it made a neat ninety-degree turn. As soon as the mouth of the side canyon was ahead of him, he released the brake and slammed on the gas, roaring down it. Behind them, `Black Two` followed suit, the bandits in the back bed unloading both grenade launchers into the Hammer in the back. It lifted a foot off the ground from the explosion, and then wrenched sideways in its death throes, blocking the canyon with its flaming wreckage.

Then both Hammers were gone down the side-canyon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tooms braced his hands on the dashboard as Nacias hit the brakes. "Shit!" The cruisers behind them were a bit slower in stopping, and there was a momentary pile-up. Tooms climbed out and squinted through the fiery haze.

"They got away." Tooms` voice was low with rage.

"Sorry, sir. The bastards killed their own men!"

"Radio the rest of the Marshals," Tooms said, removing his hat and wiping his brow. "Let them know Sharpe and at least four men escaped. Let`s try to salvage this pig-fuck of an operation." Nacias nodded and grabbed the mike.

The One-Eyed Jack stared into the flaming wreck. "One day, Sharpe, I`ll catch up to you. I`ll set my watch on it."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jules turned to Sharpe. "So what now?"

"We get these goods to Bracce, north of here," the crackshot replied. "I know a guy, works for some big shot lawyer, who`ll pay top dollar for the guns we`re toting." Sharpe wiped his own brow. "Then I gotta find some place to hole up for a while. Heat`s getting too big."

"You kidding?" Jules laughed. "After what you just pulled, you`re gonna have contracters lining up to get you to do a gig for them."

Sharpe sighed. "That`s the problem." And it was a problem. Something the best crackshot this side of Walkerton had learned long ago was, if you dealt in lead, lead was dealt back in return, often hot and ballistic. But for today, at least, Mama Sharpe`s boy had escaped with his hide intact.