Chapter Ten: Cleaning Up The South:

The wait for supplies from the Citadel forced the Triumvirate armada to wait in their current position. The vehicles had been arrayed in a defensive formation with the war rigs in the centre and dozens of soldiers facing out into the Wasteland, standing guard. Polecats were sitting atop their poles, peering out into the distance as well.

Jost sighed as he watched the men at work. He was sitting in his rig, Daisy in the seat next to him, waiting for the supplies to arrive so they could get moving again. It was already starting to grow dark and some of the soldiers were already beginning to light camp fires. Guzzoline braziers were stabbed into the ground and fed from the fuel reserves in the tanker attached to their rig.

"Shouldn't be much longer," he muttered to himself.

"Let's hope," Daisy mumbled in response.

A loud horn sounded not too far away, drawing the attention of most of the camp. Several of the sentries continued to look out into the Wasteland but most of them also turned to the direction the sound of the horn had come from.

"War Rig!" One of the sentries shouted. "We got the War Rig comin' in."

The horn sounded again as the camp came to life. Jost reached up, pulling back the lid of the rig's roof and climbing out on top.

Headlights heralded the arrival of the Citadel War Rig, accompanied by two bikes and another car. Several smaller vehicles moved out fo the way as the miniscule convoy arrived. The War Rig came to a slow halt within the guard perimeter as its escorts fanned out to find a place to park.

Jost told the goons on the top of his trailer to get him a lantern. He then turned to look at the Gigahorse, seeing that several figures were climbing out of it, the lighter cloth of two of them telling him that some of the former Immortan's wives were amongst the group.

Jost clambered off of his rig, grabbing an oil lantern that was offered to him by one of the goons.

A collection of goons surrounded him and followed as he wandered between vehicles to the war rig. Warboys were already clustered around it along with goons and lead-reapers, all of them talking amongst themselves.

A cursory glance showed that Furiosa and two of the young women from the Citadel were already there. At the back, Big Stack walked forward imposingly with a trio of lead-reapers by her side.

"Alright!" Furiosa suddenly shouted. "We got food and water now. We need to move now. It's getting dark and we're on low ground."

"You heard her!" Big Stack shouted shortly after Furiosa had finished, quickly picking up on what the other woman had said. "Get everything hauled up. We're moving south."

The crowd immediately ran into action, gathering up scattered equipment and junk and packing it away. Lanterns were darkened and sentries slowly left their posts, making sure that plenty of eyes were still looking out into the Wasteland. Engines began to warm up as drivers took their seats.

Jost calmly walked back to his rig, seeing Daisy already sitting alert in her seat.

He nodded to her and she climbed out of the front, settling down in the rear seats again. Jost climbed up into the front just before the rig's driver took his place as well. The rig's engines were revved up and kill switches were flipped.

Slowly the vehicles chosen for the vanguard rolled into position and set off to secure a camping site. As the main body of the convoy organised themselves and the rearguard moved behind the majority of the War Party, Jost waited, looking out into the Wasteland.

Attached to one of the larger trucks was a crane and hanging from the end was the trussed up body of Jeet, his face broken and covered in blood and his body wrapped in chains. Jost glared at the pathetic remains of the man, waiting to make the man watch as they pulled his tower down to the ground.

Finally the main body of the War Party began to move, Jost's rig in the centre of the massive column beside the Citadel War Rig. The Doofwagon was right behind them but Furiosa had ordered Coma to not play, likely to keep more unwanted attention away.

The War Party's journey south was quick and safe, the destruction of Jeet's armada and their allies leaving the Southern Wasteland free of foes. Their way would have been lit by the guzz-pan lanterns of Gastown scarecrows but the war had left them unattended.

Following the road, they finally made it deep into the heart of Jeet's territory, the lights of his stronghold coming into view. Braziers to the west showed where the vanguard had taken position ahead of them. The War Party changed direction, heading towards the camp, the Gigahorse in the lead.

Switching onto rough terrain, the War Party began to climb onto an escarpment that overlooked the ground before Jeet's stronghold.

The vanguard had already established a basic perimeter with crossbow and firearm wielding warboys and lead-reapers set in sentry positions. Braziers were still being set up, fuel being set aside to light them. Other warboys were on the edge of the escarpment, long-lookers trained on the tower in the distance.

The rest of the convoy moved into the perimeter, filling the rough ring set up by the vanguard. The Gastown rig was parked in the centre of the ring, next to the Citadel's War Rig. Shortly after killing the engines, the other goons climbed out of the rig and either stood guard around it or began to see to other duties in the camp. Jost leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head held up by his hands.

Daisy quickly moved from the rear seat and up to the front, sitting next to Jost with a sigh.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

"It was different," Jost replied. "War finally came to us."

"And we won," Daisy responded, leaning back in her seat.

"The races, the Thunderdome," Jost mumbled. "You always think battle is going to be like those. This was very….different."

Daisy continued to lean back, staring through the windshield.

"You disagree?" Jost asked, looking back at his wife.

"Not really," Daisy replied, still staring outside. "Just never thought about it. It's the world."

Jost leaned back in his chair and sighed, his wife's words swirling around in his head. He directed his gaze outside the rig. In front of him was another car but he could see above it. The stars were out tonight, glittering lights that were usually obscured by the thick smog and bright burning lights of Gastown whenever he looked up at them.

"Guess it doesn't matter," Jost said, finally breaking the silence that had descended over the cabin. "Tomorrow we're ending it. Jeet dies."

"Tomorrow we crack open a tower," Daisy continued.

Jost turned to see his wife sporting a sick grin and he smirked in response. He loved it when she was like this. She rarely let anticipation like this show, only the matches got this reaction out of her easily.

"I can't wait either," Jost finished, reaching over and stroking Daisy's hair. She leaned into him, the grin shrinking to a smirk, allowing Jost to move his arm down to her opposite shoulder.

The two of them sat in silence again, thinking of the day that was coming for them. This was war, their first real fight and they had already won. With the Citadel and Bullet Farm they had dug the knife into the Wastelanders, now they just had to twist it before they pulled it out. The Triumvirate still ruled the Wasteland, even if the men that had built it were dead.

Jost looked back up at the stars as Daisy's head settled in the hollow of his neck. Despite the light of the cars and braziers the lights above them still shone bright and Jost thought that they looked like cinders.

The assault on Jeet's stronghold began before first light. Leaving their cars, warboys went forward under the cover of the low light and staged an attack on the gate.

Jeet's stronghold was perched on a rocky promontory, separated from the road to its entrance and with a sheer drop on the other side. There was only one way in but it was also the only way out.

Crossbowmen and gunners walked up to the ramp in front of the gate and began firing up at the wary guards. Shots were exchanged as other warboys ran up with the thunder-sticks and threw them at the hinges of the drawbridge. Triumvirate snipers on a ridge closer to the stronghold picked off other defenders before they could return fire on the attacking force.

Bullet Farm war-rockets were shot at the drawbridge, trying to damage the hinges and chains that held it up. The Gastown scrapulance was rolled up to the warboy party, filled with ammunition that the warboys enthusiastically gathered to fuel their assault.

Despite being heavily outnumbered and out-gunned, Jeet's warriors continued to fight back. Crossbow bolts and grenades were thrown at the War Boys with reckless abandon. Many warboys were sent screaming to Valhalla as Jeet's men emptied their arsenal.

As the burning midday sun began to rise hours later the warboys pulled back, dragging the wounded that could be treated with them.

Jeet's stronghold still held but the gate was damaged and the walls were scarred by burns and smaller rents. On the ledge in front of the gate were several dozen broken bodies, the warboys who had acquitted themselves in fire and glory. On the ledge by the camp were dozens of other warriors, agitating and egging the assaulters on and waiting for their chance to attack the gate.

"They don't look like they'll be able to last much longer," Jost said as he peered through his binoculars at the tower. By his side was Daisy who was huddled under the shadow of her parasol and fanning herself as she stared at the fortress in the distance.

Furiosa and Big Stack were on his other side, peering through their own binoculars and long-lookers at their target.

"We can probably crack it open before nightfall," Big Stack commented.

"Those hinges won't last much longer," Furiosa commented. "We don't have any claw trucks though. We'll have to use grappels instead."

"We'll have to soften up the defenders first," Furiosa commented, Big Stack grunting in agreement.

Jost lowered his binoculars and turned to look back at the War Party. The warboys were all visibly straining against the rude discipline that they had been trained with. Despite Furiosa's orders they were all waiting for the chance to charge the enemy.

"Get the chains," the Imperator shouted to her men. "I want bolt-throwers and barbs up top. We're tearing this gate down."

The entire camp erupted in roars of anger and excitement. Warboys ran back and forth as they grabbed their equipment. Cars with larger crossbows and compressed bolt-throwers were revved up and explosives were piled up in other vehicles.

The men who had survived the last assault were quickly thrown onto the camp's guard detail with little complaint. Meanwhile, the rest of the War Party prepared for what would likely be the final assault. Even the less suicidal goons were swept up in the violent energy that had now overtaken the entire fighting force.

Jost watched as the chosen vehicles started to file out of the camp, speeding up the moment they had cleared the perimeter. The Doofwagon started up its latest warsong as it too moved to follow the armed convoy.

Jost watched as Big Stack also left their position and moved in the direction of the tank that she had driven to battle the previous day.

"I hope we get to see whether that monstrosity can actually shoot something," Jost said offhandedly to Daisy who had come to his side.

"I doubt it," Daisy replied, taking the binoculars from his hands and peering through them. "The last Bullet Farmer hated even talking about using that thing's ammunition. I doubt that woman would ever dare do it either."

"Doesn't matter either way," Jost continued. "The tower's not going to last much longer anyway."

Jost grinned as he watched the front of the War Party rush across the killing field and ride up to the bridge.

The final assault on the lighthouse began as quickly as the last one had ended. Jeet's tired men struggled to get into position as the largest group of vehicles that had yet attacked them sped forward.

Several trucks sped forward, metal plates strapped to the front to deflect bullets and bolts sent at them by the defenders. Warboys, goons and lead-reapers returned fire with their own weapons. Snipers in the distance picked off the lighthouse's defenders whenever they exposed themselves, clearing the way for the three foremost trucks in the attacking party.

Lead-reapers opened a wave of suppressive fire on the walls, keeping the defenders from attacking the trucks as they were backed up.

One of the vehicles parked itself and a warboy climbed atop it as his comrades kept the defender's attention. Manning the large bolt-thrower attached to the back of the truck, he swivelled the weapon around to the gates. Another car equipped with a similar weapon moved next to it and one of the men crewing it took up position.

Both of them aimed their weapons at the top of the damaged drawbridge. An imperator, one of the new officers chosen by Furiosa stood in front of both vehicles, raising a fist. Both warboys waited for the signal from the imperator. When his fist was thrust down both of them squeezed the triggers of their weapons and fired large high-pressured bolts that embedded their barbed tips into the sheet metal of the drawbridge.

Chains attached to the bolts were pulled taut as other warboys scrambled to hook the other ends to the trucks.

Engines were gunned and revved and the trucks shot forward, the chains going tight as the gate tried to resist them. A loud groan came from the lighthouse as the damaged hinges struggled to remain intact and the chains strained against the resistance.

Wrecked hinges squealed in protest as the chains pulled at the drawbridge. The trucks were inching forward as the restraints holding the drawbridge up slowly began to give. Then, suddenly and with a loud crashing snap, the drawbridge slammed down. The trucks shot forward and braked just in time to stop the drawbridge from being completely ripped off of its hinges.

There was a second of silence as both sides registered the breach in the tower's defences and then a roar of victory emanated from the Triumvirate forces.

Furiosa watched, her usual indifferent expression fixed to her face. This was what she was used to, what she had been raised to do. By this point the Triumvirate's victory was assured. There were barely any defenders left manning the walls and with its defences penetrated the tower would fall in minutes.

"Move," a voice shouted. Furiosa turned to see Big Stack's tank rolling forward, commanding every other vehicle in its way to move aside. "Make way," the tinted voice of the Bullet Farmer shouted through the sound-system attached to the machine.

The tank came to the fore of the War Party, picking up speed as it moved closer to the gate. Furiosa wondered for a moment whether or not the bridge would be able to support such a massive and heavy machine. Her question was answered when the enormous vehicle shot forward, faster than before and rumbled over the bridge, crashed through barricades that the defenders had set up before and came to a halt in the middle of a large central compound.

"Forward," Furiosa ordered, eliciting a loud cheer from the warboys as they charged forward, followed by equally excited lead-reapers.

Furiosa climbed back into the Gigahorse and revved the engines, egging the warboys on with the sound of the powerful engine. She didn't intend to drive. Her injuries were still acting up and she didn't want to put either of the girls in danger. The courtyard of the tower was also filling up with vehicles. Not only would the Gigahorse not fit in the enclosed space but it would be left vulnerable as well.

Furiosa watched as warboys ran along the tops of the wall. There were sounds of gunfire and minor explosions, probably from thundersticks and grenades but they were dying out as the defenders were killed or captured.

Minutes passed by as Furiosa sat back and eyed the gateway. Capable and Cheedo had clambered into the seat next to her and were anxiously watching the walls or trying to peer through the crowded gateway. Warboys and others soldiers were still moving in and out of the gate but many of them were now more relaxed jeering and celebrating their victory.

Finally a lead-reaper peered out of the top of the gateway and looked down over the rest of the War Party.

"Victory!" he crowed, eliciting another cheer from the rest of the War Party.

"It's over," she heard Cheedo whisper. Furiosa turned to see both girls looked slightly relieved at the sound of the battle's end.

Furiosa gave a small smile but she didn't dare say anything to the girls. The fighting was over but there was so much left to deal with. Now she had to corral the warboys, divide the spoils, deal with the prisoners and argue over what would be done with Jeet and his dominion.

Cheedo cautiously walked through the camp as she searched for the wounded tent. It had been several hours since the battle had ended and she had finally decided to find something else to do.

Furiosa had immediately taken the other leaders aside to negotiate the division of the spoils that had been won. Whatever discussion there had been had quickly devolved into arguing and shouting and it had been at that point that she had decided to make herself scarce.

One the other side of the camp, away from most of the cars was a collection of tents and bundles that had been set up to house the wounded. War boys did not exactly tolerate weakness but they still acknowledged that their bodies needed tending too whenever they were hurt or failing physically. Few war boys went out of their way to save themselves in battle, ensuring there were very few wounded from the Citadel's War Party but there were plenty of goons and lead-reapers to help keep the Organic Mechanic busy.

Cheedo saw the Organic Mechanic that had accompanied the War Party was making her rounds. She was a thin, ancient looking woman with heavier wrinkles than any full-life Cheedo had ever seen, a snaggle toothed smirk that never seemed to disappear from her gaunt face and a foul attitude that put off any who approached her. She looked less like a human being and more like someone had stretched a man-leather tarp over a skeleton but she still moved quickly as she went back and forth between the wounded. Apparently she was the Bullet Farmers' Organic and had a disturbing fascination with bodies and the limits they could withstand.

Taking a deep breathe, she walked over to the area where the most heavily wounded were and approached the Organic Mechanic.

"Whaddya want?" the old woman barked, not turning to look at Cheedo.

Cheedo paused, a hesitant look on her face as she finally confronted her objective. A troubled frown appeared on her face and she tried to think about what she wanted to say.

"I want to help," she finally said.

"You got any experience in this?" the Organic Mechanic asked, finally turning around and fixing Cheedo with a withering glare.

"Uh, no,' she admitted slowly. The Organic Mechanic fixed her with an even sourer look.

"Then slag off," the older woman snapped at her. "I don't need any little girls hangin' around gettin' in my way."

"I want to help," Cheedo blurted out as quickly as possible before she could take back what she had said.

The Organic Mechanic rounded back on her and glared. "Alright breeder," she sneered, "You want to help? Then put help hold this boy down." She pointed at a War Boy who was lying on a sheet metal panel with a large hole in his leg. The wound looked somehow recent and he was groaning in pain.

Cheedo paused, unnerved as she looked at the ruined flesh. The blood was mostly dried but the wound was untended. She cringed as she stared at the gaping hole and then looked at the War Boy. He was young, very young and the look on his face told her how much pain he was in.

"Well don't just stand there," the Organic Mechanic snapped. Cheedo saw another young men dressed in lead-reaper gear scurry over to the boy's side and grab his legs.

Cheedo ran to the other side of the panel and grabbed his arms. The War Boy was already shouting from the sudden roughness of the lead-reaper who had straightened his legs. She could see tears in his eyes from what was likely to be horrible pain.

The Organic Mechanic then stepped forward, a long metal spike with a blunted tip in her hand. The tip was red hot and the Organic Mechanic held it in a large bundle of cloth.

"Hold him steady," the older woman said with a leer as she held the metal brand close.

Cheedo tensed, putting pressure down on the War Boy's arms as she cringed at the brand and the implications that it made to her. The Organic Mechanic then stuck it into the War Boy's wound. The unfortunate young man, screamed and writhed as puffs of smoke and an unsettling sizzling noise came from the tear in his flesh. The Organic Mechanic licked her lips as she twisted the brand, letting more of the heated metal touch ruined flesh. Cheedo felt sick as she saw the old woman stare at the War Boy's burning wound with a disgusting fascination.

Cheedo struggled against the War Boy's movements, putting her entire weight and strength into keeping him from lashing out. The War Boy fought against her with all his might as his screams grew louder.

"Shame about this one," the Organic Mechanic said casually as she pulled the poker out of flesh that was now slightly burnt. "Had to do my rounds before I was able to get to this one. I might have been a little late."

Cheedo began to pull back only for the Organic Mechanic to glare at her. "Keep him down," she snapped, causing Cheedo to push on the War Boy's arms again. "Gotta knock him out first."

Cheedo stayed where she was, looking at the War Boy, who was now sobbing slightly and getting jeered at by the men around him. Despite her dislike for the wretched creatures who sought nothing but death, both for their enemies and themselves, she couldn't help but pity him. The expressions of terrible pain that he made were only replaced, for short instances, by looks of deep shame. She realised he hated himself for being what he currently was, weak and in need of recovery.

The Organic Mechanic returned with a large, heavy bottle and a cloth she kept over the top of it. She tipped the bottle, keeping the cloth over it to keep it from leaking and then took the cloth away. Pressing the damp rag to the War Boy's face, she held it until his eyes rolled back and he slumped onto the panel he lay on.

"Do you still want to help?" the Organic Mechanic suddenly asked her, giving her the same smirk she had made when she first saw her. Cheedo, her stomach churning at what she had just seen, steeled herself and nodded.

"Alright then," the older woman said, "walk around the camp and tell me if it looks like anythin's wrong." With that she turned from Cheedo and wandered back through the tents where more wounded waited.

Cheedo stood where she was, slightly lost. She wasn't sure what she was now supposed to do or how to tell if something was wrong. Still, she had decided that this is what she was going to do. She planned to help someway and had told herself she was here to help others. An unsure expression on her face, she set off into the wounded quarter of the camp and began to look every damaged body she saw up and down.

"And I say we finish the last of 'em off!" Big Stack shouted at Furiosa.

"We've already won here. Gutgash's men aren't going to recover from this. There's no need to stay out here any longer than we already have." Furiosa responded, an iron-hard glare on her face.

Jost sighed as he lounged back on the bonnet of his rig. The argument had been going on for well over an hour now, stopping and starting as each leader agreed on something and then found a detail they didn't like and reignited the whole issue.

"Jeet was beaten and beyond recovery last time we did anything to him," Big Stack shot back. "Now look at what we got pulled into. If we're going to make sure we never have to come this far south again we've got to clear this land."

"There are still working guzz deposits," Jost finally said. "I've said this before but this land is actually valuable. This place has got guzz, it's got sulphur and that tower's even got a working coal mine." He sat up as he finally looked both women in the eye. "It'd be worth investing in it."

"We also won't have to keep coming down here every few thousand days to clear it of scum," Big Stack added, looking rather smug that she was, once again getting support against Furiosa. "And if we're continuing this war then we're going to need aqua-cola, that means the Citadel is going to have to stick with us."

"And what if the Citadel doesn't want to stick with you on this?" Furiosa said in a flat, grim tone, crossing her arms.

"You're really threatening us with abandonment?" Jost said, a hint of his genuine surprise in his voice. All members of the Triumvirate were dependent on one another and the threat of non-committal was not made lightly.

"I don't see a need of crushing this entire area," Furiosa replied, turning towards him. "Barely anyone lives here and most of those who did were in that tower or that War Party. It'll take them thousands of days for the survivors to recover, if they ever do at all."

"And you would rather come back here in those several thousand days?" Big Stack asked. "Finish the last of them off now and we never have to come back here. Past that tower is nothing but salt and wrecks. If we root the last of these wretches out now there'll be no chance of any trouble growing in this land at all."

"I'd have to agree." Jost said. "I'd be a lot happier knowing this area is clean and ready for work."

"If we get rid of all of the warbands we won't have to worry about fighting down here again will we?" a new voice suddenly asked.

All three of them turned to see the red-haired woman from the Citadel had finally decided to add herself to the discussion. She looked a little worried when Jost and Big Stack both looked at her but she quickly recovered and put on a look of strength and determination.

"That should be right," Jost finally said, providing the best answer or the girl's question. "The warlords here won't be strong enough to ever recover if we wipe out their strongholds."

"There's only one left anyway," Big Stack finally said. "Gutgash's the last of them once we're done with that smeg." She aggressively thrust a thumb at Jeet who was hanging from a tow truck, wrapped in chains and horribly beaten.

"What's our supply situation?" Furiosa finally asked after a lengthy pause. Her formerly blank expression had now taken on a hint of distaste but she hid it well.

"Daisy's been taking a count," Jost said. His wife hadn't been present for the discussion, which was very unlike her. She had instead insisted on taking stock of their supplies. "Last she told we we've got enough essentials for at least another three days of war. She's still going over the numbers again to make sure."

"That's more than enough to finish off Gutgash," Big Stack said with confidence. She levelled an expectant look at Furiosa, waiting to see what she would say.

Furiosa glared back, looking the much larger woman in the eye. She then let out a small breath as she pulled her shoulders back.

"Very well," she finally conceded. "We take out Gutgash. I leave this land to you once we're done there though. Don't expect me to spill any more blood over this waste than I need to."

"Excellent," Jost said, his business smile returning to his face. He saw Big Stack nod in satisfaction.

Their business done the three leaders split up and went back to their respective vehicles. They agreed to wait until the morning to pack up the camp and head west to the hollowed out wreck where Gutgash and his follower's had made their stronghold. Once they were here they would break open its hull and finally scour the Southern Wasteland of these lesser warbands.