The ramshackle car jarred and shook along its course; disconcertingly headlong, punctuated by times of intermittent loss of traction, wherein the vehicle slid like it were on ice-sheet.

Heedlessly careening into a squad of machine gunners, it swept them and their crews aside and under tread. The turret mount breathed fire into their scattered and scattering ranks. A single guardsmen who’d been overrun by the vehicle struggled to maintain his grip, desperately trying to not be dragged under the heavy tires of the vehicle as it adjust its position out of the sandbags it had been lodged in. Zartwiz, the gunner, unholstered his pistol, and leveled into the man’s face. A blossom of gore bloomed where the man’s head had been, and Zartwiz laughed at the futility of his efforts.

Finally the car finished its seven-point turn, and the engine throttled and sputtered as too much fuel was fed into it by the reckless driver. Despite this the car’s pistons roared to life and in a few seconds time the wheels caught grip, while the junkheap sprang forward. With a throaty bellow, Zartwiz’s partner made their departation known.
“‘ERE WE GO!”