[right][h3]Beck - The Jundland Wastes[/h3][/right][hr] After the Sith had wrestled control of both moons from the joint Republic-PDF coalition and started landing the invasion forces on Corsin proper, the PDF had found itself stretched thin on resources, heavily depleted by the arduous defense of the homeworld. Billions of credits in military equipment has been lost in a slog across the system. Laser weaponry, something Beck had always taken for granted, was suddenly in short supply. There simply weren’t enough working laser cannons to shoot at the oncoming Imperial armor, and so the PDF found alternative options. Advanced as technology became, there was always be something to be said about loading a multi-kilogram slug of durasteel into a long rifled barrel and launching it at supersonic speed towards something you didn’t like very much. Corsin Hardball, they called it, and it worked better than most expected. Sure, ray shielding complicated matters where it showed up, but the Imperial Army had heavily discounted the potential of basic low-mass, high-velocity physics while planning the planetary invasion. Beck had been a huge fan of Corsin Hardball. Point is, when Beck saw that bloom of air that came with the sonic boom discharged by a slugthrowing artillery piece, he knew it and he didn’t like it. A durasteel slug raked the side of the hover train before ricocheting into the earth of Tatooine, kicking up an eruption of bone dry soil and stone that rained down on the crew of his skiff. The thunder of the cannon arrived only after, the sound catching up with the supersonic projectile a second later. “Kid!” he roared over his shoulder, throat rough and hoarse as he strained to shout over the din of battle. “Get that cannon online! I don’t know how many more of those shots she can take!” He returned his attention forward, toward the slowly dissipating sonic bloom. It was rising away from a craggy growth jutting up from the Tatooine surface, almost directly in the path of the hovertrain. He lined up the sights of his rifle with the ridge and felt dread. Too far to fire at with accuracy with small arms, outside of the firing arc of the Kid’s blaster cannon, and firing two shots per minute or so. If it took the hovertrain five minutes to pass the cannon, that meant it was absorbing ten shots, more if the thing was mobile and the sand people understood show to reposition in. They needed to kill it, immediately, and he wasn’t sure how. He gritted his teeth leaned against the skiff’s rail, sights trained on the ridge ahead, waiting to take a lucky shot.