The scent of smoking dewback hide filtered through the scrubbers in Moshier's helmet as he pressed against his dead mount's flank. He still wasn't sure where the Sand People had come from. One moment the patrol had been following in the trail of the probe droid as it scanned the dunes and the next it was down and the rest of the squad was under fire. The other dewback rider in the squad had gone down first, and then Moshier had been dismounted by a shot to the leg.
The rest had happened so fast that Moshier wasn't even certain what had happened in what order. All he knew for sure was that he was the only remaining member of his squad still standing. He glanced down at the blasted greave where the raider's slug thrower had struck. He'd been lucky, it might have blown a chunk out of his armor but he still had the leg. Behind the dead dewback he could hear the snorting language of the Sand People as they moved around. He wasn't sure if they knew he was still alive or not.
One thing was ce