Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 14 - Off the Beaten Tracks

In actuality, the estimate of three days proved to be optimistic for the human forces. It took almost an entire week for reinforcements to filter out across retaken territories in the south, the fast pace of deployment virtually ensuring logistical foul-ups which cascaded through the ranks. Entire companies ended up in the wrong battle group and had to be re-routed; mechanical failures and fuel shortages slowed things down even further.

Ryke had no doubt that Llewellyn and his cronies would be venting their full fury on the beleaguered Engineering Cadre specialists for the delay, as if Ivy and the others didn't have enough on their docket. He'd managed to snatch a handful of moments with her in the churn of activity that had engulfed Ozzmar, but full-scale war left precious little personal time for the pair.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the taste of the shiner they'd shared last night. Ivy's makeshift stills created better spirits than most of the branded liquors you could get on Rychter, and the taste lingered on his tongue – a taste of home. With the task force shipping out again she might have a few blissful moments of calm now before the next list of demands rolled in.

His Hunter-Killer thumped the ground as he loped forward, shadowing the advance of Brackenshaw's skiffs. A long straggle of mechs and vehicles formed a buffer zone of concentric arcs, with the Scouts out at the widest edge, the Hunter-Killer squadrons within them, and then Lieutenant Gaul's armoured batteries furthest in. While the suns still beat down with punishing heat, a rare day of overcast cloud deadened the morning brightness, giving Rychter's sands a greyish hue.

For now, at least, he and his comrades were not being sent into the thick of the fighting, instead tasked with covering the flank of the main army as they pushed south towards the line of Scraegan defences. Part of him felt disappointed, robbed of some much-needed revenge, but it also gave them time to integrate their new squadmates without hurling them into a live combat situation.

"Carpenter," Ryke said into the comm, eyeing his HUD. "Watch your spacing."

"Copy," she replied sharply, her voice tight with concentration. On the HUD the blue triangle indicator of her mech shifted slightly to move into position, equidistant with the mechs in front and behind. He nodded to himself as the formation firmed up. The two rookies seemed competent enough.

Qadira knew how to pilot a Hunter-Killer, but he would only know the true measure of the Rubicon soldier when whey saw active combat. For now, she brought up the rear of the Hunter-Killer column, paired up with Brigg, silent and obedient so far. Their conversation still lurked in the back of his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quash that little niggle of distrust that he felt crawling in his skin.

Their task force trundled along, a plume of dust belching in their wake from tyres, treads, and skiff engines. There had been no Mammoth assigned to replace the one they'd lost, the majority of the lumbering machines tasked with ferrying troops to the main battlelines. That left Ryke doing things the hard way. He could already feel the gentle ache in his legs from such a long spell in the Hunter-Killer's pilot cradle.

There was nothing for it. On they marched, clouds roiling overhead and for a while Ryke wondered if he might actually see a freak southern rainstorm. He'd seen one once, a long time ago, and the memory of sheeting water briefly filled his thoughts. As hours ticked by, however, no rain fell. The clouds just squatted there, moody and petulant, as though judging the carnage that was unfolding across Rychter's southern hemisphere.

Radio reports zipped back and forth along the vast front the human army advanced across. So far, the vanguard had only encountered sporadic Scraegan resistance, a sprinkling of skirmishes erupting still dozens of kilometres from the main battle zone.