Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 15 - In Fire's Wake

Ryke led his squad down the shallow slop of a rocky dune, the feet of his Hunter-Killer dislodging miniature avalanches with each step. They moved at battle-pace, hooking down and around a towering outcrop of blackened stone and out into the gently sloped gully that the scouts had marked out.

The skiffs commanded by Boxley and Kalashnik emerged from their hiding place about a hundred yards ahead, sliding from the shadows between a pair of dunes. The two blade-like craft traversed, engines flaring as they slid into formation, flanking the charging Hunter-Killers.

"Just over the next rise," Boxley radioed. "You'll be in weapons range as soon as you clear it, so go in hot."

"Copy that. When we're engaged, sweep behind us to catch any stragglers," he replied before switching to the squad-wide band. "You heard the man. Weapons free as soon as you have a target – don't wait for my command."

The other pilots fired off their acknowledgements crisply as the mechs mounted the base of the slope. Pistons snarled as they propelled the war machines upward, gouging divots in the ground with every step. Ryke could feel his heart thundering, adrenaline rushing into his system as combat beckoned. A step in front of the others, he cleared the top of the rise and looked down.

Even at a glance, what he saw was very strange.

The base of the dune levelled out into another cluster of snaggle-toothed crags, but the signs of battle were everywhere. The whole place was torn up, the scorch marks of furnace cannon blasts in evidence all around, and several of the rocky outcrops had been smashed to their foundations. Strange, bulbous mounds of pulverised rocks dotted the valley floor, and the Hunter-Killer's keen optics picked out more of the strange whip-marks gouged into the terrain.

Stranger still: there were dead Scraegans, five that he could count so far, their shaggy forms motionless and devoid of heat. A dozen more of the beasts shambled around the outcrops, some slouching as though wounded.

What in the Everflowing happened here?

Was he looking at some kind of Scraegan infighting? From this distance it was impossible to tell how the beasts had met their demise. The other warriors were moving away, however, not waiting to claim their dead. Ryke didn't know a whole lot about Scraegan culture – nobody did – but it had been widely documented that Scraegan packs didn't leave their members behind.

Something in their motions didn't look right. There was a skittishness he'd never seen before. The Scraegans didn't fear anything, but right now they scattered like a pack of startled sand-dogs.

The time for examination came quickly to an end, however, as the Scraegans spotted the Hunter-Killers stampeding down the slope towards them. A stocky, boulder-chested Beta reared up, barking a warning to the remaining pack members as it pivoted, furnace cannon glowing. The others responded frantically, guttural roars echoing up to meet Ryke's force.

They replied with a crushing salvo of fire. Their guns spun into life, spraying streams of armour-piercing shells down towards the Scraegan line. Booms resonated from just behind him as the Goliath pilots opened up, the thunder of their heavy weapons rolling deafeningly out across the valley.

Blue bolts of furnace cannon fire ripped up the rise towards them in a sporadic volley, gouging into the slopes and vaporising furrows of earth. The well-drilled mechs under Ryke's command split apart to avoid the fire, and in amongst the tangle of crags the two sides crashed together.

"Combat pairings!" Ryke roared as he and Thaye closed together. The pilots followed suite and a melee erupted all around him.

Scraegan bodies thrashed past him, clubs and axes swinging wildly, close range furnace blasts scorching metal and rock. He took a blow on his shield; shoulder charged the attacker and pivoted sideways to get his back to Thaye. She leapt forward, thick warblade glinting in the half-light as she attacked.