Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 21 - Blackwaters

By late afternoon, Ryke and his companions escorted the ragged band of survivors from Ozzmar back to the forward command base. The twin-suns of Rychter hung low and grim on the crimson-smeared horizon, and they could finally count the cost of the attack on Ozzmar.

Medics swarmed them as they arrived. Men and women spilled off of the hulls of tanks and crawlers to be led – and in some cases stretchered – away to the trauma tents in the forward base. Ryke reluctantly allowed them to take Ivy to have her wounds tended to. At first she didn't want to go, clinging to the bulk of his Hunter-Killer as though it was the only thing keeping her alive. He hated seeing her like this. Ivy was a tough girl, but whatever she'd seen had shaken her to her bones. Eventually she let the medics guide her away, eyes downcast as she joined the column of wounded.

The original garrison had consisted of six Scout Cadre skiffs, a full armoured brigade of twenty vehicles, over a hundred militia soldiers and eight Hunter-Killers awaiting reorganisation into new squads. Barely a quarter of that force had survived, not to mention the casualties among the supporting units of technicians, engineers, porters and medical staff.

Ryke felt a fresh fury grinding inside him as he led the way to the Hunter-Killer bays. The damaged tanks and crawlers peeled away as they moved through the base, directed by Engineering Cadre specialists as they dragged themselves along on battered wheels and broken treads. The Hunter-Killers continued on to their cradles, and the pilots who'd survived Ozzmar spilled out of their battle-scarred machines like rag dolls.

When Scantlin clambered free of his Raptor mech, Ryke was there to meet him. Dark-skinned and with a short, shock of dreadlocks bunched behind his head, the Raptor pilot had bulked out considerably since they'd first joined the Hunter-Killers, his wiry frame now packed with muscle. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and he sagged down wearily into a sitting position on the steps leading down from the cockpit.

He winced; exhaled through gritted teeth. Ryke saw, to his amazement, that there was still a spidery medical brace wrapped around the upper right of the other pilot's torso. Lights blinked. That mechanism would have interfered with Scantlin's link skin interfacing with the Hunter-Killer properly. Ryke was amazed that his comrade had managed to pilot the machine at all. The other pilots from HK-Rupture drew in around them as though pulled by gravity towards their injured comrade.

"Way to survive," Ryke said quietly, lowering himself into a crouch to look his pilot in the eye. "You hanging in there?"

"Just about," Scantlin replied, his voice tight with pain.

"You must've piloted this thing with one arm." He gestured to the brace around Scantlin's collar bone.

The Raptor pilot grinned through his obvious pain. "Noticed that, did you? Yeah, not something I want to repeat in a hurry."

"Good to have you here in one piece," Thaye told him. "Have you met Ricardo here? He's stepping in your shoes right now."

The rookie pilot shifted awkwardly, looked at the floor.

"How's he holding up?" Scantlin asked, turning his gaze on the young man.

Preese clapped Ricardo on the back with a smirk. "He's doing just fine."

"Glad to hear it. Keep sharp out there. Haunter'll keep you right."

"Yes, sir." Ricardo managed a nervous smile at that, throwing the injured pilot a lazy salute.

"Clear a path!" Another voice shouted suddenly, carving through the ranks of the assembled Hunter-Killers.

Ryke whirled to find a woman in the cyan livery of the Medical Cadre advancing with furious purpose towards them. She waved the pilots impatiently aside, twisting and weaving through them until she reached Scantlin.