Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 30 - Find the Lines in the Fire

Ryke was still recovering in the medical centre when the call came.

Three days had passed in a dull ache, but little by little it subsided, the bruising of his body deadened by a cocktail of drugs that the Medical Cadre pumped into his system. He felt a lot better, and also felt like a whole lot of dead weight just sitting there.

Visitors came and went; mostly from his squadron, although Kaydie Brackenshaw had taken the time to stop by and check on him. So to had his brother.

He still didn't know what to make of Kelso's status as an intelligence officer. They didn't talk about the specifics. Right now Ryke was just happy to have him around. His older sibling had come a long way from the bitter young man who'd been rejected as a Hunter-Killer pilot. His fierce sharpness had been weaponised in a different way; a way that made Ryke both proud and fearful at the same time.

The one person he never saw was Ivy. Her platoon was still off somewhere only the Riverlords knew, and the absence cut at him. He'd passed a radio message to one of the base's operators, but with the blizzard of much more urgent communications to field, he didn't know if it would even be sent, let alone whether she would respond.

All in all, it left in scratching in his skin, just wanting to get back out and do the one thing he knew how to do. The fighting continued without him, with fresh Crawler incursions creeping ever northwards, nibbling at the isolated flanks of the human army, like a predator feeling out the weakness of its prey. He needed to be out and fighting.

So when Preese came sprinting into the infirmary with an expression of disbelief on his face, Ryke couldn't hide his eagerness.

"What?" he demanded, sitting up straight. "What is it?!"

"You're not gonna believe this, boss," Preese replied, skidding to a breathless halt. "I just got word from Colonel Hackley – they need you up in the command centre, right now. Can you walk?"

"Everflowing, I can dance if they'll let me out of here." Ryke glanced around. None of the Medical Cadre staff were paying attention to him right now – he was out of danger, not an urgent case worthy of constant monitoring.

"Good, then get dressed." Preese grinned and tossed a set of casual Hunter-Killer fatigues onto the bed. "You're officially back on active duty."

"Thank the Riverlords." He was up out of the bed in an instant scrabbling to replace his loose-fit medical shirt and trousers with the familiar feel of his pilot's gear.

He peeled the link-skin over his body, ignoring the curious looks from passers-by as well as Preese's chuckle. He flung his jacket and black trousers on, followed by the black pilot's slip on shoes. Straightening out his jacket, he looked Preese in the eye.

"You still haven't said what this is about," he reminded him.

"Like I said, you're not gonna believe it."

"Try me."

"Reports just came through from the defences at the main front. There's a Scraegan pack at the front door," Preese explained,"and they didn't come here to fight."

Ryke stared at him for a moment, the implications sinking into his skull. The humans had sent him into the belly of the beast in an effort to communicate. Until now, every attempt at talking had been a one-sided affair, initialised by Brekka's colonists.

Until now.

Could the Scraegans have really sent an ambassador of their own?

"You're serious?"

"You're damn right I am."

"Then let's go," he said simply, and bolted off before Preese could even respond. His squad mate scrambled to follow, and an indignant shout from one of the Cadre nurses chased them both out of the infirmary doors.