Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 35 - Only Cowards Draw Straws

Colonel De Lunta wasn't taking volunteers.

There were only fifteen combat ready Dreadnoughts available to the human army, the vast expense involved in their creation making each mech more precious than water. That meant only a select few pilots would be taking the monsters into battle, and it would not be left up to chance who got those places.

Ryke was one of them.

Thaye was another.

Every soldier that De Lunta selected sported a brutal track-record of close combat prowess. Most of them were tenured veterans, some officers, some long-serving soldiers of the line. Ryke sometimes forgot that, even though it felt like a long time to him, both he and Thaye were still relatively new compared to some of Brekka's soldiers. They were certainly the youngest members of this elite group.

Some he recognised, some he didn't. Hard-faced, hard-hearted fighters formed the core of the squadron, with only one pilot that didn't come from a Brekkan squadron. He was a sallow-faced young man from Charpente's HK-Praxis, named Milica 'Fang' Praxadine. Evidently De Lunta had seen enough in the man's combat history to overlook his origin.

Of the others, nearly half of the new squadron were officers, including the veteran Sergeant Parnell, alongside the towering Captain Dultzer who had been in command of HK-Thresher. This left gaps in the command structure of other squadrons; pilots were forced to step into the breach, take command roles that they would otherwise have avoided. Ryke spared a sympathetic thought for Preese who would have to take command of HK-Rupture.

There was nothing he could do about it, though. It stood to reason that some of the most capable fighters were those who'd bloodied their way up through the ranks, promoted through pure combat experience. De Lunta wanted the best, and he was taking them, come hell or high water.

All fifteen pilots gathered in the hangar where every functional Dreadnought mech had now been unloaded. The brutes skulked like statues to old gods, engineers and technicians scurrying around them as they constructed fresh cradles with heavier, reinforced waist clamps. Girders climbed around them, the lurid flare of welding torches filling the hangar, punctuated by the clatter and clang of equipment being moved.

Ryke watched it all out of the corner of his eye, crate-loads of jam-jar sized Backlash rounds being dragged into loading bays by squat, six-wheeled equipment haulers. He caught glimpses of Ivy in amongst the frenetic activity, barking orders and directing men and women much older than herself with startling confidence. There was something different about her now, something burned into existence after she'd come face to face with the Crawlers at Ozzmar.

Fear had turned to anger. Anger had turned to vengefulness. Vengefulness had turned into ruthless determination. She wanted the creatures dead, and if she couldn't do it herself, she was going to provide the means for Ryke to do it for her.

"We don't have a lot of time," De Lunta said, speaking loudly to bring his voice above the clamour and dragging Ryke's attention back. "I don't have word on exactly when we will be deploying, but I know we're going to need to get to grips with these new toys fast. Faster than any of us are used to.

"At most, we're estimating ten days until a wider deployment will be authorised. The rest of the brass are hashing out the details, but you're stuck with me, I'm afraid." A scattered chuckle passed through the pilots at the remark, but it did little to defuse the cloud of tension hanging over them. Thaye raised a respectful hand, and De Lunta gave her a nod.

"Go ahead, pilot," he said.

"What exactly is the plan, sir?" she asked, an edge of something approaching excitement in her voice. "What are we hitting?"