Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 39 - Hell Hath Fury

Ryke never thought he'd miss the rough-hewn passages of the Scraegan warrens, but right now, trudging down this eerily angular hall, he longed for the simplicity of those tunnels. Every smooth surface and every right angle reminded him that something had put the Crawlers down here; not humans, and certainly not Scraegans.

These were solid walls, built by someone or something uncounted years ago. Who knew how long the Crawlers had been down here? Hundreds of years at least – long enough to predate the arrival of Rychter's human colonists. Who? And more importantly why?

He tried to stop thinking about it; a mystery for another day. Right now they had enough problems to take care of.

The Dreadnoughts and Scraegan elites led the way through the gently curving, cuboid tunnel that widened meter by meter as they dropped. On the thick walls he could see dozens, maybe hundreds of scratch marks, characteristic of the Crawler limbs and tails. Most were long faded with age.

"No digging through this," the pilot going by Typhoon muttered. "Looks like a big prison, Reaver."

"If it's a prison, where are the guards?" Thaye interjected.

"More like where are the inmates?" Ryke said. "Haven't seen a Crawler for a while."

"They'll be waiting, Lockjaw, don't you worry," Colonel De Lunta replied wryly. "Seismics show a chamber opening out a few hundred yards further down the passage. It's a big one."

As if in response to De Lunta's words, the Scraegan Alpha let out a low, undulating growl that echoed through the passage, and was soon taken up by the entourage of black-armoured hunters. The noise swelled until Ryke could feel the vibrations in the structure of his Hunter-Killer.

When it died away, it was soon replaced by an answering hell-chorus of Crawler hissing that roiled up towards them in a wave. He tensed, instinctively leaning his Dreadnought forward, squaring his shoulders in preparation for what they were about to meet. After weeks and weeks of bloody fighting, tearing their way south, bludgeoning a path unwittingly into another war, this was where they could end things.

If things worked out, they might even end two wars at once.

"Combat groupings," De Lunta said, his voice calm as the noise swelled. "Stick to the plan. Whatever's down there, we are going to cut a path to the centre of that chamber. Asset One, stay close and we'll get you where you need to go."

"Copy that, Reaver," answered the Engineering Cadre lieutenant who had the unenviable task of guiding the bomb to its location. Her voice betrayed her understandable nervousness as she continued. "Payload is secure and our armour integrity is at 84 percent. All gunnery positions manned and ready."

"All right then. On my lead, everyone. Let's finish this."

The human force rounded a final curve in the flat-walled tunnel, and found a gaping entranceway waiting for them. Vast columns of solid rock rose symmetrically to either side of them, too perfect and cylindrical to have been natural formations. They stretched away to the left and right, supporting a curved ceiling hewn right into the stone. Huge supporting spars of something that looked like metal spider-webbed out from the centre of the roof, holding a million tons of badlands stone above their heads. Great etchings that Ryke couldn't begin to decipher covered the pillars, and their path sloped down into a huge, flat plateau.

A plateau teeming with Crawlers.

Flares from the Scout Cadre skiffs arced gracefully overhead, to reveal a thick mass of armoured bodies that bristled in serried ranks, blocking their path as far as Ryke could see. Some of these Crawlers were larger, with dark, mottled carapaces that were scarred and pitted with age. The old guard, he wondered absently, some equivalent of a veteran soldier – things that had been alive for Riverlords-knew how long.