The plan might not have had universal support among the various branches of Brekka's military, but Hackley's proposal had been a thorough one, convincing Brekka Command that the operation was worth the risk. With that final nod passing down the command chain to the unit commanders at Stamm Basin, Ryke and his squad mates found themselves in a briefing room with the largest gathering of Hunker-Killer pilots he'd seen in once place at the same time. Hunter-Killers didn't move in big units normally – the Scraegan threat was too widespread for that – but now a massive force had been assembled to deliver nothing less than a hammer-blow.

More than sixty pilots filed into the seats, most of them from Brekka, but he spotted at least two distinct units – one in gold-black livery and another kitted out in mud-red fatigues – that must have been reinforcing units from cities further north. He'd never bothered to check up on the different uniforms the various cities employed – there had seemed to be more pressing things to do at the time – and now he found himself wishing he'd taken the time. He felt somehow guilty not knowing where these men and women had come from, given they'd be fighting side by side before long.

There would be time, he reasoned, as the last few pilots settled into place, a hum of easy conversation filling the air as they waited. While everything seemed settled at a glance, Ryke noticed the sly, almost contemptuous glances flashing between some of the Brekkan veterans and the newcomers from the north.

"Big happy family, eh?" Jarrko chuckled alongside him, clearly having noticed it too. "Think these northers have ever seen a Scaegan?"

"Until a couple of weeks ago you hadn't either," Ryke reminded him, settling back into the seat to wait. "Besides, it's about time they started putting some of their people on the line down here."

"Now there's some truth."

Ryke frowned. The faint animosity simmering in the room didn't really surprise him, but it still made him a little uneasy. The only city far enough south to be at any threat from the Scraegan incursions, Brekka had naturally become the hub for human military efforts, but he knew people rumbled in discontent about the lack of sheer manpower that the cities to the north contributed to the fighting. They helped in other ways – raw materials and munitions – but it was Brekka who put its people into the grinder, shedding blood to keep the rest of the human population safe.

The chatter subsided when Lieutenant-Colonel Aggathor entered the room, his bulky frame trudging across the slightly raised stage to the lectern where he turned his blunt, brutish features to the seated pilots. All eyes locked onto their commanding officer, the one who would be leading them into the fray.

"Hope everyone had a good breakfast," Aggathor began. "Cos we've got a long way to go on an empty stomach." Thumbing the control in his right hand he brought screen to life behind him, showing the southern portion of the continent. At the top of the map section Brekka stood, and spilling down from in were the smaller human settlements. Red rings marked Scraegan attack locations while the towns still holding out were marked with blue.

The screen zoomed and panned, moving far to the south of Brekka, past the intact settlements and even past most of the destroyed ones too. Ryke felt his stomach tighten. Wherever they were going, it was deep in Scraegan held territory, a lot deeper than humans had gone for years. All that remained of their culture down there now was ruins.

The map location solidified to an area of around ten square kilometres which would be their operation zone. A gleaming blue reconstruction of the battlefield sprang to life, the triangular ridge of sandstone that the scouts had identified now quantified down to the millimetre by the modelling schematic.

"This is our target zone," Aggathor told them flatly. "The scout cadre companies will move ahead of us and verify we have a clear drop site. Mammoths with then deploy along this rise overlooking the compound." A series of green globes pulsed into life where the Hunter-Killers would be disembarking. "HK-Warlock will take point at the centre. We know from long range seismics that there are Scraegan patrols that rotate through this sector, so we're going to land right on top of them."

More lines smeared the display, these ones arcs of interlocking red that showed the Scraegan patrol patterns. The deployment, he realised, was timed to slam right into the teeth of the local defence. His brow furrowed and he glanced around, seeing similar expressions of unease.

Colonel Aggathor obviously saw them too. "While normally that might seem counter intuitive, we are deploying in a strength the Scraegans have rarely seen, and they will not be expecting us to launch an assault here at all, let alone bring fifty Hunter-Killers straight into their patrol packs. The goal here is to eliminate as much of the local defence forces as possible with a hard, fast strike.

"When we have driven off these forces we will split into three groups. Goliaths from all squadrons will fall back to bombardment range. The surface entrance to this compound is a rock slab the size of a house – the Goliaths will smash this thing to rubble. As the bombardment finishes HKs Warlock, Rupture, Thresher, Arcade and Savant will proceed with a full assault on the base. We cut deep as fast as we can and find the station commander. Goliaths will remain at bombardment range and all remaining units will run perimeter patrol and provide close support to Scout Cadre units in the event of Scraegan reinforcements."

"Sir?" one of the Northern commanders raised a hand.

"It's Hauzer, yes?"

"Yes, sir," the man confirmed. "How quickly are we anticipating a Scraegan response? As soon as they see the strength we're committing they are going to scramble to match it."

"Yes they are," Aggathor agreed. "Colonel Hackley's estimates based on correlation of Scraegan movements in the sector estimate we will have a little over an hour until they can pull a large relief force together. That does not mean there will not be smaller units dispatched sooner to try and slow us down. Speed is everything in this operation, boys and girls."

"If we get bogged down in there," Ryke piped up. "We may need to pull back before we can complete the objective. If we can't find this Alpha and subdue it, we can't stay be caught in there when the reinforcements arrive."

"Couldn't agree more," Aggathor grunted. "So no sightseeing tours, alright?" A ripple of laughter passed through the group and the grizzled colonel gave them a wry smile. "I know it isn't perfect. There are a lot of unknowns to juggle. That being said, I don't know about you but I'd like to give these bastards a hell of a bloody nose. Colonel Hackley was right about one thing – we need to up the tempo of this war; get the Scraegans back on their heels for once."

Ryke nodded in agreement, and around him the other pilots did the same, all of them able to relate to Aggathor's simple reframing of the mission. Could they accomplish everything that the mission briefing hoped? Maybe not. Could they make the Scraegans feel fear? Ryke was determined to find out.

"That's the state of play," Aggathor continued, killing the view screen. "We depart in two hours. Make sure all your mechs are checked and double checked by the engineers before we ship out. I don't want anyone finding the River because of a mechanical fault. Dismissed!"

The pilots shot upright, voices chattering and commanders snapping out orders and prep assignments. Ryke stood a little slower, happy to let the others bundle from the briefing room before he and the rest of HK-Rupture followed them. As they walked he reeled through the pre-flight checks he expected of each pilot: ordinance loading, munitions tallies, joint cleans, gimble and gyro calibrations and hydration packs. All of these and more ought to be already have been green-lighted by the engineers between missions – in fairness they generally were – but no self-respecting pilot was about to walk into a combat zone without doing their own checks first.

The hangar buzzed with activity, not just for the Hunter-Killer squadrons but for their escort of Scout Cadre troops and the Mammoths that would ferry them south. Used to the hustle by now, Ryke led his troops along the pathways, pausing briefly as equipment haulers thundered past with deck officers bellowing orders above the background grumble of heavy machinery.

When they reached the Hunter-Killer bay he found that the place was already swarming with Engineering Cadre officers, running through their own operational checks and conferring directly with the HK pilots. That was a little unusual. Normally the engineers would be long gone by the time the pilots arrived. Clearly the scope of this operation had them on edge too. Nobody wanted to be responsible for a mechanical failure that could get a pilot killed.

They moved through the bay, past the cleaning obsidian mechs of one of the northern squadrons until they reached the battle-scarred machines of HK-Rupture. There, Ryke found a familiar figure hanging off the side of his Hunter-Killer.

"Ivy?" he questioned, not quite believing it at first. But then her head jerked up from the refitted shoulder joint and her soot-smeared face lit up with recognition.

"Drown me, this rig's yours?" she laughed, swinging herself nimbly down from the height of the machine to land on the stepladder clamped into place alongside it. She clambered down and spun to face him, grinning breathlessly.

The same black head band held her brown hair back out of her face, and a set of armour-glass goggles hung around her neck, singed with use. The distinctive iron-coloured overalls of the Brekkan engineers fitted snugly to her lithe frame – baggy fabric was a recipe for disaster with the whirring gears and mechanisms of the Brekkan military.

She planted one hand on her hip, a thick wrench resting across her shoulder in the other as she spoke. "I've spent a lot of good hours grinding this hulk back into fighting shape. Hope you'll take better care of him next time."

"Good to see you, Ives." Ryke gave a lopsided smirk and only then did she notice the plate in his jaw. Her eyes widened and she craned her neck forward for a better look.

"By the River – that another souvenir from you last outing?" she asked, more fascinated than put off.

"Pretty much," he confirmed. "You should see the other guy."

"Damn, boy." Ivy's smile returned in an instant and she clapped him on the shoulder. "Looks like you found your little niche in this mess!"

"Shanklin!" a voice barked from further down the row and Ryke looked to see a lanky dark-skinned woman with thick dreadlocks glowering at his former classmate.

"Yes, ma'am!" Ivy whirled with a salute.

"If you want to sweet talk a Hunter-Killer into your bunk, you better make sure his mech's going to get him back in once piece, eh?"

Ryke grimaced and heard a smattering of laughter from the pilots behind him.

Ivy turned, red-faced but still smiling and making a sweeping gesture to the looming bulk of the Hunter-Killer. "Alright, Sergeant, shall we?"

*

Although he'd only been on one true combat operation, Ryke knew they'd been in the Mammoth carrier far, far longer than normal. Plunging as deep as they were into what now amounted to hostile territory meant that their convoy of three Mammoths and a swarm of accompanying Scout Cadre skiffs took a winding, circuitous route through the badlands. They gave the smashed human settlements a wide berth, knowing the Scraegans kept careful watch on those areas to stop their enemies coming back for any salvage.

The lumbering Mammoths even needed to be fitted with extra fuel tanks for the journey to make sure they could all get home again. All in all with the resources committed, Ryke could understand the reservations of the more conservative commanders. This was not a force the humans could afford to waste.

Vibrations rattled the Hunter-Killer, but within the piloting cradle and the impact gel it felt like little more than a tingle to him. He tried to keep himself calm, running through the mission brief over and over, repeating orders in his head. His mind flickered back to finding Ivy in the Hunter-Killer bay – a little slice of normality that reminded him what they were doing out here in the first place. Training as a HK pilot put you in a bubble, largely removed from the normal walks of life, but he remembered again; remembered that by rights none of them should have had to do any of this.

On a brighter note though, he could see how Ivy ended up assigned to the Hunter-Killers. Every check of every system gave nothing but green lights; nothing but optimal functionality. Every single joint and socket had been stripped and re-oiled, giving him a very welcome smoothness of motion. Everything felt a little sharper; a little more responsive and in a fight with a Scraegan milliseconds would count. He made a mental note to thank her in person when they came home.

Another hour grumbled its way past before he felt hulk of the Mammoth begin to slow its ponderous advance. Ryke rolled his head from side to side and spoke into the squad-wide comm. "Everybody awake out there?"

"Wide awake, boss," Brigg chuckled back. "Feel that shift?"

"We're slowing down," he confirmed. "So shake off the sleep and sharpen up. We'll be deploying soon."

Acknowledgements filtered through the earpiece, more than one coming around a stifled yawn. The Hunter-Killer cockpits were pretty comfortable by military standards, and staying cooped up in them for so long he could see it would have been easy to drift off. A few minutes later, his early warning was proven true as Colonel Aggathor spoke, his gruff voice carrying across the entire Hunter-Killer force.

"All units, this is Warlock 1 – callsign Tyrant. Rise and shine," he rumbled using a callsign that Ryke couldn't help finding a little bold for a military commander. "We are ten minutes from deployment zone. Scout Cadre are performing first sight recon as I speak. Unless the Scraegans moved a whole damn army into this place since we left, this operation is a go. System checks across the board and prepare for deployment. Tyrant out."

"Well, I'm inspired," Jarrko muttered.

"Lock the chatter and run your checks," Ryke ordered brusquely. While on the base he was happy to keep his authority at arms length, that soft touch did not apply to a combat zone. "I want a clean deployment. Show the northers how a real fighting unit works."

"Copy that," Thaye said, hint of steel in her voice. The others sounded their acknowledgements soon after, spinning combat systems up into readiness. Ryke winked through the protocols, checking rechecking each system yet again. The odds of something breaking since they'd departed were next to nothing, but good habits could keep you alive in a warzone.

As expected, the systems showed no hint of a fault. His Hunter-Killer armour displayed full structural integrity, every spare space of the mech crammed with extra ammunition. Targeting calibrators blinked green, power levels ramping up to battle-readiness. He focused on his breathing; in through the nose and out through the mouth. Those last few minutes crept tantalisingly by and he could feel the tingle of nervous energy beginning to worm its way through his system.

At last the time came. Orders thundered over the comm. as the Mammoths ground to a halt, loading ramps smashing down to disgorge their deadly cargoes. Ryke's squad were second out of their transport, following the experienced mechs of HK-Thresher as they spilled out into the fading light.

Rychter's twin suns boiled just above the horizon far to the east, casting a fiery gloom over the scorched desert. Far beyond their target Ryke's enhanced optics picked out a line of sizzling volcanoes deep in the southern barrens, their skins bleeding magma. Much closer the roughly triangular mass of the Scraegan stronghold reared up, low and squat, looking very much like a natural rock formation. Perhaps it was, he wondered, and the Scraegans had simply hollowed out its guts to use as a surface base.

They deployed along a broad, gently sloping rise that looked down onto the structure, and between them yawned a chasm of flat, hard-packed dirt and sand. It would soon become a killing ground.

Ryke didn't need to give any further orders as his squad-mates followed him from the belly of the Mammoth. HK-Rupture hooked to the left, taking up their position in the long line of Hunter-Killers. Dozens of heavy cannons took aim, itching for the release of combat. He checked his HUD, satisfied to see that his pilots had executed their deployment with the speed and precision that befitted a battle-tested unit.

In the centre of the line the crimson patterned mechs of Colonel Aggathor's HK-Warlock formed the tip of fat arrowhead, and ahead of them exhaust flares pricked the night like shooting stars as the Scout Cadre skiffs rushed down the rise to make their first recon sweeps.

"All units!" Aggathor's grating voice burst into Ryke's earpiece and he glanced down the battle line, seeing a curving wall of armour that stretched hundreds of yards from left to right. "It's time for us to dish out some nightmares of our own. Be safe; raise hell."