Warsong (Hunter-Killer #2)

Chapter 29 - Somebody Watching Over You (And it Isn't an Angel)

The explosion shook Brackenshaw to her bones. Even well beyond the kill zone in her skiff, she felt the vibrations. The vehicle's slender, armoured structure shuddered, and on the horizon it seemed that a new volcano had been wrenched into existence.

Well past the jutting peak of the Scraegan warren, a geyser of vaporised rock a hundred meters across exploded from the badlands earth, roaring like a demon unleashed. Vast tongues of fire belched in all directions and she had to shield her eyes from the glare, even with her protective goggles. A rain of shattered stone fell for hundreds of meters, peppering the skiffs and tanks lurking on the edge of the combat zone, and she watched with a mix of shock and awe as the ground seemed to collapse.

Cracks ripped in all directions for a few, brief instants, before the earth could no longer withstand the strain. As though being sucked down like a whirlpool, smashed rocks and dirt avalanched inwards with startling suddenness, falling away and leaving a vast crater more than a hundred meters deep. Magma bubbled and hissed in the ruined earth and a smoky haze of heat settled over the horizon.

"Drown me," Corporal Locke murmured beside her, shaking her head in awe. "The techs really don't screw around, do they?"

"Let's hope it was worth it," Brackenshaw muttered bitterly. She kept her eyes fixed on the boiling, smog-choked hell that yawned out before them and seethed. The last frantic transmissions from Sergeant Vannigan had been cast over the wide-band, giving her an unpleasant window into the chaos that the Hunter-Killers had plunged into.

A lot of pilots hadn't walked out of there, but losing Vannigan hurt more than most. She'd been fighting alongside the kid for weeks now and knew first hand the kind of soldier they'd just thrown into the fire.

Through the scope of her rifle she could see the battered remnants of the Hunter-Killer force trudging across the desert to the relative safety of the Mammoth, their numbers much depleted. They'd cleared the main blast with moments to spare, their mission accomplished, but somehow this didn't feel like a victory to Brackenshaw.

Her lips twisted grimly and she tapped her earpiece. "SC-21 – HK-Rupture, you reading me?"

"Copy that, SC-21," a weary young man replied. "Deadbolt here. Acting commander."

"Bring yourselves home, soldier," she said. "And good work."

"Yes ma'am." The reply was hollow, like the pilot's guts had been ripped out along with his commander. Other Hunter-Killer officers fired off exhausted messages of acknowledgement as they made their way out of the combat zone, screened by ranks of northern armour.

"CC-19 – SC-21," a voice suddenly cut into her earpiece. Brackenshaw straightened up. It was Kelso Vannigan.

"Go ahead, specialist," she replied uncertainly.

"We've picked up something on the long range seismics," he answered, his voice tight. He was doing a good job of holding it together, she would give him that. "Forty-three degrees from your current position, just outside the blast. Something's moving out there."

Oh.

Brackenshaw pursed her lips, scanning the fire and the smoke. Could Vannigan have survived? It didn't look possible from this vantage point, but the implication was clear enough. Something was still moving.

"We're on our way, specialist," she answered, giving a nod to Corporal Locke. Her subordinate began barking orders down the chain in preparation as Kelso replied.

"Thanks, Sergeant. I know it's not likely but..."

She nodded. "If he's out there, we'll find him."