Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 20 - Where the Currents Are Calm

One by one he checked in with them all, quiet and subdued; none of them with the energy to utter more than a few words. When he reached Thaye she was already being attended to by one of the Medical Cadre, the right side of her face shadowed with dried blood. She gave him a wry smile from beneath the working hands of the medic.

"You okay, soldier?" he asked quietly.

"Internal bolt blew out," she replied, her voice hoarse. "Gashed me good and proper, but I'll be fine."

"Take it easy." Ryke slipped by, patting her on the shoulder as he moved down the line.

At the end of the row, a jolt of worry shot through him at the sight of Norville's mech, the thing reduced to little more than a bludgeoned, shapeless lump of metal. Three stepladders converged around the Hunter-Killer carcass, with a trio of engineers leaning in over the machine with cutting torches flaring hot white. The smell of molten metal filled his nostrils as he approached.

"What's going on?" he asked one of the medics standing nearby.

The grizzled old man glanced at him. "You part of this fella's squadron?"

"Sergeant Vannigan," Ryke confirmed. "What are they doing?"

"The armour's too badly warped – can't open it. We've got to cut him out of there."

"Is he alright?"

"Vitals are stable according to the Hunter-Killer systems, but I won't know till I see him." The medic looked at him again. "Afraid there's not much you can do for him standing there. Let us do our jobs. We'll get him out to the medical centre and you can check on him once we've got him stabilised, alright?"

Ryke bristled. He didn't want to go anywhere but he was neither an engineer nor a doctor. He pressed his lips together hard, staring at the mangled mech for a long, silent moment. Then he gave the medic a stiff nod, wrenching his gaze away. The other pilots had managed to exit their mechs now, some of them having had a cursory once-over by attending medics. Ryke beckoned them, his eyes wandering over the chaos in the hangar.

Their return to Stamm Basin had been a triumphant one – the military leaders considered the mission objective to have been achieved. The Scraegan, whatever breed it was, had been moved to a secure facility within the city, deep in the gunnels of the Forge, Brekka's military command centre, paraded through the streets in a shameless celebration of what was quite probably the biggest victory they'd achieved in the Scraegan war.

Somehow Ryke couldn't find it in him to feel like celebrating.

The surviving members of HK-Rupture coalesced around him, a sea of exhausted, expectant faces looking for some words of encouragement. The absences of Jarrko and Shayse ached in the space between them. Brigg and Amelia were relatively unscathed, having spent most of the battle out on the ridge bombarding Scraegan forces, but even they looked haggard and drawn out from their part in transporting the massive captive home.

Ryke pinched the bridge of his nose, hating the feeling of those eyes on him.

"I know it might not feel like it right now," he said, forcing strength into his voice. "But you did a good job, all of you. You did yourselves proud – you did Jarrko and Shayse proud too." He took a breath, a lump threatening to rise in his throat. "We all knew when we signed up that we might be losing friends, but that doesn't make it sting any less when it happens. You keep them here." He tapped his temple with one finger. "And one day we'll meet them by the River where the current is calm."

"Where the current is calm," the others echoed in a murmur. It was an old blessing, not something Ryke normally reached for, but here and now it felt right. He forced a smile onto his face as he looked at them. "We'll debrief in the morning. Get yourselves checked out at the medical centre and then get some rest. You've all earned it."