Scraegan victory howls filled the night.
The rings of defences around Brekka now formed a mass grave for human and Scraegan alike, littered with bodies and still licking with flames from the first wave of the assault. Smashed and broken Hunter-Killers still smouldered in the gloom and visible beyond the range of the wallguns rings of Scraegan fires burned. Forms shambled in the eerie glow and the sound of thick, guttural chanting washed across the badlands.
Within the protected confines of Stamm Basin Ryke sat, perched on the stairs outside their barrack block, listening to the alien chorus. Thaye and Preese lounged off to his right sharing a canteen of shiner; to his left Scantlin lay flat on his back, hands clasped together with fingers drumming idly on his chest. None of them had been around the dead pilot Calhan long enough for his death to gut-punch them as others had, but the hole in the squad still gaped. The kid had been brave and he'd followed orders. And he'd been a good pilot too – just unlucky. There might not have been grief, but by the Riverlords there was anger.
"Not very good singers are they?" Preese muttered as the Scraegan voices carried across the air.
Thaye snorted. "If they set those fires a hundred yards closer the guns would shut them up pretty quick."
"They're taunting us," Ryke replied grimly, shaking his head in frustration. "Bastards think they've already won."
"Somehow I don't think you see it that way." She held out the canteen for him. "Have a drink, Ryke. Might be the last chance we have for a while."
After a moment's hesitation he relented, taking the shiner from her and took a generous gulp. It was harsher than Ivy's blend, scorching his tongue and throat on its way to his gut, but it blew away some of the cobwebs the day had left behind. He blinked; took another more modest sip and handed it back.
"Thanks."
He wished he could see Ivy right now; wished he could share his thoughts with her, without responsibility of command. But with so many Hunter-Killers and other vehicles in need of urgent repair he knew not a single member of the Engineering Cadre would be getting any time off tonight. Across the base the main hangar echoed with barked orders, clanging metal and the roar of hungry machines. She was there somewhere in the chaos, rushing around, trying to get their mechs back into fighting shape before the inevitable Scraegan attack.
His eyes lingered on the hangar for a longing moment. They'd been snatching hours here and there, battling to find moments of happiness in the midst of the conflict. Ryke didn't know if it was anything close to love, and right now the Scraegans were robbing him of any chance of finding out. All he knew right now was that he felt a hell of a lot better when they were together. He would have settled for a day – just one, long, uninterrupted day where they could just... be.
It looked like he would have to fight to even get that.
"Try and get some sleep," he said heavily, pushing himself up off the steps and turning for the door. Then he added gently. "That's an order."
Pushing a shoulder to the door he slipped into the Hunter-Killer barracks. The low hum of muted conversation burbled between the bunks and a pang of longing tugged violently at him. Not so long ago this place had been filled with drinks and laughter, but even the garrulous Hunter-Killer's couldn't shake off the days events so quickly.
He took a detour to Koral's bunk and found the injured pilot propped up against her pillows, her right shoulder and upper arm tightly wrapped. The skin below was riddled with tiny cuts where some internal mechanism had blown out and ripped into her.
"What's the damage?" he asked, sinking into a crouch beside her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
She let out a weary chuckle as she looked at him. "Nothing broken, thank the Riverlords. Got a blast of neural feedback when the right arm gyro blew – froze my shoulder up pretty bad. No permanent damage they said – shoved some pills down my throat and said I should be good to go in twenty-four hours."
"Glad to hear it." He stood up again, giving her a nod of encouragement. "Hang in there."
"I'll do more than that, sir."
Ryke grinned as he rose. "Next beer's on me when you're off your pills."
"Yes, sir!"
She gave him a lazy wave as he walked on, turning through the gridiron arrangement of bunks towards his own. He passed Brigg and Amelia dozing on a bed together and a few rows closer to the main entrance the remaining pilots, Kim and Marylee, had wasted no time getting their shuteye.
Ryke decided it would be wise to join them. Trying to clear his head, he eased himself down onto the cushioned surface of his bunk, letting his body sag into a limp heap. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting the events of the day roll over him, his mind churning over all the implications. The war had changed on his watch, no longer confined to the badlands. The Scraegan assault on Brekka was probably the biggest single engagement that had ever taken place – an all out pitched battle that would decide the trajectory of the war for decades to come. All he knew for certain was that they had to win. He exhaled a steadying breath trying to decide if he should be panicking or not.
His eyes drifted shut before he could make up his mind.
*
"Sergeant Vannigan?"
The harsh whisper yanked Ryke from a restless sleep filled with fire and roaring. He felt a grip on his arm and jerked violently into a sitting position instinctively, blinking and trying to focus. It took a few seconds to remember he was still in the barracks and he looked sharply towards the sound of the voice.
He found himself looking up at a young woman, her large eyes shining in the gloom, frizzy red hair wrestled back into a bun. A Hunter-Killer jacket of deep aquamarine blue hung open to reveal her link skin – a colour he dimly recognised. He squinted, trying to place her.
"Sergeant Charpente," she said quickly, anticipating his question. "Commanding officer, HK-Praxis. We were part of the op that brought the Scraegan captive back to Brekka."
Ryke scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. "I remember. What is it?" He looked around, only now realising that the barracks was still in darkness, with no daylight gashing through the exterior windows. "What time is it?"
"Three in the morning," Charpente replied with a wry smile, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder towards the entrance. "Reaver passed the word. All active command pilots to the main briefing room; seems like they're cooking up something to deal with our friends out there."
"Well then," he spoke around a formidable yawn, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "Guess we'd better get over there."
Slinging his jacket around his shoulders, Ryke yawned again as he stood up and gestured for his fellow pilot to lead the way, still not fully awake enough to try and guess at the reason for the summons in the middle of the night.
A straggled line of figures made their way across the Stamm Basin concourse towards the main structure illuminated by the base floodlights, the night-time air only marginally cooler than in the daylight hours.
By the time they shambled their way into the main briefing room once again Ryke was more or less awake, and a lot more uneasy to boot.
True to Charpente's word, the base commanders had assembled every active squad leader for this briefing. Not just Hunter-Killer pilots either, Ryke noted as he looked around to take in the scale of what was happening. Dozens of senior personnel from the Engineering and Scout Cadres were present, along with officers in the slate grey of the Brekkan militia regiments. At the main dais Major De Lunta stood with General Thiekvaal, Colonel Hackley and a fourth figure Ryke didn't recognise. The man wore the livery of the Engineering Cadre though, so he made the assumption this man was at the top of Ivy's command chain.
A few minutes of uncomfortable quiet simmered as the last stragglers filed in, many of them like Ryke having been summoned from their much needed rest to attend this gathering. He saw plenty of yawns and bleary eyes among the officers and resisted the urge to yawn himself. "Good morning," Thiekvaal rumbled at last, hands resting on the rail on the raised dais as he looked down on his subordinates. "I know many of you were resting after today's engagements, but the situation has developed. We have an opportunity to secure Brekka against any further Scraegan attacks, but it needs to be done soon – before first light."
He stepped back to the map, thumbing a control to bring up a display of Brekka's southern facing defences and the surrounding terrain, scarred with a jagged crimson line to denote the new Scraegan positions.
"They caught us by surprise," he spat, anger sizzling in his voice. "This will not happen again." Ryke could tell – the old soldier's pride had been pricked. While everyone knew the Scraegans were not just animals, it was hard to shake off the image of them being brutish and dim-witted. Their actions in attacking Brekka had been a brutal reminder that the enemy possessed a definite feral cunning that on this occasion had been badly underestimated.
"Long range seismics show the Scraegans are taking this time reinforcing their positions," he continued. "They might have dealt us a blow, but they paid for it. That gives us a window of opportunity. Lt. Colonel Kowalcyzk, Stamm Basin's master gunner will tell you more."
Kowalcyzk gave the general a nod of acknowledgement and stepped forward. He was a scrawny man with sunken cheeks and a wiry frame from which his iron-grey overalls hung loose. He smoothed down his slick crop of dark hair, blinking sleep-deprived eyes as he looked out at the officers.
"At 0430 hours the Brekkan Engineering Cadre will be deploying eighty percent of our sapper units to the plains between us and the Scraegan army," he declared without preamble. His voice was hoarse, likely having spent the whole day giving orders already.
A flick of controls sent a fresh dotted line of blue across the map display between Brekka and the Scraegans. "This time, however, we will not be building trenches. The sappers will move out to the maximum coverage of our wall guns and deploy deep-strike atomic mines."
"By the Everflowing..." Ryke joined in the mutter of discontent that rolled around the room like a wave. He exchanged a dubious look with Charpente, who seemed no-more enamoured by the prospect, before his eyes flickered back to the central dais.
"I take it that means some of you know what deep-strikers are capable of," Kowalcyzk grunted. "While we still have the cover of darkness we're going to pack that plain with these buggers. A single one of these mines has a four-hundred ton blast yield, with a kill radius of just under a quarter-mile. They will be rigged with proximity seismic detectors, and detonate when any Scraegan force approaches to a distance of fifty meters. They'll be right in the furnace when these toys blow."
On the display simulated detonation spheres bloomed silently. Ryke shook his head slowly. There was more than just packed dirt out there – Brekka was not some backwater town on the edge of the badlands. There were power-lines, irrigation rigs and roads connecting it not just to the beleaguered settlements to the south, but to their northern counterparts. If the mines detonated in the way they'd been shown that infrastructure would be obliterated, and Brekka would be effectively cut off. They would be willingly stranding themselves. Could things really be that desperate already?
"However, my people will be getting damn close for comfort to the Scraegan positions and even with darkness it's likely we'll draw attention. We will need escorting Scout Cadre and Hunter-Killer units on standby to cover them if this shit goes sideways. If all goes to plan we can pull out to safe distance and wait for those bastards to try attack again. Any questions?"
"Sir," Ryke said flatly, his arm jutting up out of the sea of bodies to catch Kowalcyzk's attention. "Sergeant Vannigan – HK-Rupture. If we blow those mines won't we cut off the southern settlements?"
"Temporarily I suppose," the man replied. "But we've got more immediate problems, kid."
"But what happens to those people?" Ryke persisted. "With all due respect, sir, if we cut them off, without supplies and military support from Brekka they'll never survive." A murmur of agreement passed through several of the Hunter-Killer commanders nearby. They hadn't expended the lives of their squadmates defending those settlements just to see them abandoned.
"Sergeant Vannigan," Thiekvaal interjected harshly. "I understand your concern, but I would remind you that if the Scraegans take Brekka those people are as good as dead anyway."
The rebuke was like a slap in the face. Ryke felt his cheeks redden. "Yes, sir," he managed, his voice low and restrained.
"Make no mistake," Thiekvaal continued, addressing the room. "Defeat here is not an option. We defend Brekka no matter what it costs. We are the gatekeepers of the south – we shed our blood to make sure the rest of this planet can live in peace, and life in safety. No Scraegan has ever breached our walls, and by the Lords of the Everflowing River they will not breach them on my watch."
In an instant, Ryke's earlier embarrassment faded away, replaced by a fire from the general's words. His unease about abandoning the badlands settlements to their fate still lurked in his mind, but Thiekvaal was right that they could not lose Brekka. War demanded sacrifices from them all. He found himself nodded as a swell of approving cheers rose from the soldiers.
"All Hunter-Killer squadrons will receive deployment orders from Forge Command in cockpit," Major De Lunta shouted. "Brief your pilots and stand ready."