When he stepped out of the cell at last the hysterical laughter he'd been fighting to hold in finally came spilling out like the breaking of a dam. The data slate clattered from his fingers and he let Ivy wrench him into a hug that made him gasp. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, squeezing with a fearsome strength he didn't know she possessed.
Ryke hugged her back just as hard, laughing all the while.
Eventually the two young soldiers uncoiled from one and other, and Ryke noticed belatedly the star-studded audience that had assembled to witness the events inside the holding cell. Colonel Hackley and General Theikvaal were waiting for him outside the door and he could see in the gantry more than a dozen members of the Commissariat observing proceedings with amazement.
He could hardly blame them. Clearing his throat and smiling awkwardly, Ryke saluted his superior officers. From the corner of his eye he saw the three Commissariat representatives, Khazwari, Caletz and Yanfoukis, emerge from a connecting passageway. After a moment he began to feel like something was missing and he let his hand drop from the salute, a twinge of confusion in the back of his mind.
Then he realised that the blast door was still open. He looked back sharply over his shoulder, then to Colonel Hackley.
"I thought, if we wanted your message to seem sincere, it was probably better not to lock the door behind you," Hackley told him, though he could see on the faces of the guards in the room they were less than thrilled with the decision. "Makes the gesture ring a little ... hollow, somehow."
"I guess that makes sense," Ivy said, although she failed to stop her eyes flickering nervously to the open door where the vast form of the Scraegan was still visible.
"An impressive display, Sergeant," Caletz said begrudgingly. "I apologise for my language before. I was wrong to doubt your resolve."
"I appreciate that, Minister."
"However, I cannot say I am totally convinced by what I saw. Given the language barrier it is impossible to be definitive about just what this creature thinks. If we are wrong and we release it in the middle of the Forge the damage could be catastrophic."
Khazwari nodded sagely. "I don't believe any of us would disagree on that point, Minister. We are in uncharted waters now. That being said, our guest certainly seems to have calmed down. From what I saw I believe Sergeant Vannigan has done all that can reasonably be expected. In the time we have, I'm convinced enough to follow this through."
Yanfoukis pursed her lips together tightly for a moment, eyeing up the open door. Then, gathering a fortifying breath, the Commissariat Minister walked towards the cell.
"Minister!" one of the guards yelped, stepping forward to bar her path.
"Stand aside!"
The words leapt from her lips with such viciousness that the man stopped dead. He hesitated for a moment, glancing awkwardly at the other officers. When no-one ordered him to stop her, he sheepishly moved out of her way, his finger curling around the trigger of his rifle. Yanfoukis stepped over the threshold, hands clasped behind her back. Ryke heard the huff of breath from the Scraegan within but no bellows of rage; no screams. He watched her as she stood motionless, a spindly silhouette between the Scraegan's two enormous legs.
Almost a full minute passed before Yanfoukis turned on her heel and walked back out of the cell. She looked drained of colour, beads of sweat on her cheeks, but she was unharmed. Shuddering, she blew out her cheeks and pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb, steadying herself. Then she looked to her fellow ministers.
"I am satisfied," she told them. "Do it."
"I'll be drowned in the Everflowing," Theikvaal muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Stepping forward he held out a hand to Ryke. "Hell of a job, sergeant. Hell of a job."
"Thank you, sir!"
"We've got a lot of organising to do, General," Hackley interjected awkwardly. "With all due respect, we can save the congratulations for later."
"True enough," Theikvaal grunted, pulling away from Ryke and turning to her. "Get me Reaver on the horn. I want two Hunter-Killer squadrons as a security detachment, a Scout Cadre skimmer flight and a militia platoon, full dress uniforms. We'll need to put on a show."
"Sir, if I may, HK-Rupture is on standby and I'd like to volunteer us to be part of the honour guard," Ryke said quickly. "My people are still at Stamm Basin – I'll need to-,"
"I'll find you a ride, Sergeant," Hackley told him. She glanced at Ivy. "You too, Corporal – sorry to say, no matter how this goes they'll still be very much in need of your services."
"I think you're right, ma'am." Ivy saluted crisply. "But it'll be nice to do some repairs without the shitty background music."
"I'll just bet." Hackley motioned to a nearby Scout Cadre officer – a severe-looking young woman with deeply tanned skin and a tight braid of oil-black hair. "Captain, find a skimmer outbound to Stamm Basin and make sure these two are on it."
"Yes, ma'am." The woman saluted and shouldered her rifle, motioning for Ryke and Ivy to follow. They fell into step and the trio marched from the room, history echoing in their wake.
*
"We're doing what?!" Thaye exploded, her eyes blazing. "You can't seriously expect us to ... escort that monster through the city, after everything that's happened. After everyone that died bringing it here and keeping it here?"
Ryke felt a twinge in the metal of his jaw as he clenched it tight, trying to keep his cool. He'd known full well how the arrangement would go down with the more violent members of his squad. Taking a moment order his thoughts, he cast his eyes over the gathering of confused faces.
"I know how you feel, Thaye," he said levelly, inclining his head towards her. "This was hardly my first choice of plan. If we could have kept the Scraegans out of the city, if we could have defended Brekka without destroying it I would. The fact is we can't. If we keep on fighting the best we could hope to achieve was to wipe each other out."
"Ryke... I mean, what if they don't hold up their end?" Brigg asked, shifting his weight uneasily with his thick arms folded tight. "We can't trust them."
"I'm not asking you to trust anyone except me," he replied. "Nobody is making peace today, but if we pull this off we can live to fight another day. If the Scraegans don't follow through then they're as dead as we are."
"Sounds like a no-brainer to me." Norville took a step forward with his head held high.
Thaye bristled. "It feels wrong."
Ryke gave her a pointed look. "You know, other day I'd agree with you, but if we lose Brekka we lose the south. If this is what it takes to stop that, I can swallow my pride and so can you."
She flicked an angry glare at him for that last remark, but bit down any other objections that threatened to spill out of her mouth. Looking around it was clear the other pilots despite their obvious unease were willing to along with the parade and in the end she relented. Straightening her back she saluted, her face etched into a stony mask of reluctant acceptance.
"Alright then." He jerked both thumbs over his shoulders at the line of Hunter-Killer mechs. "Load up. Run your standard combat checks and pray to the Riverlords that this little scheme works. Move it!"
HK-Rupture dispersed, and he spun around to face his own war machine. Its scorched and scarred hull looked oddly mismatched now, with random pieces of armour shining brighter than others where damaged plates had been replaced. It had carried him this far and he felt a twang of gratitude for the machine. It might have been an inanimate object, but over the past months it had kept him alive through the worst hell Rychter had to offer. That counted for more.
At the base of the ladder Ivy waited for him, a wry smile on her face and a data slate in the crook of her arm once more. She cast one glance down at the display before looking up at him, head held high. He could se her fighting to keep her emotions in check.
"We spent a lot of time getting her fixed up. I don't want to see a scratch on this beauty when you bring it home," she told him, masking the faintest waver in her voice. "That's an order, sergeant."
"Understood, ma'am," he chuckled, leaning in to press his forehead to hers. "When this is all over, you and I have a lot of R&R coming."
"Drown me, isn't that the truth?" Ivy grinned. "Well, I'll be waiting for you, Hunter-Killer. For once in your life, get out there and try not to kill anything." Then with a gentle push she directed him onto the ladder and he clambered up the rungs, neatly twisting and stepping back into the cradle of the war machine once more.
The pilots rattled through their combat checks with practiced ease and in less than five minutes Ryke passed the word to the other squad leader of their escort. With Major De Lunta still out coordinating the ongoing fighting, he'd delegated the duty of the honour guard to HK-Praxis under Sergeant 'Sharps' Charpente. Their aquamarine armour plating had lost its shine over the course of the battle, and three of the mechs had mismatched armour, a brutal reminder of the continuing casualties.
With Charpente's squadron in tow, Ryke led the twenty Hunter-Killers thundering out of the hangar and back into the chaos of war. All around them other units in active combat were still deploying as fighting continued to rage in Brekka's suburbs. They didn't have a lot of time to pull the audacious scheme off.
They raced through the streets leading to the Forge, passing columns of militia and engineering resupply trucks that raced towards the front lines. The Hunter-Killers charging in the opposite direction turned more than a few heads.
The two squadrons arrived at the rear of the Forge to find the rest of the hastily assembled honour guard waiting for them. Twelve skiffs with their armour polished to a vicious gleam waited like caged snakes, their engines snarling softly to hold them aloft. Gathered in ranks on either side of the armoured blast doors stood the platoon of Brekkan militia troops, rifles pointing skyward like spears, their uniforms crisp and pressed for the occasion.
Behind them a huge loading ramp sloped down into the basement sublevels and the holding cells, meeting a titanic set of armoured blast doors easily thirty meters across. At the moment the door remained sealed, but he knew their prisoner would soon be emerging from within.
"Lockjaw-Sharps," he said to Charpente through the comm. "Defensive cordon deployment."
"Copy, Lockjaw."
They dispersed with expert ease, forming a semi-circle facing in towards the blast door, guns bristling in readiness. With the full guard in place, word passed to the gate operators within the Forge and red warning lights began flashing above the entrance. The low blare of an alarm echoed out over them and Ryke felt every muscle in his body tighten as the huge door began to haul itself open. Pistons the size of lampposts hissed with effort and the thick armour plates split open, grinding apart with agonizing slowness. Two black-armoured Hunter-Killers emerged first, but close behind them came the Scraegan itself.
Ryke had seen it before. A lot of other people hadn't.
At the sight of the immense creature stumping out into the light he saw a flurry of movement from the militia guards, rifles instantly being brought to bear, and mounted turrets on the skiffs swivelled accusingly towards the beast.
The motion did not go unnoticed by the Scraegan shaman and it stopped in its tracks, letting out a guttural, deep throated growl of challenge, its eyes narrowing and lips curling back to show its teeth. A surge of panic filled him as he saw more guns target the creature – some even from among the detachment of Hunter-Killers. If one person lost their nerve this whole venture could be thrown to the River before it started.
"Stand down!" Ryke roared angrily, his voice bursting from the Hunter-Killer's speakers and causing the gathered soldiers to freeze in place. He waited for a moment, scanning the honour guard and only when he was satisfied the soldiers were held in check did he speak again. "All units hold your positions and hold your fire. That is a direct order."
Then, swallowing hard, he stumped forward towards the Scraegan as it swung its turret-like head from left to right, snorting and growling in agitation. He lowered the barrel of his cannon to face the ground as he walked, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from the captive. Its head rotated to look down on him, a threatening rumble boiling in the back of its throat.
Undeterred, Ryke keyed in the command to open the front plating of his Hunter-Killer.
"Lockjaw, what are you-?"
"Stay exactly where you are," he hissed, cutting Charpente off. "Everyone, stay exactly where you are and let me deal with this."
He closed off the comm as the front of his mech split open, letting the light and air of Brekka flood in on him. The shadow of the Scraegan fell across his diminutive frame, exposed from behind the armour of his war machine. His heart slammed in his chest as the captive's head lowered towards him. Then its dark eyes widened in recognition.
Ryke placed his wrists together, replicating the mime from the holding cell, then pulled them apart again before pointing out to the city where the gunfire still crackled. Then he made his attempt at the barked command for 'halt' in the strange Scraegan language.
The massive head dipped in a nod of agreement and he saw its immense shoulders relax. Both sets of arms folded into place across its torso and it straightened up, waiting. Ryke stayed there for a few seconds looking up at it before giving it a nod of thanks. Then he punched in the command to reseal his Hunter-Killer.
"Lockjaw to all units," he said, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice as the armour closed in around him again. "Form up to your escort positions. On my lead."
The Hunter-Killers formed a square around the priest and despite their obvious nervousness the militia troops formed up into their ranks to fill the empty spaces. A trio of Scout Cadre skiffs formed an arrowhead at the front of the formations, with the others dispersing into two flanking lines. Watching on the HUD, Ryke licked dry lips as one by one the escort units locked into their positions. When the last soldier was in place he sucked down a fortifying lungful of air and set off. Like a single, well drilled machine the Brekkan honour guard began its march into the city.
And the Scraegan marched calmly along with them.