When Ryke clambered back into consciousness, the first thing he felt for what seemed like an age was a low throbbing pain that seeped through the entire left side of his face. He winced and tried to focus. The light above him was a tepid off-white; he could smell unfamiliar chemicals in the air. Blinking, he tried to sit up.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Easy there, kid," said a voice. He sluggishly turned his head to focus on her, and found a woman in the cool cyan livery of the medical cadre, her dark hair tied back into a tight bun, data slate glowing softly in the crook of one arm. With the other she held out a hand, her index finger up. "Follow my finger – look here, and here." She swept her arm back and forth slowly and Ryke tried to follow the motion.
Seemingly satisfied she then flipped out a tiny torch, shining it into his face. "Look at the light, please." He did, and she made a small noise of approval, clicking the torch off and returning it to a pocket. She straightened up with a smile. "Pupil response is good. Welcome back to the world, Mr. Vannigan."
Then she stepped aside and he found himself looking up at the survivors of their first, fateful encounter with the Scraegan menace. Some already stood while the others scrambled from nearby chairs in the ward – Brigg, Jarrko, Amelia, Thaye and Preese, all looking down at him, faces etched with pure, joyous relief. They'd already lost four companions to this war – they didn't want to lose a fifth.
He felt a hand on his arm and blearily tried to focus.
"Hey there," Amelia said softly, smiling a smile that could light up the world. "How're you feeling?"
"I..." Ryke started to speak but his voice trailed off. Something didn't feel right. Half of his face felt...heavy. "Mmmm...I'm okay?" He tried to raise a hand to touch his face but Amelia caught it.
"Don't," she told him. "The medics say it needs a week to set properly."
He frowned. "What does?"
"That cannon shot busted your jaw up real good," Brigg put in. "It would've taken months to heal properly and even then you might never have had full use of it again. So they took out the broken parts and replaced them with some nice big hunks of metal."
"I've got a metal... jaw?" He looked at them blearily. Eventually Thaye put him out of his misery, grabbing a mirror from a nearby trolley and holding it up to his face. His eyes widened in surprise.
Brigg had made no exaggeration. From just below his cheekbone and curving down, a dull grey slab of metal replaced almost two thirds of his lower jaw on his left side, teeth and all. The edges were speckled with blood where it had been grafted to his face, the skin cauterised. He lolled his head from side to side to get a better angle, examining the blocky contours of the metal maw and gently testing the motion. His jaw moved from side to side without pain, but it still felt decidedly odd, like someone had tied a brick to one side of his head.
"Gonna take some getting used to, eh?" Jarrko chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it makes you look interesting. Girls like scars." He glanced at Amelia. "Don't they?"
"Oh, shut up." She gave him a withering look. Thaye just smirked.
Ryke tried a smile himself. The left side of his face felt tight, unwilling to respond. In the end he simply sighed and shrugged, looking up at his companions.
"How much did I miss?" he forced out.
"You've been out for the better part of week while we fixed you up," said the medic, standing off to one side and watching proceedings.
"What happened to Alldeep?" Expressions faltered and he felt a sinking sensation in his gut. "Gone?"
"They might salvage it," Thaye replied, her face pinching uneasily. "But there was so much damage it's hard to say. We got most of the civilians out and Parnell's guys stopped them from tearing out the vital systems, but it'll be months before they can rebuild the infrastructure again."
"We did what we could, Ryke," Jarrko interjected, arms tightly folded, almost hugging himself. "We got a lot of people out alive, because of you. If you hadn't taken charge..."
"Thanks." The praise felt hollow. Their first engagement had still been barely more than a catastrophe. He felt like he'd salvaged some pride but little else.
At that moment the doors to the medical wing hissed open, and a tall, slim figure stepped through, clad in a black tank top, dust brown jacket and steel-coloured trousers. He almost didn't recognise the woman out of her pilot gear. The five recruits snapped to attention as she crossed the threshold, throwing crisp salutes to their superior officer.
"At ease," Sergeant Parnell said, smiling thinly, her emerald eyes flickering to Ryke's bed. "Thought I might find you all here." Then in three languid steps she was beside him, looking down. "How you doing, kid?"
Ryke spread his hands noncommittally. "Everything seems to be up and running."
"Glad to hear it." She tapped her jaw with a grin. "Nice piercing."
"I would've gone for something a little lighter if I had the choice."
To his surprise, the normally stern sergeant let out a short laugh. "I'll bet you would." Moving back from the bed, she motioned the others to stand in front of her. "With the exception of Vannigan, your debriefs have been completed and all tactical cam footage has been reviewed after the Alldeep operation."
Ryke tensed. Things had gone about as far from the plan as they could have gone on their first outing in their Hunter-Killers. He doubted they would come out of the review with a particularly glowing revue.
"I won't lie," Parnell continued, her tone flat. "It was a mess out there. Half of Alldeep's been levelled and the Engineering Cadres have had to allocate a huge portion of additional resources to try and get the place liveable again. We also lost nine Hunter-Killers in total, along with their pilots. As combat reports go, this was not a good one."
"Ma'am?" Ryke piped up.
"Yes?"
"Just... before we go further, did they figure out how the Scraegans managed to blow through the ridge? I know we didn't make the best first impression but they weren't supposed to be able to do that. Someone dropped the ball somewhere."
"I couldn't agree more." She inclined her head towards him. "I don't know what happened. The Scraegans have never used explosives before. They've never needed to. Techs are all over that ridge now, trying to figure out just what they used to blast through that much rock in one go." Clasping her hands behind her back, Parnell pursed her lips for a moment considering her words. "While it is true mistakes were made by both of your squadrons, I believe nature has balanced that out. I don't want to be insensitive to what you're going through right now, but we are in the middle of a war. Your first action has simply proved who deserves to be in a Hunter-Killer. The six of you have shown what you're capable of."
Ryke felt a tremor of anger pass through him at her remark, knowing that some of their number had been victims of lethal bad luck and nothing else. Swallowing his emotions he tried to stay calm, but he saw several of his comrades visibly stiffen at Parnell's words.
"Your friends were brave, and they'll be remembered, but right now we still have a job to do." She turned her gaze back to Ryke.
"Vannigan, after full review of the Alldeep operation Brekka command has provisionally authorised your promotion to sergeant. You and your pilots will form a new HK unit, and you will be assigned four qualified replacements to fill out your numbers. Report to Major Buchanan when you're fit for duty and we'll make it all official." A smile quirked the corners of her mouth once more. "As of today you're more than names and numbers. You are all Hunter-Killers."
*
The position of command left Ryke feeling slightly odd. He'd gotten used to following Kazem's lead during their training at Stamm Basin, but with him gone, it fell to Ryke to lay down the law. He stepped out in front of the others as they met the four new pilots that would bolster their numbers for the first time.
He only recognised one – a dark-skinned boy named Scantlin El'Vahari – who until recently had been a Raptor pilot for the ill-fated Squad Red. While the majority of the other squadron had been punted back down to their training and moulded into new units, the commanders at Stamm Basin had clearly seen enough in the after-action report that proved Scantlin to be the exception. That, and Ryke's ascendant squadron needed a new Raptor pilot to replace Vela.
A twinge of annoyance plucked at him as he looked over the newcomers, each of them taking a spot from those he'd trained with; grown up with, he supposed. The other three were a mishmash of different experiences.
Whip-like and grizzled and with skin like sandpaper, Norville Bankspur was a shaven-headed veteran, transferred to their squadron after his own had been badly mauled in action defending towns closest to the graveyard of Ozzmar. Standing beside him was Shayze Maloore; part of a small contingent of newly qualified pilots that had arrived from the northern cities to help bolster Brekka's defences. A demure woman, she was older than most of the others but with no combat experience. She stood tall, her vibrant frizz of black hair spilling down around her tanned face without a care.
Last but not least, Marylee McCutter joined them from the trainee unit, Squad White.
Although she had no true combat experience either, he understood why the officers had chosen to elevate her when he saw her training scores. Her combat ratings were exemplary; her reactions impressive even by Hunter-Killer standards and her prowess in close combat fighting made her a potentially game-changing asset. She was a heavily built girl with a blaze of chestnut locks swept back over her skull by a hair band, and her link skin only served to highlight the taut muscle that armoured her stocky frame.
"How are we doing?" Ryke began breezily, as much to keep himself at ease as their new companions. He tried to ignore the discomfort of his metal jaw. It didn't hurt – the medics had done a marvellous job in putting his body back together after the crash – but he still needed to get used to the heavy mechanical graft weighing down one side of his face. "I'm Sergeant Vannigan – you can call me Ryke." He extended a hand towards Norville.
The veteran pilot smiled through cracked lips and shook. "Not one for titles, Sergeant?"
"If I can avoid it," he returned, moving through the others and shaking their hands in turn. Marylee and Shayze accepted the gesture with smiles and nods, though he didn't fail to notice their eyes flickering to the metal grafted to his jaw. Only Scantlin looked ill-at-ease, the loss of more than half of Red Squadron and this subsequent transfer must've been a lot to process in a short space of time.
Making a mental note to have a word with the new pilot in private later, Ryke stepped back as the others made their introductions. They mingled for a moment, swapping names, jokes and smiles before all of them turned expectant eyes upon him. The weight of command settled onto his shoulders in that moment, and Ryke steeled himself for the days to come. The would be looking to him to keep them alive through the worst kind of hell Rychter could offer – he'd see that trust repaid.
"We're slated for full combat training drills this afternoon – full suite," he told them. "But before we do any of that, a little bird from the engineering cadre told me we've got some new gear to pick up. Everybody follow me."
With nine pilots in tow clad and ready in their link skins, Ryke marched across the heat-blasted concourse of Stamm Basin, making his way towards the main hangar where ten newly repaired, rearmed and deadly Hunter-Killers waited for them. They stuck to the carefully prescribed walkways, weaving through the near-constant flow of troops and mechs, and Ryke could barely fight down the anticipation fizzing in his chest.
Mulrough awaited them at the deployment bay, techs working feverishly behind him, and Ryke's eyes lit up at the sight of the line of waiting Hunter-Killers. His Hunter-Killers. He met the Drill Sergeant with a firm shake of the hand.
"I hear you gave a good account of yourself your first outing," Mulrough grated, clapping him on the shoulder. "Glad to hear it. You ready to get back in the saddle?"
"You're damn right I am, err, sir!"
Mulrough laughed, shaking his head and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Alright then, get moving. Check with Malewicz and move to your assigned bays."
They needed no second bidding. With Corporal Malewicz directing them the new squadron filtered out to their assigned stations, Ryke leading the way as he marched to a mech in the middle of the line. He stopped in front of it, feeling a tremor of excitement as he gazed at the Hunter-Killer.
It was the same machine, Ryke was sure of it. The repair job around the left shoulder socket was a good one, but he could see the slight fraying of metal and scraped paint that surrounded it. The whole left side of the machine was lashed with superficial scars, partly scorched from the furnace cannon shot. Someone had beaten the shield back into shape and replaced the mangled plates with fresh burnished brass.
And printed below the head in bold print was his new call sign: LOCKJAW.
Some might have viewed it as a rather insensitive moniker given his injuries, but Ryke liked it. It sounded raw, and he didn't want to forget that first engagement, as horrific as it had been. Those very experiences were what made the veteran pilots so valuable to the Hunter-Killer Corps in the first place. More than that, the call sign itself signalled his graduation to a fully-fledged Hunter-Killer pilot.
He looked left and right down the line as his companions were introduced to their new mechs, all of them sporting fresh paint jobs, repairs and their own eagerly awaited callsigns. Some had more abstract connotations while others had clearly been born out of the first engagement. Amelia's nickname from training stuck, and she didn't object, taking on the deceptive callsign of 'Princess' at the helm of her monstrous Goliath mech. Thaye's ferocity had not gone unnoticed, earning her the callsign, 'Havoc'. Norville Bankspur bore the moniker 'Sprocket' – supposedly a pilot with an unusual affinity for the inner workings of a Hunter-Killer, having made many non-regulation alterations to his machine's set up.
After a full week spent in the medical centre Ryke was more than ready to get back in saddle, more eager than he really expected truth be told. His mind failed to linger on the four dead pilots they'd left in the ruins of Alldeep, that possible introspection supplanted by the thrill of being a true Hunter-Killer. He'd earned his stripes the hard way – the way it was meant to be.
Nodding to the attendant, he mounted the ladder and effortlessly pivoted backwards into the pilot's cradle, the motion now comfortable and familiar after all they'd been through. The impact gel embraced him, his hands and feet locking into position and the faint twinge of the neural bridge linking him once again to the Hunter-Killer. He took a deep, steadying breath, the feeling of power washing over him like a salve. The mech had already kept him alive through the carnage of Alldeep – given the chance he'd put it to use exacting revenge for the pilots that had been lost there.
The HUD came alive and he found himself looking out into the hangar from the towering vantage point of his war machine. He could see on the display the indicators to his left and right flashing into life as his companions initialised their own connections. One by one the new squadron came to life. Nodding to himself and gathering his nerve, Ryke gave the order, his first as a true squad leader.
"HK-Rupture, this is Rupture One – callsign Lockjaw," he said firmly. "All units, on my signal...sound off!"
"Deadbolt – loud and clear."
"Skates – sounding off!"
"Havoc – loud and clear."
"Avalanche – solid copy."
"Princess – standing by."
"Haze – solid copy."
"Klaxon – ready and able."
"Gutz – sounding off."
"Sprocket – standing by."
Ryke gave a wolfish smile, easing his Hunter-Killer from its bay with a heavy step. Confidence surged through his veins, reality finally biting. He really was in command of his very own Hunter-Killer squadron, and he would not waste it. The war for Rychter was about to feel the full impact of Ryke Vannigan.
"Alright ladies and gentlemen," he shouted through the comm. "HK-Rupture, on my lead. Let's go to work!"