Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 29 - We Are the Gatekeepers

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."