Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 04 - I Thought We Were Friends Now?

Year 248 P.L. Rychter Calendar
Coordinates: 54.1°S; 42.2°E
Site Designation: Coaler's Basin, Eastern Badlands

||

The new bars emblazoned on the shoulder of her uniform felt heavy.

Lieutenant Kaydie Brackenshaw had never wanted a promotion, but apparently she was just a little too good at her job to be allowed to stay put. And too many of her comrades in the Scout Cadre had died in the line of duty. These days being a survivor was qualification enough, it seemed.

The badlands wind bit at her swarthy, weather-beaten skin, and dark hair whipped around the base of her neck from beneath the rim of her blast helmet. Behind a pair of armoured goggles her grey eyes surveyed the tracts of the Southern Barrens, the glass reinforced and overlaid with a rudimentary HUD inside. She looked out as her blade-shaped skiff scythed through the torched air, the dusty, dried up lake bed of Coaler's Basin opening out before her.

She was twenty-six now, with a decade of war under her belt. After fighting that long, Brackenshaw didn't really know what to make of the newfound 'peace' with the Scraegans. Stopping the killing seemed like an objectively correct outcome, but the little voice in her head said that they'd left the job half done. After gearing their entire civilisation toward all out war for fifty years, shouldn't the human race have more to show?

"Valley – SC-10," came the voice of the commander of the accompanying HK-Atom, digging her from those bleak thoughts.

"Go ahead, Valley."

"Seismics showing clear and no Crawler traces on long range radar. Can you confirm?"

"Copy that," she replied calmly, striding back towards the rear of the skiff, soldiers on either side of her with long anti-armour rifles locked against firing rails on the upper deck, scanning the desert for threats. "So far, so quiet, just how we like it."

She passed one of the skiff's deck guns that rose from the middle of the armoured decking, manned by two soldiers – a spotter and gunner – ready to direct their deadly fire at a moment's notice. A second twin-linked rail cannon jutted up out of the stern, just in front of another spotter's cupola at the rear. Barrels swivelled left and right, hunting for a target.

Hopping up onto one of the firing steps, she peered back through the dust plume kicked up by the skiff's powerful lifter engines. The bulky Hunter-Killers were visible in the haze. Their silhouettes clumped along more than a hundred meters back, spread out in a textbook skirmish line.

"Haven't been any Crawler attacks report east of Alldeep for two weeks, ma'am."

"I'm aware."

"So you think we'll be sleepwalking this route much longer?"

Brackenshaw clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "You'll patrol the routes command says you patrol, Sergeant. No sense gargling about it."

"Yes, ma'am."

The disappointment was palpable. Valley and his squad were part of the fresh crop of Brekkan Hunter-Killer units; brand new mechs and brand new pilots who arrived just a little too late for all-out war. Young men and women picked for their aggression; for their violent aptitude. She could understand his feelings, even if she didn't condone them. He'd probably been working for this for most of his life.

"Just stay on our lead and keep your spacings tight," she continued. "If I know Rychter, the real action'll smack you in the teeth when you're least expecting it, so keep your people sharp, eh?"

"Copy that."

"Boxley – SC-10," another voice cut across the comm, this time from the scout skiff way out in front. "Got a contact out here, Lieutenant."