Year 248 P.L. Rychter Calendar
Coordinates: 42.1°S; 11.6°E
Site Designation: Badlands Liaison Post
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The noise was deafening.
Ryke flinched, leaping back from the line of displays, his head snapping towards the source of the blast. To the right of the gathering, somewhere within the Scraegan part of the liaison post, a huge eruption of fire burst between the rocks, flinging bulky stone machines and rubble end over end.
One Scraegan came tumbling out of the conflagration before pitching face first into the dirt, its back a ruin of metal and shards of sharp stone. Rock and rubble rained down on them and Ryke had to shield his head, surprise rooting him to the spot. Voices rose all around him in a shocked chorus. His ears rang; the comm links crackled with the emptiness of indecision.
Then the roars rose above it all. War howls that he knew only too well. In that moment, who had caused the explosion and why didn't matter. He could see the massive shapes of the Scraegans milling in the gloom. Another explosion thundered through the Liaison Post, and then he heard the tell-tale boiling snarl of charging furnace cannons.
What in the Everflowing River is happening?
The cauldrons of light pierced the gloom up ahead, all along the line of massive bodies. His eyes widened for an instant of horror, before his training broke through.
"INCOMING!" he screamed through the comm link, hurling himself sideways and tackling the closest Blackwater guard out of the way as the Scraegans fired.
Bressant and two of her bodyguards disappeared in a conflagration as a furnace shot tore through the line of human machinery. Half a dozen Blackwater soldiers were torched into oblivion in the opening salvo.
Ryke felt the intense heat as one of the blasts screamed overhead by just a few meters. Something blew apart and metal showered him as he went crashing to the ground. The guard entangled with him let out a blood-curdling shriek of agony as they landed.
Then the humans started shooting back. Gun positions screening the neutral grounds roared to life, and the guards not slain in the first volley scrambled for cover, anti-armour rifles barking as they went.
Politics was gone now. It was just survival.
Looking down, he saw that a spar of broken metal had hacked a deep gash in the guard's leg from knee to hip, and blood spilled liberally onto the grit of the plateau. The veins stood out on the young man's neck as he gritted his teeth, trying to staunch the bleeding.
"C'mon!" Ryke growled, dragging the guard's arm over his shoulder and looking around frantically for assistance.
What he found was the shadow of a Hunter-Killer thumping into the smoke towards the Scraegans. A second loomed a little further away, cannon whirling into life. The head section of the closer mech swivelled towards him for an instant, cameras piercing through the smog of gunsmoke and pulverised rock.
"GO, BOSS!" Preese yelled. "Get to your rig – we'll cover you!"
Ryke launched himself out of cover, dragging the injured guard along with him. The man screeched in pain but propelled himself along nonetheless on his uninjured leg, hopping madly as Ryke pulled them both behind the protective shadow of the two Hunter-Killers.
The comms continued to blaze with panic and confusion, but Ryke couldn't stop to untangle it now. He needed to get to his Hunter-Killer.
"Medic!" he bellowed, still heaving the injured guard onward. "I NEED A MEDIC!"
YOU ARE READING
Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)
Science FictionAfter decades of all out war between human and Scraegan, the planet Rychter has finally settled into an uneasy peace. Both sides can rebuild, lick their wounds, and for the first time try to coexist. But the war isn't over for everyone. Without the...
