Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 30 - We're Not Friends

Grunn-Rut-Rut.

Ryke had done his best to replicate the sounds. With comms closed, he muttered it to himself in the confines of his Hunter-Killer as they trudged their way south. He tried not to think about how comical he must have sounded.

Deep, deep, deep into Scraegan territory. He checked the maps over and over as they went, picking out landmarks and marking the Scraegan settlements that had been identified by the human military.

Grunn – he decided that would as shorthand for now – led them in a zig-zag course around those settlements, avoiding large pockets of Scraegan warriors. Ryke wondered how many of Grunn's compatriots knew about this excursion, and how many out of that number would take a dim view of escorting a Hunter-Killer squadron through Scraegan territory. He watched the signatures on the seismics as the Beta led them onward, underground and maybe a hundred yards out in front.

The Blackwaters reliably informed him after some deliberation that Grunn was a male, though Ryke could hardly tell the difference. Physically there wasn't much to separate the genders in size and strength, and he'd never had any interest in the subject. It was all the same if you were trying to pummel each other into oblivion. He'd managed to figure out how to say some basic greetings, as best as his human vocal chords could manage but most of the communication between them was visual – all screens and gestures.

So far that had been enough.

They trekked onward, following the path of the Scraegan pack closely. Occasionally Grunn would surface with a few warriors, checking to see if the humans were still there. Then his big body would go churning back down into the loose earth of the badlands again. His pilots stayed quiet, trudging along in a skirmish line, but clearly ill-at-ease with being this deep behind Scraegan lines.

Three hours later, with the twin suns sinking low into towards the horizon, his comm came to life.

"Haunter-Lockjaw?"

"Go ahead." Ryke straightened sharply in the pilot cradle, rolling his neck from side to side.

"I got something on the seismics, Sarge," Kim said. "Regular pulses. Err ... looks kinda like the pulses the Blackwaters were sending out from those big bloody hammers of theirs."

"Scraegan long comms?" Fenix interjected in surprise.

"I think so. Not consistent with pack movement."

"Don't suppose anybody's got a translator?" Brigg muttered.

"Cut the chatter," Ryke ordered. "Hold your formation."

The comms went quiet, and he inhaled deeply, watching and waiting. After a couple of minutes the seismic pulses Kim had reported began showing on his own HUD, echoing out from somewhere much further south. Then the line of Grunn-Rut-Rut's pack suddenly stopped moving.

"Halt!" Ryke barked instantly. "Everybody pull up. Something's happening."

Acknowledgements skittered down the comm and the Hunter-Killers halted sharply in their skirmish line. He scanned the terrain, looking instinctively for threats. The seismic thumps of communication continued for another minute, a repeating pattern. The techs and linguists were still trying to discern actual meaning from those patterns, and right now he had no idea if this was a command to attack, or the Scraegan equivalent of a postcard.

A moment later Grunn-Rut-Rut and his pack came exploding to the surface.

Ryke's hands flinched, his reflexes almost sending a hail of shots from his cannon at the emerging Scraegans. Too many memories of fights that had started this way. The seismic readings stopped at that moment, and he forced himself not to open fire, breathing deep.