"You're joking me."

"Drown that – we've been working our backsides off as a unit and now they're going to start carving us up?"

"This is crazy. Who in the River are these people anyway?"

Ryke kept his own council as the objections flew thick and fast, and he felt a sudden surge of relief that he hadn't tried to muscle his way into any kind of leadership roll. Kazem stood with a helpless look on his face, struggling to get a word in edgeways as the others bombarded him with their displeasure.

The announcement had come through that afternoon from Mulrough. The drill sergeant confirmed what Vela had told them several nights ago: Ozzmar, one of the largest, well defended towns to the south west of Brekka, had been obliterated by a concentrated Scraegan assault that matched any attack on record.

Following the incident, military preparations were being accelerated into extremes. People in the remaining southern towns were descending into a panic. Local officials were bombarding the Brekkan command post with demands for more troops and Hunter-Killer detachments to secure themselves against further Scraegan incursions, and keep an increasingly agitated population in line.

The demand far outstripped the forces available. In response to the crisis Bekka Command had authorised a truncated induction programme for recruits for every single arm of their stretched military force – the Hunter-Killers were no exception.

With the sudden influx of new prospective pilots, the existing squadrons were being reorganised to ensure the newest recruits were mixed in with those who'd already undergone a large portion of training in an effort to further speed up every stage of the process. Their squad was not spared from the resulting carve-up.

"Everything they've been drilling into has been about how we're supposed to work as team, as a unit," Brigg ranted. "And now they just turn around and start cutting and pasting?"

"They can drown this shit," Raquelle muttered bitterly. "We were getting somewhere as a team and they're throwing it away. Now me and Deisha are getting screwed in with these drifters. I mean, what are they expecting? I've barely learned to pilot those practice suits and now they think we're going to help teach these people? It's crazy!"

Beside her, Deisha who until now had been Green Eight, nodded her agreement, a black look stamped on her deeply tanned face. She tucked a stray loop of frizzy dark hair behind her ear, eyes boring into the concrete of the mess hall floor.

"Well what do you want me to do?!" Kazem snarled suddenly, earning himself a moment of silence. "I don't run this damn place. We can make formal protests through the command chain, but with everything that's going on right now do you really think that'll accomplish anything? I know it sucks but we're stuck with it."

"He's right," Preese offered, his soft, husky voice seeming to exude calm. "They're just trying to maximise their resources as quickly as they can. They wouldn't do it if they didn't have to. Ozzmar's a bad, bad sign."

"Do we at least know who's coming in?" Ryke asked, breaking his silence at last.

"Two from the refugee intake from Ozzmar, that's all I know."

"When?

"Mulrough's assigning new squad rosters in the morning."

"By the River," Vela cursed. "Not wasting time are they?"

Kazem shrugged. "Would you?"

Ryke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. It was a mess, but a mess not of their making. Internally he see-sawed back and forth, on the one hand equally as angry about their squad being broken up, on the other fully understanding the dire situation that Ozzmar's destruction represented. They needed more Hunter-Killers and fast.

"Look," he began heavily. "When we signed up to this outfit, we signed up to do whatever it takes to protect the people; people who can't fight for themselves. If that means we have to stomach some crap along the way, I say we deal with it."

"Easy for you to say," Raquelle snapped. "You're not the one being transferred."

He tensed, eyes narrowing into a glare. "If I was, I'd find a way to deal with it."

"Screw you."

"Enough!" Kazem shouted. "There is nothing we can do about it so all of you just bury this crap right now. We turn up tomorrow morning, just like every other day, and do exactly what Mulrough tells us to do – nothing less, nothing more." Shaking his head in frustration he pushed up off of the table he'd been leaning against and trudged away. "Now all of you get to your bunks. Looks like we're going to have a hell of a long day tomorrow."

Ryke didn't need to be told twice. Letting his glare linger on Raquelle for just a moment longer than necessary, he stormed off, emotions fizzing inside him. He didn't go straight to his bunk though – his mind was too active to sleep and he still had half an hour before official lights out for the recruits on the base. He left the mess hall and took a stroll across the empty training ground, trying to order his thoughts.

Before long, however, he realised he wasn't alone.

He stopped, listening to the soft footsteps for a moment, and then turned around. To his surprise he saw Amelia making her way across the concourse in his wake. Her pink hair hung loose and free now that they weren't actively training, its volume spilling down around her shoulders. She was clad in the simple grey tank top and shorts that all the recruits wore for their exercises, slim, long legs spearing down from her small torso.

"Hey," she began awkwardly, stopping beside him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Ryke gave a fatalistic shrug. "I guess everyone's a little on edge, that's all. What about you?"

"Oh, it doesn't make much difference to me. Nobody really likes me anyway."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think-,"

"Don't bother yourself," she laughed, flapping a dismissive hand at him. "If I particularly cared what other people thought of me I wouldn't be here, and I don't think any of us signed on that dotted line just to try and make new friends."

"I guess not."

"They can snipe and sneer all they want, but unless I get kicked out of this camp by the people whose opinions actually matter, they can take their opinions and rotate on them."
Ryke smirked. "I'm not going to argue with that."

"I mean the others, of course," she said quickly. "You were nicer than them on the first day. You tried to help."

"You might have a bit more shine on your back than most of us, but you still passed the tests," he told her. "I figure ragging on you for it won't help anybody. There's nothing special about it."

"I think you sell yourself short, Ryke," Amelia said, lips pursed in thought. "I've watched everybody – perks of being a fly on the wall, I suppose. You don't stick your words in unless you've got something useful to say. There's a lot of bluster on this base – I think we need someone more grounded. You're the only one who's ever seen a real Scraegan and the others respect that. Even if they don't always show it."

He snorted. "That's just luck. Bad luck."

"Maybe so, but for what it's worth, I'm glad we've still got you." She flashed him a pearly smile in the night. "Don't stay out too long. Otherwise Sergeant Mulrough will have you strung before the Scraegans get a chance."

"Yes, milady."

"Oh, shut up!" She gave him a playful slap on the arm and then she was off, striding languidly back across the concourse towards their barrack block.

Ryke looked up at the encroaching night sky and smiled.

*

The next morning rolled around with the finality of a guillotine. Ryke joined the others lined up in ranks on the training ground in front of Sergeant Mulrough. He stood at ease, feet shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind his back, looking at the motley collection of newcomers who would soon be joining them. Beside him Jarrko leaned in ever so slightly, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

"Drown me," he muttered. "I hope we didn't look like that when we showed up here!"

Ryke stifled a laugh, shooting his friend a warning glance before turning his attention back to the new recruits. He counted a score of them, ranging from those around his age to others who could have been in their mid-twenties. They'd been outfitted in the usual slate grey ensemble of tank tops and shorts, and kitted out with elbow and knee guards and tough boots in preparation for combat drills. Many of them looked decidedly unimpressive – scrawny, haggard looking individuals with a faintly shell-shocked air about them.

The ranks of the established squads rippled with gentle murmurs of curiosity, discontent and confusion as they assessed those who would soon be joining them. There was a sense of injustice about these people getting thrown in at the deep end without the same kind of training schedule Ryke and his comrades had benefited from. They'd been fast-tracked through, and Ryke couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it cheapened what he and the others had accomplished so far.

But, as Kazem had said, there was nothing they could do about it.

Silence descended on the group as Mulrough stepped forward, a data slate balanced on one calloused hand as he eyed them balefully.

"Listen up!" he thundered, his voice carrying high into the morning air. "We have new recruits joining our company this morning. Your squads will be reordered to accommodate new trainees. I know some of you have been complaining about your transfers, so I'm only going to say this once: I don't care." He let the phrase hang for a moment, as though daring anyone to challenge him on the matter. "None of you are qualified pilots, so you do not have the luxury of questioning command assignments. Anyone who has a problem with their new roster, keep it to yourself. Do you understand?"

If anyone had still been entertaining any notion of protesting, Mulrough's words swiftly put paid to that idea, and forty voices crisply barked out, "SIR, YES, SIR!"

"Alright then. The following squad members will fall out and report to Corporal Henequen for reassignment. Red Four, Six and Ten..."

He moved through the squads one by one, peeling two or three members from each. Ryke kept his eyes front as Raquelle and Deisha reluctantly detached from the line and trooped over to where the female trainer waited with a slate of her own. With the initial cull complete, Mulrough moved on, turning to face the new recruits.

"The rest of you listen up! Your squad assignments are as follows: Whelker, E. Squad Red. Navlin, R. Squad Orange. Arkady, P. Squad White."

The names rolled off, the original four squadrons now formed into six, still recognised by their colours and numbers until they earned a real Hunter-Killer callsign. As their names came up, the rookies stepped swiftly out of line under Mulrough's watchful eye and scuttled off the join their respective squads. Ryke listened intently for the names that would be joining their unit

The first was Laquen, an older boy with a shaved head who seemed fairly level-headed, albeit somewhat taciturn. He introduced himself, friendly enough with a twanging accent from the towns south west of Brekka where all their vowels seemed somehow boneless, elongating the words he spoke.

The girl that arrived after him gave Ryke pause for thought though, and not in a good way. Hollow cheeked and slender, she was about a head shorter than him, with dirty blond hair clipped at the base of her neck and tied into a ponytail. Although not particularly impressive physically, that wasn't what worried him. It was her eyes.

He could see a wild, near-feral rage simmering there and knew exactly where it had come from. This newcomer was him, just several years closer to the brutality of having her home smashed to nothingness right in front of her eyes.

But it was done now, and no-one would be changing the assignments any time soon. Mulrough gave them a whole five minutes to make introductions before the days drills began – drills that he was quick to remind them were already running behind schedule thanks to the reorganisation.

"Name's Kazem," Squad Green's nominal leader introduced himself, shaking Laquen's hand firmly. "I run this little band."

Ryke expected someone to object. After all they hadn't exactly had a meeting to make it official, but Kazem's brand of breezy confidence seemed to serve him well. No-one batted an eyelid as he made the statement. Then he turned to the other newcomer.

The girl didn't offer a hand. "Thaye. My name's Thaye." Her voice was tight, as though the words wanted to scramble back down her throat rather than be heard.

"Good to meet you both," Kazem continued, not phased by her stand-offish response. "You're taking over at Green Seven and Green Eight. These are your squad mates." He began introducing the others, one by one, working his way down the numbers. When it came to his turn Ryke introduced himself as politely as he could. Again, Laquen gave him a handshake – as friendly as he could expect from someone still reeling from the loss of their home.

Thaye kept her cold distance, giving him the barest nod of acknowledgement. In that instant he knew they had a problem. The ten squad members needed to work like a well oiled machine to have any chance of facing a real Scraegan force and living. If she didn't learn to work with them, disaster was just a deployment away.

For the moment, Ryke kept his concerns to himself, Mulrough's crystal clear ultimatum still raw in his mind. Instead he resolved to bring it up with Kazem later, in private.

"Now that you're all best friends," Mulrough bellowed once the squads were finally sorted out. "Combat pairings right now. I want rookies paired up with experienced recruits. Time to show you've actually been learning this stuff for real. MOVE IT!"

Orders from the trainers began flying thick and fast as the squads quickly scattered into pairs, but Ryke found himself thrust into working with Thaye. He felt a judder of conflicting emotions. He didn't want to be stuck with the surly, grim-faced girl, but on the other hand, this put him in a good place to lay some ground work for her integrating properly with the team.

Leaning into the latter, Ryke flashed a smile as they took up their positions. She didn't quite manage a smile back – her lips flickered faintly and she glanced toward the trainer outlining the next set of manoeuvres.

"It takes a bit of getting used to," Ryke told her, setting his feet. "So follow my lead. I'll get you up to speed."

"You don't need to patronise me," she snapped back. He almost replied, but bit back the retort that wanted to come searing off his tongue. Instead he shrugged and stepped forward, taking the offensive role in their first match.

She was quick – he had to admit it. He went for the long straight lunge that had been drilled into them as a Scraegan attack pattern, and she reacted with striking quickness, twitching her lean frame aside and clapping a palm to the outside of his elbow.

But her technique was wrong. Instead of deadening his momentum the blow kept him moving. So Ryke carried the swing in a full three-sixty as she stepped aside, and ended up slamming a clenched fist squarely into her stomach.

Thaye let out a choking cough of surprise, doubling over and almost collapsing to her knees. Ryke leapt forward and caught her shoulders to keep her upright.

"Easy, easy," he said quickly. "Just take a breath."

"By the Twins," she gasped. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm helping you," Ryke snarled, bringing his face close to hers. "You're quick but your technique is trash. Now stop being such an idiot and let me help you do it properly!"

He was about to continue, but realised Mulrough was watching him. Ryke froze. For a moment panic gripped him. Had he crossed a line? Was he about to be dragged from the concourse and chewed out by the drill sergeant?

But that didn't happen.

Mulrough simply gave him an approving nod and marched off.

He exhaled a breath of relief and eased Thaye into a standing position. She glared at him, planting her hands on her hips and breathing heavily.

"Fine," she hissed, sweeping dark hair back out of her face. "We'll do it your way."