"Everflowing bloody River, is this serious?!" Fenix De Lunta exploded. "They want us to link arms and go for a drowning picnic with the Scraegans after everything that's happened?"

"Sounds that way." Preese rubbed his chin uneasily. "This for real, boss?"

"I'm afraid so," Ryke replied. He stalked back and forth in front of his squad with guilt clawing at every inch of his body. Behind them technicians scurried back and forth, running through their final checks of their war machines, their voices barely audible amidst the constant din of Stamm Basin's main hangar. The branches of the Brekkan army were swiftly shifting back onto a war footing in preparation for a new conflict that felt all but inevitable.

Unless he could make this work. If he could pull off another insane gamble. It wouldn't be the first time, but somehow the stakes felt even higher now, and he wasn't making the gamble on his own. If it had been up to him he would only have taken volunteers, but Bosede's orders had already been given.

HK-Rupture were going out there, and they were going together.

"We're only going to get one chance at this," he told them as he paced. "And if it goes wrong it's going to go all the way wrong."

"You just had to go and make friends, did you?" Brigg chuckled, folding his brawny arms across his chest with a smirk.

Ryke sighed and stopped pacing. "Look, I don't like this any more than the rest of you, but if we want to help the people still out at the Scraegar Labyrinth, this is the only way to do it. We can't just fight our way there."

"Does anyone even want to try?" Fenix muttered, shaking her head. "I don't know about this, Sarge. Even if they let us go for a walk through the badlands, when this war comes we're gonna be stuck a long way behind enemy lines."

"If it comes," Qadira cut in sternly, turning a disapproving look on the younger pilot. She was the oldest among them, even if not the most experienced. Sometimes, Ryke had to admit that he was still surprised to still find her here, given how acrimonious their introduction had been during the Crawler war. He still didn't fully understand why she'd stayed in Brekka rather than go home, but right now he was glad of her presence.

"Oh, it's coming," Erin grunted. "We played nice for a while, but the Scraegans aren't gonna let what happened go. They're getting ready for a big push, and we're not going to be here for it." She gave him a pleading glance, "Sure they can't send someone else?"

He smiled wryly. "Sorry, Two-Step, I'm afraid you're stuck with me." His shoulders sagged with a sigh and he made a chopping motion with one hand, silencing any further chatter. "This is happening, people, like it or not. And this one's personal, not just for me. Yeah, my brother is out there. Ivy is out there. But we all owe them a hell of a lot, and I'll be drowned if we're just going to abandon them. So it might be a crazy plan, but it's the best one we've got."

That got a low murmur of assent from the assembled pilots. Fenix scuffed a foot against the hangar floor and lowered her gaze.

Ryke nodded to the mechs as the technicians began to disperse, their pre-combat checklists completed. "We're not heading out there to start a fight, but we're going to be ready for one. Run all your system checks and make sure your rig is battle ready. Go!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" HK-Rupture answered in unison.

*

"Well, I can't make any promises," Sergeant Boxley said, "but they didn't start shooting at us, so I guess we can say that they're willing to listen."

The scout officer sounded more than a little apprehensive about their chances – clearly running a single skiff into firing range of the main Scraegan line hadn't been the most peaceful of experiences.

Ryke watched on the HUD as the modified vehicle raced back towards them, waiting for any sign of Scraegan hostilities. The seismics were lit up like a festival with all the motion out there, with dozens of packs moving back and forth beneath the desert sands. So far, though, everyone had managed to stay out of trouble. The Mammoth had dropped them off here an hour ago, on the human side of what Brekka's military cartographers rather generously referred to as the 'border' between human and Scraegan territory.

In front of them the rolling expanse of the Malljur Valleys stretched kilometres from left to right – an undulating, rising and plunging series of enormous dunes and wide-bottomed gulleys that the Scraegans had fortified long before Ryke was even born. Behind them stood a thick tangle of rocky crags, currently housing an advance battalion from Brekka. Two Scout Cadre flights, a full battalion of armoured infantry and the mechs of HK-Praxis skulked, ready to rush into the fray should this whole mad venture go wrong.

Boxley's skiff came whipping to a halt in front of them, its engines kicking up a churning vortex of dirt as it turned. On the deck he could see the diminutive shapes of the scout troopers moving back and forth, the long spines of their anti-armour rifles easy to spot through the Hunter-Killer's optics.

"We did our bit, Vannigan," Boxley said, sounding almost apologetic. "Guess you're not getting out of this."

"I guess not," Ryke confirmed, gently stretching his neck from side to side. "Thanks for the introduction. We'll take it from here."

"Good luck, sergeant. Stay safe – Boxley out."

And with that, the skiff zipped past them to join its fellows among the crags. Ryke winked through the Hunter-Killer's systems for the tenth time, checking every reading over and over. All the usual readings came back green, but there was one that he double checked again – the makeshift commscreen that the Blackwaters had lashed to his mech's chest plate. He'd used them before with his hands, but never had them interfaced like this.

He just hoped he'd be able to convey everything he needed to from within the confines of the Hunter-Killer.

Satisfied that the new equipment was in working order, he opened the comm to the wideband. "Lockjaw – Sharps."

"Go ahead, Lockjaw," came the voice of Brielle 'Sharps' Charpente, his comrade in arms commanding HK-Praxis. They'd been through a lot of hell together – he was glad to have her at his back right now.

"We're all clear," he said. "HK-Rupture proceeding on mission. Hopefully you'll be able to kick back with a scorch beer and just watch us ride into the sunset, but if this goes sideways-,"

"We'll be ready," she assured him quickly. "Gunnery teams have been painting that main gully for mine drops since we got here. You give us the signal and we've got enough ordnance to crack a new tectonic plate out here."

"Here's hoping you don't need it." Ryke allowed himself a thin smile. "Alright, here we go. See you on the other side, Sharps. Lockjaw, out."

Switching the comm over to the squad-wide, he took a deep breath. "HK-Rupture, sound off."

A clatter of crisp comm acknowledgements filled his ears for a few seconds and on the HUD he saw reactors powering up and weapons coming online. He looked around the interior of his mech, and knew that if he pulled this off, he wouldn't be seeing much else until they trekked all the way to the labyrinth. Extra fuel cells had been loaded onto every mech, but he still couldn't help wondering about what would happen if they got stranded.

No power. No mechs. No nothing.

Let's just not let it get to that, he told himself.

"HK-Rupture, on my lead," he barked, launching the Hunter-Killer into motion. "Let's not keep our hosts waiting."

Their heavy steps echoed out across the badlands, and in a line of metal, HK-Rupture advanced together into the unknown.

*

It took them twenty minutes to trudge across the gulf of no-man's land separating the two sides. He didn't see any Scraegans on the surface waiting for them, but he knew they were there. The seismics were screaming at him every step of the way, and Ryke did not like what they were saying.

There was an army under his feet, ready to pounce.

Only when they reached the mouth of the central valley – a yawning maw wide enough that the entire squadron could walk a line abreast – did the Scraegans finally show themselves. Two dozen warriors emerged on their flanks, rising gently out of their temporary burrows. They moved slowly and smoothly, dirt and sand sloughing off their armoured bodies as they turned their eyes on the encroaching humans.

"Everybody, remember why we're here," Ryke said quietly through the comm, pre-empting the instinctive reactions of his squadmates. "Keep your weapons cold."

A series of tepid responses came back, but none of his pilots rocked the boat. The Scraegans for their part, made no hostile moves, simply watching the Hunter-Killers as they walked.

"Lockjaw-Sharps?"

"Go ahead."

"We're in the valley, and we've made contact. So far, so good."

"Copy that, Lockjaw."

He could tell she wanted to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance that went beyond rank and protocol, but over the wideband her training won out, and she stayed quiet.

Then, maybe fifty yards deep into the valley, Ryke found himself face to face with another warband, and this one had an Alpha at its head. This one was tall, almost lanky, with a coat of rusty browns and reds beneath its sloped plates of armour. A furnace-cannon with an unusually long barrel was slung from its right paw, while the other bore a short-hafted axe with a head the size of a grown man.

He stopped, and the rest of HK-Rupture stopped with him. They stood staring down the Scraegans, and he was acutely aware of how easy it would be for the rest of the warriors to close in from behind and slam a trap shut, if that's what they wanted.

"I don't like this at all, sir," Fenix growled over the comm.

"I'll second that," Landis chuckled nervously. "Lockjaw, if they start powering up those cannons-,"

"Everybody just calm down," Ryke cut in, doing his best to keep his voice level. "Stick to the plan and by the Everflowing River keep your guns lowered. We've got one shot at this." As he spoke, a small flutter of hope ignited in his chest when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the Alpha's shadow.

The stocky warrior trudged into full view, planting the head of its hammer against the valley floor and letting out a short, guttural bark. Some of the other Scraegans exchanged looks – he could have sworn a couple of them let out snuffles of laughter.

Then the Alpha gave a bass growl and silence descended on the valley again. Ryke licked his dry lips and keyed a command into the comm slate. A moment later its speakers erupted with the facsimile of a Scraegan greeting.

"Hold your positions," Ryke ordered quietly. Then he took two slow, deliberate steps forward, making sure there was nothing sudden that might invite a furnace cannon shot. Some of the nearby warriors let out growls of challenge, but nobody moved.

Taking a deep breath, he cranked the outer speakers of his mech up to full, knocked an armoured knuckle against the Hunter-Killer's chest, and spoke his name.

RYKE.

The word reverberated off the valley walls for a frighteningly long time before the echo died. Seconds boomed by in his head, and at first there didn't seem to be any discernable response. The Scraegans just stared, their black eyes inscrutable as ever.

The Alpha gave a snort, and inclined its head to him.

It might have been granting permission, or giving an order - it was difficult to tell. The Beta let out a rumble of breath and trudged slowly out from the line of Scraegan warriors, its brutish face looking almost petulant about the whole affair. He couldn't help wondering if this warrior felt the same way he did – a diplomat by accident.

"Sharps-Lockjaw," Sergeant Charpente said softly over the wideband. "How are we looking?"

"Good news," he replied as the Beta approached. "Looks like my old pal is willing to hear us out."

He could feel his heart racing as the warrior trudged forward. This was it – this could be everything, the future of a world in the palm of his hand right now. The pressure was suddenly crushing, like the full weight of the River had just landed squarely on his shoulders. He clenched his fists, forgetting that the motion would be repeated by his Hunter-Killer.

The Beta stopped. It stared.

Clearing his throat and forcing himself to relax, Ryke unfurled his fingers.

The Beta started walking again. He could feel its footsteps vibrating the ground as it drew closer, until it eventually came to a halt maybe ten meters from him. It looked left and right, still looking almost put out by being the one selected for this task. Other Scraegans on either side let out low rumbles to each other.

His counterpart let out a heavy sigh of such force he actually felt the faint buffet of the wind against his Hunter-Killer. Then it reached up, and to his amazement, removed its helmet. The slab of metal came away, along with the serrated horn, revealing the Scraegan's face in full to him for the first time.

Its broad, flat head was covered in shaggy grey fur, with scars faintly visible along the forward portion of its face, where two big nostrils flared. The shape of its skull was almost an oval, sloping back to where a pair of rounded ears protruded. Seldom seen, Ryke found his eye drawn to them. Normally they would be hidden underneath the great armoured slabs the warriors wrapped themselves in.

Then it did something else he wasn't expecting.

It thumped itself on the chest and uttered a three syllable sound. When he didn't respond, it repeated the action twice more.

Grunn-Rut-Rut.

That was the closest Ryke's ears could decipher, and he belatedly realised that the Scraegan had just told him its name.