New faces. 

It had been a while, Ryke realised, since they'd actually gotten new recruits for HK-Rupture. He never forgot them, the people left behind to the River along the way, all the way back to his old squad leader, Kazem – their rookie comrades, Vela, Laquen, Cobley, all lost in their first ever engagement.

He ran through all the names – Jarrko, Amelia, Thaye, Norville, Ricardo and more – but over time he just had to bury them, like he had his own private graveyard in his mind. After a certain point, he just couldn't keep opening that door. People died in war, and that was the reality in which he lived his life.

Now the process would begin again.

Ryke stood in Stamm Basin's main hangar, in front of the serried ranks of Hunter-Killers. The two rookie pilots stood before him, stiff as rods, eyes front as they waited for his assessment. He glanced at his data slate for a moment, brow furrowing.

On his left stood the Riot pattern pilot, Andross 'Pace' Narion, and the right, Yassyn 'Scythe' Miezer, who would be replacing the late Mayder Ricardo as the squad's second Raptor pilot. Andross was a short, brick-bodied young man with a lean crop of black hair, while Yassyn towered over both of them, a clutch of thick, dark braids bundled back behind her head.

Ryke examined them. Sixteen and seventeen respectively, fresh out of Brekka's training grounds. Both of them were top of their class, with impressive scores across the board – he couldn't have asked for much more than this, but that didn't make him feel much better. 

They might have averted civil war with the north, and a fresh campaign against the Scraegans, but it seemed there was always something else waiting on the horizon. He winced, trying not to think too much about the ship, instead focusing his faculties on Andross and Yassyn.

"Welcome to HK-Rupture," he said. "My name is Sergeant Vannigan, callsign, 'Lockjaw'. You can call me Ryke, sir, or sarge."

They both saluted.

"At ease." Ryke made a dismissive gesture. "Would I be right in thinking you know who I am? And you know my unit?"

"Yes, sir!" Andross blurted, giving a vigorous nod. Yassyn nodded too, but managed to contain herself with a little more decorum.

"Alright. That means you know we get a lot of the bad currents nobody else wants to swim."

More nods.

"So we understand each other." He exhaled deeply clasping the data slate behind his back in both hands as he looked at them. "I shouldn't have to explain to you the odds of survival once you get into a Hunter-Killer. What I will tell you is that as of right now, the training scores that got you assigned to my unit don't mean a whole lot. They got you this far, but HK-Rupture has some of the best pilots in Brekka. If you want to pull your weight with them - with me - you do as your told, you listen and you learn. Do that, and hopefully we'll be spending a good long time together."

"We will, sir." Yassyn shifted a little on her footing, looking like she wanted to say more. "Sir, I..." Her mouth lingered open for a moment. She closed it abruptly.

Ryke cocked a curious eyebrow. "Something to say, pilot?"

"I was just curious, sir," she blurted. "Is it true you're friends with a Scraegan?"

"And where did you hear that?"

"It's all over the barracks," Andross interjected. He cleared his throat. "Err, sir."

"Is it really?" Ryke smiled thinly, letting the data slate drop by his side. "Will you both relax? This isn't a court martial."

They tried, but he could still they were still on edge about the topic, trying a little too hard to look casual. He sighed, one foot tapping against the concourse.

"Why do you ask?"

"I guess..." Yassyn glanced at Andross, who hunched his shoulders awkwardly. "I guess we were just trying to understand."

"There is one Scraegan, though I don't think you could exactly call us 'friends'," he told them. "There is a pack leader who, over the last year, I have been on several missions with."

"Is it true it has a name? An actual name?" Yassyn's eyes were wide with curiosity.

Ryke suddenly realised there were no accusations in these questions. The two new pilots simply wanted to know more about the Scraegans; to try and get to grips with something at odds with everything they'd been learning for most of their lives. Probably when they'd started their training the great beasts in the south had still been sworn enemies. Then the campaign against the Crawlers had brought the warring parties together.

And then recent months had torn things apart again. No wonder the rookies were struggling to know exactly where they stood.

"Yes, he has a name," he replied. "It's a little awkward to say, but we call him Grunn."

"Woah." Andross scratched his hair, his face pinching as he considered that. "Didn't really know if they had names."

"I'm not sure if the concept translates exactly in their society," Ryke continued with a shrug. "But they're individuals. They must identify each other somehow."

"Does that mean we'll be working alongside Scraegans, sir?" Yassyn asked.

"Would that be a problem?"

"No! I mean, I don't think so, sir." She bit her lip. "It's just, our training..."

"You were trained to fight them. I know." He nodded sympathetically. "So was I. And it took a while, but I got over it. Besides, if you keep an eye on your reports, you'll know that not every Scraegan wants to play nice."

"Yes, sir."

"Grunn's still in the city. Odds are you'll meet him soon enough," Ryke said. "I've got some things I need to sort out before we get any deployment orders. You'd better hit the barracks. Find Corporal Preese Sarassian – callsign 'Deadbolt'. He'll introduce you to the squad and get you situated." He stood straighter, looking from one pilot to the other. "Dismissed."

*

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"I... yeah, I think it's right. I think I should." Ivy shrugged, fiddling with a stray strand of hair. "I mean, he helped save my life, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did."

"So, I should at least, you know, see him."

"You know, he saved my life, too."

She laughed weakly. "Who'd have thought it?"

"Neither of us, I'll wager."

He smiled as they trudged across the concourse of Stamm Basin that evening. There weren't a lot of other people around in this distant, derelict part of the base, and he could hardly blame them. If someone had told him a year ago that they would be billeting a Scraegan pack inside the city walls, he would have laughed them out of the room.

But times had changed. When Grunn and his warriors had followed Ryke back into the city, they had effectively trapped themselves inside. Until now, no one had even considered letting them leave – the northern units would have opened fire on sight before the arrival of Xanthus. Now that things had simmered down, the question of what to do with their guests had reared its head again.

For now Ryke was just glad to be out of his Hunter-Killer. He was relishing the time outside of the machine for now, the aches fading from his muscles after days and days of constant strain. And not just the physical strain of piloting the war machine. His mind needed a break, too.

He kept replaying every second of the encounter with the northern troops in his mind; saw the burning wrecks and dead bodies. That would never go away. Killing Scraegans had been one thing – they had always been enemies. They were different; alien. Even with his newfound camaraderie with Grunn didn't make him regret what he'd done.

War was war. After all, the Scraegans had killed his family. He had more reason for retribution than most.

Human blood would be harder for him to wash out of his conscience.

"You okay?" Ivy asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm good. It's just been a strange few weeks."

"I'll drink to that," she agreed, taking a gulp from her canteen of shiner. He followed suit and smacked his lips in satisfaction at the taste. He'd spent too long drinking half-assed knock-offs that couldn't hold a droplet to Ivy's home brew.

Rychter's suns dipped low against the walltop as they approached the yawning, disused vehicle hangar. It was mostly a storage yard now, but space had been cleared at the back where Grunn and his warriors lurked. They weren't exactly prisoners. There were no cell bars and no soldiers guarding them, but he didn't really know if the Scraegans would appreciate the semantics.

Ryke could smell them before he reached them, that kind of earthy, burnt musk that followed them wherever they went. Then he heard them, the low grunting and snuffling of Scraegan conversation accompanied by their heavy footfalls. He could also smell the sizzle of meat – a thick sandcoiler from the scent of it.

"Just remember what I told you," he said. "Just be calm, be respectful, and you'll do fine."

"Easy for you to say."

"Hey, it's still a trip through the Rapids. I've just rode it a few more times than anyone else."

Taking her by the hand, he stepped around a barricade of crates to find Grunn and his warriors sprawled around a hearth, looking surprisingly at ease. They lapped at barrels of water and ripped chunks of the pale coiler meat off long spikes, chewing with relish and rumbling conversation to each other. Ryke's eyes fell on the furnace-cannons strewn around the area, unlatched from their arm-mounts – just big inert hunks of machinery.

Seeing the Scraegans look so... casual made his head spin.

Eyes turned on them. The closest warrior examined him and Ivy for a moment, then snorted dismissively, returning its attention to the skewer of meat. He felt her squeeze his hand tight, her body rigid.

Grunn himself lounged against a supporting pillar, helmet off to one side and a water barrel held in one bulky paw. He spotted Ryke and his nose crinkled. He cocked his head to one side, scrutinizing Ivy for several seconds. Then he let out a short cough of a growl and with his free paw, beckoned.

Ryke tried to look calm as he led her through the pack of warriors, aware of the stares following them every step. He reached Grunn, and raised the canteen of shiner.

Drink?

Grunn whuffed out something approaching a laugh and patted the crate beside him. It was a big old ammo crate, large enough that Ryke had to perform an undignified scrambling climb to get onto it, but none of the Scraegans seemed to notice. After helping Ivy clamber up after him, they both shuffled over till they were alongside Grunn, legs dangling over the side.

Breathing deep, he gave Ivy a small nudge. She cleared her throat as Grunn's ponderous skull swung to appraise her.

"Hi," she managed haltingly, a petrified smile flitting across her face as she lifted her own drink.

Grunn let out a grunt, and raised his barrel, taking a long swig. Water splashed down over his jaws and chest, but he didn't seem to care, shifting his position to sit more comfortably.

Ryke clinked canteens with Ivy and took a sip. Ivy gulped from hers, and thus fortified, turned back to Grunn.

"Grunn-Rut-Rut," she said, though she said it like a human, with none of the animal inflection the Scraegan language required.

"You've got to do it properly," he advised her leaning close.

"I ... but how do I...?"

"You know how they sound."

"So I pretend?"

"Pretty much."

"I'll sound like an idiot."

Ryke pointed to the Scraegan warriors. "Not to them."

"Pissing Rivers," she muttered. "Alright, alright, alright." Huffing and puffing for a second to brace herself, she straightened her back, looked right at Grunn and repeated the Scraegan's name, this time doing her best approximation of their animal bark.

Immediately he saw her cheeks redden with embarrassment, but the response came in an instant. Grunn straightened up with an approving rumble, and all around them the warriors of his back raised skewers and barrels, echoing their leader's name.

"Nice work," Ryke whispered.

Ivy winced, but she looked to Grunn again. "I came here," she said, speaking slow and clear, just like he'd taught her, "to say thank you." She pointed to the ground, then the Grunn. "You helped us. Helped me."

Grunn's face stayed blank for a moment as the Scraegan processed her simple phrases. Then he dipped his head slowly. Placing the barrel of water down, he scooped up a skewer of meat and held it up to her.

"I think this is him saying, 'you're welcome'," Ryke said.

"Oh." Ivy eyed the meat suspiciously, then reached forward to tear off a strip. Meeting Grunn's stare, she popped it into her mouth and started chewing.

Her face brightened.

"Good?"

"Honestly, it's not bad," she conceded.

*

They stayed there among the Scraegans, watching, speaking in hushed tones and exchanging brief, stunted conversations with Grunn as best they could. A pleasant haze of heat and alcohol enveloped Ryke and it wasn't long before he was half-dozing on Ivy's shoulder. Some of the Scraegans slept, some fiddled with their weapons, and others engaged in a strange kind of playful fencing, jabbing at each other with the long meat skewers.

His mind carried him away in that moment. He allowed himself to understand that the Scraegans were not some plague of demons sent to destroy humanity. They were just another group of intelligent creatures, with all their own hopes, dreams and sorrows. 

But then war came back into all their lives.

Two familiar faces rounded the corner of the Scraegan refuge – Preese and Brigg. Both pilots stopped dead at the sight of the sprawling Scraegans, and several heads turned. Low growls echoed through the space. The pack knew Ryke's face, but his squad was a different matter.

"It's okay," Ryke said, looking to Grunn and nodding.

The Scraegan pack leader barked a command and the others fell quiet again, sullenly turning back to their meals. The two young men exchanged nervous looks, and then scurried across the empty space between them like frightened animals.

"Boss. Ivy." Preese pulled up a little short, giving Grunn a nervous nod. "Hey, big guy."

Grunn acknowledged him with a rumbling growl, inclining his head. Beside Preese, Brigg looked even more ill-at ease, the burly Goliath pilot looking the Scraegan up and down with undisguised fear. Clearly he didn't like being this close to one of their old foes outwith the confines of his mech.

"What is it?" Ryke asked as Ivy reluctantly stirred and lifted her head from his shoulder.

Preese sighed. "Would you believe, I've got some bad news?"

He put down his shiner and rubbed his eyes with both hands. "I believe it."

"You wanna hear it now?"

"Do we have a choice?" Ivy groaned, ruffling her hair and glowering at the pair.

"You could always order me to shut up."

Ryke managed a weak chuckle at that. "I suppose I could."

"Well?"

He looked to Ivy. She made a dismissive gesture to his squadmates.

"No point in delaying the bad news." He spread his palms. "Out with it, both of you."

"They made contact," Brigg said flatly, still casting uneasy glances at Grunn as the Scraegan waited, those black eyes inscrutable.

Ryke straightened like he'd been electrocuted and hopped down from the crate. "Contact? With the ship?!"

"Yeah. Our old pal Brackenshaw just reported back." Preese grimaced, shaking his head. "It's not good."

"What happened?"

"The things in that ship aren't friendly."

His heart lurched. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's okay. They bugged out before a full engagement could happen, but based on the initial reports, this is going to be bad."

"How bad is bad?"

"I haven't seen the footage myself," Preese answered, fidgeting uneasily, "but I caught up to Corporal Locke in the barracks and she gave me a little info. She said the things just ripped through a whole pack of those orange Scraegans – tore them to pieces. Furnace cannons didn't even slow 'em down."

"Things," Ivy said, sliding down of the crate to land beside him. "What things? What are they?"

"I don't know, exactly. Just... something else. Big things, insect-like, from what Locke said." He sighed scraping the fingers of both hands through his hair. "And apparently, they brought a fresh pack of Crawlers along for the fun and games."

She bit her lip, turning her canteen back and forward in her hands. "Drown me. Thought we'd seen the last of the Crawlers."

"I think we all hoped that."

Brigg nodded in agreement. "Blackwaters are sifting through the combat cam footage right now. They're holding an emergency briefing at 2200 – real big party. Everyone that matters is going to be there." He managed a smile, but Ryke could tell his long-time comrade was burying his fear deep down.

Beside them Grunn stirred, taking a small step forward. A small step for the big Scraegan was still enough to send a tremor through Ryke's ribcage. He looked up to see the warrior staring at them all, brow furrowed. He might not have spoken the human language, but Scraegans could read body language like anyone else. Grunn huffed and growled, giving Ryke an expectant nudge with the side of his leg.

Ryke jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the Scraegan. "Are we inviting anybody else?"

"I... err, I guess they've not quite decided how to actually explain it to them."

"We've got the cams don't we?"

Preese nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Well, get somebody to load a data a slate with the footage and show it to them. They need to know. And if these things are hostile, I think we're going to need all the help we can get." Ryke spun around to Grunn, drawing a large rectangular shape with this hands, trying to indicate a screen. "I'll be back," he said, speaking slow and clear. "I'll be back. I will show. Okay?"

Grunn didn't look entirely convinced, but Ryke knew he didn't have time sit her trying to mime his way through such a complex message. Instead, he swallowed his trepidation, reached out and firmly pressed a hand against Grunn's paw, feeling a thumping pulse and the heat of the Scraegan's blood.

"Stay. Here." He enunciated the words heavily. "I will be back."

He glanced at Ivy, and she put a firm hand on his shoulder, gripping tight like she didn't want let go. In the end, though, her fingers slid away and she gave him a firm kiss on the cheek – a seal of approval.

Permission to do what needed to be done.

He turned back to Preese, knowing he was about to step into yet another long, bloody chapter of Rychter's history.

"Let's go."