Ryke had been in a lot of briefings as a soldier in Brekka's army, but this one felt just a little bit different.

And not in a good way.

The main briefing room at Stamm Basin was packed to the walls with soldiers and support staff. He could see Hunter-Killer pilots, scout commanders, combat engineers, militia officers, even a handful of representatives from the Blackwaters.

On top of that, a section of the briefing room had been cordoned off for officers from the northern army. He couldn't stop himself from flinging a bleak, side-long glance at the men and women in that section, their spread of uniforms marking them out from the grey Brekkan fatigues. The crimson livery of Rubicon made him sizzle. After everything that had happened, the thought of going into battle alongside them made him feel sick.

But apparently everyone was expected to play nice now.

Around him, the rest of HK-Rupture settled moodily into their seats, their gazes flickering suspiciously to the northern soldiers, who for their part, didn't look any happier about this state of affairs.

On the raised dais at the front of the room, however, the commanders of the disparate groups gathered. Marshall Llewellyn from Rubicon was there, six and a half feet tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a neatly-pressed uniform of red and gold. His high-peaked officer's cap sat perfectly above his grey-black hair, and he appraised the room from behind his dark eyes.

Several other senior officers from the north stood with him, one of whom caught Ryke's eye – a sharp-featured woman with her blond hair shaven down both sides of her head, leaving only a thin ridge in the centre that tapered down into a short clump of braids. She had a harder look to her than the other officers, hands clasped behind her back as she examined the gathering. Her eyes burned blue like a pair of suns.

She looked like a Hunter-Killer.

His guess was proved to be correct, when she exchanged a respectful nod with Major Kwendo as he crossed the dais in front of her – a gesture of mutual respect between the pilots, no matter what else might have been happening. Colonel Hackley was there too, along with the Brekkan Commissariat minister, Khazwari, General Bosede, and Colonel Marrow of Brekka's militia.

Also there, at the centre of the stage, stood Commissary-General Xanthus, with the other minister, Numitor at her side. Ryke examined the man closely, trying to decide how he should feel. The north had brought nothing but trouble recently, but Numitor seemed to be one of the sensible voices – the one who'd actually taken Ivy's information and used it to figure out exactly what was coming.

"This must be bad," Brigg muttered, "for everyone to be up there playing nice."

"Funny how that happens," Ryke replied, folding his arms as the last stragglers filtered into the briefing room.

"Whatever this is," Kim put in icily from the row behind, "I'll take a trip down the Rapids before I go into a fight side-by-side with those bastards."

Qadira shot the Raptor pilot a black look. "Most of them were just following orders. I'm one of those bastards."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean?"

"Enough," Ryke snapped, twisting to look at them, and making a chopping motion across his neck with one hand. "Both of you, just bottle it! We'll follow whatever orders we get, and that's the end of it. Now shut up and listen."

The pair exchanged chastened looks; mumbled a 'yes, sir', and subsided. He stayed turned in his seat for a few extra seconds just to make sure, before swinging back around as the hum of chatter faded away.

General Xanthus was at the lectern now, and the huge viewing screen behind her shimmered into life. The woman cut an imposing figure in her robes of office, her face taut and accusing as she looked out at the assembled ranks of Rychter's forces.

"Good morning," she boomed, with a voice that took Ryke totally by surprise. "For those who do not know me, my name is Commissary-General Drae Xanthus, and I have come a long way to speak with you." She made a gesture with one hand; the black strap around her index and middle fingers pulsed and screen came alive.

They'd all heard the reports, but seeing the alien ship appear on the screen still sent a gasp of surprise through the soldiers. Ryke blinked and stared at the black mountain.

"Yesterday, our scouting sortie confirmed touchdown of this vessel in Rychter's southern hemisphere at 1646. As you can see, this is a huge structure, and our seismics have confirmed it has embedded itself into the planet's bedrock." Another flick of her hand, and the image zoomed, splitting apart and revealing the images of Scraegans at long range, approaching from opposite directions. "We were not the only ones to take notice. Scraegan packs from both identified factions were present."

Ryke clasped his fingers together, exchanging a grim look with Preese. His second-in-command shook his head uneasily, fingers pressing against his thighs as Xanthus continued.

"At 1713 hours, Rychter time, the ship opened," she said flatly, flicking the image to a zoomed in shot of a dark, square abyss in the side of the colossal structure, "and we got our first look at just who's come knocking."

A murmur of unease rippled through the assembled soldiers when they got their first look at the enemy. Ryke straightened in his seat, flexing the metal of his jaw with unease as he stared at the crawling things that came out of the ship. The Crawlers came next, and the cameras swooped and traversed, keeping a safe distance as more and more of them poured forth.

The combat cams continued on, playing out the brief, bloody melee that Brackenshaw had witnessed. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth when the first alien launched itself onto the Scraegan warrior, tearing the beast to pieces. Blood and body parts sprayed the sand, and the Crawlers joined the fray.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. The other Scraegans – the nominally allied Scraegan force – upon seeing what befell their counterparts, had beat a hasty retreat back underground,. The camera images zoomed out as Brackenshaw's command followed their example, racing back across the plains to report in, and leaving the new arrivals with free reign over a huge swathe of the badlands.

The image faded out.

"That's the face of your target," Xanthus told them, gripping the sides of the lectern with both hands. "We are here to present a united front against this new threat. Whatever differences we may have – that we may continue to have – it is meaningless in the face of this. I trust you all understand." Turning, she stepped aside and nodded to Colonel Hackley.

"Colonel, please."

"Ma'am." Hackley saluted smartly and marched to the lectern. She thumbed the switch on her own remote, and the images returned, a selection showing various screenshots from the fight.

The first showed the lead alien, half its legs raised in the thundering dance.

"We've theorised that the rhythmic stamping is employed to control and direct the Crawlers," she said without preamble. "Whether the Crawlers are pets or some kind of biological weapon they've bred, we don't know for sure, but whatever the case, they are controlled by these creatures."

She let the recording run. The Crawlers emerged and Ryke felt a stab of pain in his jaw, memories of the Scraegar labyrinth crashing down over him. He, like a lot of people, had hoped that campaign would be the last anyone saw of the arthropod monstrosities.

So much for hopes.

"As you can see," Colonel Hackley declared, gesturing to the freeze framed screen as the fighting started, "the outer armour of these creatures seems impervious to explosive force, at least from a furnace cannon. There seemed to be limited damage caused by physical implements, but nothing conclusive. It was all over too fast for us to gather proper data on their combat capabilities. That said, we all know what it took to kill a Crawler, and it seems these things are made of even tougher stuff. I don't think it's much of a guess to say that we'll need a lot of punch to kill these things.

"Blackwater and Scout Cadre brigades are continuing surveillance of the landing site from a safe distance, and so far we have reports of more than a hundred confirmed alien deployments, each with attending groups of Crawlers. They're slowly spreading out from the landing site in all directions. So far they Scraegans – all of them – have kept their distance, but sooner or later we're going to have to meet them."

Another press of the button brought up a map of the southern region, showing the alien ship as a big red block. Scattered to the north of it were several green circles, straggled out in a long line. Hackley moved away from the lectern, ceding the ground to General Bosede. His big frame exuded confidence as he stepped forward, his expression determined.

"These settlements are the closest," Bosede told them firmly. "And as such, our next course of action is to deploy defensive assets to each and every one of them. I will not authorise any offensive campaign until we have more information, but we will not abandon our people in the south. With the additional manpower of our northern comrades, we have the ability to assign each settlement a sizeable defensive force, while maintaining a strategic reserve. Your deployment orders will be given at the end of this briefing."

He paused, giving a respectful nod to Marshall Llewellyn, before clasping his hands behind his back and continuing. "I know the past few weeks have been tense, for all of us, but we are soldiers. There is a threat out there, a threat to all of us. I expect you all to remember that when the time comes."

*

Ryke and his squad made their way through the clanging chaos of Stamm Basin's hangar, where Brekka's army gathered itself for a fresh conflict. It felt like the entire city had been mobilised in this one place, with huge columns of soldiers and equipment racing back and forth. It brought back unpleasant memories of the battle for Brekka,

Back then the enemy had been a known quantity, the aims simple. Fight to the death to defend the city.

Now, they were preparing to deploy against a foe they honestly knew very little about. He replayed the footage in his head, scrutinizing every detail, but there wasn't a whole lot to be optimistic about.

Their deployment orders hadn't made him feel much better about it all. They'd been assigned to Ozzmar, the town on the western edge of the defensive line, and currently the closest one to the alien landing. He felt conflicted; part of him seethed at being hurled into the front line again, always first into the breath against the worst the world could throw at him.

But would he honestly have wanted it any different? Would he really rather have stayed safe and sound at Brekka, not knowing, not seeing what was coming?

No, Ryke admitted. No I would not.

They cleared the final bend, taking a sharp right towards the sprawling Hunter-Killer bays. Equipment haulers rattled by on the grid of rails that sliced up the hangars, letting the engineers race back and forth unobstructed as they readied every piece of equipment for war.

Then they reached their Hunter-Killers, however, Ryke couldn't hold back a grin when he found Lieutenant Brackenshaw waiting for him, conversing with two of the technicians and surrounded by other Hunter-Killer pilots. Another familiar face stood alongside her – Sergeant Brielle 'Sharps' Charpente, from HK-Praxis. Her frizzy red hair was tied back into a tight bun in preparation for combat, her slender frame sheathed in the dark blue fatigues of Helloc Mera – the next closest city to the north. Two years his senior, Charpente had been stationed at Brekka for as long as he'd been a pilot, and during that time she'd earned his respect the hard way. She was one of the handful of soldiers not from Brekka that he would be happy to have at his back.

"Look what blew in with the dust," Ryke chuckled as he approached. Around him the pilots of both squads peeled off, bumping fists, shaking hands and trading good-natured barbs as they went.

Brackenshaw let her data slate drop as she turned to him. "Sergeant."

"Lieutenant." He saluted with a smile, then extended a hand to Charpente. "Good to see you, Sharps."

"You too, Vannigan." She accepted his grip and tugged him forward into an embrace, her free hand thumping him on the back. He turned the gesture before stepping back again and glancing around.

"They assigned all us together?" he asked.

"I requested both of your units," Brackenshaw explained with a grin "Last I remember, you two made a pretty good team."

Charpente smiled thinly. "I'd say so."

"I saw those things up close – I want people who I can rely on at my back if we're heading out there."

"Who else've we got?"

"Sergeant Hynan and his scout patrol, Captain Tarssa's 51st armoured infantry battalion, and the 78th EC Sappers Brigade, under Master Sergeant Kammott."

"What about the northers?"

Brackenshaw's grin slipped into a wry smile. "They're keeping us away from the new arrivals for the moment. We might be on the same side again, but that doesn't mean we trust each other right now."

"Can't argue with that," Ryke chuckled, before glancing apologetically at Charpente. "Err... present company accepted."

She waved it away. "Forget it Ryke. I think I lost my 'norther' status a long time ago."

"Agreed."

"They're pairing combat brigades together on assignments instead," Brackenshaw continued. "Joint command – apparently – between me and some prigg scout captain from Verdantine. We'll be operating close together but independently."

"Sounds like a mess."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Thank the Everflowing this is only defensive operations."

"Oh, and there's one other unit they assigned to us. Couldn't send them anywhere else really."

"Who?"

Brackenshaw tapped her ear with one finger. He frowned in confusion, and tried to listen. At first all he could hear was the ever-present din of the hangar activity, but after a couple of seconds he picked out the noise. The thump-thump-thump that didn't belong to any human machine of war.

Ryke turned at the sound of the heavy footfalls.

Charpente cocked an eyebrow and turned with him.

Both her eyes widened. "Woah."

Grunn Rut-Rut lumbered towards them, fully geared for battle. The serrated horn of his helmet shone in the early morning blaze, thick plates of armour lashed over his grey fur and bulking him out even more. His pack clumped along behind him, bristling with weapons, their furnace cannons polished and humming with pent-up energy.

Men and women gave them a wide berth, and the Scraegan pack stomped their way through the throng of activity until they arrived at the bay. They formed a line, managing, miraculously, to keep out of the way of any of the tram tracks despite their size.

"Holy Lords," Charpente breathed, taking a step back. "So this... this is your...?" She flailed for the words and looked to Ryke.

"Yeah, this is him." Ryke stepped forward, looking up at the warrior. "So we're going out together?"

"Higher-ups felt it was probably best to send him wherever you are," Brackenshaw told him, a wry smile on her face. "Don't think he'd listen to anyone else, frankly."

"Surprised he stuck around this long," Preese interjected. "I thought they were free to go?"

"Technically they are." Ryke shrugged. "Maybe he wants to stay."

"Wouldn't have been my first guess."

"Well, whatever the reason, he's here now." Ryke locked eyes with Grunn, and saluted, raising his voice. "Good to see you."

Grunn said his name, that awkward, coughing attempt at 'Ryke'.

And then to the surprise of every single person who could see it, the Scraegan warrior raised one blunt paw to his head, and returned the salute.