Crescentscar was a ruin. Ryke could see it from his vantage point outside the command base, seated atop a low rocky ridge overlooking the carnage of the battlefield. And not just Crescentscar. The planet had a fresh wound, it seemed.

Everything around the valley, and inside it, had been reduced to a shell-torn stretch of hell, the ground mangled for more than a kilometre in every direction. Whole chunks of the valley wall had caved inwards under the destructive forces unleashed. The tunnels and mine blasts had made the plain beyond the town virtually impossible to traverse.

"They say we won," Ivy murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Doesn't really feel like it, does it?"

"Because we didn't. Not yet – not really." Ryke sighed, wrapping his arm around her. They sat together on the ridge, away from the din of the human army, finally with some time for each other. "Still a whole lot of those things out there. We just... gave them a bloody nose."

"That's something, I guess." She squeezed his hand in hers, shaking her head. "What a mess, eh?"

"Would've been a whole lot worse without you."

"You think so?"

"Those rounds – copper thermite?"

Ivy snorted. "Well, I can't take all the credit for that. Besides it's just a stop gap. Stuff's a bitch to manufacture and even harder to load into a shell without setting it off." Straightening up, she took a gulp of shiner and handed him the canteen. "It's a start, though. We're still here."

He nodded, sipping from the canteen with relish. After everything that had happened, Ivy's brew had never tasted better.

After their successful field test, the human army had frantically scrambled to weaponise the new compound into a way that was actually deliverable to the front, with mixed results. Premature detonations had killed several engineers and crippled the vehicles they'd been attempting to load with the thermite shells, but Brekka's soldiers persevered.

Eventually they managed to get a working set of munitions that could be carried by the militia trucks, much like the one that had performed the first successful test. He didn't know, or care about the intricacies of why that size of shell, and that kind of cannon seemed to be more stable than the rest. He just cared that it worked. It had been just enough to give the aliens pause, when they realised they were now vulnerable.

Ivy shifted a little, and he sucked in a breath as she brushed against his shoulder, sending a jolt of fire though the joint. The strain of piloting the brutal Dreadnought mechs had gotten to him eventually, and when an armour servo blew out, it had mangled the nerves in his shoulder leaving him with a sensitive, misfiring mess.

Fixable. This time. He'd gotten very lucky.

"Sorry," she said, leaning away quickly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just need to stay out my mech for a few weeks."

"I feel you've been saying that for a while."

He snorted. "Yeah, me too." Leaning gingerly over he pressed his lips against hers and let all the aches and pains ebb away for a moment. When he eased back, he just let himself look at her for a moment, marvelling at the fact they were both, somehow, still alive.

A lot of people weren't, and there was nothing he could do about that, but having Ivy still here made it all just a little more bearable.

"Something in my eye?" she asked with a crooked grin.

"Just glad you're still here."

"Everflowing, me too." Ivy let out a sharp, hysterical laugh, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "I actually can't believe it. I mean, down at that dig site, when the Scraegans ... I was sure I was dead. Then at the Commissariat, with those crazy bastards trying to start a war, I was really, really sure I was dead. But I'm not. Kind of... weird to think about."

"You should give yourself more credit." Ryke's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Maybe you should've been a Hunter-Killer."

"Drown that!"

He chuckled, his eyes wandering back over the blasted plain surrounding Crescentscar. He could see teams of combat engineers moving out there, gathering up bodies, spare-parts, pieces of alien armour, and any of those heat-gun weapons that might be salvageable. The swarm of aliens and Crawlers had receded now, but they were still out there, skulking beyond the horizon, consolidating their forces and doing Lords-only-knew what out in those reaches of the badlands.

Ryke was under no illusions. Rychter's commanders had gambled, betting everything on battering the enemy advance to a standstill. The gamble had paid off – this time – but not without a huge cost. Crescentscar was virtually uninhabitable now, not to mention the death toll among the defenders. It would take a long time to replace the troops and equipment that had been fed into the meat-grinder to put a stop to the incursion.

He couldn't keep his mind from wandering, to thinking about what would come next.

"You think we can take a holiday now?" Ivy laughed.

"A holiday?"

"Yeah – a holiday. I don't mean R&R. I mean actual leave."

Ryke smirked. "What've you got in mind?"

"Maybe we go somewhere. Somewhere north – away form all this. Your friend, Sharps, she's from Helloc Mera. I bet she could recommend somewhere."

"I'm sure she would." He looked at her. "That eager to get away from Brekka?"

"I love Brekka," she said quickly. "I'd die for it. But right now I've got a lot of... bad memories. I'd like to forget them for a while. What do you say?"

"Honestly, it sounds like a dream," Ryke told her, looking back to the horizon, "but I can't leave. Not yet."

Her face fell. "Why not?"

"Because we're not finished. Not until every single one of those things is dead and buried."

"You really think so?" She sighed. "Ryke, it doesn't have to be you, you know. I've almost lost you so many times. Can't someone else stick their feet in the fire for a change?"

"I've come this far." He turned and cupped her cheek with one hand. "You know it's not actually up to me? I'm just a soldier."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ivy managed a smile, leaning in to kiss him again, her fingers tracing the seam of his metal jaw before she eased back. "But when this is done-,"

"We can go anywhere you want. For as long as you want. I promise."

*

Two days later, Ryke lounged outside the makeshift Hunter-Killer bays beyond the mobile command base. A scorch beer sat on the crate in front of him, a makeshift table for the pilots as they finally rested. It felt like a year since he'd had time to just sit and breathe.

Kim sat nearby, bottle in one hand, the other wrapped in a sling. Preese was sprawled to his left, dozing in the midday sun, with Fenix beside him, canteen of shiner clasped tight. The others were scattered around somewhere. Scantlin and Brigg had taken the rookie pilot, Yassyn, off into the city to find a bar; he'd spotted Erin disappearing into one of the barrack houses, tangled up with a swarthy young scout trooper.

For now it was nice not to have to keep tabs on everyone. He could just sit and be. He glanced over at Preese, his second in command for what felt like forever now. They'd lost a lot of good people over the years, but the core of HK-Rupture remained. Ivy was off having her own-hard-earned celebration with the team of specialists who'd developed the game-changing weapons.

"How's your shoulder, boss?" Kim asked, shifting a little in her seat and wincing. She gingerly swallowed down a gulp of beer.

"Stiff," he grunted, reaching for his own bottle. "Bastards hurt your drinking arm, eh?"

"Pain in the ass," she confirmed with a sour shake of the head.

Preese let out a derisive snigger. "Just be glad we're all in one piece. More or less."

"So, where do you think we're deploying next?"

"That eager?" Ryke chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. "Let's just see if we can stay out of the firing line for a little while, eh? I'm not taking a Hunter-Killer anywhere for a little while, and neither are you."

"Yeah, I just..." Kim sighed, ruffling the fingers of her uninjured arm through her brown hair. "I dunno. I just feel a little weird, knowing they're still out there. What in the Everflowing are they doing on Rychter? You know?"

"Yeah." He cast a sidelong glance at the Raptor pilot. "The answers will come, and we'll be right in the middle of it wall when they do. For now, just take the R&R while you can, alright?" Ryke smiled thinly, and added, "that's an order."

She pouted. "Yes, sir."

"Hey, look," Fenix piped up, flapping a hand at them before pointing. "Something's up at the gate."

Yawning and squinting, Ryke straightened up in his seat, rubbing his eyes with both hands. Shading his eyes from the light, he looked in the direction of the gate.

Sure enough, he saw commotion among the guards along the top of the perimeter wall, frantic gestures and barking orders that he couldn't make out. He blinked and rubbed his eyes again, his brow furrowing as he tried to make out what was happening. Then the gates began to open.

"Now what?" Fenix groaned, her head rocking back against her chair. Beside her, Preese stirred from his doze, squinting.

Ryke saw the gates heave open, the guards on the ground parting to clear the way.

His eyes went wide with surprise when a group of Scraegans lumbered through the entrance and into the Stamm Basin concourse. He counted six of them, a rag-tag, battered group who even from this distance looked exhausted. The leader out in front looked like Grunn, though he couldn't be completely sure – he didn't see the distinctive helmet or the usual bulky war hammer that his ally normally carried.

Two of the warriors behind dragged a large dark sled of some kind. Several meters long, it was covered with some kind of tarpaulin, ragged and woven. The Scraegans heaved it through the gate, and came to a halt as the on-duty guards surrounded them. A unit of green-liveried Hunter-Killers stomped warily into place, barring the way further into Stamm Basin.

Ryke scrambled up out of his seat, beer forgotten as he set off at a jog across the concourse. He ignored the confused shouts of his squad mates, a sense of foreboding coiling in his stomach as he sped up. He could see the Scraegan leader gesturing to the guards, grunting and growling. The men and women on the other side of the exchange clearly didn't have much experience with the Scraegan language though. He could see them frantically speaking into radios and gesturing to each other.

Running right through the line of Hunter-Killers, Ryke came stumbling to a halt, panting for breath as the militia corporal in charge of the guard rounded on him.

"Hey, hey!" the young man blurted, throwing up a hand. "Stop right there! Identification."

"Vannigan – Sergeant Ryke Vannigan," he replied breathlessly, straightening up. "HK-Rupture." Ryke's gaze snapped up to the Scraegan leader. "Stand your people down, corporal. It's alright – I know him."

It was Grunn-Rut-Rut alright.

The Scraegan was in pretty rough shape though. Half of his armour was missing, and the rest of it was battered and shredded, revealing the deep wounds in the fur beneath. Streaks of dark blood criss-crossed Grunn's body, and the horn of his helmet had snapped off, leaving a short, ragged edge of stained metal.

The warrior's eyes found Ryke, and he let out a low, mournful snort.

"Hey," Ryke murmured, stepping closer. "Everflowing, you look like you just rode the Rapids, big guy. What are you doing here?"

Grunn whined. It was a sound he'd never heard from a Scraegan before – a high pitched, anguished kind of sound that put him instantly on edge. Grunn moved aside, gesturing towards the covered sled with one paw.

"Sergeant, please," the guard stammered. "I'm waiting on orders from command-,"

"Back off," Ryke interrupted irately. "Just... just wait. He wants to show us something." He turned, raising a hand to the Hunter-Killers that were standing in a broad semi-circle, their weapons lowered for the moment. "Just give me a second, will you?"

"Carry on, sergeant," blared a woman's voice from the speaker's of the middle mech. The machine's head section dipped slightly in confirmation.

Huffing out a breath of relief, Ryke turned back to Grunn and pointed at the sled. "You brought us something?"

Grunn let out a low, undulating rumble and took a cumbersome step backwards, motioning him forward. Swallowing down his apprehension, Ryke did as he was bidden and walked forward, past two of the Scraegans and following Grunn towards the side of the sled. Up close he could see it was a shallow dark metal trough, like an old-earth boat of some kind, with bulky handles made to fit Scraegan physiology.

He moved up beside it, and the other Scraegans parted, almost reverent in their motions. That did nothing to quell his growing sense of unease as he looked to Grunn.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, pointing.

The Scraegan whuffed grimly, and took a gentle hold of the woven cover. With a rasp of fabric against metal, he pulled it free, revealing the sled's cargo.

Ryke felt his breath catch in his throat. There were six dark, human-sized mounds lying on the flat surface – lumpy shapes beneath smaller coverings of the same coarse fabric. Grunn let out a mournful whine and stepped back, his big head lowered.

Knowing he would regret it, but equally knowing he couldn't stop himself, Ryke moved to the bundle at the front of the sled. His heart racing, he reached forward and gripped the edge of the cover tight. His jaw clenched, the join of his metal graft throbbing.

He yanked the pulled the cover back.

Beneath it, he saw the face of Lieutenant Kaydie Brackenshaw.

A lump lurched into his throat at the sight of her. The Scraegans, it seemed, had tried to clean up the body, but the left half of her face and torso were a ruin, lacerated and burned by some kind of explosion. Ryke shuddered, trying to process what he was looking at – trying to understand. Her eyes were closed now, her ID tags resting on the smoke-charred chest of her combat vest.

Clearing his throat, he blinked back tears. He'd known she'd been part of the vaguely defined 'sabotage' operation, but his orders hadn't required him to know more than that. With the withdrawal of the enemy from Crescentscar, he assumed the plan had been successful.

Now he knew the cost.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he carefully folded the cover back over to cover Brackenshaw's face. His eyes wandered over the other bodies for a few seconds, and then he looked up at Grunn.

"Thanks," he choked out. "Thanks for bringing her home."