Despite everything, Ryke had to admit, the force that rolled out of Brekka was an impressive one.

Their battle group consisted of thirty Hunter-Killers borne in the belly of a Mammoth crawler, a company of Brekkan militia and a unit of mobile infantry auxiliaries from Lashkinero, the northernmost city on the planet. Behind them came three Scout Cadre skiff columns under Brackenshaw's command, along with a brigade of self-propelled guns and heavily armed crawlers from Rubicon to provide close fire support.

It was a lot of firepower. Ryke just hoped it would look as good when they had to deploy to an active combat zone. Within the Mammoth he didn't have much choice but to try and relax and compose himself for the battle to come. His pilots were locked into the bottom ring of docking cradles within the massive machine, closest to the doors for swift deployment.

Above them Charpente's HK-Praxis were held on the second rung, and at the top HK- Strident under Lieutenant Miquelon waited. Part of him was happy to have Praxis alongside them, a unit that could be relied on to do their job in combat, even if privately he still simmered with frustration over his exchange with Charpente before their deployment.

She'd made him confront the more complex reality in front of him and he didn't like it. He wanted this to be simple and wanted to be in control. Neither of those things were true. His hands flexed in fists as the faces of Colonel Harcourt and General Llewellyn flashed in his mind, their strident disregard for the tried and tested battle-methods of Brekka bringing fresh waves of anger.

Part of him hoped this operation would be a disaster. At least then they'd have proof that Llewellyn and his cronies didn't have any right to be commanding this war. The metal seam of his jaw throbbed with pain at thought. Such an outcome would come with a lot of lives lost. Ryke let his head loll back in the Hunter-Killer cockpit and sighed. He looked forward to being out in the field again and fighting. At least then he wouldn't have to think about any of this for a little while.

The Mammoth rattled their bones as it crawled its way south in the direction of Ozzmar. Other vanguard units had rolled out with them, splintering off to seize other strategic locations along the proposed line of advance. Major De Lunta had his own battle-group that had dispatched to Alldeep, to shore up the defences of that town; Colonel Hackley had operational command of a brigade tasked with retaking the ruin of Laurlo – a town further east that would begin the process of pincering the Scraegan territory from both sides.

Colonel Harcourt and the vast bulk of the new army plunged straight south towards Crescentscar, the nucleus of the campaign to rid Rychter of the Scraegan menace.

Windowless and wrapped in thick armour, Ryke couldn't get any real sense of how close they were, but the chronometer in his Hunter-Killer ticked steadily away. Minutes trickled by. Bursts of half-hearted conversation zipped between the pilots and status updates filtered through to them from the advance scouting units. Long range seismics had picked up scattered, distant readings of possible Scraegan movements, but nothing close enough to alter the plan.

They were going in.

The task force ground its way on an eastward arc for another hour under the increasing heat of Rychter's suns and Ryke knew they had to be getting close now. He rolled his head from side to side, loosening up his neck.

"Everybody awake?" he said through the squad-wide.

"I am now," Brigg drawled back amidst the acknowledgements, generating a scattered laugh through the earpiece.

"Well, now that you're caught up your beauty sleep you can run your system checks," Ryke replied with a smirk. "Everybody, re-run all combat readiness checks and report in. Last thing we need is for this bumpy ride to have knocked something loose."

In reality he knew the odds against such a thing were miniscule, but it paid not to take chances. He never stepped into a combat zone without having run multiple checks of his Hunter-Killer's system. They were the most lethal single combat machines ever built, but they were machines. Things could always go wrong.

As he'd expected, none of his pilots reported any errors. HK-Rupture was ready to fight. Nodding to himself, he flicked his comm into one-to-one.

"Thaye, switch to private," he told her quietly.

"Copy." A pause fizzled on the comm link for a moment. "Calling to check up on me, boss?"

"Just want to know where your head's at."

"I'm good, sarge. Just... just don't like the waiting game."

Ryke nodded. "How long since you were back?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to keep track," Thaye said. "Don't worry about me, Ryke. I want payback, sure, but I dealt with this a while ago. Killing Scraegans is good medicine. I'm not going to take one look at the wreckage and lose my head."

"Glad to hear it. I'm going to need everybody firing at full if we're going to get out of this in one piece."

"Oh, don't tell me you don't trust Mr. Miquelon?"

"I think it's best if we get our job done as fast as we can." He smiled thinly. "And, it's 'Lieutenant' Miquelon, alright? We are all on the same side."

"If him and his moustache can get through this without drowning the whole plan, then we'll see."

"Copy that." He shook his head, flicking the channel back to the squad wide where the other pilots were chattering in low tones, the ever-present tension before an operation filling the space between them. None of them liked being cooped up in the Mammoths for so long.

Eventually the order they'd been waiting for finally came through from Miquelon two levels up. Ryke felt a tremor of anticipation go up his spine as the officer spoke.

"All units," Miquelon said. "We are approaching our deployment zone. All units now to give ascending cascade acknowledgements of battle readiness."

With every unit in the battle group numbered, the cascade was a simple matter of following the order, keeping the comms clear and crisp. Units started responding, first the scouts, then the mechanised units, then the militia troops. The Hunter-Killers came last, and Ryke couldn't help but notice he was the final one in the queue.

"HK-Rupture, acknowledged," he said flatly. "All systems nominal. Battle readiness confirmed."

"All deployments will proceed as planned," Miquelon continued. "The Scraegans know we are coming and they will be ready for us, but that changes nothing. We are going to retake this town. Follow your orders and fight for the soldier alongside you. The Riverlords are with us and they will see your soul safely to the Everflowing if the worst should happen. Miquelon out."

"Well," Preese muttered. "I'm inspired."

"I'll keep my soul on dry land today, I think," Scantlin chimed in.

"Alright, alright," Ryke cut across them, a smile on his face but knowing he needed to reign things in. "Lock up the chatter people, save some jokes for the victory lap."

Ten minutes later, the Mammoth lurched to a halt. Its vast engine idled down into a low rumble in the deck plates and Ryke tensed. For better or worse, this was it. Time to go to war again. He saw the crack of light as the Mammoth's enormous loading ramp began to open. His earpiece crackled.

"Kaber – Lockjaw."

"Lockjaw here."

"Proceed with immediate deployment," Miquelon ordered.

"Copy that, HK-Rupture deploying," Ryke confirmed. Whatever his misgivings, whatever his personal opinion of Miquelon, the best chance of him and his soldiers getting through this in one piece was to perform their duty to the best of their ability.

He exhaled long and slow as the docking cradle un-clamped from the waist of his mech, freeing the fifteen ton killing machine. A heavy step thundered through the lower level of the Mammoth as he stepped forward. To his left light cascaded into the compartment as the ramp opened up, exposing them to the heat and dust of Rychter's badlands. Atmospheric indicators flickered across the display of Ryke's HUD alongside green status readouts of his Hunter-Killer systems.

"HK-Rupture, on my lead!" Ryke barked through the comm.

No further orders were required. His pilots already new their deployments from muscle memory and in a battering chorus of steel feet on armoured deck plates, they spilled out into the light. Ryke exited first, flanked by the Raptor Mechs of Scantlin and Kim, who promptly peeled off to both sides in wide, looping arcs, their enhanced optics hunting for threats as the rest of the unit deployed.

The wedge of Riot battle mechs followed Ryke out, spreading into a skirmish line out in front of the two Goliaths. He scanned the horizon, looking for targets, but their deployment zone remained clear of hostile targets.

Ozzmar was visible on the horizon, a smear of shattered buildings against the backdrop of basalt cliffs and canyons – the labyrinth Ryke would soon be traversing. The morning suns screamed down on them from skies of bruise-blue. Out in front of them he could see the Scout Cadre brigades splitting off into their assigned sectors like flights of wasps, with a low, rumbling line of armoured vehicles following in their wake, hulls painted with camouflage of mud brown and sandy orange making them virtually invisible to the naked eye.

"SC-21 – Lockjaw," the voice of Sergeant Brackenshaw cut into his earpiece. "Moving to rendezvous."

Ryke's eyes flickered across the HUD. An indicator for Brackenshaw's flight skittered in a diagonal line towards the mouth of the canyon network where they would be making their advance.

"Copy, SC-21. We are moving to rendezvous."

He sped his Hunter-Killer into a loping run across the dusty plain north of Ozzmar, his pilots holding their formation as their speed increased. Behind them HK-Praxis came thundering out of the Mammoth, moving straight towards the town itself. Miquelon's HK-Strident was closed behind them. All along the HUD the strike force began to coalesce. At the very least, Miquelon's deployment had been textbook smooth.

"Got some action for you, Lockjaw," Brackenshaw said as their units drew closer. "If you've got a mind for it."

Ryke cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "What's your wager?"

"If we get through this canyon without running into a Scraegan, I'll buy you a whole case of shiner."

"Sorry, Sergeant," he laughed. "I reckon there are easier ways to piss my wage away than taking that bet."

"Good to know we're on the same page."

"Always expecting trouble?"

"You could bet on that, kid."

He twitched a little at being called 'kid', but didn't bother pulling her up on it. She was older and more experienced – Brackenshaw was someone who'd earned the respect of her peers a thousand times over. He could let it go for now.

On the forward cameras he saw the blades of her skiff flight forming up as they approached the entrance to the canyon network. The map on his HUD marked out the route Miquelon had selected for them to loop around and strike at the secondary plant in Ozzmar before the Scraegans could destroy it. Reports from the forward units in the main attack force confirmed seismic readings of much larger Scraegan forces. And they were moving.

HK-Rupture formed up behind the Scout Cadre flight and waited, their reactors growling like caged animals. On reflex he glanced over the system readouts of armour integrity and ammo counters. Everything remained in the green, ready for bloodshed. He took a breath and opened the wide comm.

"Lockjaw – Kaber. HK-Rupture in position and standing by."

"SC-21 – Kaber. In position and standing by," Brackenshaw echoed.

Over the next two minutes all the units of the strike force filtered through acknowledgements of their own as the battle lines for Ozzmar were drawn. There was a brief moment of crackling static in his ear after the last confirmation came through, like a deep breath. Then Miquelon's voice speared crisply over the comm link.

"All units," he said. "Advance."