"There's a saying from old Earth," Hackley muttered. "There's always a bigger fish."

In front of her the battle played out, recorded from the Hunter-Killer combat cameras, and seeing it a second time didn't make it any more believable for Ryke. He watched, arguably more shocked now than he had been in the moment. Down in the warren he'd simply fought by instinct, his Hunter-Killer training forcing him to act. Now, watching the whole thing back in the safety of General Llewellyn's enormous command Mammoth, the creature took on a whole new dimension of horror.

The limbs moved on the cameras in a blur, a combat support technician flicking between viewpoints of the different Hunter-Killers in Ryke's squad. Around him other senior officers watched with varying degrees of trepidation, all save for Major De Lunta who was still in the thick of the fighting on the main front.

Beyond the command Mammoth, more than a mile distant, the human army continued its thunderous advance. Battle had been joined long before Ryke had made his report, and there was no stopping it now. If he listened he could hear the muffled rumble of explosions. Dust clouds smeared the horizon. With these new creatures now in play, he couldn't suppress a growing feeling of anxiety, as though there was something crucial lurking just out of his vision that he couldn't turn to look at.

"You say it didn't trigger your seismic readers?" Colonel Harcourt rumbled dubiously. "Something that size couldn't go undetected – it's impossible."

"The tactical data is clear," Hackley replied, shaking her head. "From the trajectory it came from there are no seismic flags from any of the Hunter-Killer sensors."

"It came out of nowhere," Ryke confirmed. He cast a grim look at Harcourt. "We were very lucky, sir."

The colonel didn't respond, his attention shifting back to the screen. The frantic comms replayed through the speakers, along with the hellish screeching of the monster that still set the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Multi-joined limbs flailed and thrashed, the enormous whip of a tail snaking back and forth as the batter of cannon fire crackled over the recording. One display showed a clear view as cannon shots dug into the monster's armoured hide, biting off chunks of bony plating but causing little actual damage. There was a murmur of discomfort from the assembled officers.

"Pause there," Llewellyn ordered. "Magnify that."

The tech tapped a button and the image froze. His fingers gently guided a ball-bearing style control to zoom the camera image in on the damaged carapace.

"Natural armour plating," the general mused, cupping his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "Strong enough to withstand the standard rounds?"

"Barely made a dent," Ryke confirmed. "The only vulnerable point seems to be its underside. The skin is softer there – no carapace."

Llewellyn nodded. The man seemed to be keeping his composure in the face of this new hurdle, though Ryke wondered just how much panic was concealed behind that steely expression. Hackley and the infantry commander, Colonel Marrow, didn't bother to hide their consternation, faces pinched with worry as they watched the fight play out. If Hunter-Killer cannons could barely hurt these creatures then what chance did a soldier with a rifle have?

The recording continued. Ryke got an unpleasant jolt when the main screen switched to his camera view, right as the thing reared up in preparation to grind him into a pulp. The combat cams gave a horribly detailed view of the circular maw and for an instant he was back in that cavern, staring certain death in the face.

Fortunately, this time he knew what would happen next. The camera jerked sharply. A different angle flashed up on the main screen from Preese's mech to show the charge of the Scraegan Beta. The bulky warrior lowered its head, ramming the huge arthropod in its flank.

"It saved my life," Ryke murmured, folding his arms tightly.

"I think that was an incidental act," Harcourt said, his lip curling into a sneer. "The brute simply took its opportunity to remove the bigger threat."

"That would still imply that the Scraegans see these... things as a bigger threat than a full squadron of Hunter-Killers," Hackley interjected as the recording continued, the Scraegan warriors pinning the monster to the wall side up; Ryke and Thaye rushing in to aid them.

Llewellyn bristled at the sight, but held his council for the moment. The carnage played out, grey gunk splattering across the cavern floor, screeches of pain mingling with the guttural roars of the Scraegans. The Hunter-Killer comms cut into the melee in short bursts. He watched the creature die a second time; watched it thud to the cavern.

When the footage continued on and let the commanders see that Ryke had indeed allowed the Scraegans to walk away, Llewellyn could no longer contain himself.

"Explain yourself, Vannigan," he ordered, his voice cold.

"Sir?" Ryke turned his gaze on the northern general, contempt rising like bile in his throat.

"You allowed the enemy to walk away."

"It was the right decision."

"We are at war with the Scraegans!" Harcourt exploded. "After all your extolling of the fighting prowess of Brekka, you let them just walk from that chamber! I could have you brought up on charges of cowardice."

Ryke was halfway across the room in a sudden, rage-fuelled bound, one fist clenched and ready to swing straight into the colonel's face. Before he could get close enough, however, Colonel Hackley and one of her subordinates managed to get between them. Hackley grabbed him as he shot past, hooking one arm under his and wrapping the other around his neck, yanking back hard.

"Easy, soldier!" she hissed into his ear, heaving him bodily away from Harcourt.

Ryke thrashed in her grip for a moment, blood pounding in his veins as he glared hatred at the Hunter-Killer commander. But Hackley was strong, and an expert hand-to-hand fighter, and she held him tight, twisting him away. Breathing heavily, after a moment he relaxed in her grasp, though every inch of his skin still crawled with anger.

She held on for a few more seconds to be sure, before releasing her hold and stepping back. Slowly, Ryke turned, black fury in his eyes as he looked at Harcourt.

"Call me a coward again, Harcourt," he spat. "And I'll kill you."

"You dare threaten me, boy?!"

"Test me, colonel." He was past caring about consequences now. After everything he'd done, everything he'd given, and the pilots that had lost their lives under his command, he would not allow an insult like that to pass. "I promise you, you'll regret it!"

"STOP!" Hackley roared, placing herself between them. "Stand down, both of you."

"You don't have the authority-,"

"Ulysses, that is enough," Llewellyn cut in sharply. Harcourt stopped dead mid-sentence, his mouth agape. He looked to the general, swallowed hard and gathered his composure, saluting.

"General." Harcourt straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back, standing to attention.

"I'm aware you and Sergeant Vannigan have had your differences, but you know as well as I do that he is no coward," Llewellyn continued. He pursed his lips, returning his attention to Ryke. "And you, Vannigan – threaten one of my officers again and you'll be shipped back to Brekka in a cage. Do you understand?"

Ryke felt his whole body trembling, but with an effort of will he, too, stood to attention and saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. Now, as I said, I would like an explanation. Why did you allow the Scraegans to leave?"

"Because I believe there is much more going on than we understand," he replied, forcing the words out. "That is not the first time I've run into that Beta. When we investigated the seismic readings west of the battle zone we found the same signs of those creatures and dead Scraegans. I think the pack we found out there were hunting these things." He pointed to the screen. "You can see on their armour, the grey blood. There must have been more of those monsters down there – the Scraegans had already been fighting them. We stumbled into something different down there. It wasn't about our war."

"He's right, sir," Colonel Marrow put in. A big man with skin almost as dark as the deck plates of the Mammoth, he was built like a block of granite, his powerful body barely contained by his combat fatigues. He scratched at the greying stubble around his jawline. "If there's another threat out there, we need more intelligence before we proceed any further with this operation. Whatever these things are, they'd don't seem to much care whether they kill a Scraegan or a Hunter-Killer."

"Agreed." Hackley nodded, the Brekkan officers presenting a united front to back him up. "We need to know more before diving headlong into this." Ryke inclined his head to them in thanks.

Llewellyn considered this for a moment. "Alright, I can see your point, Sergeant. But how do you propose we go about obtaining this intelligence? Our battle-plan is already in motion – we are advancing across all sectors. We do not have resources to spare to dedicate to an entirely new branch of intelligence."

Silence greeted his question. Hackley's face creased in thought, her fingers toying with a stylus in one hand. Colonel Harrow cast a grim look at the thing on the screen. Ryke followed the infantry officer's gaze, staring hard at the monster's head section. There was something achingly familiar about it.

Then he remembered. He remembered where he'd seen that strange, double-jawed head before. It felt like a lifetime ago now, but he thought back to the raid on the Scraegan warren he'd taken part in, to the moment they'd bludgeoned their way into that inner sanctum. He remembered the Scraegan priest – at least they thought it was a priest – and the enormous medallion it had carried.

"Colonel Hackley?"

"Sergeant?"

"Do we have video from our operation last year, where we took the Scraegan captive?"

She nodded. "It's all linked." A tap on the shoulder to the tech. "Combat footage archive, joint operations, Forge designation: Inflection."

As the man went looking through the database she turned her attention back to Ryke.

"Why?"

"I think I recognise that thing."

"You recognise it?"

Ryke nodded. The scout colonel's brow furrowed but she didn't press him further, waiting until the technician had pulled up the files in question. Quiet descended on them, filled by the rumble of the Mammoth's idling engines and the dull thunder of distant battle. At length the man dug out the combat footage and whipped it up onto the main screens with the flick of a button.

"Alright, Vannigan," Llewellyn rumbled. "What exactly is it you want us to see?"

Ryke shot the man a sidelong glare, then nodded to the tech. "Skip forward until we reach the base of the warren – the main chamber."

The footage zoomed forward at a frightening rate, compressing the brutality of that battle into a handful of seconds. Good pilots and friends had died in those tunnels, their names now etched into the ever-growing memorial walls of the Forge. Now that all felt so distant in his memory. Many pilots had come and gone, leaving only Ryke, Preese, Thaye and Brigg out of the original ten that had set out from Stamm Basin all those months ago.

He couldn't help wondering which of them would be next.

The image on the screen flashed to the central chamber and froze, the main camera locked on the mountainous bulk of the Scraegan leader they'd encountered in those depths. Even through a display it exuded feral power, looming higher than even an Alpha, silver-furred and sporting an extra set of arms that protruded from its lower torso. Ryke wondered where that shaman was now. The siege of Brekka had only been broken by returning it to its fellows.

"Roll forward," he said. "Half-speed." The thing began to turn. His eyes fixed on the huge, brassy-gold medallion that hung from one of its enormous hands. As it pivoted the medallion turned, its design facing directly into the camera.

"Freeze it!" Ryke snapped.

The screen froze. He felt his heart beating faster as his suspicions were confirmed. The artistic image on the medallion looked an awful lot like what he and his soldiers had just fought. It was more stylised, with intricate etchings round the edges, but the central image looked just like a depiction of one of the things roaring, right down to the serrated rows of teeth.

"Drown me," Hackley exclaimed.

"I think these things have been around a lot longer than we thought," Ryke said. "And clearly there's only one race on this planet that knows anything about them."

Llewellyn turned to him uneasily. "What exactly are you suggesting, sergeant?"

"I'm suggesting we get some help." He pointed at the screen. "If we want to figure out what these things are, maybe we should ask the Scraegans?"