Just ask the Scraegans.

Ryke smiled ruefully at the memory. It had sounded very simple in the armoured safety of the command Mammoth. Until you remembered that a few miles away all out war was being waged. Difficult to attempt a conversation when you were still shooting at each other.

Right now their task force remained held in reserve with repairs underway as the battle raged on the horizon. Miraculously, Qadira had come out of her close encounter with only minor cuts and bruises, but her Hunter-Killer was in a different state. It would be the better part of a day before the techs at the forward base finished stripping out and replacing the ruined components.

That left him with a lot of thinking to do.

The makeshift forward command base of the human army sprawled out behind the battle-lines, positioned a couple of miles behind the command Mammoth and ringed with bristling defences. Bulky crawlers with flat-bed trailers carried enormous quad-cannons, ready to move the fearsome armaments to counter any threats. Hunter-Killer squadrons, including Charpente's HK-Praxis, rotated on patrolling the edge of the base, along with a constant wider curtain of Scout Cadre skiffs. Heavy tanks and self-propelled guns squatted at strong points along the perimeter, hulls camouflaged against the desert terrain and engines dormant, ready to unleash their fury on any unsuspecting Scraegan attackers.

Ryke strode through the billet tents that formed long rows inside the defensive cordon, their roofs sheened with reflective material to deflect the worst of the pounding sunlight during the day. A hydro-cube dissolved in his mouth as he ducked into the Hunter-Killer barrack row, where a handful of off duty pilots lounged. Some dozed, others played games, some were reading on data-slates. This close to the front there was no sign of any shiner or scorchbeer, not when you could be called to battle in a matter of moments.

Exchanging nods and greetings with some of the pilots he recognised from Brekka, Ryke made his way through towards the back of the tent where the temporary billets for HK-Rupture had been assigned.

He found a few of his squadmates there. Brody looked like he was fast asleep on his bunk; Kim and the rookie Raptor pilot, Ricardo, were playing a game between their data slates. Qadira lay on her bunk, nibbling from a ration pack of smoked meat, staring at the roof of the tent blankly. He could see the series of thin cuts on the left side of her face where an interior feedback sensor had blown apart inside the cockpit and torn into her. She was lucky not to have lost an eye.

Ryke left her to her thoughts for now. The younger pilots started to rise as he approached but he waved them back dismissively.

"At ease, at ease," he said. "I'm just here for a rest like everyone else."

Slinging himself onto his bunk, he tugged his own data slate from the pocket hanging off the side of the frame and thumbed its power button. Tactical reports spilled down the page as he eschewed the entertainment programs built into the machine, unable to shake off the feeling of impotence as he could do nothing but wait.

All along the front an enormous engagement had erupted as the main thrust of the human force struck eight heavily defended Scraegan warrens at once. Llewellyn's battle plan leveraged the mountain-smashing power of the artillery columns, pounding the visible areas of the structure with a never-ending fusillade of shells until both the rock structure and surrounding area became unstable enough to drag the Scraegans out to fight.

Once their foes had been goaded into fighting, the Hunter-Killers led the assault, supported by fast-moving scout columns and brigades of mechanised infantry. The result was an utter bloodbath as the Scraegans fought back savagely.

None of that was unexpected. Ryke knew that only an idiot would have expected the Scraegans to forfeit their defensive lines in the badlands without exacting a heavy toll on their attackers. What it meant, however, was that there was no easy way to stop the fighting to even attempt his plan. If some units didn't continue their push forward, they would become vulnerable to counter attacks from Scraegan reinforcements as the enemy consolidated. If others withdrew too quickly they could leave their comrades exposed to flanking actions. A delicate balancing act now had to be struck, to achieve a certain number of objectives to form a second front that the human army could defend.

Ryke didn't know how long that might take, or it it was even possible.

He scanned the battle terrain over and over, coming up with a million scenarios and tactical deployments in is head, none of which he had the authority to enact. Right now he could do nothing but sit and pray to the Riverlords that he would get his chance to try and interact with the Scraegans while they still could.

His brooding was interrupted when Thaye came barging into the barrack tent.

"Sarge?! Sarge! RYKE!" She came sprinting through the space, vaulting over empty beds and skidding to halt before she crashed into him.

"What is it?" Ryke shot up out of his bunk, data-slate forgotten in a heartbeat. The other members of the squad abandoned their games. Even Brody jerked awake and scrambled to his feet, scrubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Report just came through from Hackley's people," Thaye panted, looking uncharacteristically shaken. "Ozzmar's been attacked."

A shudder rocked him from head to toe.

"Scraegans?" Qadira shook her head in disbelief.. "They couldn't be that far north!"

"I don't know." Thaye shook her head. "All they got was a scrambled distress call. Then the comms cut out."

"Drown me," Brody murmured.

He felt like he'd been hit with an electric shock.

His mind spiralled through the implications in a ferocious rush. With the massive central assault only a skeleton garrison remained at Ozzmar now, nowhere near enough to deal with a concentrated Scraegan assault. Even as that thought crossed his mind, he couldn't help thinking of the arthropod creatures. They knew there had to be more than the one they'd encountered in the Scraegan warren. Was it possible that they'd somehow made their way north?

Ivy.

Her platoon was still stationed there, bringing the geothermal plants back online and providing a repair and supply stop for army units being funnelled down the western flank. Ryke suddenly felt sick. And Ivy wasn't the only person in Ozzmar he cared about; Scantlin would still be there, recovering from the injuries he'd sustained in taking the town. Alongside them Ozzmar still housed many other wounded soldiers, as well as disparate elements of armoured columns and militia units that had taken a mauling in the first few weeks of the campaign.

The casualties could be horrendous.

"On me, all of you," he snapped.

Thaye and the others instantly fell into step with him as he set off at run, bolting through the tent and out into hot morning air. News of the attack seemed to be spreading already; other pilots spoke in hushed, disbelieving tones. Support officers raced back and forth between tents, barking urgently into radios.

"Thaye?"

"Yeah?"

"Find Preese and the others. Get to your mechs, light a fire under the techs. I want us combat ready and set to move out in twenty minutes." He glanced at Qadira. "You ready to get back out there?"

"Yes, sir," she answered with a firm nod. "But my Hunter-Killer is still in the repair bay-,"

"Then tell the techs to find you a spare. Tell them I authorised it and that they can take a swim in the Everflowing if they don't like it."

"What about you?" Thaye asked.

"I'll catch up with you, now go!"

She nodded and motioned for the others to follow. "You heard him! Move it, double time."

They raced off towards the Hunter-Killer pen on the west edge of the forward base. Ryke watched them go a for a few second before twisting around and sprinting in the opposite direction, heaving for the satellite command tent set up for their task force.

The cube like tent squatted amongst a cluster of other identical, makeshift structures for force commanders to use as their temporary offices as the war ground southward. He plunged through the flap and was gratified to find Brackenshaw and two of her officers already there, conversing in terse, hushed tones.

At his entrance she looked up sharply, before shooting a warning glance at her fellow scouts.

"Vannigan?" she said, placing her data-slate down on the display table.

"I just heard," Ryke blurted. "Ozzmar? The attack? What do we know?"

"Not a lot." Brackenshaw shook her head grimly. "All I got through from my perimeter patrol was a general disaster call – no message detailing their crisis. Either they didn't have time to send one, or there's no one left to do so."

That last phrase dug into Ryke's gut. He stood to attention, stiffening his spine and swallowing down the lump in his throat.

"Do we have any details?"

"Not yet." He could feel the frustration in her voice. The scout sergeant was not comfortable dealing with unknowns. It went against her whole function in the human army. "We didn't detect anything on our long range seismics on the western approach. It shouldn't have been possible for the Scraegans to strike that deep. We would have detected them."

"Unless it isn't the Scraegans," Ryke suggested.

Her face darkened. "Meaning?"

"That thing we found? It didn't trigger our seismics either."

"So you think-"

"We can sit here and guess or we can head out there and find out," he said quickly. "My Hunter-Killers are gearing up as we speak."

"HK-Praxis are still on patrol, Vannigan."

"Then recall them."

"I understand some of your people are still at Ozzmar."

"Some of our people," he corrected. "Ma'am, we're the closest combat ready task force. My people will be ready to move inside half an hour but we need deployment orders now. You can authorise them."

"The request has already been made, Vannigan," she replied. "I passed the word to Colonel Hackley as soon as we got the reports. I've requested an immediate deployment of our units to reinforce Ozzmar, whatever happened there. If it's a Scraegan flanking attack or more of those things, we need to know."

Relief coursed through him and he nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"I've passed the word to Lieutenant Gaul to form up his columns for deployment and there are tactical orders distributing to your mech HUDs as we speak." Brackenshaw turned to face him. "Gear up, sergeant and get your people moving – don't wait for us. Once I get these orders approved I'll be right behind you."

*

The makeshift armoured gates barely parted in time as Ryke's Hunter-Killer went flying towards them. With barely a meter to spare on either side he exploded out into the open desert, sending all fifteen tons of his battle mech sprinting from the forward command base.

Ryke raced out in front as their task force spilled into the badlands, deploying away from the main battle lines as they retraced the human advance back towards Ozzmar. He tried not to think about anything else except maximising his speed, coaxing every drop of power out of the Hunter-Killer's reactor to propel it forward. Behind him even the more agile Raptors took a moment to catch back up to him as HK-Rupture formed up in a broad skirmish line.

The gates yawned wider as the first of Gaul's armoured units rumbled out in the wake of the Hunter-Killers, engines bellowing as they piled on speed. On his HUD Ryke could see the armour commander's battle tank taking up station in the middle of the pack, a brute of a vehicle shaped like a blacksmith's hammer and sporting an immense 140mm main gun. Treads ripped the ground to pieces as they gave chase.

"Lockjaw – AC-8," Ryke called to the other officer. "Pull into skirmish formation behind us. Give it everything you've got."

"Copy that, Lockjaw," Gaul responded quickly, a tremor in his voice. "All armour deploying at assault speed. Closing formation now."

The icons representing Gaul's troops soon began to close in on the Hunter-Killers, matching their speed. Light vehicles spread to the flanks and rear to shepherd the big guns in the centre. Ryke quickly brought up their route to Ozzmar, his HUD displaying a long band of blue that snaked gently through the rises of the badlands towards the craggy reaches in the west. Even at their current speed it would still take them hours to get to the town and he ground his teeth together in frustration.

He might have been able to get a little more speed out of his Riot Mech, but he knew that Gaul's tanks were already pushing to the edge of their tolerances, not to mention the Goliaths piloted by Brigg and Brody. He had no option but to settle in and ride out the bone-jolting pace for as long as he had to. None of the pilots voiced a word of complaint; even Qadira in a purloined Riot mech didn't say a word. They all had friends and comrades in the Ozzmar garrison.

Another half an hour passed before Brackenshaw's voice came over the comm.

"SC-21 – Lockjaw, come in."

"Reading you loud and clear, ma'am," Ryke answered crispy.

"Took them long enough, but deployment has been approved. We are en route at maximum speed."

"Copy that, ma'am. Any further word from Ozzmar?"

"Nothing yet. Whatever happened, their comms station must've been taken out. We'll keep trying." There was a pause, then Brackenshaw spoke again over the wideband. "SC-21 to all units – listen up. At approximately 0950 this morning we received a general disaster call from the garrison at Ozzmar. We don't know what happened but there was no follow up message. All we can say for certain is that they are under attack. We have no comms and no idea what we're really walking into out there.

"We're the first response. I know you're all anxious to get out there as fast as possible, but I want no half-measures and no shortcuts. Make sure you are combat ready, that your flanks are covered and that you stick in formation. I'm not having us walk right into another meat-grinder today."

Ryke joined the other officers in passing along his acknowledgement. Despite his desperation to get to Ozzmar as quickly as possible, he would be no use anyone if he got his people ambushed and killed. His mind kept creating horrible scenarios that they might find when they reached the town; he tried to suppress them, distracting himself by rechecking his firing systems, armour integrity, reactor output and ammo feeds.

The Scout Cadre units caught up to them a little more than ten minutes later. Six skiffs hurtled by, swiftly overhauling the tanks and Hunter-Killers, kicking up great swirls of sand and grit as they gunned their lifter engines. They spread out in a screen ahead of the main battle line, seismic sensors sweeping and comm lines blurting out status requests to the Ozzmar garrison.

At this point Ryke didn't expect a response. A leaden weight settled in his stomach. If anyone was alive there they would surely have radioed by now. He resisted the urge to speed up even more, calculating the tolerances of his Hunter-Killer and trying to figure out just how much he could push the machine before its servos gave out.

They thundered on for more than an hour, eating up huge chunks of ground with their urgency. No readings showed on their seismics, but that didn't make Ryke feel any better, his anxiousness building by the second. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about Ivy. She wasn't a soldier – she was an engineer. How could she survive an assault that seemed to have wiped Ozzmar off the map, again?

"SC-21 – Lockjaw!" Brackenshaw's bark yanked him out of those bleak thoughts.

He blinked in surprise. "Go ahead?"

"Picking up a signal! It's weak but it's coming from the direction of Ozzmar."

"Survivors?" His heart leapt.

"Could be. The message is all broken up. Piping to your comm now."

Ryke waited for a few seconds, anticipation clawing at him from the inside. Then a garbled, static-infested message came blurting through his earpiece.

"Repeat... Hunter-Killer... callsign 'Haze'. Is... reading?"

"Scantlin!" Ryke gasped.

"You recognise them?"

"Yes, yes! That's one of my pilots. He was in the medical centre at Ozzmar. Can you home in on that signal?"

"We can try. Lock to my trajectory and we'll lead you in. I'll see if we can clean up the comms."

A moment later the line of skiffs ahead adjusted their course slightly, and Ryke followed suit, pulling the other Hunter-Killers with him. Gaul's tanks traversed in pursuit and the whole task force swung onto a new trajectory. Minutes dragged by interminably, but at last Brackenshaw came over the comm again, shunting the cleaned up message onto the wideband for the task force to hear.

"I repeat, this is Hunter-Killer Rupture Six, callsign 'Haze'. Is anyone reading me?" There was no mistaking Scantlin's voice, though he sounded pained, as though speaking through gritted teeth. By all estimates the medics had given he would still have been recovering. "Ozzmar has been attacked. We have wounded in need of urgent medical attention. If anyone is reading this transmission, we are trying to make our way east out of the combat zone – hone in on this transmission and acknowledge. I repeat..."

The message played over again and Ryke exhaled a steadying breath, trying to take this all one step at a time. So Scantlin had survived whatever assault Ozzmar had suffered – that was something.

"Are we in comms range?" he asked.

"I can boost you through our relays," Brackenshaw replied. "Go ahead."

"Lockjaw – Haze!" Ryke blurted. "Come in, Scantlin, do you read?"

After a few seconds of fizzling static the Raptor pilot answered. "Thank the watching Lords. That you boss?"

"It's me," he confirmed. "We deployed as soon as we go the disaster call. We're two hours out from Ozzmar."

"Forget Ozzmar," Scantlin told him. "I've got all the survivors with me in a convoy, but we'll never make it to Crescentscar or forward command without an escort."

"What happened? Was it the Scraegans?"

"I wish, boss." The normally chipper pilot's voice filled with dread as he continued. "Drown me, damn things came out of nowhere. Didn't even trigger the seismics. Defensive perimeter was gone before we even knew what was happening. After that..." He trailed off, breath heavy over the comm.

"I get the picture," Ryke cut in. He'd already heard enough to confirm his suspicions. "You can make a full report when we get you all home safe."

"Can you lock in on our signal?"

"Already done, Haze. We're on our way."

"Copy that. And... good to hear your voice, boss. It's been a hell of a day."

"You too."

"ETA on your signal is thirty-three minutes," Brackenshaw interjected. "Sit tight, soldier. We'll be there soon. SC-21 out."

Those minutes felt like an eternity for Ryke, and when they finally got into visual range he felt a gut-punch of shock.

The straggled column of survivors looked nothing short of pitiful. He counted three balloon-wheeled crawlers, half a dozen tanks – one of which didn't even have its main gun mounted – a solitary Scout Cadre skiff, and three Hunter-Killers. Compared to the garrison that had been left behind, Ryke could only swallow down his horror at the casualties that they'd suffered. There were several dozen wounded soldiers, medics, engineers and specialists that sprawled on top of the armoured vehicles, unable to fit inside machines that had never been designed for troop transport. With the swirling sandstorms that plagued the badlands travelling like that was a terrifying gamble.

Despite it all, however, Ryke felt a gushing surge of relief when he saw a figure perched on the shoulder of Scantlin's Raptor mech. The task force moved to form a protective ring around the survivors, but he trudged purposefully forward, stopping just a few meters from his comrade.

"Oh, yeah, saved you a little something, boss," Scantlin said, his voice heavy with weariness. He gestured with one armoured gauntlet to the figure.

Ryke felt a lump rising in his throat as he keyed the command to open the front armour of his Hunter-Killer. The thick plates of metal split open, spilling scorched air and light into his cockpit, allowing him to see Ivy with his own eyes.

It really was her.

She came clambering down from her perch, moving awkwardly until she tumbled to the ground, her body looking achingly fragile standing next to the Raptor mech. Then she came limping towards him. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked at her. Her overalls were ripped scorched all over, and a thick bandage had been tied into place around her head. A smear of dried blood darkened the left side of her face.

Ivy limped over, stopping right in front of his open cockpit and looking up. Tears of disbelief cut through the blood and grim on her face, but she still managed to smile.

"Thank the Everflowing," she croaked, moving forward and placing a hand on the hull of the battle mech.

He wanted to leap out of the Hunter-Killer; wanted to gather her battered body into his embrace, but this wasn't the time, or the place. His instincts told him that they were not safe here.

"Are you okay?" Ryke asked, leaning forward as far as he dared.

She shook her head. "No."

"It's okay, you're safe now."

"Mhm." Ivy tried to nod but he could see her fighting to keep control of herself. He could only imagine the carnage she must've witnessed at Ozzmar.

"I'm here," he told her. "Those things won't come for you again. I promise."

She nodded again, sniffled and scrubbed a torn sleeve across her face. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath to steady herself, she looked up through teary eyes. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whimper.

"Can... can I ride with you?"