It made sense in a screwed up sort of way, Ryke supposed.

Back at the forward command base, he should have felt relaxed being out of his Hunter-Killer, but knowing that both Hackley, Kelso, and many other members of the support staff had stayed behind to thrash out more details with the Scraegan commander left him squirming with unease.

Despite knowing the basics of what the Alpha wanted from them, before any kind of joint operation could ever be launched, they needed a lot more detail. Colonel Hackley was not about to sanction anything without knowing what she would be ordering her soldiers into.

But his part was done. He was exhausted; so were his pilots. Weeks of almost non-stop deployment had left many of them teetering on the edge of burnout, and Colonel De Lunta hadn't taken no for an answer.

He tried to rest, but his mind wouldn't shut off. This period of rest wouldn't last long; more Crawler attacks were still nibbling at parts of the human line, appearing and disappearing at random, causing chaos and carnage before they could be driven off. The Scout Cadre were getting the worst of it; lightly armed but also the only force that could deploy rapidly enough to engage the arthropods before they hit crucial targets.

Those brave men and women were buying time for this plan with their lives.

Fresh reports of Scraegan intervention reached him through the grapevine as other Hunter-Killer squadrons returned from deployment. More of the heavily armoured Scraegan hunters appeared in small numbers through the badlands, showing up just long enough to slaughter as many Crawlers as they could before melting back beneath the sand. With Scraegan help, the humans could just about hold their lines.

Ryke wanted to be out there. Listening to stories of other people doing the dying made his skin crawl and his jaw ache. In the end he couldn't handle skulking in the barracks anymore and he set out towards the Hunter-Killer hangar bays, trying to occupy himself by checking on the progress of the repair and rearmament of his squad.

He knew what he'd find. The engineers and technicians didn't need anybody looking over their shoulder to do their jobs, but being at a loose end didn't sit well in his gut, so he went anyway. Sure enough, he found everything in order; a terse young man from one of Brekka's Armourer platoons assured him that the mechs were combat ready and fully loaded – ready to deploy at a moment's notice.

It didn't end up being the distraction Ryke had hoped for.

So he found himself wandering through the hangars, passing Hunter-Killer cradles, Scout Cadre bays filled with dormant skiffs, heavy armour berths that reeked of oil and burnt metal, and militia transport hubs. Everywhere he looked soldiers scurried back and forth with a simmering sense of urgency, officers snapping clipped commands to their troops as the war ground on without him.

And it was during this sightseeing tour that Ryke encountered the convoy.

It entered through the northern gates of the command base and when he saw it, he stopped and stared. He counted no less than fifteen long trucks hauling themselves forward at a sluggish pace, each one propelled along on a mix of bulbous wheels and thick tread sections. Each one had a long, thick flat-bed attached to their rear, upon which something huge and bulky had been strapped, covered up by impenetrable black sheets. Black-armoured soldiers carrying shotguns formed a cordon around the convoy, walking in a loose formation, casting wary eyes in all directions as they shepherded the cargo onward.

But on the driver's door of the lead vehicle Ryke spotted something that sent his blood racing. The silver shield encircled by upward facing bullets. The number fifteen printed boldly below it.

He lurched forward into a run, not quite sure what he was doing, his mind racing with a thousand questions. Before he could ask any of them, however, the closest guard detached himself from the formation, swivelling to face Ryke. He kept his gun lowered, his stubbled features more like those of a stern teacher than an angry guard.

"Hold up there, soldier," the man said, raising a hand. "I'm going to have to ask you to stand back."

Despite his burning curiosity, Ryke did as he was asked, a frown furrowing his brow. "What's going on?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that. This is a Forge-sanctioned convoy cleared for senior staff only. That's all you need-,"

"Hey! Hey!" Another voice cut across the hangar. "Loosen up, Ferrus, it's alright." The clank of an opening door wrenched his attention away.

He looked past the guard and his heart swelled in his chest when he say Ivy's slender form spring out from the side of one of the trucks. She landed in a crouch and shot upright, sprinting across the empty space between them like a guide missile. Ivy bolted straight past the guard and slammed into Ryke in a fierce hug.

Then she pressed her lips to his with fierce desperation. Ryke plunged into it, his arms coiling tightly around her waist and sweeping her up off her feet. She let out a squeal as he spun her around before depositing her booted feet back down on the ground. His fingers curled into the fabric of her overalls; he felt her hands clutching at his back as she hauled herself up against him.

"Corporal!" Ferrus protested awkwardly. "We're not supposed to-,"

"Oh, lighten up!" Ivy pulled her lips away long enough to cut the man off. "Who in the Everflowing do you think all that gear is for anyway?"

"I... err," he hesitated; glanced at Ryke. "You're a Hunter-Killer pilot?"

"I'm a Hunter-Killer officer," he corrected.

"Ah."

"Ferrus, it's fine," Ivy assured the guard. "Just keep the convoy moving. I'll catch up in a second, okay?"

"If you say so." Ferrus still looked uneasy but in the end he gave them both a quick salute. "Just be quick, alright? Otherwise the captain'll dunk your ass in the River."

"I'll be right behind you."

Ferrus sighed and turned away, jogging off back to his position in the broad cordon of guards, keeping any other curious onlookers at a safe distance from... whatever was under those covers. Ryke watched him go for a moment, before his gaze drifted back to Ivy.

She looked better; much better. The fire had returned to her eyes and a jet black headband still swept her brown hair back from her face. The hair was shorted than he remembered, cinched into a short ponytail behind her head. Ivy traced the line where his metal jaw met his skin with one delicate finger, exhaling a long, contented sigh.

"So..." Ryke said eventually, not quite believing that she was really standing in front of him. "So you're back?"

"You bet the Riverlords, I'm back," Ivy said, shooting him a vicious smile. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the lumbering trucks. "And I brought you a present."

*

It took three more days before Ryke was allowed to find out what those trucks had been carrying.

A group of Hunter-Killer officers were summoned to a small hangar, tucked away in a dark corner of the forward command base. An armoured, upturned shovel of black metal, the place looked about as inviting as the barrel of a furnace cannon, but Ryke trudged inside nonetheless. He recognised some of the officers here – Sergeant Parnell, Lieutenant Axinar and Sergeant Charpente trailing uneasily at the back of the group.

A broad-backed captain from Brekka named Dultzer led the way, and they followed him through a thick dark curtain of mesh, where they were confronted by a quartet of armed guards with featureless grey livery and no rank markings. The soldiers checked the IDs of every officer present, then ushered them through to another curtained off area towards the back of the hangar.

A dark ceiling climbed thirty feet above their heads, lit by innocently twinkling studs of white light. Footsteps echoed dully through the empty space as they were led through the second set of mesh curtains.

Marshall Llewellyn was waiting for them, along with the other senior officers still on base – Brigadier Vanyr, Colonel Harrow, several black-clad combat specialists and Colonel Andre 'Reaver' De Lunta. Standing opposite them were two members of the Engineering Cadre, clad in their grey fatigues, shoulders emblazoned with the emblem of the 15th Armourer's Platoon. Ryke's eyes went wide when he saw Ivy standing there, alongside her platoon's captain – a rangy-limbed woman with deep, dark skin and a thicket of long dreadlocks flowing down her back.

Behind them stood a blocky shape beneath a black tarpaulin. The sheet bulged all over, like an enormous lumpy square. He couldn't take his eyes off it, knowing that this had to be why they were here.

Ivy winked at him as the Hunter-Killers were led into position, before an expectant silence settled on the soldiers.

"Thank you all for coming," Llewellyn began crisply, giving them a stiff nod of acknowledgement. He gestured to the engineers. "Time is short so I will be quick. For those who do not know, this is Captain Kenyatta and Corporal Shanklin from Bekka's Engineering Cadre, 15th Armourer's Platoon. They have been on special assignment with Forge research and development division since our first encounter with this new threat." Llewellyn stepped aside, flicking a hand towards the covered shape. "Captain, if you would?"

Kenyatta saluted, then stepped over to the bulging cover. She took a hold of a thick clamp on the left side and tugged once. The clamp opened; the tarpaulin fell away to reveal the Armourer's latest weapon.

Ryke stared in amazement at the fearsome machine that stood before them.

It was a Hunter-Killer, but he'd never seen a model like this before. It stood about the same height as an average Riot pattern, but was much bulkier, a squat, tank of a mech wrapped in immense plates of iron-grey armour. Its body was a barrel of solid metal below the armoured crater that housed a spherical head section. Slit-like sensor strips ran from the centre of the sphere diagonally left and right, looking for all the world like a pair of narrow, angry eyes.

Its shoulders bulged out almost comically, nearly as broad as the mech was tall, made that way by two massive shoulder-shield plates bolted to either side. A hemispherical cage of metal sprouted from the back of the Hunter-Killer's neck to form a barrier from above. The cooling stacks were barely visible, protected by even more sheaths of armour plating. Ryke was amazed the thing could even stand up. It looked ungainly, but somehow primal, like an animal waiting to be unleashed.

The engineers exchanged knowing looks, seeing the hungry faces of the pilots.

"Alright," De Lunta chuckled. "I think they're all intrigued. Run them through the specs, Captain."

Captain Kenyatta smirked and glanced at Ivy. "It's your baby, corporal. Want to do the honours?"

"Yes, ma'am." She saluted, unable to contain a wolfish grin. Then she swept up a data slate, tucking it into the crook of her arm and stepping out in front of the assembled Hunter-Killers. She caught Ryke's eye; winked.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ivy began, making a sweeping gesture back to the enormous mech. "Let me introduce you to our newest Hunter-Killer design, pattern designation: Dreadnought."

Her voice was boiling with pride. She flicked a hand across the front of her data slate and a three-dimensional projection of the monstrous machine projected out from its side, not as large as the real thing but still almost as tall as she was. The Dreadnought's constituent parts were latticed together by lines of gleaming emerald.

"For two years, Brekka's Engineering Cadre has been working to develop a heavier Hunter-Killer variant," Ivy continued. "After the battle of Brekka, things were fast-tracked. Then we met the Crawlers." Her posture stiffened slightly, jaw tightening. "Things got fast-tracked a little more. The Dreadnought is the result.

"Unlike other variants it carries no long-range armaments. This mech is designed for frontline, close range combat, and running into those crawling bastards skewed the design even further."

A scattered chuckle passed through the Hunter-Killers. Ryke caught her eye; managed a smile and gave her a slight nod of encouragement. Not that she needed it. Caught up in the world of machines that had drawn her to the engineers in the first place, you could practically feel the exuberance washing off of her in waves as she continued.

"Instead, the Dreadnought carries two wrist-slung shock cannons," she explained. A tap of the data slate zoomed the model in on one of the Hunter-Killer's bulbous hand sections. "Twin-barrelled and loaded with Backlash explosive shatter rounds – ESRs, if you like. These have a range of around twenty meters, but they are most effective at point-blank. We know how you metal-heads like getting up close and personal with every nasty thing on this planet."

Another laugh passed through the group and despite her youth and rank, Ivy carried on with a breezy self-confidence. She'd built this thing; she knew what it could do.

"It means you need to be right in the furnace when you fire," she conceded. "But when you do, whoever you shoot is going to feel it. A single backlash round will open the armour of a standard Hunter-Killer. A twin-linked shot will crack the carapace of a Crawler from close range, and if aimed from below, will deliver enough explosive force to flip them clean over."

"Drown me," Sergeant Parnell exclaimed. "You're sure about that? How exactly do you test a thing like this?"

Ivy winced sheepishly and glanced to her commander.

"Our friends in the northern armour donated some of their terminally damaged vehicles," Kenyatta interjected, smiling slyly. "They made for good stress testers for the Dreadnought weapons." She gestured for Ivy to continue.

"Additional to the shock cannons," she said, turning the display to show the upper side of the mech's forearm, "are two modified warblades. The blades themselves are made from a carbide alloy, and the rear edge houses a reactive tungsten coil that, when activated, can be heated to 1000℃."

A gasp greeted that statement and even Ryke found his eyes widening in amazement.

"From what little battlefield data we have," Kenyatta explained. "The Crawler shells can absorb massive, sharp impacts, but they struggle to withstand intense heat. Hit them with this to open the shell, then you will give yourself a weak point."

"To be used in short bursts only," Ivy cautioned them. "Heating the coil will put extreme strain on a reactor that is already pumping triple its normal output. Overdo it and you'll blow the mechanism. Worse, you'll blow yourself – and anyone within fifty feet of you – to pieces."

The display flickered again as she splayed open the emerald lattice to show the mech's interior. A glowing sphere churned near the lower back, encased in thick layers of reinforced blast plating and a cushioning impact gel.

"The Dreadnought carries a modified version of a standard Hunter-Killer reactor core," she said. "By relaxing the reactor safeties and augmenting power flow efficiency we have increased its output by almost two-hundred percent."

"Relaxing the safeties," Captain Dultzer repeated, casting a wary glance at Colonel De Lunta. "That doesn't sound good."

Kenyatta nodded solemnly. "The reactor can only sustain this output because it operates in a state of barely controlled overload. We told you the design had been fast-tracked. There have been sacrifices in other areas to give you maximum combat power."

Ryke shifted his feet uncomfortably, looking at Ivy. "What kind of sacrifices?"

"When fully loaded for combat a Dreadnought mech weighs in at thirty-seven tons," she replied. "Between the new weapons, a fresh casing of heavier, thicker armour plates and the two shoulder-shields, the reactor will burn through its fuel supply much, much faster than a normal Hunter-Killer to power that kind of mass at combat speeds. That means the Dreadnought can only be deployed for a short window."

"How short?"

She shot him an apologetic glance. "The reactor will burn out in two hours, three at the most."

The chuckles were replaced by murmurs of unease among the pilots.

"I know how it sounds," De Lunta grated. "But this war's not going to wait around for us to dot the I's and cross the T's. Right now, this is our best weapon against the Crawlers. We're going to use it."

"Use it how, exactly?" Ryke asked, both intrigued and perturbed in equal measure by the avalanche of information.

"Our last operation against the Crawlers showed the inadequacies of the current Hunter-Killer designs," Llewellyn explained. "In order to carry out any other assaults of that kind, we needed a more ... efficient means of delivering our explosives to the Crawler hives."

"Next time we deploy," Colonel De Lunta told them. "The Dreadnoughts will be our shock troops. Your job will be to plough the road, and send every single one of those things straight to the River while you do it."