Chapter 35 - Only Cowards Draw Straws

Colonel De Lunta wasn't taking volunteers.

There were only fifteen combat ready Dreadnoughts available to the human army, the vast expense involved in their creation making each mech more precious than water. That meant only a select few pilots would be taking the monsters into battle, and it would not be left up to chance who got those places.

Ryke was one of them.

Thaye was another.

Every soldier that De Lunta selected sported a brutal track-record of close combat prowess. Most of them were tenured veterans, some officers, some long-serving soldiers of the line. Ryke sometimes forgot that, even though it felt like a long time to him, both he and Thaye were still relatively new compared to some of Brekka's soldiers. They were certainly the youngest members of this elite group.

Some he recognised, some he didn't. Hard-faced, hard-hearted fighters formed the core of the squadron, with only one pilot that didn't come from a Brekkan squadron. He was a sallow-faced young man from Charpente's HK-Praxis, named Milica 'Fang' Praxadine. Evidently De Lunta had seen enough in the man's combat history to overlook his origin.

Of the others, nearly half of the new squadron were officers, including the veteran Sergeant Parnell, alongside the towering Captain Dultzer who had been in command of HK-Thresher. This left gaps in the command structure of other squadrons; pilots were forced to step into the breach, take command roles that they would otherwise have avoided. Ryke spared a sympathetic thought for Preese who would have to take command of HK-Rupture.

There was nothing he could do about it, though. It stood to reason that some of the most capable fighters were those who'd bloodied their way up through the ranks, promoted through pure combat experience. De Lunta wanted the best, and he was taking them, come hell or high water.

All fifteen pilots gathered in the hangar where every functional Dreadnought mech had now been unloaded. The brutes skulked like statues to old gods, engineers and technicians scurrying around them as they constructed fresh cradles with heavier, reinforced waist clamps. Girders climbed around them, the lurid flare of welding torches filling the hangar, punctuated by the clatter and clang of equipment being moved.

Ryke watched it all out of the corner of his eye, crate-loads of jam-jar sized Backlash rounds being dragged into loading bays by squat, six-wheeled equipment haulers. He caught glimpses of Ivy in amongst the frenetic activity, barking orders and directing men and women much older than herself with startling confidence. There was something different about her now, something burned into existence after she'd come face to face with the Crawlers at Ozzmar.

Fear had turned to anger. Anger had turned to vengefulness. Vengefulness had turned into ruthless determination. She wanted the creatures dead, and if she couldn't do it herself, she was going to provide the means for Ryke to do it for her.

"We don't have a lot of time," De Lunta said, speaking loudly to bring his voice above the clamour and dragging Ryke's attention back. "I don't have word on exactly when we will be deploying, but I know we're going to need to get to grips with these new toys fast. Faster than any of us are used to.

"At most, we're estimating ten days until a wider deployment will be authorised. The rest of the brass are hashing out the details, but you're stuck with me, I'm afraid." A scattered chuckle passed through the pilots at the remark, but it did little to defuse the cloud of tension hanging over them. Thaye raised a respectful hand, and De Lunta gave her a nod.

"Go ahead, pilot," he said.

"What exactly is the plan, sir?" she asked, an edge of something approaching excitement in her voice. "What are we hitting?"

"Essentially, this is no different to the last time we took on those crawling buggers. Just a bigger target, which means a bigger bomb." He shot the squad a wry smirk. "A bomb that we'll have the job of delivering. We'll have a full battle group in support – regular Hunter-Killers, armour, Scout Cadre and armoured infantry groups – and we're expecting some Scraegan company to come along for the ride."

"A joint opp?" Parnell queried.

"That's the idea."

"But they can't link in with our comms, can they-"

De Lunta raised a hand to cut her off. "Not our problem, sergeant. Our only job right now is to clock as much time in the Dreadnoughts as possible before the deployment order comes through. That is all I want you to concentrate on, alright?"

Parnell still looked uncomfortable, but she gave him a nod. "Yes, sir."

"Leave it to Colonel Hackley and the blackwaters to thrash out the details – we've got a lot of heavy lifting to do."

"So, we're targeting the central chamber?" Ryke asked.

"Exactly. And we're bringing an atomic mine big enough to flatten Brekka with us."

"Do we have any idea what we're going to find down there?"

The colonel nodded solemnly. "We know those things come out of eggs. If I had to bet on it, I'd wager we'll find whatever's laying them. The Scraegans have more experience fighting these things than we do – if that's where they say we should go, they'll have a damn good reason."

"Sir," Milica Praxadine piped up awkwardly. "If they've been fighting the Scraegans this long, what do they need us for? It seems like the ceasefire is in effect. They've got a free hand to finish it."

"You ever seen a Scraegan with a nuke, son?" De Lunta returned.

"Err ... well no?"

"No. And be glad about it. That's what they need, and don't kid yourselves into thinking we don't need them too." He began pacing slowly back and forth as he spoke. "When we go in there, we're going to be in tight spaces. Our convoy will be vulnerable to ambush. With Scraegan packs shadowing us, they can intercept Crawlers before they reach us, or at the very least set off an early warning. They can get us to that chamber, but they don't have the kind of ordnance we can deploy. That's the whole reason they called their little peace summit."

Ryke nodded silently. Tactically all the pieces fit together in his head like a satisfying jigsaw. A joint force, fighting its way to the centre of the Crawler mass and setting off the biggest bomb ever detonated on Rychter's soil – it was ruthlessly simple.

"Each and every one of you knows what's at stake here," De Lunta continued, gesturing over his shoulder at the Dreadnought mechs. "And nobody on this base is going to lie to you about what it means to step into one of these. We're finishing this fight for everybody; not just Brekka – Everflowing, not even just for humans. If we can pull this off we might just be able to find a little light at the end of the tunnel for this war. We'll be helping the Scraegans too, and they'll remember it."

His gaze hardened and he folded his arms, his eyes passing over each of the pilots in turn. "So, no backward steps, no second guesses. You're all here because you're the best pilots we have to offer, but this is a lot bigger than any one of us. That means we don't stop, no matter what. It means if we have to die down there to see this through, then that's exactly what every single one of us is going to do. Do you understand me?"

No-one even hesitated. Fourteen hands shot to foreheads; every member of the squad snapped tight to attention, saluting their commander, and in crisp unison they barked out a response that echoed above the cacophony of the hangar.

"SIR, YES, SIR!"

Ryke felt adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he shouted with the others as they held their salutes like statues. Only when Captain Dultzer – the de facto second officer of this elite group – dropped his hand, did the others follow.

De Lunta's expression morphed into a grim smile, and he nodded. "Alright then. Let's go to work."

*

The Dreadnought Pattern definitely took some getting used to, Ryke had to admit. With each step he felt like he was going to smash straight through the planet's crust from the sheer weight of the thing. The enhanced physical feedback of his link-skin connected him to the machine in a way no-one who hadn't piloted a Hunter-Killer could understand.

There was a sense of raw savagery in this beast, something that made him want to lash out and smash everything in sight. Ryke felt like he could have ripped the planet in two if they let him. It was a giddy feeling, almost a high from the sheer sense of power the Dreadnoughts imparted when they connected to a pilot.

But discipline kept him in line.

The new squadron thundered around a specially cordoned training field, practising their manoeuvres under the watchful eye of a dozen combat support specialists and Marshall Llewellyn. On the field itself, De Lunta roared orders till his lungs were hoarse.

Ryke could feel sweat gushing off of him as he tried to adjust for the added strain of piloting such a powerful machine. Coolant systems were another thing that had been sacrificed to allow the Dreadnought to be as efficient killing machine as possible, meaning the pilots inside had to bite their tongues and deal with an additional level of discomfort.

He suspected that in the midst of combat with the Crawlers it wouldn't bother him so much.

Not having a gun with any kind of range felt strange to him now. He'd gotten used to the thumping recoil of the Riot pattern's rotating cannon, and without it he felt somehow naked when charging into the breach. Ignoring the sensation, he tightened his shoulders and drove the mech on.

"Combat groupings," De Lunta barked over the comm. "On my lead – give me a clean sweep through this tunnel system."

They peeled off into their groups, movements a little sluggish and awkward as they tried to compensate for the different weight ratios of the Dreadnought. Ryke wrestled his mech into place to form a loose triangle with Thaye and Milica, the trio rotating on an axis as they moved through the broad, simulated passage. It was supposed to be a close approximation of the kind of narrow gullies they would be traversing in the Scraegar Labyrinth and Ryke could understand fully why the Dreadnought's designers had abandoned any kind of long range weaponry. Anything in these tight squeezes would be better dealt with hand to hand.

The triads of Hunter-Killers blundered their way on through the passage in question, their spacing oscillating wildly. Ryke increased his speed to catch up, but had to frantically dial back down again as he almost ran straight into Thaye's flank. The Dreadnought carried huge torrents of momentum into any aggressive movement – he could already tell that charging a target in one of these monsters would be devastating, but it also meant it was easy to fling yourself out of control if you weren't careful.

"Pissing rivers," Thaye cursed as she lurched out of formation. "Thing handles like a damned mudslide."

"Close your spacing," De Lunta told them calmly. The colonel himself was having the same adjustment issues as the rest of them. While many pilots had been piloting standard Hunter-Killers a lot longer than Ryke and Thaye, he realised quickly that the new mechs were a great leveller. He also understood why De Lunta hadn't wanted volunteers.

These things were a bastard to handle. A few hours of training was enough to prove that not just anyone would be able to do it.

The session wore on and they wrested their way through several combat formation drills, this first day just focusing on getting used to hauling the bulk of the Dreadnoughts around with sufficient cohesion. Vibrations made his limbs ache through the link skin, but by the time De Lunta called a halt to the days drills the soldiers already showed signs of improvement.

They could hold a decent formation now and practised several new ones that took account of the unique armaments of the new Hunter-Killers. No skirmish lines; just lots of tightly knit, close-combat manoeuvres that focused on spacing, covering flanks and moving through the narrow defiles of the Scraegar Labyrinth with as much force and speed as possible.

When he finally slithered out of the pilot's cradle of the Dreadnought, Ryke was startled by how tired he felt. It was the fourth and final hour-long session they'd spent running through basic combat manoeuvres, given breaks in between to cool and refuel the reactors, and ease the strain on their bodies.

Even with that added down time, he found himself sore all over. Never mind running out of fuel – the neural feedback load from the Dreadnought's sheer mass was so intense that he doubted he could have piloted the thing for more than a few hours at a time anyway.

He and Thaye trudged out of the hangar, both bone weary but satisfied. Despite it all, Ryke couldn't deny that he felt a thrill being at the helm of something so powerful. Thaye didn't even try to hide it, an exhausted grin plastered on her face as they stepped out into the relative cool of Rychter's evening air.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" he asked, giving her a playful nudge with one elbow.

"Are you not?" she replied, shooting him a scornful glance. "C'mon, sarge – we were born to be in those beasts. I'm just glad we're getting the chance."

"You're a little bit nuts, you know that?"

"Aren't we all?"

"I suppose." He raked hand through his sodden hair and sighed. "Watching Lords, I think when we're all done with this, I'm going to take a holiday somewhere a little colder."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Where?"

"I hear empty space is nice this time of year."

Thaye grinned and shook her head, before a shout from behind them stopped both pilots in their tracks.

"Ryke!"

They both turned and found Ivy slouching her way across the concourse towards them. She might not have been piloting a Dreadnought, but she looked just as exhausted – her overalls rolled down to the waist to reveal a soot blackened tank top, her face and hair stained with oil and engine grease. Ryke didn't care. He stepped forward and caught her in a fierce hug, breathing deep as he buried his face against the top of her head.

"It's good to see you," he mumbled.

"You too."

"How you feeling?"

"Like a Scraegan just tap-danced on me." Ivy eased back with a lopsided smile. "But I've finally got some free time since I got back on the base. Are you... I mean, are you guys finished up for the day?"

"Yeah, we're off the clock."

"Do you want to...?" Ivy broke off, casting a coy glance at Thaye. "I thought we might catch some time, just, you know, you and me?"

"Oh..." The implication carved through his tiredness. Ryke suddenly felt a lot more alert. He glanced apologetically at his fellow pilot. "I... do you mind if I-?"

"Hey, no, don't worry about me." The other Hunter-Killer waved a dismissive hand and smirked. "I'm heading back to the barracks anyway." Her eyes glinted mischievously as she looked form one to the other. "Want me to keep a beer cold for you or...?"

Ryke hesitated; looked at Ivy. She made an awkward sound somewhere between a chirp and a giggle.

"I think I'll just have one on you, sarge." Thaye grinned, winked broadly at him, then turned and swaggered off towards the Hunter-Killer barracks. She waved a hand in the air as she went. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

They waited as Thaye's silhouette disappeared into the distance. Eventually stood alone in a small island of calm, surrounding by the muffled din of other engineers at work and grumbling engines. He couldn't help noticing that the base seemed quieter than it had for weeks. With the Scraegans and humans no longer ripping each other apart the constant thunder of northern artillery no longer filled the night sky. He almost missed it.

Almost.

"Come with me," Ivy said quietly, taking a grip of his hand and pulling him along behind her.

Ryke didn't resist, letting himself be led away from the hangar, away from the Hunter-Killer barracks and along the northern edge of the base until they reached what looked like a small vehicle depot. Ranks of balloon-wheeled trucks squatted silently alongside armoured personnel carriers and light tanks. She guided him between two of the vehicles, round to the rear access hatch.

Before he could ask where she was taking them, Ivy punched in an access code and the hatch popped open with an obliging clunk. She turned round, shot him a coquettish smile and pulled him up the steps and into the truck's passenger compartment.

He let go of her hand long enough to pull the door shut behind him. When he turned back, she threw herself at him.

Their bodies clashed together with desperate energy. Ivy's hand clenched into his hair and she drove her lips against his; a violent, passionate, urgent thing that he plunged into like a raging river. He found his feet; his hands wrapped around her waist and he heaved her up into the air.

Ivy squealed through her kisses, clamping her thighs around his waist as he lifted her off the ground. He let out a growl as he twisted wildly, slamming her back against the truck's interior. She gasped. Nails raked down his neck and over his back and the next instant they were tearing at each other's clothes.

Garments were flung around the cabin with total abandon. Her overalls crumpled at her feet; his jacket tossed aside; he ripped the tank top up over her head; she traced kisses across the side of his neck and down his shoulders as she peeled the link-skin off of him, revealing the solid, sinewy body beneath.

They dropped naked to the floor of the truck, and the world passed them by.

*

Darkness engulfed the base as they collapsed together in an exhausted heap, utterly spent. They'd liberated a thin, soft blanket from one of the gear compartments to cover their quaking bodies and Ivy laid her head against his chest, one finger tracing idle shapes on his skin. Ryke hugged her close, one arm tucked tight around her waist, and the other reaching across his body to cup the side of her face. Their breath misted the windows.

Rychter would go on without them right now.

"I'm really glad you're back," he murmured.

She gave his chest a light slap. "You can do better than that, 'sergeant'."

"Huh?"

"Ryke, you know what I mean." Ivy propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him disapprovingly. "I get there's war on and everything, but does... this-," she made a vague gesture to their bodies, "not mean a little more than being glad to see me?"

"Oh." When he realised his mistake, he gave her an apologetic smile and nodded. "Sorry, you're right. Of course it does. When you weren't here I couldn't... it was tough. You were in my head a lot. It's just... it's been a long day."

"Yeah, tell me about it." She eased down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "But I missed you. A lot. More than a lot." Ivy paused, bit her lip.

"What is it?"

"Everflowing – no it's stupid."

"Ives, say what you want to say." He caressed the bare skin of her back reassuringly. "You know you can tell me anything."

"Hah... oh, drown me." Her eyes snapped to his. "I love you, Ryke."

Ryke felt his heart jolt. Love was a strange word to bandy about in the face of all this carnage and chaos. But if not that, what was this? They'd been through a lot together; faced down the worst of the world together. She'd never doubted him, never told him to back down or turn away. She wanted him to be Ryke Vannigan, just as he was, just as Rychter needed him.

"Stupid. I know – you've got other things to worry about but I just-,"

"I love you, too," he whispered back, stopping her panicked babble in its tracks.

For a moment she looked stunned. Then her smile returned, climbing to her eyes. "You... you mean that? I mean, just because I said it doesn't mean-,"

"I love you, Ivy," Ryke repeated, gently stroking her cheek with one hand. "If I'm honest, I think I've loved you for a while, but the world just got in the way."

"Oh." A giggle slipped out and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Ivy lowered herself back down to lie against his chest, tucking herself up against him again. "Sorry, I just- that's good. That's really good."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Just, however, this plays out," she said huskily. "I need you to do something for me, Ryke."

"Anything."

He felt her swallow down the lump in her throat. She squeezed him tight and pressed her face against the side of his neck, speaking softly.

"Please don't die."