The detention centre at Stamm Basin was not a large building. Brekka's armed forces seldom suffered from discipline problems with the unifying threat of the Scraegans to hold them together. A long, low cuboid with two floors, it squatted in the shadows on the north edge of the main concourse, its dark armoured shell punctuated by small square windows. Normally it was a short stay accommodation, for the odd soldier who took insubordination a little too far, or for the occasional drunken fist fight.

No-one had been subjected to a formal disciplinary hearing while he'd been a Hunter-Killer pilot, but Marshal Llewellyn had been right about one thing. Brekka's officers did run a loose ship, giving their soldiers a leniency probably not enjoyed by their comrades from the north. The threat of imminent death at the hands of the Scraegans was usually enough to keep the troops in line.

But now Llewellyn was here, and he'd brought military bureaucracy with him.

Ryke marched right up the door of the building with anger ebbing from every pore, and his squadmates Preese and Brigg right behind him. In the face of this the only thing they could do was present a united from against what he considered to be an inane display of grandstanding from the new Hunter-Killer colonel.

The militia guard at the detention centre door took one look at them and quickly stepped aside, not willing to put herself in the path of an angry group of Hunter-Killer pilots. The door behind her slid open and Ryke stormed through into a small foyer where a sergeant lounged behind a desk, reading something on his data slate. At the arrival of the Hunter-Killers he sat up sharply.

"Pilot Thaye Yulsa," Ryke said. "Where is she?"

"Hold up," the man grunted, placing the data slate on the table. "You her C.O.?"

"Sergeant Vannigan, HK-Rupture. Major De Lunta asked us to meet him here."

The guard nodded. "He's already down there." Standing, he turned to a metal-barred door behind him and punched a code into the locking control. A clunk of retracting mechanisms answered and the guard pushed it open. "Level One, cell eight, just down the stairs and take a left."

"Thanks." Giving the man a quick salute, Ryke led his squad through into the narrow grey passages beyond. At the end of the short hallway was a t-junction splitting off down two flights of stairs, with a thick yellow arrow pointing left for cells one to twenty.

He descended quickly into the lower level, his heart beginning to beat faster. He'd requested De Lunta meet him here, having already appraised Brekka's ranking Hunter-Killer officer of the events that had transpired on the training field the previous day. Ryke knew trying to undercut Harcourt like this was a dangerous game, but his anger at the injustice of it all pushed him well beyond caring. If they were going to war they needed people liken Thaye – she was one of the deadliest pilots in the entire corp.

The stairway opened out into a broader passage line with a staggered arrangement of cells down either side. Each one had a security door and a large reinforced window to reveal the sparsely furnished cell beyond. The rooms were clean and spacious. Most of them were empty.

They found Thaye a few cells along the way, with Major De Lunta waiting on their side of the glass. He gave them a terse nod as they approached. Ryke returned a salute before turning to his pilot.

"How you holding up in there?" he asked.

"Nice little vacation," Thaye chuckled, her voice projecting out through the small speaker grill embedded in the wall above the window.

"Hell of a way to get yourself some R&R." Preese grinned. A lean-bodied kid with tanned ochre skin, he now had the beginnings of stubble shadowing around his mouth, and a snarling dragon head tattoo now adorned the right side of his neck – a celebratory memento of surviving the siege of Brekka.

A shrug; a smirk. "I take it you're got a plan for getting me out of here?"

"Something like that."

"We're going to talk to Colonel Harcourt," De Lunta rumbled, casing a warning glance at Ryke. "And see about dropping the charges. Given the situation he should understand tempers are running high." He took a step towards the glass, eyeing Thaye balefully. "Though you need to get a hold of yourself, pilot. I don't like this any more than you do but we're all on the same team. You can't go around punching officers every time they make a decision you disagree with. This happens again and I won't be able to pull you out of the scorch, understand?"

Thaye had the good grace to look chastened. "Yes, sir."

"Just keep your mouth shut when Harcourt gets here. Luckily for you, you're an asset we can't go without right now. Let's just hope he will understand that and show a bit of common sense."

Ryke exchanged a dubious glance with Preese. He didn't have the same faith in Colonel Harcourt's judgement. The Rubicon soldiers seemed to be cut from much the same cloth, imbued with a sense of arrogant self-assurance. He and his pilots had their own ideas to force the man's hand if he decided to stick to his guns, though Ryke hoped it wouldn't come to that. Brigg caught his eye and gave a barely discernable shake of the head, the stocky pilot folding his sinewy arms across his chest.

Still, they needed to try.

"Harcourt will be here soon," De Lunta told them. "So all of you, keep your tongues civil and try to show a bit of respect. The guy's been living the high life in Rubicon, safe and sound from all this. He'll react better to some decent manners than threats, alright?"

"If you say so," Brigg grunted.

"I do say so. And you'd do well to remember that I'm your superior officer as well, pilot."

Brigg gulped and saluted. "Yes, sir!"

An uneasy quiet fell over the group then. Ryke wanted to speak to Thaye, even reminisce with her about the encounter with Miquelon to try and take the edge off things, but somehow he got the impression that would get him onto the wrong side of Major De Lunta. As much as he wished things to be simple, extracting Thaye from this mess without incident would be a delicate process, and he needed the major on his side.

They spent several minutes stewing uncomfortably the detention centre corridor, with only the humming coolant systems and rattling air ducts to fill the silence. Thaye paced awkwardly at first before flopping down onto the room's thin-padded bed, staring at the ceiling. Ryke wanted to talk, but the easy back and forth that normally flew thick and fast between pilots just wouldn't come now.

Harcourt's arrival finally spared them from any further awkward loitering, though it did nothing to relieve the tension in the air. The colonel was accompanied by two guards and a female officer Ryke didn't recognise – he assumed a second officer of some sort. The two camps faced one and other down, looking like they'd come from different worlds. Harcourt's troops stood stiffly to attention, their uniforms neat to the point of obsessiveness in stark contrast to the rough, casual fatigues of the Brekkan natives.

Then Reaver saluted sharply. It took Ryke a second to realise he wanted them to do the same. Bristling, he glanced to Preese and Brigg; nodded. The trio followed their commander's salute simultaneously.

"Major De Lunta." Harcourt returned the salute, then clasped his hands behind his back. "I am here out of respect for your rank and your accomplishments in the field, but I will warn you now, that respect only goes so far."

"I understand, sir," Reaver replied.

"Then say what you have to say."

"With all due respect, sir, I believe detaining Pilot Yulsa is a mistake."

Harcourt pressed his lips together, one eyebrow twitching. "I had intuited that much. You did review the report I filed on this incident, didn't you?"

Major De Lunta nodded, though Ryke could see a ripple of tension in the older pilot's heavily muscled neck as he did so.

"I did."

"Then I'm unsure what you expect to happen here. I appreciate your loyalty to your pilots, Major, but regulations do not leave room for interpretation in this matter. She struck a superior officer and that is all there is to it. My hands are tied."

"Colonel, you've been here for a couple of days," De Lunta said beseechingly. "We've been in this city, fighting the Scraegans for years. You cannot expect there to be no tension between the pilots. This is all new to them – to all of us."

"Listen to yourself, Major!" Harcourt exclaimed. "They are not children! They are soldiers. I am not here asking them to make friends, but they will follow orders and respect their officers, Brekkan or not. Given the actions of her squad leader during the training exercise-" his gaze drifted pointedly to Ryke, "you can frankly be thankful I am only sanctioning one pilot."

"Is that a threat?" Major De Lunta rumbled, his amicable demeanour swiftly evaporating. "I reviewed the training report – your man made a critical error of judgment! In a real engagement he would have gotten hundreds of soldiers killed. If he were under my command he'd be the one in this cell."

"Then it is as well he is not under your command," Harcourt snapped back. "The purpose of these training exercises is precisely that – to train – to learn from mistakes so they do not happen out in the field! I am not a moron, Major. I know that our troops lack experience, but I will not have their training process be derailed by some backwater thug who doesn't respect the chain of command."

That was too much. Ryke had tried to stay quiet, but he couldn't listen to such dismissive words about the rank and file soldiers of Brekka who'd been doing the lion's share of the dying in the Scraegan war for the past several years. He stepped up alongside Reaver with every sinew in his body straining with rage.

"That 'backwater thug' is one of the few reasons this city is still standing!" he snarled, pointing at Thaye. "How in the Everflowing can you ask us for respect when you give us none? Lieutenant Miquelon is an inexperienced, untested officer who is not ready to command a Hunter-Killer force, let alone an entire mixed division!"

"The lieutenant is a fine young officer," Harcourt replied flatly. "And with training he will be more than ready to lead your battle-group against the Scraegans. He has my absolute confidence and that is the end of the matter." He returned his attention to Major De Lunta, giving him a terse nod. "If that is all, I have other matters to attend to. The disciplinary panel will deal with Pilot Yulsa."

"The hell they will." Ryke folded his arms and looked the colonel in the eye, all sense of respect for rank flying from his mind as he stared down the Rubicon officer.

"Sergeant..." Reaver began, but Ryke had already made his decision. He glanced to Brigg and Preese. The other pilots nodded. It was time.

"Release her," he said, pointing at Thaye. "Today. Otherwise no-one in my squad is going to fight in your war, sir."

Harcourt's whole body seemed to expand as he drew himself up, brows furrowing with rage. "I encourage you to think very carefully about what you are saying, Sergeant Vannigan."

"Oh, I've thought about it. We all have." Ryke gestured to his companions. "Do what you want, Colonel. Either let her out, or open up nine more cells in this place for the rest of us." A grim smile crossed his face. "Then enjoy the fallout when word of this gets out across the base that you've put one of Brekka's best Hunter-Killer squads in jail because of your ego."

A boiling silence filled the space between them as Harcourt glared down at him, fury etched on the officer's face as he weighed up his options. The guards edged forward, fingers inching towards triggers. Major De Lunta glanced at him aghast, but there was nothing he could do now. Ryke had laid down the battle lines for them all.

"You are all playing a very dangerous came here," Harcourt said at last, his voice simmering with barely suppressed rage as he swept his eyes over them. "Very well, in light of Pilot Yulsa's skill in combat and the necessity of unit cohesion I will overlook this single incident."

"Sir!" exclaimed the female officer beside him. "They are committing gross insubordination! We can't allow-"

"That's enough!" Harcourt cut her off with a wave of a hand. "There are larger things at stake here that may require a unique approach. I am not inflexible, but mark me, Sergeant Vannigan, if there is one more step outside the lines from anyone in your squad I'll have all of you in these cells, and you'll never see the inside of a Hunter-Killer again. No matter good your pilots are, there will be discipline. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely, sir." Ryke forced himself to salute, his heart thundering in disbelief that his desperate gambit had actually paid off.

"Then get out of my sight. I will issue the necessary orders and you will have your pilot back for training drills tomorrow."

Sensing he had pushed every possible limit of luck and divine intervention just to get this far, Ryke inclined his head to the colonel and quickly marched from the detention centre. As he ascended the stairs a rush of conflicting emotions clawed at him – elation at having managed to secure Thaye's release, but apprehension at the conditions that had achieved it.

In the short term he'd won this encounter with Colonel Harcourt, but he had no solution for the wider issues that surrounded them. He didn't trust their new lieutenant – Riverlords, he didn't trust any of the new officers that had arrived. He couldn't see a path forward where the clashes didn't continue between the Brekkan natives and their northern counterparts.

Right now he didn't have any answers.