Ten days proved to be optimistic.

One week was all the time that Ryke and the other Dreadnought pilots had to acclimatise to their new Hunter-Killers. Their callsigns were added in thick, bold type beneath the armoured heads of the machines and the bare metal exteriors were given a fresh coat of warpaint, lathered in matte black. They looked like shadow demons; dark avatars of war that would bring retribution down on the creatures that menaced Rychter's wastes.

The new squadron was christened with a name befitting the brutal task they would be performing.

HK-Predator.

The experience and skill of the pilots shone through, vindicating each and every one of Colonel De Lunta's selections. Even in the brief time they'd had to get used to each other their cohesion was clear, their combat training performance more than enough to satisfy their commanding officers. The Dreadnoughts were different, but they were still killing machines – something that each pilot was deeply acquainted with.

Ryke still couldn't deny a sense of nervousness about throwing the Dreadnoughts into combat so quickly. Training could only accomplish so much, and it would have been a huge weight off his shoulders to try the machines out in actual combat before the main deployment.

But it wasn't to be. They were going in. Hackley, Kelso, Llewellyn and the rest had finalised their details with the Scraegan Alpha as best they could, meaning that for the first time Scraegan and human forces would deploy together, on the same side.

The thought made his stomach knot with anxiety as he walked with Thaye towards the main Hunter-Killer hangar on the base. Having a mutual enemy was one thing, but he could only guess at how well this hastily formed alliance would withstand actual combat. They'd had enough trouble getting the humans from Brekka and the North to get along, never mind an entirely different species.

"Yeah, I think it's weird too," Thaye muttered, hands in pockets as she strode alongside him. "But I guess we don't have a lot of choices, do we?"

He gave her a dubious look. "I didn't say anything."

"Your face did." She shrugged, smirking. "Who wouldn't be nervy about relying on the Scraegans?"

"I just don't know what to expect."

"At least we'll have the best seats in the house. Let's just focus on getting through this in one piece."

"Yeah." Ryke nodded, feeling a low ache throbbing along the line of his metal jaw. The uncomfortable sensation of fear crept up his spine.

Don't die.

Ivy words hung heavy like an anvil around his neck. He wanted with every piece of himself to promise that to her, but he just couldn't. He knew he couldn't. She knew it too. He wasn't afraid of getting killed, not really. Being a Hunter-Killer pilot meant you couldn't be, but now he was afraid of what he might leave behind. Of what it might do to Ivy if he didn't come back from this.

"Hey." Thaye gave him a light shove, dragging his attention to her again. She looked at him earnestly. "Just like any other mission, okay, sarge? We've always gotten through it, you and me, side by side. Is really all that different?"

Ryke considered that. "I guess not. Just heavier toys."

"Exactly. And we've got De Lunta calling the shots, not some wet-skinned bureaucrat trying to tell us how to fight. We can do this." A dangerous smile played on the corners of her mouth. "Who knows, maybe someone'll even write a song about it."

"Now wouldn't that be something," he chuckled.

They stuck to the carefully outlined paths on the hangar concourse as vehicles trundled by; groups of armoured supply trucks, armoured infantry carriers and tank columns. The air was thick with engine fumes and hot, making sweat bead on his cheeks.

Passing the vehicle bays, they found similarly frenetic activity taking place among the Hunter-Killers. Groups of pilots gathered around their officers, getting last minute instructions, and perhaps the odd inspirational speech while engineers and technicians performed final checks on their mechs. Voices mingled with snarl of blow-torches and clatter of equipment. Ivy and most of her platoon weren't here – they would be tending to their special charges: the Dreadnoughts.

But HK-Rupture were waiting. A thin smile crossed Ryke's face as he saw Preese standing on top of a crate, gesticulating wildly to the row of pilots in front of him, his voice muddled in the clamour of the hangar.

"Looks like he's taking to it," Thaye laughed. "Maybe he wanted your job after all?"

"When this is all done, I'll get him command of his own unit if he wants it so badly," Ryke murmured back as they approached.

Preese spotted them in mid-sentence and abruptly stopped talking. The swarthy young man hopped down from his perch and stepped sharply forward through the other Hunter-Killer pilots. They turned with him, and all eyes fell on Ryke.

"Sergeant!" Preese snapped a salute, and the others followed his example instantly. Ten pilots stood ramrod stiff, waiting expectantly as the pair came to a halt.

He exchanged a mischievous look with Thaye before giving Preese a nod. "At ease."

The pilots relaxed. He let his eyes wander over them, a surge of something approaching nostalgia filling him. What he would have given to outfit these men and women with Dreadnoughts and take them along for the ride – the people he'd been commanding and fighting alongside since he set foot in a Hunter-Killer. There were four new faces amongst them, pilots transferred from other units to bulk them back out to full combat strength, but the core of the squadron remained intact.

He was immensely relieved to see Scantlin standing there, the veteran scout fully kitted out in his link skin and with no trace of a medical brace, but his brow furrowed when he saw that both the rookie, Ricardo, and Kim were both in the group as well,

"I'm on Riot duty today, Sarge," Scantlin explained, seeing Ryke's confusion. He smiled wryly. "If that's not commitment, I don't know what is."

"Yeah, you're a real martyr," Koral grunted, giving him a good-natured elbow in the side.

"What can we do for you, boss?" Preese asked. "I was just running through our final checks."

"You're the boss today, Corporal," Ryke replied, reaching out to shake his friend's hand. "Look after the house while we're gone, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Preese breathed in deep, then tugged Ryke forward by the hand and embraced him firmly, before doing the same with Thaye. He stepped back, dry-eyed, but Ryke could see him fighting down his emotions as he straightened up.

"Keep some shiner on ice for us," Thaye told him. "We're going to have one hell of a toast when this is done."

"How are the Dreadnoughts?" Brigg asked.

Ryke grinned. "Heavy."

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing mine, eh?" The big Goliath pilot folded his arms, inclining his head to them both. There was worry in his smile, but he kept any thoughts of doom and gloom to himself. Ryke glanced at Thaye; she nodded, jaw tightening with the finality of what they were about to do. He cleared his throat and straightened his back as he addressed his squadron.

"We're shipping out for deployment now," Ryke said. "I wanted you all to know, it's been an honour serving with you. And even if we have a different job today, I'm still going to be out there with you in the field, fighting the same fight." His words lingered in the air amidst the noise of the hangar, and he exhaled a steadying breath, clasping his hands behind his back. "We all know the odds every time we get into a Hunter-Killer. Today's no different. Be safe, raise hell, and if the worst happens, I'll meet you where the currents are calm."

"Where the currents are calm," several voices echoed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kim swallow hard, eyes shimmering in the light.

Preese dipped his head respectfully. "Riverlords watch over you both. We'll see you when it's done."

"When it's done," Thaye confirmed, giving the young man a thump on the chest before turning to Ryke. "We better get going, Sarge."

Ryke nodded. "Good luck. And if the Riverlords aren't watching over you, rest assured, we will be."

Feeling a heaviness settle in his stomach, he and Thaye began to walk away. He dragged his eyes from Preese and the others with a conscious effort, forcing his feet to move one in front of the other. He didn't want to look back. There was nothing else he could do for them now.

"Sir!"

Ryke stopped. A shimmer of surprise passed through him and he turned back to find that Qadira had stepped out of line. The woman hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the other members of the squad before she straightened up and looked him in the eye. Then she snapped a crisp salute, standing to attention with her feet together.

"Good luck, sir," she said. "May the Riverlords guide you."

He couldn't suppress a grin. Walking back over to her, Ryke gave her a nod. "At ease."

She relaxed her stance just a little, and dropped her arms down by her sides as she held his gaze. He looked at her for a long moment, then stuck out a hand. After a brief moment of indecision, she reached gingerly forward and accepted his grip.

"We had a talk once, about respect," Ryke told her as they shook. "And you've earned mine, Corporal."

Qadira stiffened, her chest swelling proudly. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll see you all soon." Stepping back, he winked at Preese, then turned his back, striding away from his squad with Thaye by his side. They looked at each other once, and she put a firm hand on his shoulder. All the loose ends tied up; now there was only one thing left to do.

They walked out of the hangar, where the battle for Rychter waited for them.

*

Sergeant Brackenshaw leaned over the rail of her skiff, looking back at the massive, destructive column that Rychter's colonists had created for this mission. She smirked to herself. Mission didn't really seem like an adequate word. Expedition, or perhaps odyssey would be more fitting.

Or maybe crusade.

Her brigade of six scout platoons was spread out in a broad arc more than a hundred yards out in front of the convoy, radar systems pounding Rychter's sands for any sign of Crawler activity. The army tailed back from her position, bringing the wrath of the human race with it.

Three modified Mammoth carriers dominated the column, bristling with new, high calibre cannons around their lower sections and bulked out by fresh sheets of armour. Other Scout Cadre flights flanked the main force in staggered formations, constantly hunting for any sign of enemy activity. Fast moving infantry transports formed an inner ring, gun-filled armoured cages on balloon wheels that rolled over the rocky terrain with ease.

Thundering along at a jog in skirmish lines on either side of the cumbersome Mammoths were two Hunter-Killer squadrons on a rotating patrol. A total of sixty standard pattern Hunter-Killers had been deployed as part of this battle-group, nearly a third of the entire compliment that Marshall Llewellyn had at his disposal.

Behind them came the armour.

No long-range artillery accompanied them on this trip, such ordinance rendered useless by the high walls and narrow depths they would encounter in the Scraegar Labyrinth. The vehicle escort was instead made up of fast-moving battle tanks with thick, sloping armour, stub-barrelled main cannons and turrets that could traverse with fearsome speed. Each one of the armoured monsters weighed a staggering ninety tons. Under the direct command of Brigadier Vanyr, these were the brawlers of the northern armour, inelegant, brutal, and ruthlessly uncompromising.

But even these formidable weapons of war hadn't commanded the same sense of awe that she'd felt when she watched the Dreadnoughts load into the lead Mammoth. She thought she would know what to expect – every soldier taking part in this operation knew the Hunter-Killers had deployed new, heavier mechs for this assault, but she hadn't realised just how heavy the new arrivals would be.

The things were built like metal boulders that shook the ground with every step. The air around them fuzzed with the heat from their overcharged reactors, cooling stacks belching gouts of superheated air from behind the evil-eyed head section. They didn't look like something a human had created – more like some kind of metal golem had been summoned from beyond the River. Brackenshaw was very glad the machines were on her side.

Shifting her attention forward, she exhaled a long, slow breath as the vast range of crags and canyons rose up on the horizon, racing towards them like an enormous rocky tidal wave. Her blast goggles sloughed of the dusty wind, allowing her to get a good look at the walls of the Scraegar Labyrinth.

On some level she couldn't quite believe she would actually get to see the place up close. Since the start of the war this southern region had taken on a mythic, devilish identity in the psyche of Rychter's colonists. It represented several decades of non-stop bloodshed – a brooding impenetrable fortress that no human would dare enter.

Until now.

"Radar still clear," Corporal Locke reported from below decks. "I can see evidence of Crawler tunnels but nothing recent. Looks like we're on our own out here. Well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I've got seismics consistent with Scraegan packs flanking us," she elaborated. "They're holding distance."

"They're shadowing us," Brackenshaw replied. "Making sure they know where we are so they can coordinate their strikes with ours. Keep your eye on them – report any sudden changes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"SC-21 – Command," she said, switching to the wide band. "We are ten minutes out from our target zone. Looks like our new friends are keeping an eye on us."

"Copy that," came the voice of Colonel Hackley, from far back in the command Mammoth. The senior officer present, Hackley was in operational command of what would probably be the most important military operation ever undertaken in Rychter's history. It spoke volumes that Marshall Llewellyn had delegated the task.

"Proceed on mission," Hackley continued. "We've got the same Scraegan readings on long range seismics, as expected. We gave them a little tap to let them know we've seen them."

Brackenshaw nodded. There was no way to fix up any kind of actual comm link with the Scraegans, certainly not this fast. With more Crawler attacks piling up and spreading from the southern reaches, the blackwater spooks had in the end opted for something more akin to old Morse Code, using timed seismic pulses to send rudimentary messages to the Scraegans underground.

It wasn't perfect, and they couldn't say anything complicated, but it would be enough to let their new allies know they were about to attack or withdraw. Much of the expected Scraegan involvement would be reactive, she knew. The Scraegan warbands would shadow the narrow human column as they plunged into the labyrinth, providing a large, well-armed piece of bait to draw the Crawlers in where the Scraegans could fight them on even footing.

"Copy that, ma'am," Brackenshaw said. "Proceeding on mission." She flicked the comm to her platoon frequency. "Show time, everybody. Boxley, hang back on our six – the rest of you form up on my lead. ETA ten minutes – we are going in."

Acknowledgements flitted through her earpiece. More orders flashed back and forth. The armoured columns and Hunter-Killers increased their pace, and the trio of Mammoths loosened their formation, giving plenty of manoeuvring space for their escorts to flow between them. Fighting space would be at a premium once they reached the labyrinth itself.

Despite the scorching of Rychter's twin suns, the broad valley that had been chosen by the Scraegans as their entrance to the was shockingly dark. The volcanic walls of rock were coal black, rising easily seventy feet on either side in a snaggle-toothed, coiling mess. Shadows lurked beneath those walls, opening like the jaws of a vast subterranean monster from nightmare prayerbooks. Here would be the first test of the Scraegan allegiance.

Brackenshaw steeled herself, speaking to her soldiers. "Everyone, stay sharp," she said firmly. "You know how I hate surprises. Constant radar monitoring and five minute check-ins. Anyone sees anything that doesn't look right, report it to me immediately. Nobody's walking into a trap on our watch." Narrowing the field to her squad wide, she addressed Locke. "Corporal, still got eyes on our friends?"

"They've close distance and I have more readings further out, but they're still giving us a wide berth." A pause sizzled in static. "More Crawler tunnels straight ahead – lots of them."

"Looks like this is the place."

"I'd say that's a safe bet, ma'am."

"Then let's not keep them waiting. We're going in."

A moment later, Master Sergeant Kaydie Brackenshaw and her soldiers became the first humans in more than forty years to enter the Scraegar Labyrinth.

Hot darkness enveloped them. Front mounted lights on the skiffs carved a path in the gloom and they swept down the low, sloping valley. Rychter's red-brown sky loomed above, brooding over the outcome of this latest clash.

Brackenshaw ordered their pace to slow slightly, not wanting to miss any of the turns marked out by the Scraegans. Once Hackley and the combat support spooks had gotten a point of reference from the Scraegan map they'd done their best to translate the data across to displays that the human army could use. The Scraegans, in turn, pointed out what they considered to be the best route to the Crawler hive that lurked somewhere in this darkness.

She soon discovered that the Scraegans were not just shadowing them. They were shepherding them. Seismic readings marked out warbands moving ahead of them before halting at certain tunnel junctions that corresponded to what Brackenshaw had to work with. Behind her six skiffs, the long, thin blade of the human strike force followed. Engine growls and the hammer of Hunter-Killer feet echoed in the valley like low thunder.

"Sarge!" Locke yelped.

Here we go.

Brackenshaw straightened up, hand tightening around the grip of her anti-armour rifle. "Lay it on me, Corporal."

"Got Crawler movement on the radar – new tunnels forming southwest of our position bearing 082º from our current heading."

"Copy that. Brackenshaw to all units – confirm Crawler readings, bearing 082º?"

"Confirmed," Boxley replied quickly. "I've got Scraegan readings moving on intercept."

"Well at least one part of this is going to plan," she muttered. "You know the drill. Spin up your mine launchers – all firing rails manned and all gunners to your stations."

As the Scout Cadre troops surged into action, she tapped her earpiece.

"SC-21 to Command," Brackenshaw said, speaking almost matter-of-factly as though this was just like any other mission. She locked her rifle to its firing position and took aim. "Recommend defensive posture. We have hostile targets confirmed."