Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 19 - Heavy Price

By the time their companions finally made it, Ryke was about to collapse.

Every part of him ached, the physical feedback loops of the Hunter-Killer taking their toll on his body. Critical damage readouts blared insistently from half a dozen different systems, including his cannon which had run out of shells long ago. The air inside the machine had an unhealthy staleness to it, the filtration mechanism working overtime to scrub the toxins from the air before allowing him to breathe it in.

The others weren't faring much better. Norville's mech was a ruin, now lying with its pilot out of the fighting, its emergency reserves barely enough to keep his air breathable in the partially toxic fumes of the chamber. Some time ago Ryke had made a point of wrecking the braziers to stop them spewing more of the lethal fog out into the room, but it took a long time for the underground complex to clear.

No-one in his squad had any ammo left in their cannons, reduced to brutal close quarters fighting which tested even on the heavily armoured Hunter-Killers to their limit. The exterior of Thaye's mech was a mess of blood, gore, scorch marks and dense; Preese's shoulder shield had been reduced to a ruined half-molten slab of junk.

They needed to leave, and leave now.

The mechs of HK-Praxis, resplendent in deep aquamarine livery, at last emerged with the four Goliaths neatly corralled in their midst. Sporadic cannon fire still echoed through the chamber as waves of Scraegans continued to press at the crumbling human defensive lines, with casualties mounting one by one in the initial squadrons. HK-Arcade had been mauled down to five mechs, Thresher to just four.

"Get that thing lashed up!" thundered the Reaver as he rammed a Scraegan's head into the ground beneath the toothed foot of his Hunter-Killer. "I don't want to spend another second in this hell-hole."

Ryke watched with relief as the towering mechs piloted by Amelia and Brigg joined their comrades from HK-Warlock, using several of the remaining barbed nets to form a kind of makeshift hammock. A brief window of quiet finally descended on them as the fresh pilots of HK-Praxis helped plug the gaps in their defence, driving off the dregs of the latest Scraegan attack with torrents of fire.

He eased himself back out of line and trudged to where Norville's ruined mech lay propped against a wall.

"Sprocket, you still with us?" he asked hoarsely.

"Still here, boss," Norville croaked back. "We leaving?"

"Just as soon as we can." He reached down, taking a grip of the Hunter-Killer's right arm. "Deadbolt, give us a hand with this lift."

Preese soon extracted himself from the fighting and stumped his way over to their stricken comrade. Wordlessly he took hold of the other side and between them they heaved Norville's battered machine into a standing position. One leg servo groaned dangerously as it fought to hold the weight, until Ryke and Preese wedged their shoulders under the arms of their companion, bearing him across their machines.

As they turned to move for the exit, Ryke saw HK-Warlock's lieutenant approach the ruined mech that held Colonel Aggathor's body. If a machine could show grief, Ryke thought this was as close as it could get. Reaver's Hunter-Killer loomed there solemnly for several seconds, the head section bowed, before he reached down and peeled open the shattered armour. Then he reached inside.

From within the smashed mech an achingly small body was rescued – Ryke couldn't tell of the Colonel was actually dead or had been knocked unconscious by the crushing force of the Scraegan leader's mace. Right now he couldn't bring himself to care. His concern was with his own people. He looked to the Goliaths, hoping and praying they could leave this place now.