Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 01 - Attitude or Aptitude

The fortress city of Brekka stood out like a stud of iron against the blasted deserts of Rychter. Two suns beat down mercilessly against the armoured walls and rotating turrets, and between them patrols of heavily armed soldiers strode, keeping a constant vigil on the wastelands that spread out as far as the eye could see to the south. Inside those formidable defences the streets were alive with balloon-wheeled vehicles and rivers of people. The buildings shone stark white in an effort to reflect some of the scorching heat back into the sky.

Down on the streets Ryke still had sweat streaming down his face as he made his way through the hustle of Brekka's citizenry. They formed a kaleidoscope of deep bronzes, tans and browns under the constant beating heat from the sky, a stocky, sturdy population made strong and hard by the planet's 1.3Gs of gravity.

Ryke's ragged mop of dark hair was lank from the heat, and he walked along wearing a t-shirt, cargo trousers and carrying a backpack filled with canteens of water and a handful of nutrient blocks in case hunger struck. Beside him his brother Kelso strode, taller and brawny with it. All around them other potential recruits flowed, some first time applicants just becoming eligible, while others were returning for a second attempt.   

He stopped as one of the enormous sand crawlers trundled past, its barrel-sized wheels carrying it over the roughly gritted streets with ease. Poking out of the open top he could see a dozen black helmeted soldiers, their enormous armour-piercing rifles pointing up towards the sky like spears. Against the threats of this planet conventional firearms had long since been abandoned. 

No-one really knew where the Scraegans came from. One day some colonist had wandered too far, too deep into the Southern Badlands and from that moment onward, the humans unfortunate enough to have settled on the baking furnace of a planet had existed in a state of perpetual war. 

A war that Ryke was about to sign up to. 

"C'mon," Kelso said nudging him out of his thoughts as the crawler rumbled away. "We need to be on time to make the application."

Ryke nodded absently and fell into step alongside his brother, joining the flowing throng of people that moved steadily towards Brekka's Military Academy. He could see others in the crowd who were obviously applicants like him – those who'd made their decision as soon as it was legal. 

The only way Rychter's human population survived at all was because at any given time virtually the entire planet could be called to arms. At the age of sixteen all were encouraged to apply for some branch of the defence force – by the age of eighteen it was mandatory. 

Some would join Scout Cadre, others the combat engineers; some tactical logistics, some officer training. And Ryke was proud to be part of a small, unique and psychotic percentage of the population that volunteered to fight in the Hunter-Killers. They would learn – some would be drafted into the main army – the rest would get on with their lives with the knowledge that at any time they could be called to war. 

He looked up at Kelso's emotionless features and wondered just what had happened the first time he'd applied. His brother never talked about it, but he hadn't made the graduation into the standing army ranks and had been bitterly disappointed. Hopefully the same thing wouldn't happen to him. Ryke had a single goal – to become a fully fledged Hunter-Killer pilot. He knew they only took the best, but that hadn't deterred him. It was the elite or nothing.

Still as he looked around he knew that he was just a kid. Those like him – first applicants – were all kids. Mostly he just gazed into a sea of unfamiliar faces, but as they drew closer to the building and the crowds contracted he spotted one of his classmates from the local school. The spindly youth saw him at the same time and waved, starting to worm his way though the people.