Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 10 - No Plan Survives

The Mammoth carrier trundled its way across the hard packed rocky desert, its vast, toothed tracks widely distributing its weight to stop them getting bogged down. Painted a pale, burnt orange, it blended into the sun-blasted landscape, a barely discernable cuboid dragging itself along the horizon towards their deployment zone. On the roof men and women from the scout infantry detachments sat in protective cupolas, massive anti-armour rifles scanning their surroundings for any sign of Scraegan activity.

They plunged headlong through sandstorms that would kill an unprotected human in minutes, the Mammoth's enormously thick plating proof against even the heavy ordnance of the Scraegan furnace cannons.

The Mammoth's hold could fit as many as forty Hunter-Killers if they were packed in tightly enough. Right now the thirty mechs of their attack force were arranged in two rings, one on top of the other, with a few meters of space between each. On the upper level, encased in the frame of his Hunter-Killer, Ryke waited with growing impatience. After all they'd done to get here, he couldn't help hating being stuck in the rear compartment of the transport, somehow no longer in control of his fate.

Directly opposite him the brassy mechs of Red Squadron stood, clamped in place at the waist by fat docking claws. On the level below, closest to the heavy rear access hatch, the veterans of HK-Bishop were arrayed, and it struck him how different the battle-hardened units appeared.

Somewhere beneath it all they'd started with the same burnished plates as the rookies, but now their hulls proudly bore scorch marks, blast scars and kill slashes, the sheen of the armour dulled by years of active duty in Rychter's unforgiving deserts. More than that, every mech bore a call sign emblazoned in thick, black print just below the bulbous head, names earned in active duty. He could see Parnell's machine near the front, the word 'HATCHET' gleaming more brightly than the surrounding armour plate. Hopefully one day he'd have his own battle-forged name on his own Hunter-Killer.

"All teams," Kelso's voice sounded through the Mammoth's internal tannoy, pulling him from his thoughts. "We are approaching deployment zone – ETA ten minutes."

Ryke rolled his head from side to side, loosening himself up before their deployment, trying to drill himself into treating as just another assignment, like any of Mulrough's training simulations. They could beat the simulations; they could beat the real thing too. He ran through his Hunter-Killer's systems on the HUD, checking them off one by one: armour integrity, power levels, weapon functionality, heat levels, ammo counters – all of them in the green. They'd been primed when they'd loaded onto the Mammoth in the first place, but some premonition forced him to check anyway.

Those final ten minutes crawled by and by the time they reached the deployment zone Ryke would feel his limbs trembling with excitement. He could feel the raw power of his Hunter-Killer just waiting to be unleashed. Ryke tried to keep calm, knowing he would need a clear head to give a good account of himself, even if their role was just support. His heart juddered as at last the Mammoth came to a halt, the shunt of breaking shaking him lightly in the harness.

Then the Mammoth's immense loading ramp disengaged. The slab of metal opened out from the back wall of the transport compartment, and hot light came spilling inside, until the door slammed to the ground, disgorging a small cloud of dust and pulverised rock. Then the waist clamps around the mechs of HK-Bishop disengaged.

He watched in fascination as the veteran unit lumbered from view, disappearing into the light in a two-by-two formation, the echoes of their heavy footfalls reverberating within the Mammoth like a bell.

"HK-Bishop to command," Parnell's voice cut through the comm. "We're clear. Commence phase two."

"Copy that," Kelso replied. "Squads Green and Red, prepare to deploy."