Free War Machine (The Combat-K Series) by Andy Remic

of the Web were gone, and the Hornet sailed through, plummeting towards the rock and levelling out to cruise at a high whining velocity, before sweeping low into a valley and landing with a crunch on the uneven stone-scattered ground. Hydraulics hissed and Keenan and Franco sat back, wiping sweat from their brows.
    “Neat,” said Franco.
    “I’ve had some practise.”
    “At least you didn’t crash this one.”
    “Like I said, practise. Come on, we’ve got to find Pippa.”
    “I have her,” said Fortune, coming online via the kube. “You can make some of the journey in the Hornet—the first few hundred kilometres at least—but then you’re on foot. The awkward young lady is camped underneath one of the largest SAM sites on the whole damned moon!”
    “Trust our little Pippa,” said Franco.
    Keenan nodded. “Yeah, she’s attracted to danger like a corpse attracts maggots: a bad news hurricane.”
    “She’s going to rip off your head, compadre.”
    Keenan met Franco’s gaze. He licked dry lips. A curious light shone in his eyes. “You really think so?”
    “After what you did to her?”
    “I had no choice.”
    “She didn’t see it like that.”
    “Shit.” Keenan lifted the Hornet into the air and cruised down the valley. Grey volcanic walls scrolled by, uneven and sporting thousands of jagged chimneys. “Well mate, she’ll have to forgive me, or kill me. We’re going in, whether she wants to see my ugly face or not.”
     
    Keenan and Franco climbed the ridge and keeping low, peered down the steep rocky slope that tumbled unevenly to the banks of a lake. The surface of the water was perfectly still. It shone, almost silver, under tendrils of bone-grey witch-light.
    At the moss encrusted shore, Pippa sat cross-legged on a huge cubic rock. To her right lay the husk of a battered, rusted HTank with twin barrels and a smash of destroyed panels.
    She did not acknowledge their approach as they descended, Franco cursing and moaning, and scattering pebbles that clattered down to the water’s edge and sent ripples undulating outwards, concentric circles that shouted his name louder than any megaphone.
    As they jumped to the ground from a low natural wall, boots thumping up clouds of dust, still Pippa did not turn; instead, she simply said, “I never did find out how you got your arse out of that bunker, Keenan. After they took us down, we were bundled into a Truk and fired away to separate holding cells. I couldn’t work out how you survived that metal bastard... The Tangled? Yeah, that was its name. How did you get out?”
    “A liq-N bomb.”
    “Liq-N?”
    “Liquid nitrogen: I froze it, walked across the crackling metal surface, hooked back up to my PAD and hauled my arse to the exit. I never killed the damned thing, although I’m tempted to go back one day and fry the fucker, just out of principle. An evil piece of engineering if ever I saw one; no soldier should have to face that.”
    Pippa turned. She looked a little older, with a few discreet lines around her eyes. She wore rough, hand-made clothing, bleached of colour through excessive multiple-washings. Her eyes held that same cold, emotionless gaze she reserved for enemies.
    “I see you Franco; still as mad as a hatter?”
    “Madder, I would have to say, something to do with the mercury. I do like your outfit, Pip; you out on the town?”
    “Sort of.” She smiled, not a very nice smile.
    Keenan and Franco moved to either side of the woman, who remained seated, turning back to stare over the still lake. Keenan glanced at the tank, then back to the water. A breeze ruffled his dark blond hair, and something took his spine in its fist and squeezed gently. It was an extremely uncomfortable feeling.
    “What you waiting for?” he asked, knowing he didn’t want the answer even as he asked the question.
    Pippa gestured towards the expanse, and it was only then Keenan saw the two swords lying at her feet. They were curved slightly, black bladed,