The Devil's Pay (Dogs of War) - By Dave Gross Page 0,20

“It took my whole foot in its mouth.”

After feeling the sunken object, Harrow stepped back and reached out his hand. Lister gave him the pole he had dropped. Together, they used their poles as lever to lift up the skull of a ruined bonejack.

Beneath a fanged jaw, a pair of iron-reinforced tusks curved up to sharp points. Pistons connected them to mechanisms inside the brass heat sink forming a collar behind the ’jack’s “head.” The Dogs could see little more of the mechanism’s iron-clad body, but most nodded in recognition of the commonest form of Cryx war machine.

“Ripper,” said Crawley.

“Careful!” yelled Burns. “It’s slipping!”

He went down to one knee, but the bonejack didn’t sink with him. With a muted crack of iron and a gurgle of swamp water, the raised head of the Ripper came up above the surface, revealing the damage that had nearly separated its head assembly from the body.

The cut appeared perfectly straight except for a regular pattern of sheared points along the edge of the wound.

“That’s not from a battle blade,” said Lister. He tested the edge of the serrated cut with the finger of a gloved hand. Hissing, he brought it to his mouth but stopped himself before putting his tongue to the wound. Even at a light touch, the shorn metal sliced through the leather.

“It looks like somebody ran this thing through a lumber saw,” said Crawley. He examined the oil patch, first with his goggles, then squinting after he pulled them down around his neck. “Hasn’t been here long. I’d say whatever found this Ripper did so right before Brocker and his men first met the Cryx back to the northwest.”

“So,” said Sam, “it’s possible the Cryx were looking for it, found it, and then were drawn off into a fight.”

“Which could suggest Brocker was also looking for it, and that’s why he was here,” said Lister.

Sam looked back over her shoulder before nodding. “Maybe. Either way, we need to keep watching our backs.”

They resumed their march. The chatter dwindled to whispers, punctuated by hissed warnings to silence by the men farthest from the huff-and-grind of the warjacks.

“Did you hear that?” asked Morris.

Dawson closed his eyes to listen harder. “I think it’s just the trees. Wait—” He turned as he glimpsed unexpected movement out of the corner of his eye. “Look out, Burns!

Foyle stumbled forward. His shadow loomed over Burns as the Talon tilted toward him, raising it long stun lance in a desperate attempt to catch itself.

Burns turned, eyes widening as he saw the danger. He started to move, but the clutching mud held him fast.

Sam dashed toward him, leaping up to tackle the big man with all her weight. Even at half his size, she hit him at just the right angle to knock him out of the warjack’s path. They plunged into the mire. An instant later, Foyle came down beside them, splashing everyone within twenty feet.

Swamp water hissed as it touched the firebox on Foyle’s back. The warjack coughed as the flood reached its engine.

Sam emerged first, sputtering. “Foyle, steady up! Brace yourself!”

The Talon thrust out its stun lance and planted its butt in the ground. It did the same with its shield arm, pushing up from the side while pulling forward on its weapon. Its pistons surged and locked, its gears straining.

Burns stood up and moved to push the warjack from behind. All the nearby men sloshed into position to aid his efforts. Morris put a hand too close to the firebox, shouting as the hot metal burned his palm through his leather glove.

Lister unleashed a litany of obscenities in a head-spinning mixture of Ordic, Cygnaran, and Caspian. Dawson’s eyes grew wide, but no one else so much as cracked a smile.

At Sam’s direction, the men heaved in time with Foyle’s own efforts to step out of the sinkhole. As the alarm of the warjack’s fall subsided, their efforts became more coordinated. Strain as they might, the result remained the same: Foyle was stuck.

“All right, Dogs, let’s step back,” said Sam. The men backed away with care as Foyle tottered and stood still.

Sam pushed her goggles up on her forehead and wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “This is going to take a little more thought. In the meantime, we can’t let down our guard. Crawley?”

The sergeant assigned two units to sentry duty while the rest he put at ease, awaiting further instructions.

“How the blazes did this happen?” demanded Lister. He paralyzed Burns with a