by Greg Dragon
LAST OF THE NIGHTHAWKS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations,
places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2018
Thirsty Bird Productions
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded or otherwise, without written
permission of the publisher.
Cover Art by Tom Edwards
For more books by the author
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1
Helga Ate kept her body steady by gripping the sides of the bench while she used her upper back as a form of anchor. This was not what she expected after receiving a formal invitation to the glorious Nighthawks, the first Special Forces squad on the battleship, Rendron, and third in the galactic Alliance military.
Two spacemen worked at pulling on her second layer of protective gear but it didn’t help that it was a size too small. Though she was small in frame, the Rendron’s outfitters couldn’t find a 3B XO-suit in her size.
“May I suggest a diet, Ate?” said the man on her right leg, an E-4 named Adan Cruser who she knew from the academy.
She made a face at him, something between amusement and frustration, but they made progress and suddenly she was up to her waist in an ill-fitting pressure suit.
“See Cruse, you got it,” she said, exhaling, as if from some relief. “Here you had me worried that I’d have to cut back on that delicious protein paste.”
“First time?” said the other man, who didn’t seem amused by her joke.
“Hey, you have your hands on my legs and that’s what you choose to ask me?” she said, forcing her face into a scowl. “I’m ready enough, if you perverts could just get me into this suit—sheesh! I can’t believe that they don’t have a size smaller than a three.”
“You may want to take this serious, ma’am,” the man said, unamused by her humor. “You’re about to fight real lizards, not simulated ones on our machines. I don’t know if they told you this, but women your size don’t make it back too often.”
Cruser shot him an angry look. They were up to her torso now, strapping her in, and Helga saw him mouth a string of expletives at the giant.
“Don’t mind Nanda, Ate. He’s just giving you schtill. Plenty of our women do fine—just like the men. Even the tiny ones.” When he said tiny, his eyes shot up to Nanda, who she swore looked frightened of the shorter man.
Though she didn’t like it, Helga still had to wonder about Nanda’s words. He didn’t say much, and it had taken all this time for her to catch his name. Experience told her that the quiet ones were always the most sincere, and he really didn’t have to volunteer that information.
When she was strapped in, they backed away, and she looked down at herself and then up at Cruser. It was all so tight that her skin was screaming, and she struggled against demanding that they pull the thing off. “It’s okay,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “It’s okay, just give it time.”
Helga got up off the bench and tried to walk around the locker room. It was so tight that it stung, as if she’d been squeezed into a leather tube. “How am I supposed to fight while wearing this thing?” she said. “Here’s a better question. How do I use the thyping bathroom?”
“Work out your limbs and let it get used to you,” Cruser said. “The fabric is alien, so you can’t treat it like any of our stuff. It’s tight now but keep on moving, you won’t even notice it after a while. As to the bathroom, it’s alien.” He gave her a wink. “Mess your drawers all you want. It’ll be absorbed and repurposed.”
“Gross,” Helga said, trying to imagine how it would feel. “Gross! What? Are you being serious?”
“I am, but it’s okay, Ate, you’ll figure it out,” Cruser said, laughing. “Now, we’re going to go help the others get their 3B suits on. When you feel comfortable enough, step into your armor. Then come join us in the ready room.”
Helga was still processing the bathroom logic, as in how would it repurpose her waste. “Thanks, Cruser, and thank you, Nanda,” she said. “I’ll just jump around and get used to these pajamas.” The two men waved and walked outside, but not before Nanda shot her a cautionary glance. “Geez, what’s your problem?” she mumbled, then brushed it aside to continue swinging her tight arms.
It was hard to convince herself that the suit would be okay, being that her body wanted nothing more than to peel it off.
She looked down at her wrist comms lying on the bench and saw that there was a little under thirty minutes to go. Forgoing the workout, she walked over to her powered armor suit (PAS), which was a close-fitting Frankenstein of more alien material and metal.
Seeing the black-clad mannequin before her brought a smile to Helga’s face. She was about to be dressed like a true Alliance ESO—Extraplanetary Spatial Operator. She had flashbacks of a childhood spent watching men and women wearing this armor. How badly she’d wanted to be one of them, a hero of the Rendron.
Now here she was, one step away from being an inspiration herself. She spun the mannequin and began removing the armor piece by piece. Helga was surprised by how malleable the plates were. They felt like hard rubber and bent just like it, too.
The PAS fit like it was always meant to be hers. She dressed quickly, then walked over to a mirror, surprised by how easy she could maneuver.
When she saw herself she almost cried. Her face was still what it had always been—a tanned mélange of human and Casanian features—but her body was now a sleek, black fighting machine. Looking around to make sure she was alone, Helga performed a little dance of celebration.
After pulling on the helmet, she no longer recognized herself. Helga Ate had transformed into Ensign Helga Ate. She made a mock salute, then hoisted an imaginary auto rifle, but then her comms beeped and she knew she was out of time.
Removing the helmet, she slipped it beneath her arm, then grabbed her rucksack and marched out of the locker room. As she walked through the spaceport, she saw the eyes of the cadets looking on with envy. It lifted her spirits—as if they could get any higher—and she felt like a giant, off to do giant things for the little people.
When she entered the dock, a host of hard eyes fell on her, so she checked the time and was surprised to find that she had five minutes left to spare. Still, they stared at her as if she had walked in late, and as she took her place she realized why. “Thype me,” she whispered under her breath. “Why am I the only woman?”
There were seven men, dressed in armor like hers, but theirs showed the scars of numerous battles. Some regarded her warmly while others seemed annoyed, and one went out of his way to make her feel uneasy. As the high she’d once felt drained out of her pores, Helga got a smile from a female mechanic as she slid out from under an X-23 fighter.
She returned the smile. At least someone appreciates me being here, she thought, then looked over at the ship that would take them to their destiny. The vessel was a Britz SPZ, a tiny beetle-shaped ship with an FTL. From what Helga could remember from her studies, it had just enough room to hold ten average-sized spacers.
The thought of being trapped with these men made her hairs stand up. Plus, outside of Cruser—who waved at her—she didn’t recognize any of the other ranks. Rendron was a large ship with hundreds of spacemen, but it frightened her that she was the sole female being deployed on the mission.
> The man nearest the Britz removed his helmet and she recognized him as Lieutenant Cilas Mec. Like Helga, he was a superstar cadet who had been drafted into the formal Navy. And upon seeing him, she understood why she had been chosen.
Cilas walked out in front of them and raised a remote, which projected several screens in front of him. The screens showed a dark grey moon and a photo of a settlement. There was also a stream of readouts but they were too small for her to read. He froze them in place and then waved the remote again. This time it showed a humanoid creature with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.
“Nighthawks,” he said, “Our mission is to rescue civilians trapped on a moon called Dyn, orbiting Louine.” Several sounds of disapproval came from the group of men, but Cilas didn’t seem fazed by it and continued to read their instructions.
“The colony of Abarion is made up of several families that are refugees from our planet, Vestalia,” Cilas said. Upon hearing “Vestalia,” which was the human’s ancestral planet, the noisemakers quickly grew quiet. The Louines were a reclusive race that had remained neutral in the war, so Helga understood the objections when they assumed the mission was to help them.
Cilas continued. “Over the last few months, communication with Abarion has gone silent. We can contact the Louines, but they aren’t helping. While they allowed the colony to settle on their moon, they haven’t been monitoring them. We’ll be in the dark out there, Nighthawks. No support, and little chance of rescue.”
“That’s how we like it,” someone shouted, and the others grunted their approval.
“Now, if you pay attention to this vid that I’m about to play for you,” Cilas said, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, “you will see why our group has been tasked with this mission.”
He waved the remote in the air and a new screen materialized in front of him. There was surveillance footage of the colony, which would have been a clear picture if not for an occasional glitch showering the video with static.
The place looked unoccupied, though there was some evidence of life having existed there. Transparent atmosphere bubbles covered schools, temples, and businesses. Inside the farm grew a number of plants that were still alive and well.
“From this footage you can see that the people are missing. Command suspects that they’re in a bunker, hiding from the Geralos,” Cilas said.
“Geralos,” Helga repeated.
“Yes, Geralos, Ensign Ate,” Cilas said.
“Then it’s too late,” said the loud ESO from before, who looked around at the other men for support. “If the lizards are there, those people are dead, and the most we’ll be able to do is collect their bones.”
Cilas walked past the screens, pointing to the image of the Geralos. “It isn’t just about rescue, it’s about territory, Wyatt. If the Geralos are on Dyn, they can eventually move on Louine. Now, aside from Ate, we all have fought with the lizards before. You know how they move, you know what motivates them—so I don’t have to remind you that speed is our best ally.”
“Hey, Lt, quick question,” said the man, whose mannerisms kept Helga on edge, nervous. “What is she doing here?”
Cilas shot him an impatient glance. “The Ensign is here because of her record in the academy, and due to our need for a backup pilot. Need I remind you that we lost Ahmad? Did that slip your mind, Wyatt?”
“No, sir!” the man said, sitting down quickly.
“Idiot,” whispered a bigger man with massive, tree trunk arms, and Helga had to hide her smile when she saw how Wyatt regarded him.
“So, she’s just a pilot then?” Wyatt said under his breath, giving her a condescending grin.
“You see this area?” Cilas continued, and waved the remote again, this time producing a large hologram image of Dyn. “Based on our time of departure and where the moon will be in its orbit, we expect to make touchdown in this region, south of the colony. I’m told that once we’re in cryo-sleep it will take us three days to arrive. There will be about fifteen hours of drop time once we’re all thawed out, then we’ll discuss further details on the moon.”
The large man from before raised his hand and Cilas motioned for him to talk. “Do we know what to expect there, Lt? Will the lizards see us coming, or was our LZ chosen to maintain secrecy?” he said.
Cilas seemed to think about his answer, buying time by manipulating the screens. “You all know I blame myself for what happened to Ahmad. I don’t intend to have us flying blind into anything again,” he said.
“Now, as far as we know, the lizards are inside the colony itself. We aim to slip in silent, cut their throats, and jump back here, victorious,” he said. “Now, gather your gear and let’s get moving. We have one more hour until takeoff. If you haven’t called family do so now, since you will be out of contact for weeks.”
He gave them leave and walked away towards the Britz. Helga glanced around one more time before following him inside. Her only family was her brother and they hadn’t talked in years. She didn’t need to make any calls since there was no one to really care. There was her ex, Oren, but he was now married to an Ensign that worked on the bridge. She was pretty and had a bright career ahead of her, all of the things he wanted in a mate.
The memory of their last fight brought up old, uncomfortable pains, and Helga stopped to check her thoughts before they drove her into a rage. “Be tough, big girl,” she said to herself, repeating those words of encouragement that her mother used to say.
She gripped the handle of the ladder leading up in the ship and looked down at her armored gauntlet, still in awe that it was hers. Several million credits in military equipment, all entrusted to me, she thought proudly. And yet I’m here worrying about a loser like Oren.
Climbing the ladder, she stepped inside and stopped to take it all in. It was larger than she anticipated, with each seat occupying a good amount of room. There were racks for gear, hooks for armor, and the cryo-tech was built into each of the seats. She squeezed through the narrow aisle to gain the cockpit and saw Cruser already seated, running through some checks.
“You ready to thype up some lizards?” he said without turning around.
“More than ready, if I actually get to see some action,” she said.
He motioned to the copilot’s seat, and she sat down inside of it. The material was soft, and she leaned back with a sigh.
“Missions like this look good on your record, Helga,” he said. “Especially if you want to earn your way onto the Captain’s bridge. Trust me, they won’t need you out there when they go for the lizards. This team has been doing it together for a long time.”
“Are you assuming that I joined you men to get a nudge towards a commission on the bridge?” Helga said. “That’s messed up, Cruse. I didn’t expect that from you. What, a girl can’t serve her starship for honor and all that stuff?”
“Am I wrong?” said Cruser, stopping his checks to look at her.
“Well, not exactly, but you don’t have to throw it in my face, okay? Look, I fully expect to fight. That’s why I answered when I was called,” she said.
“I know,” Cruser said. “They don’t pick just anyone to be a Nighthawk, but since you’re going to be my backup, let me see what you can do. Have you ever flown one of these before?”
“No, but isn’t it built from a Wyman’s parts? The HUD is the same, and I’ve flown Wymans before,” Helga said.
Cruser nodded. “Good. So you’re used to the controls. That makes me feel a little bit better. You may actually be of some use. The thing you need to be careful of though is that this is still not a Wyman. This bug is smaller and doesn’t maneuver as well, and we will be dealing with the atmosphere on the moon. These drops are nothing like what you simulated at the academy, and only experience will get you through.”
“I understand, Cruser, it’s not like I haven’t flown before. Maybe not on moon drops or combat sorties, but I’ve handled transports and dealt with emergencies,” Helga said.
“That’s good,”
he said. “Well, welcome aboard. It will be interesting to see how well you can handle the controls. Now, strap in and run some diagnostics, will you? Get yourself acclimated with the old girl while I go have a talk with the lieutenant.”
2
When the Britz had been cruising for little over an hour, Cruser told them that it was time to prep for cryo. Helga didn’t understand why they’d been forced to get fully dressed just to sit on the ship for a short time period before stripping down again.
Changing inside of the tiny ship would be challenging, especially since she would need help in order to remove her XO-suit. Helga turned in her seat to see what everyone was doing. The men were already changing out of their armor. There was little care for privacy as they prepared for the cryo-sleep, and some of them were as naked as the day they were born.
Helga looked over at Cruser, who was now down to his underclothes. He placed his suit and armor inside one of the lockers near his chair. She checked the wall on her left and saw that there was a locker there, so she swallowed her pride and got up out of the seat.
Removing the armor was simple enough, so she placed her helmet and gauntlets inside of the locker. She couldn’t get past the cost of the PAS, so she took her time and stacked the pieces carefully.
When it came time to remove her XO-suit, the near-naked Cruser helped her out. She thought about where she was—inside of a tin can with dangerous men—and though she trusted Cruser, she couldn’t help but feel anxious and vulnerable.
“Do I have to take it all off?” she whispered to him. “I know it’s cryo, but I … I don’t know these men.”
He gave her a look that she read as concern, and then positioned himself so that he could block her from the others. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered, and helped her pull the suit off. Helga quickly threw it inside the locker, then covered her breasts with her hands.
“I don’t mean to be a bother … paranoid and, whatever. Thanks for your help, Cruser,” she said. “I owe you one.”
