Half-Alien Warfighter (Lady Hellgate Book 3)

by Greg Dragon

  “I really, really think it’s a terrible idea,” she whispered. “We’re meant to be a unit, not a league of assassins or super-humans.”

  “Speak for yourself. The rest of the ship thinks we’re exactly that. Three super-humans and a Casanian half-human who can fly any ship, breathe any atmosphere, and level whole enemy camps with just the flick of her wrist.”

  “Sounds like the decision has been already made,” she said, smiling at his sarcasm. “The Rendron will send their half-alien to lead the Marines to victory.”

  “Nah, we’re really going to vote, and if it were up to me, you’d sit this one out—hold your tongue, it’s not up to me, so you’re in it. Oh, another bit of good news, however, thanks to our new XO. With the promotions and our success in the field, we’ve been given new berthing away from the rest of the crew. It will be our own Nighthawks HQ, so-to-speak.”

  “Oh, well that’s exciting,” Helga said. “Except for the part where you made it sound like I am to give up my compartment for tight berthing with you lot. I know that we’re meant to be close as operators, but as the only woman, I have some questions. Are we to share heads in this relocation effort?”

  “Sometimes I wish we were on comms so I could mute you to finish my thoughts,” Cilas said. “The berthing is for our future team members, who will see this space as an upgrade. For you, Lady Hellgate, it’s merely an option, and where you decide to lay that spikey head of yours is none of my concern.”

  “On which deck is this new berthing supposed to happen?”

  “Aurora.”

  “Of course, now that the old inhabitants are dead,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s a hard no for me. How could I sleep knowing what I know happened there?”

  “Don’t joke about that in front of the team,” Cilas warned.

  “I’m not joking. I cannot be there. Tell me, Cilas, does it ever slow down?”

  “What, being a Nighthawk? Tell me, Helga, will the war ever slow down? Will the Geralos stop hunting us to bite into our heads? Will our own Alliance Navy stop looking for ways to sabotage what little progress we’ve made? You answer my questions, and I can answer yours, but until you can, no, this will never slow down.”

  “You ever think about life beyond service and the war? Like having a family. A little Cilas running around?”

  “I have, yeah, but I try not to. Do you know what I mean? All this killing and pain that we suffer as ESOs… I don’t know how that translates into parenting. All I know is there’s a cause and effect, and I would hate myself if I turn out to be another burned-out spacer abusing a child. Not to mention the other stuff. You’ve heard the stories, I’m sure. Officer locks the door to his berth, eats a round while little Val’s playing with mom.”

  Helga felt foolish for asking; it was apparent he’d given it plenty of thought. “So, this is it for you then. The Navy and the war for our planet? I asked because I’m worried, Cilas. There hasn’t been a mission where you didn’t end up hurt.”

  Cilas shot her such a venomous look that she almost apologized instantly. He stared at her for a long time, then his anger abated as he exhaled slowly. “Before you joined the team, I had nearly ten missions without as much as a scratch. It’s not fair to say what you said, and you know it. Dyn was a setup, and we all were supposed to die. Meluvia was a schtill show, and I didn’t get injured beyond bruises down there. At least I didn’t get bitten by an armored worm.”

  “Uh, can we not talk about that? I was this close to forgetting that happened,” she said. “I was just jamming your thrust, Rend. Didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t one of our best. I learned a lot on that first mission. Between Cage and Varnes, I grew up fast. Last mission on Meluvia, it was the same watching you and Tutt in action … I consider myself lucky, so don’t hold it against me, alright?”

  “Your contradictions puzzle me, Ate. I always saw you as the type to want to stay in the action indefinitely. Now you want us to slow down? What, some young Marine has you thinking about life after service?”

  “No, but I’d like to do things beyond flying ships and planet-busting. I haven’t seen my twin since we were tots, Cilas. On my mom’s homeworld, which I barely remember. I want to travel to Casan, scoop up the soil, and feel it in between my fingers. It would reconnect me with my family, with the Casanian side of me that I barely know.”

  Cilas features softened, “I believe you will, Ate. We will make sure it happens, as soon as we’re back in Alliance space. I envy you, you know. The fact that you have all that history from two different species. I bet your dad would be proud. Little Helga, a Nighthawk, chip off the old block. I get why you want to see the planet, but I believe that you carry him with you.”

  “Thank you,” Helga said, her emotions threatening to crack her mask of stoicism.

  “You know, duty isn’t everything, Ate. You should find something here on Rendron. Something that isn’t military. I don’t know, something that even a civilian would find fun. Raileo does his theater thing, performing with the dancers in a troupe. They even have competitions, from what I hear. Singing and dancing allows him to own something that isn’t this.”

  “You’ve got to be joking. Our Ray is a dancer?” Helga said, laughing. It seemed so absurd, Raileo Lei, the deadly marksman, as a dancer who performed in front of other people. “What about Tutt? What does he do? If you say something like cooking, I will know that you’re full of schtill.”

  “I don’t really know, to be honest. The man is as elusive about his private life as he is with a knife in the bush. Maybe one day he’ll let it slip, but outside of training, I don’t know what he does with his time.”

  “Sounds like I need to investigate,” Helga said with a smirk. She just knew it would be something practical, just like everything else about Quentin Tutt.

  When they made it onto Aurora deck, she was surprised to find that repairs were underway. She followed Cilas through the burned-out passageways to an area she hadn’t seen before. It had been sealed off for years, one of those areas dedicated to a project that never came to fruition. Now it was theirs, and Helga began to appreciate the privacy that would be afforded to their team. “Maybe I spoke too hastily,” she said.

  “I knew you would like it,” Cilas said. “This used to be where we’d host guests that needed the topmost security on the ship. Jumper spies, visiting ESOs, Alliance personnel, you name it. The captain doesn’t just want to find the Geralos onboard; he wants the violation dealt with, including repurposing this deck to bring some honor to those who died here.”

  They stopped in front of a door that slid open for them to enter, and if there were any more doubts inside Helga’s head, they vanished with what she saw. Inside was a space big enough to house four cruisers, lined with equipment stacked high against three of the bulkheads. The fourth bulkhead—the side to the left of where they entered—had recessed berthing, each with its own door, and soundproofed from the look of the material.

  Hidden amongst the stacks were a set of doors with symbols indicating that they were heads. Several tables and chairs were set up near a meal dispenser, and in the corner near a rolled-up gym mat was a crate full of guns, and a punching bag.

  “I think it goes without saying that Raileo will never leave this deck,” she said as she spotted the young Nighthawk spying on them from one of the higher berths.

  “Alright, fall in.” Cilas walked to the center of the space, hovering as if he was ready to topple over. Helga watched him, biting back her need to tell him to slow down. He was her friend, and beloved leader, but he was as stubborn as they came and there wasn’t anything she could say or do now to stop him from taking charge of the Rendron’s crisis.

  Raileo threw himself forward and off his berthing, dropping to the deck with barely a sound before executing a roll to grab a chair. Quentin, their resident shadow, emerged from a corner where she hadn’t seen him before. He strode to an empty seat and flipped it around, then straddled it in reverse fashion, hugging t
he back. A cord stood out on his bull-like neck, and Helga could see that he was ready for action.

  She was amazed by how much space they had been given, and it became more evident when they were all together. A troop of fifty Nighthawks could live in this place and there would still be room enough for them to stretch out.

  Grabbing a chair, she fell in next to Raileo and clasped his shoulder tightly until he turned to see what she wanted. His eyes dropped to her pin, and then his mouth fell open, he seemed to be at a loss for words. His eyes came up to meet hers, reflecting a hundred pending questions, and she gave him a nod to confirm that the pin was indeed real. “Wow,” he mouthed, and then turned to see if Quentin had noticed, but Cilas had begun his speech, so he was forced to refocus.

  “Get up here, Ate,” the commander was saying. “We may as well get this out of the way now.”

  Helga rose and stood next to him, facing the other two men, who both rose simultaneously to salute their commanding officers.

  “Thank you, Nighthawks. This only just happened,” she said. “Turns out I had enough time in, and since that time was spent trying not to die, I somehow stumbled into a promotion. Commander Mec, though, I think that we can all agree, sounds just about perfect when you say it. The captain recognizes his excellence and the leadership that has gotten us here. We’re damned proud of you, Commander, and look forward to your continued success.”

  “Aye aye,” Quentin said, and Raileo Lei echoed the sentiment.

  Cilas accepted the praise graciously and then urged them to let him speak. Helga retook her seat, and the three of them gave him their undivided attention. “We have a lot to celebrate when this schtill is over,” he said, “and none of us are allowed to die before the celebrations happen. Am I clear? Ate owes us a party since I still rank her. I reserve the right to not be the one hosting. It’s in our tradition as spacers that when an officer ranks up, we celebrate.

  “There’s also a tradition with recruiting new team members, and we haven’t had time to toast Tutt and Ray becoming Nighthawks. When I was under, I made it a point that upon recovery, we would take a cycle, break bread with one another, and kill a few drinks. But then we were attacked, and all of my plans became delayed because the Rendron needed us. So here we are, and while I appreciate the things Ate said about me, I wouldn’t be here without my team.

  “That being said, there will be time to celebrate, but Nighthawks, we’ve been asked to perform one more duty for our captain. The Geralos ship needs to be boarded, cleared of all contacts, and investigated for mind-control agents. The XO has tasked our Marines to do it, but most have no experience with the lizards outside of holos and vids. Everyone here has direct experience with the enemy, so the XO has asked that we lead those Marines.

  “The catch, however, is that only one of us is cleared to join them. While you can argue that sending the team would guarantee success, our captain feels that we’re worn through, and asks that I send only one. I have thought long and hard on who to send, and have come to the conclusion that any of us can go. Now, this deployment is to occur at the first tick of the next cycle, so we need to decide, here and now, which one of us will have the honor.”

  “Lieut—Commander, I should go,” Raileo said. “I was all but sidelined when Ate and Tutt looked into the explosion. You are still in recovery, and to be honest, I’m a bit restless and itching for some action with the lizards.”

  “Anyone object to Raileo going?” Cilas said, and both Helga and Quentin held up their hands in protest. The new rank had Helga anxious, and how better to show her quality than spearheading the Marines? With that win and no Cilas to guide her, she could prove to herself that she was a leader, and it would win her points with the Rendron’s Marines.

  “Commander, you do remember what I was doing when you recruited me,” Quentin said, his deep voice so commanding that the other two stopped to listen. “This mission with the Marines was just another day in my life back then. I am a Marine first, and you know this. Allow me to lead those men into battle.”

  He had stood up when he said this, then sat back down to study Cilas’s face expectedly. The commander looked around the compartment, seemingly torn on what to do, then he exhaled with some frustration and sat down on a chair, rubbing his head.

  “You all make me proud, but I tell you, you’re not making this easy, so I’m going with my gut and sending our resident Marine to do it. This is not an indication of me thinking less of you other two Nighthawks, but what Tutt says is true, and they will take his lead easier than any one of us. Tutt, you got it, brother. Give the lizards hell, and bring you and our Marines back home intact.”

  12

  Quentin Tutt hopped down through the open hatch. His PAS suit, sensing the artificial gravity, activated its rockets to slow his descent. It wasn’t a long way down but when he landed, his knees buckled ever so slightly.

  “Tossing the tracker,” said someone on the comms, and he looked to the right of his HUD to make sure that all the Marines were present. This was still a hostile Geralos ship, and with the team being inexperienced, he couldn’t trust that they would always be in place.

  “Tighten up,” he cautioned them, before pressing on through the junky cargo hold. A ladderwell appeared near the end and led him up onto a platform overloaded with crates. It felt good being back in the company of Marines, and he had enjoyed sharing stories with them on the short ride over. Now he felt uncertain of their readiness. While he knew their training should be enough, there was nothing that could prepare you for the Geralos.

  Training was the first line of entry, but no amount of simulations could emulate this enemy. Until you locked horns with them in actual combat, you didn’t know how you would react. To see the hate and hunger reflected in their eyes could cause you to panic in the most critical times.

  Quentin Tutt had seen some of the sharpest warriors fall in the field, and no matter how great a rookie he was, killing a Geralos was the ultimate qualifier. Now he worried for this group who volunteered for this op. They were chasing glory, ignorant of the harsh reality to come. He had seen the stars in their eyes when he recounted his tales of facing death.

  Now he knew why the XO had sent a Nighthawk along, since their CO was barely a lance corporal, and just as green as the rest of them. He was to be the professional amongst well-learned amateurs, which was vastly different from how he’d felt back when he was with the Marines. The Nighthawks had changed him by boosting his worth, and though he was still a Marine at heart, he felt the pressure of being the sole ESO.

  There was movement to his right as he reached the top of the ladderwell, and he turned to see a large Geralos wearing heavy armor. They had spotted one another at about the same time, and Quentin took a shot to his shoulder as he fired his pulse rifle, throwing the lizard backward off the ledge.

  “Contact,” he shouted as he retreated down the ladder, allowing his PAS’s shields to regenerate. Two of the nine Marines moved up to check on him while the others formed up, aiming their weapons at the top of the ladder.

  “Are you good, Sergeant Tutt?” said Lance Corporal Bassam Vor, and Quentin, still shaken up, raised his hand for them all to be quiet. He put up three fingers to indicate the number of contacts he had counted, then tapped his helmet and pointed down to signal that one was dead.

  The HUD of his PAS showed two red blips on the radar, and they were in the same location where the lizard had taken a fall. That ledge ran around a generator, and his body would have evaporated if he fell within the energy field. It was a silent death, but they should have known that the Marines boarded; yet the blips hadn’t changed their pattern of patrolling the upper regions of that ledge.

  Quentin checked the PSG, his personal shield generator, and it was at 50%, the line a yellow hue. Had he been in light Marine armor like the rest of the squad, and not the PAS that he wore, he and the Geralos would have died together, and this shook him to the core of his soul. Now he wanted to charge back up the ladderwe
ll and show the universe that he deserved to live, but that was all ego, and he was with a team, so he swallowed against his rage and made a tactical decision.

  Gesturing to one of the Marines behind him—a young sniper by the name of Jasari Lace—Quentin directed both him and a Meluvian named Kareema Ang to ascend the ladder and clear the space. A few more hand signals showed them where their targets would be, and he fell in behind them with his pulse rifle raised.

  As Quentin placed his foot on the first step of the ladderwell, Kareema stopped in front of him, slowing his progress to a halt. Above them, he saw Jasari’s rifle fire twice. “Targets neutralized,” he announced, and Quentin picked up on what had been done. The Meluvian had seen that his shields were on the mend, and had stepped in front of him in case the sniper missed.

  Her protecting him? He didn’t know what to think, and then there was the sniper who stood his ground and took the shot. Perhaps the Rendron’s training program was enough, despite the assumptions he’d made. After all, it was the same Rendron program that produced the Nighthawks, including himself and Cilas Mec.

  A tone came to his ears, alerting him that his shields were back to being fully charged. “On your right,” he whispered. He touched the Meluvian on her shoulder and then stepped past her to take the lead, hustling them away from the deadly generator.

  As one tight unit they moved, around the ledge and to a door with the locking panel fried and shooting sparks.

  Quentin directed two of the other Marines to stand on each side of the door. He knelt down and hoisted his rifle, then Bassam and Jasari did the same. “On my count, pull it open,” he said, “and remain on the sides until I say when. Marines, we’re providing cover for our sniper to eliminate any high-value targets. If you have a kill, go for it, but remember they may be wearing shields.”

  He started his countdown, and one of the Marines pulled open the door. What he saw beyond it was another cargo hold, this one filled with crates overrun with the growth that came with Geralos vessels. Shots whizzed by his helmet like lines of light, as the Marines opened fire through the door.