Full Metal Heroine: A Military Space Opera Adventure (Lady Hellgate Book 2)

by Greg Dragon

  Quentin, on the other hand, had been in numerous fights with the Geralos. As a Marine planet-buster, he had seen the worst of the worst, but men like that were sharpened tools, and ESO operators were leaders. If a situation presented itself where she and Cilas weren’t present, she wondered if he would be able to take charge. He had been one of a hundred Marines on the surface of Traxis. They were efficient killers, trained to eliminate the enemy, but they operated as a unit, never having to think for themselves.

  Helga tried to push away her doubts in the new team members. She would have to accept that they would come through. The fears that she felt for them reminded her of when she was in their boots, as an unproven operator ready to embark on what would be her very first drop. Seven men had greeted her as a rookie, and only three of them trusted that she had earned her spot.

  Quentin and Raileo were much farther along than she had been, plus they had graduated from BLAST, so they had more than earned their right to be there. Who was she to question their readiness, just because they were new to the team? Trust, she thought, massaging her knees unconsciously, as she looked at the commander who stepped forward for the brief.

  A screen descended behind the woman and then she lowered the lights with a gesture of her hand. The planet Meluvia appeared behind her, as vivid as if she stood in front of a bay window during orbit. More gesturing pulled it in close, and then it began to animate, zooming them in as if they were all on a dropship, breaking atmosphere to find the ground. When the clouds dissipated and they could see the land, the commander stopped the animation and spoke.

  “What you’re seeing here is the Zolen region of Meluvia. It is a peaceful region and has been for thousands of years. Location makes it hot, and the Swa’re Desert spans about ninety percent of this continent.”

  “That’s Leif, right?” Quentin said.

  “It is the continent of Leif, yes,” the woman said. “Most of us know it for the mineral farms that fuel the entire planet, but it has become compromised by a group of rebels known as the Meluvian Liberation Front.”

  “MLF? Didn’t the Meluvian military decimate that group ages ago?” Cilas said.

  “They thought that they did, Lieutenant, but they have since resurfaced, and have become more radical and violent than before. Since you know a bit of their history, I don’t have to impress upon you the seriousness of this mission.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander, but I don’t know about the MLF,” Helga said. “Could you give us a quick rundown as to who they are?”

  “Not a problem, but I hope that you take it upon yourself to do your own research beyond my words. The Meluvian Liberation Front is the result of several terrorist organizations on the planet coming together as one. Let me see … alright, so the history of MLF…” She stared up at the ceiling as if something was supposed to appear there.

  “Alright,” she said again and then stared directly at Helga when she spoke. “When Meluvia joined the Alliance to help us with the Geralos, there was still a lot of conflict happening on the planet. See, Meluvia, unlike the other planets, did not have a central government back then. The decision to join us came from their richest nation, Voal, and with its power and influence on the lesser continents, they elected to join the war and are now our greatest ally. Everyone here should know that Meluvia is the reason we survived the early portion of this war, but many on the planet felt that they should have stayed out of it—”

  “Like the Louines,” Raileo whispered, which earned him a cautionary glance from his team leader, Cilas Mec. Raileo cleared his throat and then sat back, staring forward, and Helga reasoned that him speaking out of turn was more the fault of nerves than him offering up a worthless anecdote. He was turning red from the embarrassment, and when their eyes met, she gave him a friendly nod.

  The commander smiled patiently at the rookie and then shifted her gaze to Cilas. “Rebels and outlaws began to take advantage of the weakened military, whose numbers had become thin due to the war effort here in space. These rebels began to seize territory and used terror to cripple the government. For a time Meluvia had to break from the Alliance’s efforts in order to prevent a planetary civil war. Marines from the Geralos conflict took to the ground and joined the Meluvian army in striking back at the rebels. This forced the outlaws to become organized, and the strongest group, the MLF, integrated all of the other groups to become a formidable militia.

  “Under this new setup they became efficient in their methods and integrated into the civilian world to spread their rhetoric of “Meluvia for Meluvians.” This was before our time, and for a long time the Meluvian leadership was unaware that the crushed rebellion was still alive and kicking. MLF has built up cells all over Meluvia, and the Virulian spy network has been working with the government to reveal their locations and counter them. This is why the Lieutenant believes that MLF was a thing of the past, but Captain Cor asked you here because the truth is MLF is much stronger than before.

  “The Virulians have reported that the MLF has a number of ex-operators in their ranks. One is an ESO by the name of Joran Wolf.”

  “Excuse me, Commander, but am I hearing you right?” Cilas said, leaning forward. “An MLF member is … one of us?”

  “Yes,” she said, sighing, as if it was a painful thing to admit. “He’s a first-class target of the highest caliber, Lieutenant. This man is the former team leader to the Ocelots, Special Forces, and the target we need you to extract. As you know, the Ocelots were decommissioned last year, and the Aqnaqak has chosen not to rebuild. Operators from that team were led by this man. He needs to be removed and brought before the council for questioning. The Jumpers, the Virulian spies on the ground, have confirmed that he is under the protection of this group.”

  Cilas Mec looked pained. Thype me, this is personal, Helga thought, as she felt the discomfort become like thick smoke in the air. She looked at Cilas to gauge his reaction, now that they’d learned that they were after one of their own. It was going to be difficult, for more reasons than she could fathom. This was no pirate or Geralos commander; this was a highly trained human who knew everything they knew.

  Cilas seemed frozen in contemplation as he stared forward at the screen, which now held an image of Joran Wolf. “Is his cell operating out of Leif?” Cilas said, and the commander waved her hand, causing the display to revert back to the map. “Of all the countries, why choose that wasteland? Isn’t it uninhabitable due to the Swa’re desert?”

  “Actually, Lieutenant, most of Leif may be a wasteland, but in the south it’s a tropical paradise. A vast jungle separates your desert from the water, and in it are a number of villages, primitive, but perfect for the MLF to recruit their soldiers. Our intel is sparse, but from the little we do know, their base is located south of the desert near a temple called Merkaad.”

  She spread her arms and the map shifted, showing more detail of Leif’s terrain. “Here, you will see that the jungle ends abruptly where the desert starts. It’s a true wonder of nature, that split, which has vegetation and life in the south, and death and sand to the north. They know that no army would come at them through the desert, and getting through that jungle would be a nightmare, even with a guide. Wolf will have the air covered to prevent any covert drops. The MLF have several Surface to Air systems that will fry anything that flies within that region.”

  “It depends on who is flying,” Helga said suddenly then said no more when Cilas gave her the same look he’d given Raileo earlier. Flying over Leif would be a challenge that she would readily take. In her mind there was no way that a primitive missile could find their dropship with her at the helm.

  “Very good, young lady, but we do plan to avoid the air. You will instead be coming in from the south of this region.” She tapped an area of the screen just south of Leif, where a tiny archipelago sat unmarked. “You all will be flown in to touchdown on Kua, the northernmost Ru’oi isle. There you’ll have to locate the village of Almadun, where you’ll rendez
vous with a member of the Meluvian Army Rangers. Once you’ve made contact, you will sail north to the shores of Leif. There, you will move north on foot to find Wolf and the MLF headquarters.”

  “When do we deploy, ma’am?” Cilas said.

  “You have two cycles,” she replied then continued with the specifics on where they would be dropped. Aqnaqak’s Ocelots had been like the Nighthawks, a team that was built for sensitive missions. But they had committed treason and broken their oaths. Most had been caught and thrown out of an airlock, but a handful escaped the wrath of Captain Tara Cor.

  Wolf had not only defected but had stolen munitions needed to fight the Geralos. This more than anything made Helga hate him. He was not just a traitor to the Aqnaqak, but a traitor to the human race. Here they were, fighting the enemy—whose goal was galactic domination—and this man, who she had a hard time believing was a former ESO, had stolen their weapons to sell for personal gain.

  “I want to carve a thyping hole in his face,” she said to Cilas, as they walked away from the hangar after being briefed.

  “You and me both, but we’ll get our chance eventually,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine an ESO turning against the Alliance,” Raileo said. “It defies all comprehension. We give up so much to be here.”

  “Logic isn’t always the answer,” Quentin said. “I hold out hope that this is all a big misunderstanding. If it’s not, he has it coming, but if it’s a mistake, how would we play it, Lieutenant?”

  Cilas took them through the passageway and up a set of stairs. It seemed as if he knew where he was going. He didn’t answer immediately since they were pushing past some spacers, but when they were on the next deck, he took them through a set of doors to what appeared to be an observation area.

  “We can talk here,” he said. “Watch your words around the rates, Tutt, gossip is the quickest way to sack one of our missions. Now as to your question about Wolf’s innocence. We would radio back to tell the commander and wait to hear if our orders change. Regardless of what the truth is, we are to find and bring him home. Now, if he comes back kicking or cold in a box, that will depend on how open he is to discussion.”

  Everyone was quiet so Helga walked over to the looming window, which showed the Rendron off in the distance, peacefully drifting above the planet. It reminded her of her youth, when she used to sneak onto the observation deck to clear her mind.

  “We don’t make those decisions, Tutt,” she said, still looking out at Rendron. “Nighthawks are weapons, nothing less, nothing more. When a weapon is put into action, there is no hesitation to think.”

  “Sounds like the Corps,” Quentin said. “Thought this would be different, but I understand.”

  “Ate’s being dramatic,” Cilas cut in. “We are considered weapons, but we don’t just go in blindly and kill. If Wolf turns out to be in a different situation, we will act intelligently and send updates to the commander. Good enough?”

  “More than good, Lieutenant. Perfect,” Quentin said.

  “Listen. Helga, bring it in, I have something to say and you need to hear,” Cilas said. “This is a ‘drop and cop,’ which can be really easy or extremely hard. It is complicated by the fact that the mark is one of our own. What that means is that our stealth techniques may not give us an advantage, and the very real fact that Wolf already knows we’re coming and will get the drop on us when we land. Do not get cocky or feel mighty because you’re here. This is likely to be a schtill show, but we must be determined to succeed.”

  “Do you know Wolf, Lieutenant?” Helga said as she sat down next to Raileo Lei.

  “I know who he is, yes. We’ve crossed paths a couple of times.”

  “Can you take him?” Raileo said.

  “What, like in a fist-fight? Yes, but we’re not going down there for a fist-fight.” Cilas laughed. “As a unit we will take down Joran Wolf and bring him back to Commander Cinnila Tye. This is a good first mission for you men. It will get you prepared for anything to come. Remember where you are, and trust all your training, and don’t worry about Wolf being an ESO. If he was truly one of us, he’d be up here helping this ship, but he’s down there in the bushes, selling our weapons to civilian thugs. How does that make you feel, Nighthawks?”

  “Ready to get down there and crack some skulls,” Quentin said.

  “You got that right,” Cilas said.

  5

  “No PAS armor?” Helga said, referencing the rocket-powered suits they wore whenever they deployed to a moon or planet. PAS stood for Powered Armored Suit, and it served as the best protection for the gifted arm of the Anstractor Alliance Navy, the Extraplanetary Spatial Operators (ESO).

  The PAS commanded respect, from both the Alliance Navy and the enemy. It wasn’t because of its make-up: strong, resilient, yet malleable, or the fact that its wearers could fly, maneuver onto battlefields through the most unconventional ways, or aid in the aiming of a number of high-powered weapons. The PAS was revered across the Alliance because of the men and women inside.

  “Not necessary,” Cilas said. “We’ll be dealing with hot, sticky rain forests, and arid, endless sand. That bulky armor will get us killed in the jungle, and you’ll find yourself cooked, if we get stuck in the desert. It’ll be shirts and BDUs for this trip, Ate. I know you love the armor, but not this time.”

  He tossed her a shirt and she caught it and flipped it around to see how big it was. She didn’t think that Cilas would know her size, even though she’d spent the better part of a year hip-to-hip with him inside an escape pod. He’d been confident enough to toss it to her as if there was no question, so she was curious as to how good of a guess he had made. “Lieutenant, this is a size two,” she complained, still remembering that she was a three.

  “Yeah, is that not your size?” he said, seeming perplexed.

  “Okay, let’s see,” she said, ready to show him up. She removed her shirt, not caring that she had an audience, then stood up and pulled on the camouflaged top. Thype me, what in the worlds is happening? she thought. The ugly shirt fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. “How is this possible?” she said, looking around. Then it dawned on her … “That nosy little cruta. Joy told you my size, didn’t she?” she said.

  “Maybe,” Cilas said, fighting a smile, but Quentin thought that it was the most hilarious thing.

  “What else did that little snake tell you?” she asked as she gathered the rest of her clothes. But Cilas didn’t respond, switching his focus to the other two men, who he handed similar shirts, before pulling on his own.

  Helga walked over to a mirror to take a look at herself. She couldn’t believe that she had shrunk to being a size two. If I get any tinier, they will force me onto the bridge, she thought. I’ve gotten so small and weak. Just last year she was a size three, short, slender, but muscular, and with the gaunt figure staring back from the mirror, she really wished that they could wear their armor. It was one of the perks of being a Nighthawk. What was the point of risking your life if you couldn’t look amazing in that hard shell?

  “I still think that we should wear our PAS armor,” Helga said.

  “Give it up, Ate, it’s not happening,” Cilas said.

  The four Nighthawks dressed in their uniforms and went back to the hangar to find the dropship. They worked their way through the crowd of young Marines and spacers, who looked on in awe at the ESOs. When they reached the area where the ships were parked, the crowd thinned out into nothing. Helga wondered why this happened, but then she saw an armed master-at-arms. He stood with his back to a glowing divider blocking a section of the hangar.

  “This area’s restricted,” he barked at Cilas. “Back away from the line. Captain’s orders. Only Aqnaqak pilots and battle-ready cargo may pass.”

  “Do you not recognize who this is, M.A.? This is Lieutenant Cilas Mec. Excuse yourself,” Quentin said.

  The man looked over at Cilas, who seemed more than a little annoyed with the
delay. He recognized him immediately and lowered his weapon, then powered down the divider line to let them pass. “Accept my apologies, Lieutenant Mec, and may you have a safe trip,” he quickly said.

  The more Helga experienced Quentin, the more she liked him, though the jury was out on whether it all was an act. When they walked past the M.A., she gave him a cursory glance and was taken aback. He was sallow-skinned with a beard, which made him look filthy beneath the helmet and the uniform. Between his appearance and the loud Marines, the Aqnaqak seemed less impressive than she thought it would be.

  She caught up with Cilas so that they could talk as he led them over to a sleek black ship. “What’s with the state of this ship, Lieutenant? Isn’t the Aqnaqak one of the premier starships in the Alliance? I don’t know. The state of this place is barely better than what I would expect from a hub, or one of the junker trade ships that occupy Vestalian space,” she said.

  “Hubs aren’t so bad,” Raileo said, and Helga recalled that he had been raised on one. She was about to make an excuse for using them as an example when she remembered that her lieutenant, Cilas Mec, had also been raised on a hub before his parents got him drafted to the formal Alliance Navy.

  “I didn’t mean to pick on hubs, Lei,” she said, looking over at Cilas. “I was lucky enough to not have been sent to one after my parents died, so this isn’t me being an elitist cruta about living spaces. What I’m referring to is the crowded state of this hangar. It makes me cringe. What if the lizards were to jump in right now? How would the pilots manage to get through all of this adolescent testosterone in order to get out there to protect the ship?”

  “It would help if they had a dedicated area for new Marines, but they’re using the hangar as a staging station. I know, because I was here myself, not too long before I got into BLAST,” Raileo said. “I guess in a sense this is exactly like a hub, except on a hub you have no choice since people live wherever they can fit.”