Angel of the Alliance (Lady Hellgate Book 4)

by Greg Dragon

  Whatever this place was, it was meant to remain a secret but for a path paved with small stones, built for the coming and going of the transports.

  “I wonder where that leads,” Quentin said.

  “Probably to some lizard atrocity that I don’t want to know about,” Cilas said.

  “Commander,” Quentin shouted, but Cilas was already seeing the threat.

  Before them, past the last of the transports, stood a line of Geralos armed to the teeth. They leveled their guns at the Nighthawks and started firing at them. The projectiles ricocheted off the transports, making it difficult to avoid getting hit. Several shots ripped up the rocks around their feet, and Quentin dove out of the way.

  Three of the shots struck Cilas’s legs, but his shields held up, despite them being of a heavy caliber. If not for their PAS this would have been the end of the two Nighthawks, but they were able to use the cover of the vehicles to fire back at their attackers. Now it was the Geralos that were scrambling, since their armor wasn’t made to withstand penetrative kinetic-rounds.

  A stand-off ensued, with the Nighthawks steadily pressing towards the gunfire. They were trading shots, but timing them to keep the Geralos on the defensive, all while they took turns jumping from behind one transport to the next.

  Times like this, Cilas missed his old friend, Cage Hem, who was an expert with a stargun, a weapon used for suppressing bunched units like the ones they faced. They were still too exposed, but for now, they pressed on, trading shots and recharging their shields from the damage.

  Cilas saw movement from above him and dove out of the way, only to see that it was Helga, employing her rocket boots to rain bullets down on the enemy. Raileo and Sundown joined in, materializing like phantoms from behind the transports. One of the Geralos flew back screaming as Sundown’s incendiary rounds punctured his suit.

  The Geralos scattered for better cover but Cilas pressed forward, seizing the advantage. The Nighthawks were all firing as they ran now, cutting down the Geralos before the ground gave out as several szilocs emerged to join the fight. Cilas caught a glimpse of one as it impaled a Geralos, tossing him up just to catch him inside its maw.

  A rocket came in from out of nowhere, striking a transport, which exploded on impact. Cilas was thrown backwards, colliding with Quentin Tutt, and the two men went down in a heap. More transports exploded as a hovering dropship appeared above the tree line. Cilas’s shields were depleted, and his helmet screamed warnings into his ears.

  “Nighthawks, run,” he managed to shout. “Cut into the trees and preserve your fuel. It’s our best chance of surviving this and making it back to the Thundercat.”

  21

  Into the trees the Nighthawks ran, dodging energy blasts and a hail of bullets. Helga didn’t know where their destination lay, or even if there was a destination for now. All she knew was that she needed to put distance between herself and the Geralos attackers that had been waiting for them outside the facility.

  She was beyond tired and sore, having been in the PAS for hours fighting for her life. It was BLAST all over, the rigorous test they had all undertaken to become Nighthawks. Days of running, climbing, and fighting for your life was rewarded with more running, until you hit a wall, and even then you still had to fight.

  Upon graduation she had foolishly believed that BLAST was the toughest test she’d ever have to face. Yet, here she was, running for her life on limbs ready to give out, powered by a heart that was in overdrive.

  The team had run in separate directions, with the confidence that over comms they could coordinate a rally point once the Geralos had given up the chase. By then, hopefully, the Marines would arrive, and their pursuers would be forced to rush back to their base. The shooting slowed down and finally ceased, giving Helga the break she needed to check and see if the radar was back online.

  On her mask’s HUD, she saw the simulated forest and nodes representing her Nighthawk brothers. Touching her wrist, she switched the visuals, bringing up the readouts on everyone’s health. Heart rates were spiking, but for Sundown’s, but that was no surprise.

  Her confidence returned with their suits online; they were more formidable than before. She could call up to Zan on the Ursula if she wanted, or Cleia Rai’to, who was probably bored out of her mind.

  The thought of the doctor made Helga smile. She was such an innocent-seeming person, and it felt good to know someone like that in a universe filled with treachery. Thunder boomed off in the distance, and the sky turned dark, streaked by lingering forks of lightning.

  It was one of those strange sights to a space-locked boomer that was both beautiful and frightening. Helga had never seen anything like it outside of vids and photo archives, and now that she saw it in person, she filed it away inside her mind.

  The trees grew denser, some trunks fusing together, it seemed, causing Helga to have to veer off track to keep on moving in the direction she was running. Suddenly the ground became an incline, and she found herself running downhill.

  She cared not for the brush, branches, and vines that threatened to snatch her up and throw her off her feet because she was encased in the armor of her PAS.

  “Whoa,” she exclaimed over her comms. “Any of you men on this incline?” But no one answered, and for the first time she became worried. “Not the jamming thing again,” she muttered, then tried them each on private comms, yielding nothing each time.

  Helga thought of what to do next, trying her best not to speculate on what was happening. She pulled up her HUD and checked their life signs. Everyone was healthy, though their fuel gauges looked dangerously low.

  Maybe it’s just me, she thought. They all seem to be alright, and maybe that concussion blast knocked out my comms.

  Taking to the air, she slipped up past the top of the trees, then flew down the hill past where it dropped off into the basin. Seeing the cliff face gave her a sinking feeling. She had known that it was coming from memory, since she’d flown over it when they made their approach. The exit near the transports would’ve made it difficult for the others to remember, however, and it was possible that one of them could have taken a fall.

  The PAS had rockets, but they were difficult to master, and for someone that wasn’t trained to fly spaceships, it could feel as if the suit had a mind of its own. Quentin was still clumsy in his, and Helga worried that if any had fallen, it was bound to be him. She dipped low, into the mist, hoping to see his signature, or anything really, to put her wandering mind to rest.

  The winds picked up, pushing the trees sideways, and Helga found herself suddenly unable to maintain control. She pulled her legs up to her knees and performed a front-flip while powering her rockets off. She came out of it into a glide, angling down past numerous branches before grabbing onto one of them. The momentum caused her to wince but she held on. It felt as if her arms would come out of their sockets as she hung there, swaying like ripened fruit.

  Helga didn’t remember who had said that Argan-10 was determined to take lives, but she was now in full agreement. Looking about, she heard noises as an animal growled within the bushes, so she jumped and re-activated her rockets, flying up and out of the misty basin.

  May as well find my way back to the dropship, she thought. If everyone was lost, then naturally that would be the best option for a rallying point. That was if the Geralos hadn’t discovered it hidden among the rock formations. Visibility was now low from the clouds and the falling rain, so Helga was forced to fly higher in order to avoid running into anything. It was a calculated risk, considering that a high altitude could put her on a tracker for the Geralos.

  Helga leveled off, using the rocket in her pack, giving the pair within her boots a rest while she fumbled around on her wrist-comms. She activated a beacon on the R60 Thundercat, and its icon appeared on her HUD.

  If the Nighthawks weren’t heading there, they’d know to do so now, since it projected a virtual pin somewhere off in the distance, and all they would need to do was follow
it to make it back to the ramp. Any Geralos close by in a transport would pick it up on their map, as well, but Helga was prepared for a fight. As long as she was able to board the dropship, she would happily scrap it out with any of them.

  She found the rock formation with no incident, but still there was no one answering on comms. It was nighttime now, and she boarded the ship with her pistols out, checking every nook and cranny before feeling safe enough to enter the cockpit. On the comms there she tried again, and that was when she finally reached Cilas.

  “Where have you been?” he said, sounding annoyed. “Was that you with the beacon? Are you off your schtill?”

  “Fly up out of the trees and I can grab you,” Helga said. “The ramp is down, so all you’d have to do is burn a bit of fuel to gain the altitude.”

  “Alright, we’re in that basin, the one with the mist. It’s been providing good cover. Ate—Helga, stay alert. They have a thopter patrolling, trying to find us,” he said.

  “I’ll bring it down, but as soon as I do they’ll be on me like flies, so you men are going to really have to move,” Helga said.

  She powered up the crystal core and tested the thrusters, bringing the Thundercat up off the ground a meter and letting it hover while she consulted a holographic simulation of the rocks about her. She had done a similar trick when she flew into the field to try and conceal the ship. Now, she didn’t want to disturb them or knock them over with the wings, so she slowly maneuvered the Thundercat up and out of there.

  Five minutes later, and she was zipping back the way she had come but with an armored and shielded war machine. She rolled and dipped it into the mist, skimming the treetops as she probed the radar looking for a sign. She saw nothing despite the dropship’s window adjusting to allow for night vision. On the radar, however, she saw the four bright white dots of the Nighthawks escaping.

  Do I risk telling them to make the flight up to me now? she wondered. Is that thopter somewhere else lurking? Waiting for us to let our guard down? Helga had a terrible vision that flashed across her mind. It was Cilas, flying up to the ramp, only to be hit by a torpedo. Call them up before securing the skies, and that is one scenario that is likely to happen, she thought.

  Helga flew a wide arc around the basin, bringing the dropship higher and higher until she saw where the thopter was making its rounds. After activating hardpoints, the ship did something she hadn’t anticipated happening.

  To allow for shielding and the preservation of the internal atmosphere, the ramp retracted, making it impossible for her to collect the Nighthawks. She would need to dispatch of all enemies before risking opening the hatch again.

  “This is going to be hairy, but stay down there until I give you the word,” she said over general comms.

  She rolled the Thundercat and opened up her guns, tearing off the thopter’s leftmost wing. This went flying into the trees, cutting through branches like a hot knife through butter. The vessel, unable to maintain its altitude, buckled and tumbled down the cliff face. Helga didn’t stop to examine her work, however, screaming into the comms for the Nighthawks to fly.

  Tilting the nose of the dropship to the heavens, she disabled hardpoints, and opened the rear hatch for the ramp to descend. Almost instantly, she saw the signatures of the Nighthawks climbing towards the dropship, but the radar was showing incoming, and she knew she had gambled wrong.

  Dipping lower to the treetops, she tried not to speculate on anything negative. This was easier said than done, however, as her eyes danced back and forth to track the Nighthawk’s progress, along with the Geralos.

  Sundown was the last to board, and Helga closed the hatch while simultaneously putting all the power towards the thrust. The boosters belched in protest as the ship shook violently before rocketing up and out of the mist. The Geralos matched their speed, however, and Helga saw that it wasn’t possible for them to escape without a fight.

  “Strap in tight and hold on,” she growled, before re-activating hardpoints and powering up the shields and the four energy cannons.

  “Need me on the guns, Lieutenant?” Raileo said, and while she was tempted to tell him yes, it wasn’t worth him trying to gain the cockpit while she rolled around avoiding the Geralos attacks.

  “Stay put for now, Ray. I got this,” she said, and performed a series of maneuvers that took them through a narrow gulch and then back around, as if she wanted to return to the disabled ship.

  The Geralos dropship had gained on her now, and his guns were depleting her shields. All she could do was run and try maneuvers to throw him until he made a mistake. Helga regretted turning them around now, since she’d lost the advantage of having natural obstacles like the mountains.

  This would be ace against ace, but Helga was confident and ready to return to the Ursula. They had made it this far, past the vicious szilocs and the Geralos ambush. Now all that stood between them and escape was a Geral-engineered dropship armed with kinetic cannons and energy torpedoes.

  Helga rolled to the left, forcing their pursuer to turn in that direction. As soon as he followed, she rocked them back hard to the right, rolling twice before moving left again, causing all of his bullets to go wide.

  She was hoping to frustrate him into giving up on the chase, and instead try to distance himself in order to launch a torpedo. They kept this going for a long time until they returned to the fantastic scenery of the floating islands. Here, Helga took advantage of this splendor by wrapping about one of these landmasses, hugging it so tightly that the Geralos was forced to break off.

  They weaved figure-eights between multiple islands, and a wayward torpedo barely missed the Thundercat. The comms were silent, and you could cut the tension with a knife, but Helga was in her element. The only thing she felt was anticipation for catching the Geralos slipping.

  She flew towards a large island, rising slowly with the wind, and the Geralos launched another torpedo. It flew high above the Thundercat, striking the base of a floating isle. Rocks and dirt exploded into a cloud of debris, draining the shields and blinding Helga instantly. She pulled up and her pursuer accelerated, hoping to cut her off, but it was a ruse. Helga cut power to the thrusts and rocked the control stick hard to one side.

  The Thundercat stalled and started to fall before Helga maxed thrusts again and they shot out from beneath the islands. By now the Geralos was trying to adjust, but Helga was already flying towards him. Shots were exchanged as they barreled towards one another recklessly, cutting off at the last moment in a deadly game of chicken. Missing one another, both ships came about and jousted again. In and out they weaved, coming close to crashing each time.

  If the pilot wasn’t Geralos, Helga would have wanted to recruit him, because his skills were extraordinary, and he was making her work to survive.

  “You got this, Hellgate, bring him down,” Cilas said, and it served to strengthen her resolve.

  When the two ships came around to fly at one another yet again, Helga decided she wasn’t going to avoid him. She shunted all power to shields, weakening her guns to the point where they would barely penetrate a hull, let alone kill the pilot. They came at one another, and the Geralos banked, but not before the nose of the Thundercat clipped his tail and caused him to lose control for a time.

  With the shields powered, everyone onboard felt the impact of the crash, but the vessel wasn’t damaged, and Helga still maintained control. She brought them about to gain the flank of the spiraling dropship and locked in on its thruster, pumping enough shots into the hull to tear a whole chunk of it off. Crashing into several branches, the enemy ship was barely able to stay afloat, but Helga was relentless and started charging an energy torpedo.

  “Come on,” Cilas shouted. “If you take any longer, there will be three more on us, just like it. Either let him go and jump us back to the Ursula or send that thype to the maker.”

  Helga ignored him and stayed on the Geralos, using her radar for guidance. They flew for a time, and the basin was expansive until
they neared the face of a cliff, which Helga hadn’t seen coming up until the very last moment. She activated airbrakes and pulled them up into a loop-de-loop as the Geralos ship banked late, thinking that she was still in pursuit.

  As soon as he made this move, Helga fired the torpedo at the rocks above him. She knew his shields had been depleted, and his thrusters were struggling from her earlier shots. The cliff didn’t just explode; it practically melted, showering the dropship with rocks and trees. Down it all went, causing the ground to shake, and the Geralos ship was no more but for a mushroom cloud that stood out above the mist.

  “Yeah!” Helga screamed in victory, her eyes wet with excitement as the blood returned to her face.

  “Hell of a job, Ate,” Cilas said, which brought a smile to her face.

  “Does this mean we can finally leave this nightmare?” Raileo said, not feeling the same excitement as everyone else.

  “Why? Are you missing something sexy and blue?” Helga teased, causing the young chief to pause. “We’re on private comms, Relax, Ray,” she said, still laughing at the thought of him blushing behind his mask.

  “Why is it that when you’re happy, the rest of us have to suffer?” he said.

  “Am I wrong?” she pressed. “Lighten up. We’re about to head back, and you have something to celebrate with your doc.”

  22

  Cleia Rai’to sat staring at the image of the dead, mutated Geralos for fifteen minutes. Helga, who had shared it with her on a whim, sat up on one of the vacant beds, playing at her wrist-comms while she awaited the doctor’s opinion.

  “On Sanctuary,” Cleia said without turning away from the vid screen, “there’s a brilliant professor by the name of Rhoan Aghesh. He taught at Noble University in the Freedom District, which was my district for most of my life. Dr. Aghesh rose to prominence with his theory that the Geralos are not a natural species to Anstractor.

  “He theorized that their pattern of behavior was akin to predators developed inside of a lab. No one took him seriously, but his work has been gaining popularity over the last few years. This Geralos is no mutant or Vestalian hybrid, which is impossible, at least through natural conception. A human woman giving birth to a Geralos child would likely die from the pain.”