Last of The Nighthawks: A Military Space Opera Adventure (Lady Hellgate Book 1)

by Greg Dragon

  When the door slid shut, he lit into Viles, sparing no expletives in his attack. For as long as he and the CAG had been working together, he was comfortable with talking to him like this. The position was a privilege, and Retzo Sho was the Rendron in every single way. Losing Special Forces personnel reflected badly on the ship. It would lead to other captains talking about his leadership, and questioning whether or not he knew what he was doing.

  Beyond this, the years and money pumped into building warriors the likes of Cilas Mec, Cage Hem, and Lamia Brafa, made the team irreplaceable. He had lost sleep over the Nighthawks’ silence, and as a captain, sleep was the rarest form of currency.

  It didn’t help that Viles wore a look of guilt as he berated him. He didn’t try to object, and he didn’t seem surprised. He just stood there, looking pathetic. “So what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Viles? What could possibly be the reason that news of this weight and importance gets to me, the captain of this ship, 89 hours after it was received?”

  “I apologize, Captain,” he said, looking directly at Retzo Sho. “As you know, the enemy likes to falsify messages to the Rendron in order to draw us out for ambush. When we received the distress code, it came from a Louine transmission—which didn’t make any sense. I had it analyzed immediately and it was determined that it was a Geralos trick.”

  “This report in front of me has Lieutenant Cilas Mec’s personal passcode, Adan. Under no circumstance would that code be used unless it is a call for help. You know this as well as I do,” Retzo said, steadying his breath.

  “I do, sir. But, the thing is, it came from the Louines. What if Lieutenant Mec gave up the code under duress, and this is a Geralos trap? We could be risking even more lives by responding to it, and at this point, sir, can we really afford to do that?”

  Retzo sat down in his chair and looked over his notes again. He knew it was Cilas, not by the notes but by a deep intuition telling him that it was indeed legit. But he could not deny that Adan Viles was right about the potential risk for the would-be rescuers. He read the notes several times, and then looked up at Viles.

  “The Louines have never shown themselves to be hostile against the Alliance. Why would they start now? That was no fresh out of camp troop of rookies that went out to that moon. Those were Nighthawks. Are you to have me believe that the pacifist Louines were able to capture Cilas Mec and force him to send a coded message to us?” he said, laughing.

  Adan Viles seemed to think it over, then his face made an expression of doubt. “No, I wouldn’t believe it either, but the strangeness of the message and its source is why it has taken us some time to act,” he said.

  “89 hours, Mr. Viles. If Cilas Mec put this out while they were dying, then they are definitely dead now. Every second we wait results in days for the Nighthawks, who probably think we’ve forgotten about them.”

  “I know, sir,” Adan said, then looked off to the side as if something had caught his eye. He was very much the icon of an officer, tall of stature, and everything about him was neat. Even his slick green hair complied with his appearance, allowing only one section to reveal his grey hairs. Adan was impressive in both look and action, and this was the only reason Retzo was talking to him.

  “Could we assemble a team similar to the Nighthawks to jump out there, and see if they can make contact with Cilas Mec?” he said. “If it’s a trap, they will be expecting a destroyer, or at the very least a small fleet. The lizards know that we value our people, so an interceptor won’t trigger an immediate response. Our team can scope it out, jump back here if it’s an ambush, or stage a rescue if it is legitimate.”

  Retzo thought about what he was saying, and did the calculations in his head. “I want you to get a note out to Commander Lang of the Inginus. He is to infiltrate the space above the Louine moon of Dyn. He and his Marines are to eliminate all Geralos threats and investigate the missing Nighthawks. Adan, I want this to be executed immediately,” he said, and watched Adan’s face to see how he received the orders.

  “I’ll have it done, Captain,” Adan said, his face revealing nothing. “May I take my leave now to get to it?”

  “Just a minute,” Retzo said. “This Dyn mission. Do you know the original source of this intelligence, Commander?”

  Adan Viles seemed offended that the captain would ask, and the normally responsive Meluvian hesitated before answering. Retzo Sho took note of this, and listened keenly as he spoke. “The Dyn situation was reported by Commander Lang, sir. His Marines picked up on a lot of liz—I mean, Geralos activity in the Louine sector, and when he reported it to us we reached out to the Virulian Spy Network.”

  This was yet another bit of information they had kept him in the dark on, but Retzo kept himself calm, choosing to remain stoic as he listened. “The Jumpers?”

  “Yes sir. The Virulian Jumpers.”

  “What did the Jumpers report once you reached out to them?” Retzo said.

  “They put out feelers on that sector and learned of the Colony of Abarion, and the fact that the Geralos were eyeing their settlement as a possible feeding farm. From what I was told, they reached out to several ships, but no one was willing to commit to the rescue,” Adan said.

  “Do you blame them, now that you see what it has cost us?” Retzo said. He couldn’t help but turn this into a teaching moment. Adan Viles was smart, and had done a lot of good for the Rendron in terms of strategy and recruitment, but he was idealistic, and Retzo saw this as a flaw.

  Whenever things like this would happen, he wanted to make sure that Adan learned from it. He could become a captain of his own ship one day, and when he did, people would remember that he learned from Retzo Sho.

  “I understand sir. I do. But we are fighting to save our people as much as we are fighting to kill the enemy. Leaving those settlers on the moon would only lead to more lizards, let alone a new headquarters for them right under the sleeping Louine.”

  “Right on both counts, Commander, but Nighthawks?” Retzo said.

  “This was what was recommended from the manual, sir,” Adan said. “Special missions require Special Forces. It’s unfortunate that we’re in this position, but everything was done to the letter.”

  Retzo thought about his words. He was right but it didn’t make it easier. He wanted his Nighthawks home safely, and he wondered if he was being unnecessarily short with his CAG. It wasn’t because he thought that the settlers weren’t worth it; it was because he’d dropped the ball on protecting his men and women.

  From the time he was granted the captaincy of the ship, Retzo had overseen every aspect of their military efforts. He was there for space fighter operations, strategic meetings, and graduations—not limited to the cadet academy. Besides that, he knew everything about his ship, and did all the things a good captain was supposed to do. But he was human, and humans needed sleep. There was no way he could be everywhere at all times, and so he hired men like Adan Viles to make key decisions that weren’t on his level.

  The Nighthawks was an experiment started by him and his Executive Officer, Lester Cruz. Together they had handpicked Lieutenant Cilas Mec to be the lead of the company, which comprised the top graduates from the grueling BLAST Training. Cruz had been killed—an unfortunate accident with his service weapon—and Retzo saw the Nighthawks as part of his legacy.

  If it were up to him, he would direct and oversee everything to do with that unit, but the war was at a fever pitch, and his attention was needed on bigger things. He had left Adan to handle the Nighthawks direction, but asked to be involved on the initial planning. Now he was missing his chosen lieutenant, and it brought into question Adan’s leadership.

  “You can go, Commander,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let me know if you get any pushback from the Inginus.”

  Adan bowed deeply, then exited quickly, and Retzo watched the door for a long time after it slid shut. He wanted to flip the table over, he was so upset. How had things gone so awry, and under his watch, at that? For everything
he’d done, it took this one act of trust to get valuable assets killed.

  All the years of meticulous micro-managing had led to the Rendron’s operations being as well-oiled as you could get. The Marines both onboard and on the satellite interceptors were lauded as some of the most professional and effective in the entire Alliance.

  Yet now as he sat staring down at the table, he felt helpless and betrayed. As a former pilot and BLAST graduate, he wanted to handle it himself. All he would need was an FTL drive and five seasoned Marines. He would jump out there, knock some heads, and bring back Cilas Mec.

  Why couldn’t Adan Viles do this? he thought. There has to be something else going on. He touched his comms and flipped the line to private. “Miss Ore,” he said, when the operator answered. “I need all correspondence that you have on record for Commander Adan Viles.”

  “Crossing the line with him is only going to land you in hot water once we get on an Alliance ship,” Helga said, as she sat watching Brise screw out a portion of the bulkhead and replace it with a section of tarp.

  “I don’t care. This unit’s finished anyway, and I’ve been biting my tongue for over a year. Someone has to do something, and it won’t be Lieutenant Protocol out there. It may end up being you, Ate, now that I think about it. If I get booted, they will silence me, and they will have gotten away with it,” Brise said.

  “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You aren’t making any sense, Sol. Who will get away with what, and what proof do you have that it’s true?”

  “I don’t have any proof yet, but I aim to get it as soon as we are back on the Rendron. I’m going to ask the Captain, right to his face, whether or not he knew that the lizards were out here. If he lies, I’ll know it, Ate, and then no one will be able to stop me. They got our people killed, and I need to know why. Isn’t that worth fighting for?” he said.

  Helga decided to let him vent. Considering the two missions that he had been on, she couldn’t blame him for being angry with their leaders. In the span of months this young recruit had lost friends without any explanation.

  BLAST was a tough, grueling course that only a handful of already special spacers survived. It taught you perseverance above all things, regardless of the losses you suffer. What Brise was doing exemplified this, though it made him a very bad ESO.

  He believed that there was a conspiracy against the Nighthawks, perpetuated by someone inside. This placed the three of them in danger, along with any future recruits that were coming. In his mind, he was out of options now that his lieutenant had silenced him.

  Helga wondered about Cilas. Was he of the same mind? If the stories she’d heard from both of them were correct, he had to have some feelings towards what Brise was saying.

  “What do you think?” he said suddenly, drifting back so she could examine his handiwork.

  “I think that we’d better start hoping even more that a Geralos blast doesn’t find our hull,” she said. “That’s a lot of metal, but do you think it will be enough?”

  “It will,” he said, flashing her a boyish smile. “You’ll thank me when you’re able to get a little privacy.”

  “Do you hear that?” Helga said, and Brise closed his eyes to listen.

  “What am I supposed to hear?” he said.

  “The knocking. It sounds like it’s coming from the bulkhead to the right of us,” Helga said.

  Brise turned to his right, holding up a hand for her to stay quiet. For a second she wondered if he wouldn’t hear it. Perhaps it was something inside of her head, and this would only end up with him questioning her sanity. She had been tortured, frozen, and gone through trauma, only to be stuck in a tube for months.

  Maybe she was going crazy, and the knocking was only the beginning of her descent. When the noise came again, she stared at him, hoping, but then she saw him raise his eyebrows and open up his eyes. “Sounds like something’s loose,” he said. “What do you think? We may as well investigate since we’re here.”

  Helga nodded quickly as she exhaled with relief. Her mind was still in place—for now. She helped him pry the panel off, and they attached a tether to his belt, just in case he went into the framing and became stuck behind a web of wires.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t come with you?” she said, but Brise shook his head firmly.

  “This is my jurisdiction, Ate. You would only be in the way. Plus, I’m guessing that it’s just a loose wire, moving around whenever the air mobilizes it.”

  Helga nodded and watched as he pulled himself into the small hole, kicking as if he was swimming against the zero-gravity. When he was all the way through, she tied the end of his tether to the ladder, then floated over, inverted herself, and peered into it to see where he was.

  The space was black, and it was a wonder that he could see, but she could make out his white spacesuit, deep inside the engine. Her comms crackled, and then she could hear him breathing. “We have a problem,” he said, as soon as he could catch his breath. “There appears to be some sort of tracker that was installed near the fusion drive.”

  “A tracker? But why?” Helga said, her mind racing through the various possibilities.

  “I don’t know, but we’re cloaked, and I think that’s why we haven’t been discovered,” he said. “I’m coming back out. We need to show it to the lieutenant. This is Louine tech, Ate. My hands are literally shaking.”

  17

  Cilas Mec rotated the strange device over and over in his hands, working through the reasons why their Louine rescuers would track them.

  There was the positive spin, which was that they needed to know where they were in case the Rendron never came. When their resources dwindled, they would come back, pull them in, and restock them. It would be a noble gesture, and they could even allow them to spend some more time on the ship, to get a proper shower and a good night’s sleep.

  Amatu was a brilliant man—he had learned as much talking to him on the very day of their rescue—and he would understand that they needed rescuing after such a long time stuck out in space together. But what was in it for the Louine rebel? The Nighthawks had nothing to give as payment for their rescue. Why would he want to give them more after losing an escape ship, medical resources, and rations?

  The negative and yet pragmatic spin, however, was that Amatu and his ship, The San, were not what they appeared to be. They said that they were a paramilitary unit, formed for the sole reason of killing Geralos, despite being part of a neutral planet. Due to this, their attacks had to be top secret, with no chance of discovery.

  This whole story about being rebels, hiding out from both the Louine government and the lizards … it was a romantic fallacy, and Cilas had always known. They were too well-supplied for it to be true.

  So what was The San? Louine Special Forces? That wouldn’t make sense, considering the things he saw onboard. Their fighters were good, but not Special Forces good. They fought like seasoned warriors, but their methods were extremely sloppy.

  “Pirates,” he whispered, as the word came to his mind. They were pirates who did the rescue for some sort of monetary gain. They had rescued them and healed them, holding them as they brokered another deal. Then when the deal was done, they prepped a pod with a tracker, leaving them to drift until the buyer came to pick them up.

  So, who was the buyer? That was the million-credit question, and now as he played with the device, he thought about all the different factions in the war. They were Nighthawk Special Forces personnel, valuable enough for ransom. But outside of the Alliance and the Geralos lizards, who would risk bartering with Retzo Sho?

  He looked down at where Helga and Brise stood, waiting for his decision. “Ate,” he said, “how are we looking on fuel?”

  “Our stores are good for about four Vestalian months,” she said. “If we have to run, though, it will deplete us quickly. What are you thinking, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m thinking of building a floater and attaching this to it. If whoever was looking for us i
s blind to Brise’s cloak, then we could keep it on and watch when they pick up the tracker. This way we can know who our enemy is. Right now, I don’t know what to think. What I do know is that someone is coming, and since this was hidden, I know that it isn’t someone friendly.”

  “If it’s the lizards you may as well airlock me now,” Brise said. “There is no way I’m going back on ice for those things.”

  “You won’t,” Cilas said. “None of us will, I promise you. But time is running out for us, Sol. Can you build a floater for the tracker?”

  “We just pulled off a pile of metal from the bulkhead. We can use it to make something that can get picked up on radar,” Brise said. “I’ll build us a buoy, but in order for it to work, I’m going to need one of the rocket packs from the EVA suits.”

  “No way,” Helga said. “We only have three and—”

  “Use it,” Cilas said. “If there comes a time when we need to escape, and we’re short a suit, we’ll figure it out then. But for now we need that floater.”

  He tossed the tracker to Brise, who floated up to catch it, then went back into the locker room to begin working on the floater. Helga stood watching Cilas, but he couldn’t read what was on her face. Then she too went into the locker room and sealed the door behind her.

  It had been too long since he sent the signal to the Rendron from The San. Amatu had let him do it, and Cilas saw the message deploy. Why would he allow such a thing? he thought. Hmm, he probably knew that he would be long gone before our rescue. It would be bad news for the buyer, but Amatu, as a pirate, wouldn’t care. It would only cover the fact that he had sold us out. Cilas had to admit that it was brilliant.

  But the Rendron hadn’t come, and he was beginning to worry. Was the ship in trouble, or had something happened to the message? Cilas went over the protocol to see who could have dropped the ball. The comms officer was Genevieve Aria, and though they had history, they remained friends. She would have eagerly passed it on to the CAG, Adan Viles.