Last of The Nighthawks_A Military Space Opera Adventure

by Greg Dragon

  Now as she became acclimated to the new ship, she found herself restless—a circumstance of staying constantly on guard. It wasn’t that she felt threatened being inside her compartment or that she had little voices inside her head convincing her that “they” were coming for her. It was something else, a more subtle nagging that refused to let her sleep.

  She had started running with Cilas every morning to keep herself in shape. But even this strenuous exercise didn’t urge her body to rest. Nothing worked, and though they had good conversation during their runs, she had begun to have trouble focusing.

  When she wasn’t running she’d explore the ship and stand at the windows, staring out into space. This was how she knew the Inginus was at full thrust, traveling at the speed of light. Helga didn’t know what they were chasing, but the ship was an inflator so she assumed that this was standard.

  Several days after Ina left with Brise and her crew, Helga agreed to meet Cilas at the gun range to practice a bit of shooting. She had stumbled back to her compartment after their run. She showered and dressed, but fell asleep while eating a ration bar.

  As it always did when sleep finally came, the darkness took her into an elaborate nightmare. She didn’t know when she had fallen out of reality, but she found herself in a line with over fifty men and women. She recognized the setting as one from her past, when they were ready to take on the final test of BLAST.

  When her eyes came open, she was confused and frantically looked around to assess where she was. A long line of drool stuck to her arm as she lifted her head to see. Blaargh! A horn blared over the intercom, so loud that she could barely think. What is that noise? she thought. Is that an alarm? We better not be under attack.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rubbed at her eyes. It felt as if she’d slept for days. Her limbs were sore, but in a good way. The dream of that memory was still fresh in her mind, so vivid and real that she wanted to go back.

  Blaargh! The alarm startled her again. It was making her angry. “Planets! Will someone shut that thyping thing off,” she shouted.

  She put her hands on the table and pushed back her chair, standing up on rubbery legs and trying to steady herself. “Oh man, Cilas,” she whispered, remembering the range. She had showered and dressed—that part she remembered—but how had she fallen asleep all of a sudden?

  She tasted powdery chocolate in her mouth, thick and beyond disgusting, and she saw the half-finished protein ration laying on the table. “Wow, I fell asleep eating,” she said. “Well, on the bright side, I got some sleep despite doing it with my mouth full. Cilas is probably done with me.”

  She reached down amidst her clothes and located her communicator. When she found it there were several messages ready for her to open, and the one from Cilas simply read, “You probably fell out. I’m glad. We’ll go shooting later on.”

  The message made her smile, and she thought of his kind eyes—wait, she thought. He’s your lieutenant, silly girl. She tried to put him out of her mind and grew upset with herself for thinking … It’s been months since I got any, so obviously I’m hard up, she thought. Stars, what is wrong with me? I’m such a thyping wreck.

  Fumbling with the communicator, she opened a message from an unknown source. It addressed her as “Ensign Ate,” and bore the official seal of the Alliance.

  It was a formal summons to come to the hangar to meet her new squadron. It had to be a mistake. She read it one more time. “Thype, we are under attack,” she said, and then walked to the far end of the compartment where her operating system stood in stasis.

  Waving her hand across the node, a vid screen appeared on the bulkhead. It showed a view of all the main areas of the ship, and she waved her hand again to show the exterior. That was when she saw what was going on. The Inginus had caught up to the Geralos destroyer that had jumped away.

  Helga placed the communicator on her wrist and quickly threw on some clothes. She took off running down the passageway, looking to gain the hangar. The run helped to melt the stray cobwebs from her brain, and by the time she arrived she was wide-awake.

  She waded into the company of Aces and Marines. Most of them gave her questioning looks, as if she had walked in on the wrong house party. Self-consciously, Helga took inventory of what she was wearing: a long t-shirt, sweatpants, and soft running shoes. All of the Inginus Marines were in uniform, which were blue flight suits—coveralls—branded with the ship’s insignia.

  Helga looked over at a raised platform where a woman was prepping them for combat. She was petite, but her voice was deep and strong enough to carry throughout the hangar. Helga was surprised to see how young she was, since she was obviously the flight commander. This made her smile, and she felt proud somehow. Seeing someone like her in that high a position was both refreshing and inspiring.

  The woman was telling them the status: they were to deploy immediately. The Inginus had disabled the Geralos’s FTL drive and it had launched a fleet of fighters to return the favor. They were to wipe out these fighters, then attack the destroyer itself, forcing it into defensive maneuvers while the Inginus primed a torpedo.

  Her speech was short and sweet, and it was loaded with phrases meant to pump them up. Phrases like, “they took our planet,” and, “we are not their food.” Even Helga found her blood running hot, ready to be part of the fight.

  When the speech was over, Helga pushed her way to the front and stood in front of the woman to get her attention. “I came as ordered. I am ready to fight,” she said.

  The woman, whose rank read lieutenant, looked Helga up and down with what appeared to be extreme annoyance. “You’re the stray from the Rendron that’s supposed to be hot schtill, right?” she said. “Well, since you’re too badass to dress in uniform, you can fly the VC parked over there.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Helga said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She saluted and made to leave, but the lieutenant ordered her to stop.

  “Name’s Joy Valance, but you refer to me as Lieutenant,” she said. “I don’t know how they do it on the Rendron, skinny, but we wear our uniforms to battle, not … what is that? Workout gear?” She covered her face, as if Helga’s clothes offended her. “Get out of my face and get mounted,” she said.

  Helga bit her lip and marched over to the ship. It was a Vestalian Classic, a once popular model before the phantom took its place. This one seemed particularly old, and she wondered if it would fly. A dockhand came up and handed her a helmet resting on a bundle. She saw that it was the uniform, and looked up to find the lieutenant staring daggers at her.

  “You can shove those ugly rompers up queen cruta’s rear,” she said to him, then pulled on the helmet and ascended the ladder.

  The Vestalian Classic was built very much like an interplanetary aircraft, in that the cockpit was at the top allowing for a 360-degree view through the glass. It didn’t hover like a phantom since it rested on wheels, which was an obsolete carry-over from the air force back on Vestalia.

  The Classic was once popular for its multifunctional capabilities, allowing it to break atmosphere and land outside of a starship. It sprouted six wings, three on each side, an aesthetic that was abandoned when the phantom was developed.

  Helga was sure that the lieutenant had given her the Classic as a form of punishment, but it was a model that she knew from the Rendron’s simulations.

  She started on her preliminary checks as the dockhand looked over her weapons. When he was satisfied, he gave her a thumbs up, and she returned it with a smile. Helga regretted that she’d been short with him when he didn’t deserve it, so she mouthed a “thank you” to let him know he was appreciated.

  The lieutenant, Joy Valance, came over the comms, shouting out the call signs of the pilots she wanted to deploy. One by one the sleek phantoms lifted up and shot through the tunnel leading to the bay doors. When Helga heard her say “Rendron” she drove the Classic forward, lined the nose up with the tunnel, and acknowledged that she was ready to take
off.

  She overcharged her thrusters until the gauge was glowing red and then released the brakes while slamming the thrust forward. The tiny ship shook violently as it shot past several phantoms, and she pulled back on the stick before it crashed into the bulkhead.

  Though she couldn’t hear her gasp, Helga knew that she’d frightened the lieutenant, but she banked hard to the side as the Classic found air. This maneuver was dangerous, but it was one she’d mastered in the simulation. On the Rendron she would have been reprimanded, but on this strange new ship she could feign ignorance.

  She performed a roll above the frightened pilots to test how responsive it was, and flew around the hangar once before locating the tunnel and taking it at top speed.

  When she flew out into space she was immediately assaulted by a Geralos ship. He’d timed her exit and evaporated her shields, causing the interface to scream warnings into her helmet. “You’ve got this,” she whispered, and forced herself to remain calm.

  The bogey was on her now and she took defensive maneuvers, but a shot had clipped her wing and she saw death flash before her eyes. “Okay, now I’m mad,” she said, as she flew at the Inginus to shake off her pursuer.

  If she hit the infiltrator’s shields, it would be like flying into a wall, but she pulled up in time, skimming the bottom of the Classic. The Geralos copied her maneuver but pulled up before she did, which bought her enough time to counter.

  Helga reached down towards the console to adjust her power reserves. Although her shields needed to be repaired, she transferred 70% of the power to her thrusters. The other 30% she poured into her cannons, then pulled back on the stick to arc the Classic away from the Inginus.

  When the Geralos was in her crosshairs, she fired twice and then dipped towards the infiltrator again. Her shots hit home, frying the shields, but instead of him pursuing her like she’d hoped, he flew away to repair.

  “No, you don’t,” she announced when she saw what he was doing. She took the power from the cannons and put all 100% into the thrusters.

  She was on him in seconds, flying so close that the system screamed. But she was smelling blood now, and nothing was going to stop her from destroying him. As she grew close she shifted the reserves again to a balanced ratio of cannons, thrust, shields, and controls. The Geralos pilot tried to shake her, but Helga Ate was too good.

  She waited for him to panic, then took advantage of his mistake. When he was reduced to debris she flew back around to find the Inginus again. All around the two warships were Geralos and Alliance aces dogfighting. She would have been in awe at the sight—this was what she’d always dreamed of—but she was too focused to appreciate it.

  The fever of battle took over, followed by something akin to predatory instinct. 2400 hours in simulation paid off as a second Geralos went down from her guns.

  Helga hugged the Inginus, relying on the proximity to keep the enemy from surrounding her. But when she found a line of cannons that were firing on the Geralos destroyer, she smiled cruelly from the cockpit, knowing she’d struck gold.

  She timed their fire and stayed between their shots. “Who’s the psycho in the Vestalian Classic?” someone said over comms.

  “I don’t know, but whoever it is won’t be around long for us to find out,” another one said.

  “That’s because you all have no imagination,” Helga said, as she watched a careless Geralos die trying to get through the cannon fire. Several more broke off when they saw what she was doing, but this allowed her to take the offensive, frying their aft thrusters as they made to escape.

  Four of the Geralos went down like this before the rest avoided her altogether. The Inginus fighters were winning now, and the Geralos scrambled back to their destroyer. One of the phantoms followed them inside and sacrificed his life to wreak havoc on their hangar.

  “That was Corporal Eddie Zyn. Remember his name,” the lieutenant said, and there was a moment of silence over the normally chaotic comms.

  “Lieutenant, this is Inginus command, do you copy?” someone said.

  “This is Lieutenant Valance of Revenant Squadron, over. I copy you loud and clear, command,” said Joy.

  “Good job, Lieutenant. That was an ace display of defense. We are now cleared to launch a torpedo, so clear the area and come on home,” he said.

  “You heard him, Revenants, let’s find that dock and get cover,” Joy said.

  Helga didn’t know what this meant, so she flew away from the destroyer towards a triad of phantoms. They had formed a triangle near the deployment hatch and were taking turns to enter it. The comms were eerily silent, and Helga didn’t know what to think. It felt as if something devastating was about to happen.

  She joined the back of the line and waited, feeling goose pimples on her arms. How in the world did I survive just now? she thought, her mind running calculations on how lucky she had been. The word “instinct” surfaced but it was more than that. She had employed large strategy, tricks she’d seen accomplished by the aces of her father’s time.

  Helga felt a smile come across her face as the stress fall away from her mind. It was such a good feeling that she wanted to scream. Not just scream to herself, but into the comms to let everybody know. But she merely laughed to herself, a deep, freeing laugh. She laughed in a way that made her feel better than she’d felt in ages.

  The Inginus pilots were seasoned aces, yet several of them had died. Helga had come through it alive and sent several of the lizards to their graves. She grabbed one of her dog tags and pointed it towards the Geralos destroyer. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, whoever is out there looking out for me. Thank you,” she said again, and kept on saying it until a noise brought her back to the present.

  The next few moments were a blur as the Geralos ship began to disintegrate. The torpedo had been deployed and the explosion was so bright that Helga had to shield her eyes.

  Helga had seen ships take each other apart in feeds from the old war, but to see it live and up close was something she’d never forget. Her comms chirped loudly, and it was so unexpected that it caused her to jump.

  She saw that it was the lieutenant, so she didn’t answer immediately. How was she going to talk with her beating heart lodged somewhere inside her throat? She accepted the call, then exhaled evenly, guiding her ship down to the open bay doors.

  “Finished watching the show out there, Rendron? Do you want to join us inside the Inginus?” the lieutenant said, and Helga realized that she was the last one left.

  “Coming in,” she said through her teeth. She was so upset that she wanted to slap herself. Extra attention was the last thing she wanted, especially after the euphoria she’d experienced from the victory.

  What do they call you, Rendron?” the major said.

  “The name’s Helga Ate—but Rendron is fine, Lieutenant.” You’re about to give me some thyped up nickname either way, aren’t you? she thought.

  There was a bit of a pause, and then the lieutenant came back on the comms. “You dress like schtill, but you’re alright, Ate,” she said. “You can fly wing with me any time.”

  Helga didn’t know what to say. She didn’t expect friendliness from the lieutenant, especially after she’d given her this rusty old ship. What was she supposed to think of a woman like this? A woman who knew nothing of her skills, yet had her deploy in a junky fighter.

  She shut off her comms and let out a scream, then glanced over at the lieutenant’s phantom. She had landed and was now close enough to see into her cockpit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Joy,” she said in a mocking voice. “I cannot wait to make you pay for trying to get me killed.”

  She switched back on the comms and took a breath, composed herself, and said, “My pleasure, Lieutenant. Glad I could impress you. I bet you didn’t think I’d do much inside of this old ship.” Except die and be out of your hair, she thought as she maintained a false smile.

  “Oh, that,” Joy said, laughing hysterically. “I seriou
sly didn’t expect you to know how to fly it! My plan was for you to stay stuck inside the hangar, but you showed me up, didn’t you? I should have your wings for that stunt inside my hangar. Anyway, that was good flying, Ate. You should let me buy you a beer. You can tell me who taught you how to fly that thing, and I’ll formally welcome you to the Revenant squad.”

  26

  “So, were you born on Casan or are you just another Boomer like the rest of us hopeless humans?” Lieutenant Joy Valance asked, as she hovered over her beer like a dragon perched above a chest of gold.

  Helga shrugged. She hated the term “Boomer.” It was a derogatory word that meant “One who was not born on a planet.” The way she saw it, the term originated from the bored minds of the Vestalian elite, those lucky refugees whose ancestors fled the planet with enough credits to buy property on a moon.

  Being rich and safe allowed such boredom and gave them the time it took to judge the Vestalians who were fighting the enemy. What bothered her more than these hateful elite was that the term was adopted by the Boomers themselves.

  “I am,” she finally said, studying the woman’s face. She had those smiling eyes that made it appear as if everything was a joke. “I spent some of my childhood years on Casan with my brother and my mom. What about you, Lieutenant, what planets have you visited?”

  “Genese, and Traxis,” she said, as if she’d anticipated being asked. “Never been to Casan, but it’s definitely on the list for next time I get some shore leave.”

  Helga forced a smile and then sipped her beer. She decided that she didn’t hate the lieutenant, despite the tension in the hangar. It helped that Joy Valance had gone out of her way to get her into the bar, starting with giving her a locker on the dock and signing the classic over to her, officially.

  There had been no apology after the sortie, but every one of the pilots had introduced themselves to her. This she knew was the lieutenant’s doing, and it made her feel good that her flying had impressed her this much. “Shore leave, what is that?” Helga said with a wink, and they both started laughing hysterically.