Steel-Winged Valkyrie (Lady Hellgate Book 5)

by Greg Dragon

  While this went on, the Nighthawks made their way to Sunveil’s tribute to deconstructivism, using the rooftops to speed their approach until they were close enough to reach out and touch it. On the backside of the structure, there was a frame set up with a ladder to allow the builders to gain access to the unfinished top floor. Here the bricks were stacked high, lending enough cover for them to time the reaper drones and climb the three stories up to a precipice.

  No sentries were present when they crossed to an empty balcony that was scattered with fallen bricks from an unfinished wall. They worked their way through the naked frames to a door that opened to a small, dusty room. Soaked and tired, Cilas allowed them to take a few minutes to catch their breath. Cloaks were rolled up and auto-rifles broken down and placed inside of backpacks; loadout was strictly muzzled handguns and knives.

  Things hadn’t gone perfectly with his plans. They had made contact on the approach, which meant bodies would be found as well as the remains of the drones no longer patrolling. They were now inside the dragon’s lair, but tracks had been left behind, and even with their speed, reinforcements had been called and security would be bolstered, meaning more fighting.

  What made things worse, Helga realized, was that Cilas had yet to mention plans for an egress. Would they sneak out, dragging an unwilling Sunveil to the tenements, or would they keep him here, waiting for local support to evacuate them? She looked at Anders, their effective rookie, and the young Marine gave her a nod of acknowledgment. He had impressed her, and she found herself getting used to the idea of him being a Nighthawk.

  Quentin was up and pacing, prepped and half-cocked as always to get to the action. Raileo Lei stood next to the sole window, peering out at the tenements through the raindrops. Last night’s conversation about hubs had remained in Helga’s mind, and seeing how forlorn he appeared, she could only guess at what he was thinking in this instance. Was he thinking of his past, or his Traxian girlfriend inside her med-bay, stressing over his and their survival?

  “Can I speak to you for a moment, Cilas?” Helga crossed the room to approach her commander, who was waiting by the door while they got dressed. He was drenched in sweat and had the smell to go with it, but they were all similarly disgusting from their slog through the mud.

  “What’s on your mind, Hel?” he said, low enough to keep it between them.

  Helga crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels, flexing her aching soles. “What do we know of the Marines from Helysian, exactly?”

  “Having doubts?” He smirked, scanning the others to make sure none were listening.

  “We’ve neutralized several mercenaries and a Cel-toc,” she recounted. “Each was armed with Alliance weapons, but nonidentifiable as ours.”

  “Of course not,” he said confidently. “Traitors or not, I really don’t expect to see Alliance Marines guarding this bio-rot’s property.”

  “But you asked Q to look for identification on the first man,” Helga reminded him. “And you seemed as surprised as the rest of us that it was a Cel-toc dressed up to be a Marine.”

  “Speak plainly. What are you asking?”

  “I want to know if we’re certain that the Marines we saw in Basce City are aware that they’re violating their oath to the Alliance. I want to know that when we engage, they deserve everything that we throw at them. I just don’t want to regret what we’ve done here once the sun comes up in the morning. I still have doubts about Meluvia, and you promised us that you would do your best to steer us clear of ops like that.”

  Cilas made to answer, but caught himself, shutting his mouth to mull over her question. “I was told there would be no Alliance presence here; outside of us, that is. We’re not here officially. Any other Alliance here neglected to inform the Genesian council. Only one reason they would do that.”

  “So, their crime is coming here unofficially then?” Helga pressed. “Do you want to hear my theory? They’re here for the credits, selling weapons the same way Wolf did in Meluvia. There’s a good chance they have nothing to do with the stolen intel.”

  “How does that vindicate them?” Cilas became impatient. “They’re freelancing as mercenaries. Selling, using, and placing Alliance weapons into civilian hands is a violation worthy of the airlock with no honors. Helga, our information is being sold to the lizards, we cannot afford to take chances or we could end up losing part of our fleet.”

  “Thank you, Comm—I mean, Cilas, I just needed to hear it.” She exhaled.

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?” he countered, and she felt suddenly embarrassed for questioning him. “We about ready?” He looked past her to where the other Nighthawks were waiting. “Let’s go,” he announced, and nudged the door open with the barrel of his handgun. “Looks clear,” he whispered after checking both ends of the hallway, though Helga heard music and lively conversation coming from below.

  They had come in on the top floor, and this was evidenced by the vaulted ceiling, with a thin column of yellow-tinted glass running horizontally near the top. White walls and an assortment of saucer-shaped floating lights hung above them, and a statue of a black, crystalline consistency displayed a life-sized Genesian, bald, robed, and regal. Silently and methodically, they walked the floors, clearing several adjacent rooms, looking for Sunveil or some sort of evidence.

  “What is this place?” Anders asked at one point, after their fifth breach and entry with no results. He more than anyone had been taken with the splendor, straining his neck to view the paintings and trailing his fingers over the surface of the sculptures. Helga assumed it was his newness to planetary things, but she hoped it wouldn’t prove dangerous, him being enthralled with everything.

  “This is what you build when you have too many credits on your hands and too little morals to fix the city you live in,” Quentin grumbled.

  “It’s a resort of sorts,” Helga guessed. “Every room has a rack, a bathroom, and some form of entertainment. The more I see of this place, the more I believe it to be commercial, something like a hotel. It’s unfinished, but from the security and the collection of transports parked out there, he already has guests paying him to live here.”

  “Guests?” Raileo scoffed. “I wouldn’t call them guests. How about Alliance traitors, politicians, and gangsters? The transports I saw ranged from armored cars to multipurpose hovers. Do you hear all that laughing from below? Guests wouldn’t all be participating in whatever is happening. I think Sunveil’s hosting a meeting.”

  “This isn’t his home then?” Anders puzzled.

  “I believe it is,” Cilas added. “Now, let’s kill the chatter and get our heads in the game.”

  They descended a set of stairs, stacked single-file, guns pointing down, ready for anything. The stairs were unconventional like the rest of the building; rather than angle down to the next floor, they twisted and wrapped several times before ending at a door with a camera mounted above it. Raileo did something to silence his rifle and fired on the camera before it could reveal them.

  Cilas crouched by the door, listening for movement, then carefully cracked it open, stepping inside and motioning for the Nighthawks to follow. They emerged behind the bar of a lounge, empty, but recently occupied, judging by the half-filled glasses on the counter. Beyond the tables and plush silky cushions on sofas, a panoramic window displayed a stormy view of the distant gardens. Helga, being the last one to enter, slid the door shut behind her, noticing it blended with the wooden texture of the walls. She shared a look of appreciation with Anders before joining the others at the window.

  “Q and Anders on the doors,” Cilas commanded. “If you see someone coming, back out, and we’ll use the bar for cover if there’s cause to engage them.”

  Raileo stayed crouched behind the bar, typing away at something on his wrist-comms. He had been doing it on and off, and Helga hoped he wasn’t sending messages to Cleia. She looked out at Sunveil’s property, though the rain and mist made it difficult to see.
She brought up her holographic HUD from Weinstar’s implant and looked through the options to see what was there.

  “Hey, I didn’t know our lens came with night vision,” she said, excitedly.

  “Comes with a few useful modes actually,” Cilas commented, but his eyes remained glued to the window. “You see that there in the distance? Showing a lot of activity out there.”

  Helga followed his finger using her night vision, and saw a clutch of armed individuals searching the grounds. Through her lens they appeared as highlighted human-shaped blobs, running about as if they were searching. The shriek of an alarm went off, and several reapers started flying towards the building, causing Helga and Cilas to back away from the window.

  Suddenly, Raileo hopped up from behind the bar, running over to join them as if the reapers were of no concern to him. “Found the network controlling those bugs and rerouted them to the starport.” He laughed, presenting his wrist-comms to show a spattering of glyphs that Helga couldn’t decipher what they meant.

  She looked helplessly at Cilas, whose expression remained blank. Raileo, annoyed at their inability to appreciate his genius, pointed to the window where the reapers were flying off into the distance. “No more drone cover for these thypes. They have to meet us head on,” he explained.

  “That was you?” Helga was intrigued, though the alarm was still blaring, loudly.

  Quentin jumped back from the door, pistol raised to eye-level with his offhand gripping the knife. “Contact,” he whispered, motioning for them to look for cover.

  The door came open before they could move, sliding to reveal an Alliance Marine in full battle dress uniform. He was so close to Quentin, it would have been natural for the Nighthawk to start shooting before he could react. The Marine wasn’t alone, however, and Quentin reacted appropriately, bringing his close-quarters mastery into effect.

  Rather than retreating, he stepped forward, utilizing his speed to shove the muzzle of his handgun into the man’s chest. His free hand came up to grip the top of it near the slide, removing any chance of his victim disarming him. He fired three times, the proximity rendering the light armor plates useless, and with a shove of the elbow up under the man’s chin, sent him sprawling back through the doorway.

  Helga, who witnessed this happen in real time, was already firing her pistol, killing a second Marine behind his comrade. Anders, without concern for his safety, stepped up with his own gun raised, shot through the door at the others, rushing in to assist their friends.

  “Anders, find cover,” Helga hissed at him, confused by his apparent recklessness.

  “You see that?” Quentin said, causing Helga to turn to catch him looking at the ceiling. She made to follow his eyes but was suddenly thrown onto her face from what she could only guess was a bomblet, since her ears were ringing and smoke was everywhere, stinging her eyes.

  Helga tried to stand, but a wave of fatigue kept her anchored. It was a laboring effort, though she made it to a knee, but a bout of disorientation left her unsure. It felt as if her brain had performed a barrel roll, with her consciousness as an unwitting partner. She knew intrinsically that she was kneeling inside a room with shots buzzing all about, but what she was experiencing was a nauseating imbalance.

  “Get back here, Anders. Stay with, Ate,” Raileo could be heard shouting, but everything else was muffled nonsense.

  “Ate, get down,” Quentin urged, and she looked to her right where she could barely make out his silhouette.

  Something punched her in the chest, at least that’s how it felt, and the spinning ceased, replaced by a bright light, and she was up on her elbows, prone, coughing again. The world steadied enough for her to get an inkling of reality, and some feeling returned to her limbs. Her right arm felt heavy, but she pushed past it, lifting her heavy pistol to reach up and support it with both hands. She felt underwater, weighted down, and every attempt of movement was obstructed.

  “Don’t bunch up,” Cilas shouted.

  Helga blinked to clear the tears from her eye’s natural defenses against the smoke-filled air. Anders went down cursing, and Raileo ran forward to drag him back out of the line of fire. Cilas and Quentin backpedaled past her, auto-rifles chattering away, sending back death through the smoke and chaos. Helga felt two strong hands grip her shoulders from behind, and it was her turn to be dragged back into the lobby.

  Bullets whizzed back and forth above her head, and despite her state, she hoisted her own sidearm and started firing at moving shadows through the blinding yellow smoke. “Bang,” one of her shots nicked one of a shadow’s legs forcing him back into a sitting position. “Bang-bang,” she hit him dead-center, and he fell back into the smoke, replaced by another spraying an auto-rifle, blindly countering before he too went down, lifeless beside his friend.

  Helga knew she would die, but the programming from a lifetime of service replaced her fear with words like sacrifice, heroine, and glory. To be the second Ate immortalized in the Rendron’s Hall of Honors, that was worth all of this, wasn’t it? she pondered. The line of Ate would be cut short, but she’d proved herself worthy of remembering. Fear fought for a place in her mind, however, but Helga still had enough fight left over to keep on denying this was her end.

  She felt even more fatigued, her limbs rubbery and heavy, like fuel lines attached to her aching frame. It became an out-of-body experience for her, seeing a new round of bullets striking the floor near her legs. She looked up to see the shooter fly back suddenly, a line of red light revealing the shooter to be none other than Raileo Lei.

  Her consciousness waned, and she could no longer hear anything. Fading in and out, she could make out action, Nighthawks exchanging bullets while someone dragged her all the way. Smoke gave way to night sky, rain, and the moon above Basce City, peering down with its unblinking judgment. They were now somewhere on a balcony, one she recalled seeing on the third floor from the outside, wrapped about the building.

  Helga’s eyes rolled back suddenly, taking awareness with them as the scene faded. The last thing she would remember was the balcony shifting, and then the sudden sensation of falling before…nothing.

  22

  Cilas Mec knelt peering over a collapsed section of flooring where the balcony had exploded moments before. Below, the ever-reliable Raileo Lei was pulling Anders Stratus from the algae-filled water of the fountain. Sprawled out to one side was Helga, pale and unmoving, her meticulously maintained undercut now a damp, grass-filled mop. Anders too looked to be a corpse, but Cilas wasn’t able to accept that he’d lost his Nighthawks to an ill-timed bomblet.

  So many thoughts, fears, and suppositions zipped through his mind as he stared at them, feeling helpless. Not like this, he thought, wishing he believed in the maker to send up a prayer for the lives of his men.

  A brief survey of the grounds revealed the gravity of the situation. Raileo Lei had survived his fall, but there were reinforcements inbound and he’d be vulnerable even with his and Quentin’s help. There may have been hope for the other two, but it was hope they would need to win for them. Sunveil’s men were now on the offensive, and the best he could do was use the vantage to hold them off.

  “Ray, how we looking?” he asked through comms, and was met with a high-pitch whine, followed by static, and then nothing.

  “Schtill, he’s not answering,” He looked at Quentin, who turned to give his commander a shrug. After the collapse—which the two of them narrowly avoided by being on the far side of the balcony—Cilas had killed the Marine who threw it, while Quentin covered the ground to hold them off. Now, sprawled out below them in deep shadows and blackness was the courtyard where Sunveil’s enforcers were rushing in.

  “Contact,” the big man reported, but Raileo Lei was already aware. The sniper positioned himself behind a robed statue in the center of the pool, sending laser-rifle into the blackness.

  “Ray,” Cilas tried again, and this time he could hear the Nighthawk’s labored breathing.r />
  “Commander,” he managed. “Ate’s alive but unconscious. Anders is too, but he’s going to need a doc. We’re exposed. If we could get some cover, I can drag them into the ruins where we have a better chance of surviving.”

  “Already happening, Ray, but are you wounded?” Cilas chanced a quick glance at Quentin, knowing he too would be concerned for their man. The fall had been enough to knock the wind out of anyone, and even though they fell into water, Raileo could be working on borrowed time, adrenaline numbing his pain. There was no answer, so he tried again. “Ray, do what you need to do, we’ll cover you from here. Do you copy?”

  “Yes, Commander,” he replied, with a finality that spoke volumes coming from the marksman.

  “We can’t afford to lose momentum, not now when we have them all hunkered down on the third floor,” Cilas continued, already feeling himself coming down from the shock of the firefight earlier. “Never thought there’d be this much resistance on the inside, but it makes sense considering how easily we got here. Ray, I’m going to need you to be honest, are you still effective, can you watch them until Q, and I are out? We’re going to collect the target, but only if I know I’m not sending you off to your death.”

  “Breathing, whole, and mad enough to clear this place if you tell me,” Raileo replied dutifully. “Ruins are everywhere, and I’ll find something with only one way in and out. We’ll wait for your update, Commander. Still effective, don’t you worry. Still a Nighthawk.”

  “Sambe,” Quentin shouted all of a sudden. “Let’s thyping go.” He leaned into his auto-rifle and started firing. Cilas, surprised by his outburst, had no choice but to join in. The big man was spraying to keep the incoming hunkered, so he took his time to aim down the sights and put a round into the helmet of an outlined head. “Schtill, Ray,” the big man groused. “Anders is thyped. Get the lieutenant to safety. They’re coming from the north; pull her to the south side.”