Steel-Winged Valkyrie (Lady Hellgate Book 5)

by Greg Dragon

  In one quick motion she pulled him down next to her, climbed atop him and started working at the straps of his armored vest. “Whoa, slow down,” he tried, but she placed her left hand over his mouth to silence him. Her right hand reached down to undo his belt, and then his pants, which she dragged down to fully expose him to the lights.

  “The longer this takes, the longer Ray waits,” she whispered, still holding his mouth shut as she worked at her own gear to accelerate their coupling. Strong hands found her hips, the commander no longer objecting but moving to assist like every Nighthawk had been trained to do whenever an action was in play. He moved to get started, but she shifted her hand up to his forehead, pushing his head deeper into the mattress.

  Rolling to the side, she pulled off her boots, and then the pants, while he sat up to do the same. He was barely out of his first boot before she threw a leg over and gripped him, guiding him home as he held her hips firmly. Groaning audibly as they completed their union, she reached down to grab both his wrists and pin them above his head. Cilas surrendered to her willingly, and she threw reservation to the wind, moaning, no longer concerned for who might hear.

  Selfish urges won out over anything romantic, and with his fire stretching her, pulsing, she ground her hips into him, bucking savagely, sending waves of pleasure up her abdomen. Jaws slackened, toes curled, and eyes rolling from the sensory overload, Helga Ate cried out like she couldn’t cry out before when they were sneaking into crawl spaces and into each other’s berths on Ursula while the Nighthawks slept.

  Her strong fingers pressed into his wrists, and it was a wonder their skins didn’t chaff, as she would not slow down or let up. And Cilas, she could tell, was near his limit. She too could feel her climax rising, and there would be nothing that could stop her from getting it. She rode him even harder now, too focused on bringing them home to worry about anything else.

  Cilas began to warn her that he was at his limit, but she covered his mouth with one hand while keeping the other firmly gripped on his shoulder like the controls of a descending dropship. Galloping even harder now despite his objections, she felt the core hit the tip and then it was happening. Absolute euphoria resulting from her urging, shooting bolts of energy down her legs and up into her brain, arms, and fingertips.

  Mouth agape and muscles tensing, she bucked her hips with every quiver of pleasure, no longer aware of who was below her as she shook uncontrollably, feeling him expand and add his own groans of pleasure to the mix. She could no longer see him, due to her eyes remaining shut to ride out the climax, but she could hear him mutter something before going still. Then her energy gave out, that sweet apex having been achieved, and she fell forward limply onto his chest, no longer moving.

  “Are you alright?” he managed, and she nodded slowly, unable to stop her body’s tiny convulsions.

  “Are you alright?” She echoed the sentiment, though she wished he’d shut up and let her touch down in silence while savoring this rare moment.

  “When I’m with you, always,” he whispered, and those words added yet another pleasant element to Helga’s free fall back to normalcy.

  Basce City was hell, but they’d survived it, and she felt closer to him now than she’d ever felt since Dyn. She closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to rest, relishing the safety and love she felt in this small instance. It made her feel wanted, and despite being Lady Hellgate, it was a feeling she hadn’t realized she’d needed.

  27

  It was still a bright day, though closer to evening, and the skies were no longer as clear, rain clouds, having made a comeback from wherever they’d gone earlier. The three Nighthawks, Cilas, Helga, and Raileo Lei, returned to the starport to investigate the dropship from the Harridan. Getting there was the easiest part, since Corporal Josh Jo-Lin had waited for them outside the tenements and flew them to the strip in his armored aircar.

  Once there, Helga found a security guard and dropped the name of “Nyora Ohn,” the woman who had cleared them upon entry. The guard became immediately friendly with the mention of that name, even volunteering to drive them out to where the dropship was waiting. Though they had him outnumbered, Helga kept him under a watchful eye the entire ride on a hovering shuttle used to transport travelers to their waiting ships.

  Being associated with the rogue Marines painted a target on their backs from the very people they were fighting to protect, and she had seen his eyes go wide when she mentioned the dropship as their destination. The ride out came by way of a series of tunnels, dipping lower into an underground section of the starport, which opened up into a massive hangar.

  This arena-like hiding place explained to Helga why they hadn’t seen the Marines when they had landed, and hinted at just how deep the connections were between the powerful Genesians in Basce City and the traitors from Helysian. It had the look of a starship’s dock, and enough space to park the Ursula, along with a handful of cruisers. Aside from the dropship, which was an R20-Lodestar, there was only one other vessel, an aircar, black all over and as sleek as an aerodynamic racer.

  Paying their guide handsomely, with a promise of silence Helga knew he would break, they approached the vessel cautiously, weapons raised just in case there was someone onboard waiting. They circled to the thrusters, where Helga placed a hand on the hull, taking note of how cold it was and the lack of vibrations from the generator.

  “She’s been parked for a while without cycling its energy,” she commented, scrambling up them nimbly to gain the top. Auto-rifle resting snugly against her shoulder, she walked the length of the ship from stern to bow until she reached the glass of the canopy, where the cockpit could be seen. Nothing was visible, even with the assistance of the lenses she wore, and when Cilas and Raileo confirmed the same, she hopped back down to join them.

  “How do we get inside?” Raileo asked, still scanning the windows with his rifle primed for any movement.

  “Watch and learn, Chief,” Helga boasted, scrutinizing the various hatches for one to break into. She chose the access ramp which that would have no pain-to-crack airlock compartments or coded blast doors to crush one of her hands should she fail. Like she did as a child exploring the outer hulls of cruisers on the Rendron when the docks were less crowded than normal, Helga nimbly scaled the landing gear, up into the space where the ramp had detached from the lower hull.

  The gap was big enough for her to crawl until she found a hatch that was meant for granting access to the cargo hold. The door was flush with the rest of the hull, only made visible through gaps, revealed by the dirt caked up on the metal, the result of transports rolling over puddles from the polluted rain. Helga jammed her knifepoint into the corner of the access panel, prying it open to reveal the interior. Cutting two lines, she crossed them, biting down against the pinching sensation of the short to twist them together.

  The hatch made a whining noise before popping open, giving her purchase to slip her fingers in and coax it open. It always felt good to find that her tampering with ships as a cadet had been worth all the disciplining that came with it, since now she could employ it as a Nighthawk. Touching burned fingertips to her tongue to soothe them, she slammed the panel shut, and hopped back down to the floor of the hangar.

  “Nicely done, Lieutenant,” Raileo offered.

  “A compliment from our resident slicer? I’ll take it,” she responded with a wink.

  “Look alive,” Cilas announced suddenly, his gun already raised as he placed one foot on the ramp to start his way up into the vessel. Armed and stacked, Helga and Raileo fell in single-file, focused eyes searching for any movement past the hatch sliding open. Together they entered before separating to search and clear the ship. In less than ten minutes, they were back together on the bridge, confirming that it was indeed clear of its owners.

  “Clear?” Helga confirmed with Cilas.

  “Clear,” he agreed, letting his auto-rifle sag, then removing his backpack with one arm to start digging into it.
He was about to say more when he regarded Raileo standing up straight to examine the sniper with some interest. “That dark stain on your shirt there, Ray. Is it blood?”

  Helga followed his eyes to a dark, wet stain on the left pectoral of Raileo’s charcoal-colored, padded long-sleeved shirt. Mouthing a curse, Raileo removed the shirt and turned around slowly so they could examine him. Helga was intrigued, The Genesians were known for their industry, but medical sciences? That remained a mystery. The tenements and general condition of the city had made her skeptical of being treated on the surface, but she had hoped whatever bolts and screws they’d used to put Raileo together would at the very least hold up until their return to Ursula.

  What she saw was a lean, tanned torso, lined with veins rising defiantly past the valleys and plateaus of his sculpted shape. Outside of a few shallow scars from knives and former patchwork, there was black mesh bandaging where new skin had been grafted to mend the bullet wound on his chest. One side of the mesh had been ruptured, possibly from the morning’s activity, but blood was now running freely from it.

  “Patch up as best you can for now,” Cilas advised him, satisfied with what he had seen.

  “Dr. Rai’to is going to lose her schtill when she sees us,” Helga commented while removing the largest bandage available inside her medkit. “I can already hear her voice. Thype, you would think she was my CO or parent. I’m actually concerned.”

  “You?” Raileo breathed, suddenly stoic at the mention of Cleia Rai’to. “You’ll maybe hear a comment when you go for your tea or whatever together, but I will hear about it for at least sixty cycles.”

  Helga glanced at Cilas to see how he was reacting to Raileo’s situation, but the senior Nighthawk was distracted, staring up and out of one of the windows, but at what? She couldn’t know. While Raileo turned around to dress, she stepped closer to the commander, curious at what he found to be so interesting. The view was of a wall of the hangar, though far back enough for them to catch a glimpse of a few spires from the city’s tallest buildings.

  “What are you looking at, Commander?” she asked.

  “I think Anders and Q are in one of those high-rises,” he said. “That’s the actual city, and I was getting one last look at the architecture, so when I record my message for the captain I can be thorough. Every port, every planet, moon, whatever, gives me a chance to see different worlds, so I focus on something that I can remember on each of them. Everything else we’ve seen here has been … foul, so I’m going to remember those buildings. They remind me of old vids from Vestalia.”

  Helga looked back at Raileo to see if he too was enthralled with the cityscape, but he was in the middle of pulling on his 3B XO-suit. She began to understand Cilas’s poetic explanation of why he stared off into the distance. He had been Nighthawk team leader even before she graduated from the cadet academy, and after over thirty separate operations, it would be difficult for him to remember them all without a souvenir, tragedy, or memento.

  She thought of the missions she had been on, and the memorable elements of each, though she would pay high credits to forget everything of Dyn. Meluvia was just a beautiful planet, and she had been there on two separate occasions. If she was only allowed one thing to remember it by, however, it wouldn’t be the colorful mountains or the gravity-defying building architecture, but its friendly people. Oh, how she missed their brief time on that island, seeing so many strange, alien things, and eating real food. Nothing since could compare, especially not this seaside city with its corruption and chilly weather.

  “You see that?” Raileo inched in close to them to whisper. “Even the commander’s done with this place.”

  “Indeed,” Helga concurred. “Now that you’re dressed, let’s see if I still remember how to override the ID scanner on a Lodestar.”

  Cilas turned to eye her skeptically. “No need,” he said. “You’re with an Alliance commander, remember? I shudder to think what mischief you got up to as an unsupervised cadet.”

  “Oh, I was supervised alright,” Helga said as she walked away from them towards the cockpit. “I stayed in trouble, but when I had the chance to escape, I was finding my way onto fighters, cruisers, and assault carriers. You name it, I’ve gotten into it. Even been a stowaway on a few occasions.” She sighed as if it was the most wonderful memory. “I just really look forward to being dry again. This forever dampness from the rain is the absolute worst.”

  “Hey, wait,” she exclaimed suddenly. “You mean this whole time you could have given us access and you just let me break in? Next time I’ll know better,” she quipped, no longer proud of her earlier display of roguish excellence. “You knew, didn’t you, Ray?” She turned on him next.

  “No ma’am,” he quickly said. “I too didn’t think that a commander could override access.”

  “I can’t for hatches, but an emergency override to a Universal Alliance system is different,” Cilas corrected them. “What you did was necessary to get in, Helga, but I can override the system. Just point me to it.”

  She led them into the cockpit, where she climbed into the pilot’s seat and scrutinized the console, offended by the grit of its appearance from lack of care.

  “What’s the verdict?” Cilas asked after several long moments of silence from his normally talkative second-in-command.

  “This wayward little vessel?” she said. “She’s no different from any other Marine Extractor.”

  “Hey, come on,” Cilas whined, offended at the slur. Sometimes she forgot that their Commander’s career had started as a Marine.

  “I’m not saying all third-rate dropships are extractors,” Helga quickly explained, “but this one squeezed out Marines aiming guns at Genesian civilians. “Plus, as we always say, present company doesn’t apply so let me continue. Once Ray overrides the system, she’s ours in every way possible. So, what’s the mission, Commander?”

  Cilas leaned up against the edge of the canopy and exhaled, looking unsure of how to answer that question. “Give me a moment. I need to think this through,” he muttered under his breath, two fingers massaging divots into his temples.

  “Of course,” Helga said, forcing herself from offering up some advice. They should follow through with their orders, but leave the planet in the Harridan’s dropship rather than the merchant ship they arrived in. Quentin knew enough of flying civilian ships to get it into space, where Ursula could retrieve them. It was a good plan, allowing them to get moving on pursuing Vray, while Anders had time to heal with Quentin Tutt standing watch in case their location was leaked.

  What Cilas was concerned with, she knew, was the fractured report he would be forced to give to Captain Retzo Sho. Her eyes came up slowly, taking in the tall trees and buildings about the starport. In the distance behind it she could see the spires of the city, and behind them some countless meters away, was the raised terrain of the tenements, gray and forgotten behind a thin veil of polluted, smog-filled air.

  “Maker, it’s about time,” Raileo exalted when the console came alive, followed by the crystal-core generator to power on the engine. They ran inventory for the third time since the morning, accounting for everything they had brought along: the items taken from Sunveil’s home and Fio’s apartment.

  Raileo joined Helga in the cockpit, happy to be seated in the comfortable co-pilot’s chair, while their commander, ever-brooding, opted for some alone time at the stern, where there were over thirty empty stations for him to choose from. Helga worried for him but was happy to have some time with Raileo. His positive attitude and sense of humor was always welcome on the dreariest of days.

  “Is it bad that I’m becoming neutral to the thought of killing humans?” Raileo said all of a sudden, causing Helga to turn on him with her mouth agape. “Not all humans,” he corrected. “I’m talking about the traitors, predators, and corrupt animals who we routinely get sent to kill. Used to bother me something fierce, Ate. I can’t even explain it. That Meluvian mission nearly
did me in.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Meluvia,” Helga said, staring forward. “We were all there, and no, it’s not bad that you’re neutral to it. That’s just how your brain chooses to deal. It’s when you start liking it that you have to worry. You’re a good person, Ray, everyone knows it, but these traitors and mutineers we go after? Someone has to neutralize them, or we get attacks on civilians using our weapons and ships.”

  “Righteous,” the young Nighthawk responded, leaning back in his chair. “I know what we are, and I do try to do right by everyone. Maybe that will count for something when it's my turn at the business end of a Widow Maker’s gaze.”

  Helga slapped him on the knee, causing him to sit up and look at her, surprised. “You sit up here, you don’t do this,” she counseled. “You be the Ray that I know during down times, I don’t want to hear any more about Meluvia, killing humans, or any of that schtill.”

  She glanced back at Cilas to make sure that he was seated with his restraints in place, then looked over to check on Raileo, who was already strapped in. “Going to take us straight out, so strap in tight and keep your comms online. We’re going to be pulling at least 4 g’s of thrust to achieve escape velocity.”

  “Like we did on Meluvia?” Cilas offered.

  “Yeah, but back then, she didn’t give us any warnings.” Raileo laughed.

  “We’ve both flown with you multiple times, Helga. You don’t have to give the same warning every time,” Cilas complained.

  “Alright,” Helga muttered. “But don’t blame me if your experience this time is a little bit rough. These ships don’t come with balancers; it’s why they replaced them with the Britz-SPZ. Prepare for launch.”

  She brought the thrusters online and waited for the system to run its checks on Cilas’s rank and status. Blue lights signaled, go, and Helga reached forward to grab the yoke and pulled it towards her groin while keeping her feet planted on the deck. She missed the pilot’s seats on the Ursula, which were not only comfortable but flexible as well, allowing her to put her feet up on the console while gripping the detachable controls.