Chapter 3

3

" L adies and gentlemen and Latharian guests…" Aiden's deep voice echoed through the air of the academy's main training hall. Zara stood next to him, her hands clasped behind her back, as he addressed the trainee bomber-pilots in front of them.

"We have a special treat for you today," he continued. "On today's training flight, we will be accompanied by not one but two of the academy's senior training instructors… Captain Reid and Major Chamberlain."

He indicated Zara standing to his left and then Bertha standing beside her, her tiny frame neatly dressed in a flight suit, ready to rock and roll.Zara hadn't even realized they made boots that small. Which was ridiculous since Bertha had had a full career before coming to the academy and fought in at least one war, possibly two. So unless she'd done all that barefoot, which Zara highly doubted, of course they did. Unless they were special order…

"Both are the best of the best," Aiden continued. "And we are extremely fortunate that they have made time in their busy schedules to accompany us."

She caught the tiny quirk of Bertha's lips out of the corner of her eye and was forced to bite back an answering one of her own. It had absolutely nothing to do with scheduling, and all three of them knew it. This was payback of the kind only instructors could level on students who had pissed them the hell off… and it was as satisfying as fuck.

Aiden stepped forward, pacing up and down in front of the assembled trainees. He'd never been able to stand still for long, which had been a hell of a problem when they'd been cadets going through the academy. He'd said back then that one day he'd be standing on the other side giving the orders, though, and hot damn, he'd been right.

She studied the trainees as he spoke. They had separated themselves into two groups—humans on one side and Latharians on the other.She didn't think that divide had anything to do with human prejudices, though, not with the way the Latharians held themselves… like even standing next to the human trainees was beneath them. Her expression set.

Assholes, the whole damn lot of them.

Why so many women clamored to sign up to that ridiculous mate program of theirs, she had absolutely no idea. She couldn't think of anything worse than shackling herself to an arrogant alien warrior who thought her only worth was in pumping out babies. Fuck that… actually, no. She'd rather not. In fact, she wanted as little to do with the Latharians as possible, apart from watching Bertha kick their asses all over the skies today.

"Captain Reid will be accompanying me as my copilot," Aiden announced, and a few raised sets of shoulders in the crowd dropped in relief. "But don't think you're getting off lightly. She'll be watching and analyzing every move, and her standards are way higher than mine."

A nervous laugh rolled through the trainees, and one in the third row raised a hand. Aiden nodded toward him.

"Yes, King?"

Put on the spot, King looked a lot less confident, lifting his chin as if to remind himself that he was a badass trainee pilot in the most prestigious and difficult flight school in all the Terran systems.

"And, just what is… uh, Major Chamberlain going to be doing?" King asked, trying to keep the nervous edge out of his voice but failing dramatically.

"Major Chamberlain will be operating as the enemy for this flight." Aiden's smile was bright and utterly insincere. Zara had known him long enough to see the mischief in his blue eyes. "Do not let her appearance fool you. She is a highly trained and adept pilot with years of experience. Do not expect to see her. You will not see her until she wants you to see her. And when you do see her, your flight is over because you will be dead."

The Latharians let out derisive snorts, and she cut a glance their way. Just one word… just one little word. But they showed a level of wisdom she hadn't expected and wisely kept any comments to themselves.

Aiden clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. "All right, everyone, to your fighters! Move it!"

The trainees scrambled to obey, their boots thundering against the painted concrete. No one wanted to be the last in the air. Last up was always the most vulnerable position, and with Banshee up there with them, no one wanted to risk it.

She started after them, falling into step with Aiden, but an aide cut them off before they could reach the door.

"Captain Reid? General Allen wants to see you in her office, ma'am."

Her jaw tightened, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Thank you," she said and turned to Aiden. "Looks like I won't be able to copilot for you after all, Wolfe."

He shrugged. "No worries, Reid. Duty calls. Hey, Jansen!" he called out, his shout causing one of the trainees to slow down before they got out of the door. "Hold up. You're with me."

Zara turned to follow the aide, winking as she passed Bertha. "Give 'em hell, Banshee."

Bertha's eyes glinted with mischief. "Abso-fucking-lutely. They won't know what hit 'em."

Chuckling, Zara made her way out of the hangar.

Frustration simmered as she stalked across the campus toward the command building. It figured that she'd miss out on the glory of seeing Bertha put those arrogant Latharian assholes in their place. And for what? She shook her head. It would probably be another one of Allen's safety briefings. The woman had a bizarre fixation with fire safety protocols.

The command building loomed ahead, its sleek lines and tinted glass a middle finger to the sweltering heat. She shoved through the front doors, the blessed chill of the air conditioning hitting her sweat-slicked skin like an arctic blast. Sweet relief... for about two seconds before the cold needles of the overzealous climate control raised goosebumps along her arms.

She gritted her teeth. Why the hell did they have to keep it like a damn freezer in here? She was already clammy with sweat from her walk over in a full ship suit, and now her undershirt clung to her like a limpet.

The sergeant at the reception desk glanced up. "The general's waiting for you, Captain," he said, waving her toward the stairs. "You can go right up."

She gave a curt nod and headed that way, her mind already churning with possible excuses to make this meeting as short as possible. Especially if it was just another safety protocol meeting. This was all Aiden's fault, of course. He was a shit for forgetting to list his copilots on the roster. So if it was just a safety thing, she'd make her excuses and hopefully get back in time to catch a ride with the flight. She didn't even care if she was copilot to one of the newbies. She just wanted up in the air to see Banshee take on the Lathar.

Her boots rang out against the polished wooden steps as she ran up the staircase to the second floor. At least the frigid temps meant the sprint didn't overheat her like it would have outside. She took a deep breath at the top, centering herself before she stepped out into the second-floor corridor.

The plush carpet muffled her footsteps as she headed down the hallway toward the general's office. She'd only been called here once before, when she'd arrived at the academy to take up a post as an instructor. She'd done nothing wrong… that she could think of. Certainly, nothing anyone had found out about, unless it was the fact that she and Aiden had ordered pizza from off base last night… which wasn't technically against the rules since the delivery guy hadn't set foot on the base. But perhaps dropping a combat copter almost on his head to pick it up hadn't been such a good idea.

She rubbed a hand over her suddenly tight stomach. No… they'd listed that as a maintenance flight anyway. No way would the general know or even care about that, surely?

She hoped not.

General Allen was a force of nature, a living legend in the Earth Alliance military. She'd been a top fighter pilot in her day, racking up an impressive kill count in the Avantis Campaigns, and had been the driving force in shaping the academy into what it was today.

The door to the general's outer office creaked slightly as she pushed against it. She stepped inside and found, to her surprise, she wasn't alone. Five women were already there, two seated in the plush chairs in the corner of the room while the others stood by the wood-paneled walls, hands clasped behind their backs in the classic "at ease" posture.

She knew them all.

There was Nova—Nadia Kovanski—a tall, willowy blonde with a reputation for ruthless efficiency in the cockpit. Beside her, perched on the edge of a chair, was May "Crash" Sontar, a petite woman with a wicked grin and a penchant for daring acrobatics that bordered on suicide.

Burner, real name Taryn Williams, leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest and the red hair that matched her temper scraped back into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She was deep in conversation with Lena Martin, callsign Havoc, who could fly through anything, be it a raging plasma storm or a hail of enemy fire to nail her objective.

Finally, sitting quietly in the corner looking like she was a kindergarten teacher who had wandered into the wrong room, was Esme Cordova. Echo was a soft-spoken woman with warm brown eyes and an uncanny ability to anticipate her opponents' moves before they even made them.

"Looks like I'm in good company," Zara said as they all looked at her.

What the hell was going on? These women were the best of the best. This definitely wasn't going to be a safety briefing.

Sliding in to stand beside Nova, she caught the other woman's eye and raised an eyebrow. Nova shook her head slightly.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Ghost," she murmured in an undertone. "We were just told to report here ASAP."

Zara frowned, her mind racing with possibilities. Before she could voice any of them, the door to the general's inner office swung open, and a sharp-faced man looked out. His uniform was crisp and immaculate, those creases down the front of his uniform pants regulation perfect.

"Ladies," he said. "The general will see you now. Please, step inside."

Zara exchanged glances with the other women as they filed into the office.

It was spacious, which was not unexpected for an officer of the general's standing. A large, polished mahogany desk dominated the center of the room, its surface clear and uncluttered apart from a sleek computer terminal and a small bronze sculpture of a fighter jet. The wall to the side of the desk was filled with framed medals and commendations and a large, framed photograph of General Allen shaking hands with the president. Under it were several older photos, each depicting a younger version of the general standing proudly beside what Zara assumed were previous comrades and their fighters.

The floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk offered a breathtaking view of the academy grounds, the meticulously maintained gardens and pathways stretching out toward the horizon. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast a warm glow across the room.

She blanked her expression, game face on as she took the last of the six seats arranged in front of the general's desk.

The general herself was an imposing figure, steel-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. She stood tall and proud, her posture impeccable, her every movement filled with an air of authority and confidence.

She had risen to her feet behind her desk as they'd all filed in and now stood, hands clasped behind her back as she looked at them. Zara's spine straightened automatically as those icy blue eyes settled on her for a second. The movement was repeated along the line to Echo at the other end. They all knew Allen's reputation… they might all deny it, but Zara was pretty sure all of them had joined the service because of the woman standing in front of them. She certainly had.

"Ladies," the general began, her voice crisp and ringing with authority as she sat down. "I've called you here today because we have a situation that requires your unique skills and expertise."

Zara's heart kicked up a beat. Whatever this was, it was big. She could feel it in the air. But what could it be? They weren't at war with any of the outer colonies, and the Edanians had been quiet for what seemed like forever.

Shit. Were they going to war with the Lathar? Her blood froze in her veins at the very idea. As much as she disliked the jumped-up wankers they had here at the moment, she wasn't stupid. The Lathar were years ahead of humanity technologically. Millenia ahead. No way could they beat them in a war.

"You've all been selected for this mission because you are the best of the best. You are the ones I trust to get the job done, no matter the odds. No matter what the mission."

Zara glanced sideways at the other pilots. Like her, their expressions were a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The air in the office seemed to crackle with tension.

"The Latharian emperor has reached out to the president," General Allen continued, "and requested an exchange of pilots."

Zara's brows furrowed.

"But, ma'am, we already have the exchange pilots here," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "They're out on a flight with Wolfe and Banshee running offense."

The other pilots looked at her sharply. They all knew Bertha's reputation. Anyone who'd ever flown against her knew the asskicking that was incoming for the Lathar pilots.

General Allen nodded.

"We do indeed. However, part of the deal was that we also need to send a group of pilots up to Devan Station to train with the Lathar. We have been delayed a little on that because we encountered some… resistance to the idea from the Latharian lord starfighter."

She leaned back in her chair. The medal bar on her uniform glinted in the soft light.

"I'll be brutally honest with you, ladies," General Allen said, an edge of disgust in her voice.

"The guy is a complete and utter asshole," she admitted, surprising them all. Senior officers were never so blunt and forthcoming. But then, Allen did have a reputation for that. "He got right on my last nerve in the holocall. He doesn't want human pilots anywhere near his precious fighter wings." Her expression set into hard lines. "He is of the opinion that we are inferior and that human women should just stay home and make babies."

The silence in the room was stony, the temperature dropping several degrees. Heat washed over Zara's cheeks, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. What an asshole. She'd known the Lathar just wanted them to pop out babies, but usually the senior officers and politicians played nice and hid those aims behind pretty words and bullshit.

General Allen smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a razor-sharp curve of her lips that held absolutely zero warmth. It was the most shit-stirring smile Zara had ever seen on someone with that much hardware on her collar.

"So, when the president asked me to put together a team of my six best pilots, I couldn't think of a better group than the ladies currently in this room."

Zara felt a grin tugging at her own mouth, similar expressions breaking out on the faces of the other pilots. This "lord starfighter"—seriously, what kind of bullshit rank was that?—must have really pissed General Allen off. And she was down for this level of pettiness. So down.

"Am I right in thinking that, ladies ?" General Allen asked, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and steely determination.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" Their voices rang out loudly in perfect unison. If there had been pigeons on the low roof outside the general's window, it would have startled them into flight in a cliche holomovie shot.

General Allen nodded, satisfaction warming the hard smile. "Excellent. You will be under the command of Major Reid."

Zara started in surprise. She was a captain, not a major. But before she could say anything the general caught her eye and threw her a small box.

She caught it automatically, her fingers closing around the smooth, cool surface. She looked down, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the major's rank pin nestled inside.

"No time for an official ceremony," General Allen said briskly. "Because you ladies left… half an hour ago. Jenkins outside will have all of your transfer orders, and your bolts are all prepped and ready to go."

She stood up from behind her desk, her posture ramrod straight as she snapped off a crisp salute.

"Give 'em hell, ladies. Dismissed."

Zara returned the salute, the rank pin heavy in her hand. This was it. Lathar technology might be centuries ahead of anything they had, but she and her ladies had something they'd never expect…

An axe to grind and a mission to prove themselves.

Her smile widened into an echo of General Allen's, all sharp edges and malevolence. And when they were done, the lord starfighter and his type would never underestimate human women again.