by Paul Kane
Well, they wouldn't fucking get Wales; he'd see to that. No matter what it took.
Understandably, as The Dragon was wheeled along the corridor, two of his elite guardsmen pushing what could only be described as a padded sled - complete with feeding troughs filled with food on either side - he was eager to begin today's proceedings. He was about to make an example of these Rangers, make them understand in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome in this country. And the punishment for those born here who'd joined their cause would be severe.
The Dragon sat back and enjoyed the final stages of the ride to his private box - a viewing place his Dad could only dream about, but which now 'belonged' to his son. Inside, he found more guards, each carrying sub-machine guns, with pistols at each hip. They were dressed in green and white uniforms, with the Dragon symbol emblazoned across the chest. A symbol of power and eventual unity, under his command. His Mam had been right all along, he had been destined for greatness. It had just taken the death of ninety per cent of the world's population before he saw it.
Also in here were some of the new members of his private harem. Girls brought to the Stadium, some willing, others who'd required more coaxing to enjoy everything his hospitality had to offer. They were wearing a variety of revealing outfits, in silk, satins and lace. The Dragon noted one of the newest, sitting on a velvet couch near the window, wearing a baby-doll nightie. She was looking away from him, her blonde hair cascading over the milky skin of her shoulders, strands falling down between her pert breasts. He licked his lips, then reached for a chicken leg out of the trough and took a bite. He'd settle for sating at least one of his massive appetites for now, because he wanted to get on with the game. Later, he'd turn his attentions towards the women. The one woman in particular who'd caught his eye.
With a waving hand, he motioned for the guards to manoeuvre him closer to the gigantic window. Peering down onto the pitch below, a pitch they'd found overgrown when they arrived and he'd insisted they clean up. There he saw more of his men leading bound figures onto the freshly mown grass. The prisoners were dressed in darker green, hoods down at the back; there were about a dozen or so of them. His guards pushed them into the middle of the grounds at gunpoint.
It had been a decent swoop, he had to admit. Sending his troops into the very heart of the local Ranger's nest, they'd encountered very little resistance. Taken by surprise, swords and arrows were no match for heavily-armed men storming a building. These were the only ones left alive. It was still very much a fledgling operation in this locality, and that told him Hood had a way to go before he was a force to be reckoned with outside his native Nottingham.
What was about to happen today would make him think twice about a foothold here. Either that, or make him mad enough to come here en masse - in which case they'd devastate his numbers and send them packing back off to where they belonged.
"The microphone," he demanded through a mouthful of chicken. "And some doughnuts."
One of the guards passed him the mike. It carried his voice throughout the stadium. Another guard called for more food to be brought, which arrived just as The Dragon began addressing his captives. The young man who brought it was another new face to him, and one that didn't appeal much. Those soapstar good looks reminded him a little too much of the boys from school. He shooed the servant away, noting that the lad held back to watch the proceedings from behind. Oh well, let him. This would serve as a lesson to his own people just as much. You do not cross The Dragon.
"Your attention," The Dragon said, nodding happily at the sound of his amplified voice. The Rangers on the pitch turned and looked up. "That's right, I'm up here," he said, sighing. "Now, I expect you're wondering what you're doing in this place? It's very simple. Your actions have marked you out as not only an enemy of my country, but also of me. I offer you the chance of freedom, though. I am nothing if not a fair man. You are familiar with this nation's favourite sport?"
The Rangers on the pitch did and said nothing.
"Even if you're not, you know the idea is to pass this..." He waited while one of his men produced an oval-shaped ball, "...forward either by carrying or kicking. Then reach the other end of the pitch and score a try without the other team taking it from you. Got all that?" Silence again. "I'll take that as a yes."
His men began to cut the Rangers' bonds, guns still trained on them. Given any opening, these men were sure to retaliate. The Dragon noted that his new blonde odalisque - it was a word he'd 'borrowed' from the Turks, who knew a thing or two about their harems - was watching events unfold below with increasing interest. It was time to move things along so he could become better acquainted with her.
"Be aware that you are playing for high stakes," he told them. "If my men should win and score, then you will lose not only the game, but also your lives." One of his guards motioned for the Rangers and his own men to form a haphazard scrum. There were about the same amount of The Dragon's men facing them, which meant that theoretically they could win.
The Dragon nodded for the ball to be tossed into the heap of figures, all of whom immediately began scrabbling for it. They were a blur of reds, whites and greens. Light and dark, limbs out at all angles, they moved like a giant human spider. All were punching and kicking - not exactly within the rules of the game, but then neither was a death sentence if you lost. One of the Rangers suddenly emerged, holding the ball up. When he knew his comrades had seen him, he tucked it under his arm and began to run. Both The Dragon's men and the remaining Rangers started after him, one side to offer support, the others to attack. One guard dived, but missed the Ranger, then spun over and over on the grass. The Dragon pulled a sour face.
The Ranger with the ball could really run, had possibly been some kind of sportsman in his former life. But so had a few of The Dragon's men. They were catching up, and he was looking for one of his mates to take the ball. He spotted another Ranger advancing on his right. The Dragon's fingers dug into the arms of his seat. He needn't have worried, though; his men knew exactly what to do.
Just as the Ranger was about to toss the ball, one of the guards in pursuit pulled out a pistol and fired at the man who would have received it. The bullet blew away most of the Ranger's left kneecap, splattering redness across the grass.
There was an intake of breath from some of the harem watching and The Dragon smiled. He looked across at the new woman, who was fixated on the 'match' and now had her hand to her mouth. God, she was magnificent. Whoever chose her would be rewarded well, he'd see to it. She realised he was watching and glanced at the Dragon out of the corner of her eye. Then she returned her gaze to the pitch, as if what she was witnessing there was preferable.
She'll look at me later, he thought to himself. I'll make her look.
The Dragon turned his attention back to what was happening below. The Rangers appeared shocked that one of their team had been gunned down, hanging back in case the same should happen to them. Then, suddenly, one Ranger put on a spurt and ran as fast as he could ahead of the pack. He was small and dodged around a couple of the guards to do so. Another one of The Dragon's men pulled out a gun, but another Ranger barged into him, spoiling his aim. The guard turned and elbowed his attacker in the face, knocking him to the ground, but the delay meant the smaller Ranger was racing ahead.
The man running with the ball kicked it across quickly. The smaller Ranger fumbled with it, but managed to get it under control, tucking it under his arm, making a sprint for the end of the pitch. Behind him, four guards were on his tail. He looked over his shoulder to see them drawing their weapons.
He was about to get a bullet in the back, when a couple of his comrades dived on the armed men, tackling them from behind. They all went down and there was the flash of gunfire. The next thing, the Dragon's people were standing again - leaving the bodies of the Rangers on the grass.
He'd told them he was a fair man, and some might say this game was anything but. However, it was his stadium, his game, his rules. The Dra
gon didn't like to lose.
But it looked like that was about to happen. The small Ranger had his head down, the finishing line in sight. Those Rangers left were sprinting too, catching him up, leaving the Dragon's guards behind.
No: the guards were retreating. They were actually pulling back. Running in the other direction! A couple of the harem women were looking at The Dragon, wondering what was going on - but not his new favourite, she was leaning forward, one hand on the glass. Even the young slave who'd brought his food had moved forward to get a better view.
The Dragon chuckled. Yes, watch and learn.
The smaller Ranger dived with the ball and planted it on the grass, scoring the try that he thought would save them all. His team-mates joined him, still not having put two and two together. They jumped in the air, celebrating. They'd beaten the Dragon's men, they'd-
The explosion wasn't a big one - no mushroom cloud or mortar - but large enough to make sure anyone within a twenty metre radius was caught in it. The harem girls screamed; the servant boy stepped forward again, sucking in a sharp breath. The blonde girl had both hands on the glass, then she turned. The Dragon was holding a radio transmitter in his right hand, thumb still on the trigger that had detonated the device inside the rugby ball. The girl was definitely looking at him now, intently - in fact she couldn't take her eyes off him. Was it fear that he saw? Was it repulsion, like the first one, the pasty-faced girl? No, it was something else. Could it be pity; if so, who for? The Rangers or him? There were definitely tears in her eyes. He saw them just before she looked away again.
Why? He'd offered those men their freedom, hadn't he? And he'd delivered. They were free - they couldn't be more free. The Dragon looked down on the smouldering crater in the pitch - that would have to be fixed before he played the game again - at the various body parts, and one full torso. He spoke into the microphone, telling the guards to pick one of the two Rangers still alive: a choice between the guy with no kneecap and the one who'd been elbowed in the face. "We need one survivor to send back, to tell Hood about what happened here. Kill the other one."
There, that look again. His latest odalisque was staring at him, her eyes still moist. Now that the match had reached its conclusion, it was time for other distractions. He'd teach her now to look at him in another way. Or Heaven help her.
The Dragon gave the order to be wheeled away, and for the guards to bring the woman. "Just her?" they asked, as often he asked for several at a time to visit with him. The Dragon nodded and she was grabbed by the arm. At first he thought she might resist; there was just a flash of 'fuck you' in those tearful eyes. But she thought better of it, thankfully.
As he was taken away, the Dragon glimpsed the Ranger who'd been knocked to the ground get shot in the head. They'd chosen the man who could barely walk to release, and he approved. The Ranger's wound alone would serve as a warning.
Today had been a good day, he thought to himself. And it was about to get even better.
In his head, he heard those crowds again back when there used to be real matches here. But instead of chorusing with them, he changed his own contribution to:
I am a Dragon! I am the Dragon!
He could do nothing but watch.
Stand and stare as those innocent men were slaughtered by that slug. Gazing down at the devastation, there had been one last act of cruelty to come: a Ranger shot in the head, while his colleague with the shattered kneecap was set free. It was doubtful whether he'd ever walk properly again, though, let alone run as he had been doing when the bullet struck him.
What kind of sadist was this?
He was half tempted to make a move right then and there, but he'd have ended up just as dead as the Rangers in that explosion. Might have been worth it, just to take this so-called Dragon with him.
Dale turned away from the window in time to see one of the women in the slug's private collection get dragged to her feet. She was crying, had been since she saw the killings below. But he saw a strength there also, a determination and resolve. And... something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Briefly, he caught her eye and the look lingered - far longer than any glances between her and the Dragon. Again, he almost sprang into action, fully aware of what would happen to the girl when those doors shut behind her. When the Dragon got her back to his lair. For some reason the thought of that happening to this one girl in particular turned his stomach.
He looked around at the others on display, all wearing skimpy outfits to tantalise the fat pig. How is it any different to what you've done in the past? he asked himself. The way he sometimes thought of women, as disposable, as objects. As meat? Dale shook his head. He might not be the settling down kind, but he was nothing like this. The Dragon forced them to dress this way, to do... things with him. He'd never forced anyone to do anything in his life. So what if he'd never been in love, never had a relationship that wasn't based on sex? It didn't make him the kind of monster he was dealing with here.
It did make him lonely, though, and sad that while people like Robert and Mary were getting hitched, while Mark and Sophie were getting it together, he still had nobody apart from the occasional girl in a village or town he was patrolling, or at a fête like the one they held last Christmas at the castle.
If he wasn't careful, he really would end up like his father: not able to commit to Dale's mum, chasing women left right and centre.
What was the difference between the woman sitting not far away, and those he'd looked at in lad's mags? In those strip clubs he'd frequented? You could tell yourself that they were getting paid, that nobody was holding a gun to their head - like they were, literally, here - but what if that was the only work they could get? Do you honestly think that they enjoyed it?
Now really wasn't the time or the place to be thinking about that, but he couldn't get the blonde woman out of his mind. Couldn't stand thinking about the Dragon pawing and molesting her. It wasn't right. Just wasn't-
Rangers have died here today, he reminded himself. Some of them he knew, albeit briefly. Even though he'd taken the name from their flag, that man wasn't representative of this country, any more than The Tsar was representative of Russia's population. Those men down there, who'd been trying to bring peace and stability to the region - they were the real heroes of Wales. And it was about time this sick son of a bitch who thought he was in charge was driven out.
That's what Dale was doing here, that was his mission - or part of it - given to him by Jack. The Welsh contingent of the Rangers were well aware of what the Dragon could become, so they'd asked for help. Dale had been sent in undercover to gather information, to find something they could use to take down the Dragon's organisation. He'd only been around a couple of days when they'd attacked the Ranger HQ, decimating their number. He'd heard about it from some of the other servants, but never thought he'd see the survivors of that massacre exterminated in such a sick mockery of what this place was built for.
Again he couldn't help thinking about the girl with blonde hair.
Dale squeezed his eyes shut. Stop the Dragon, you stop the killing, and stop what was happening to these women. It was up to Dale. Jack was relying on him. Wouldn't do anything about the attack on the Rangers until he'd heard back from his mole. He wondered if they could even muster a force to take on all the Dragon's people in one go. There were more than they'd imagined, or the Welsh Rangers had suggested. And with Robert's troops spread out now more than ever, the man himself having answered a distress call from Bill up near Scotland, perhaps it really was down to Dale to do something.
This certainly wasn't as cool as Jack had made it sound. "It'll be just like Mission Impossible, kid," the large American had promised.
Mission Impossible? Mission bloody unbelievable more like - as in how unbelievably bad his luck was. What exactly would Tom Cruise do now in his position? Off the bad guy, blow up his base and get the girl.
He sighed; that really did only happen in the movies. This was real life and s
ometimes that stank.
"Hey you," said one of the guards. He touched his chest. "Yes, you. What you still doing here? Clear off back to the kitchens, this isn't a peep show."
Dale nodded. No, it was more like a flesh farm. No doubt these men wanted to be left alone with the harem women for a reason. Only look but don't touch, because they belonged to the Dragon.
No woman - no man, either, for that matter - should belong to someone else. If Robert had taught them anything, it was that. He'd also taught the lesson to De Falaise, The Tsar and countless other thugs who didn't seem to know it already. His men followed him not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Because they believed in what he did, in liberty and the right to live a peaceful existence.
Impossible or not, Dale would find a way to bring that to these people again, he had to.
Reluctantly, he left the women behind with the guards.
But still couldn't shake the picture of the one girl who'd gone off with the Dragon from his mind.
Chapter Four
It was amazing to think how, over the last year especially, this place had become like home to him.
The Reverend Tate even had a place where he would go to pray, a quiet place he'd blessed himself down in the Lower Bailey. He was there now, talking to God; thanking Him for the new day, for keeping his friends safe and asking Him to keep a watchful eye on them. Especially Robert, who never seemed to take a bit of notice whenever Tate told him to be careful. And asking the Lord to look after His humble servant, trying to bring His word to those who were building this new world.
