The Dragons of Dunkirk

by Damon Alan

  That’s right. Irsu remembered now. Dragons had come here from Earth. And humans had gone there. A trade the dragons had readily agreed to in order to once again wield the magic that was dying on their home world.

  When the first gate was open those thousands of years ago, the Dwarves had spent time on Earth as well. Mining wealth, building holds, and preparing the places that would hold the keys to reopen the gate today.

  Obviously those long dead dwarves had done their jobs well, as the gate was activated, standing before him, ready to receive those who would go through.

  “Irsu,” Bordnu said, pointing toward the platoon. “It is our last time to prepare. Have your dwarves polish their armor and sharpen their axes. In the morning we will likely move forward.”

  “Aye,” Irsu agreed.

  The dragon flew off toward the mountains, and Irsu waited, almost holding his breath as the next moments of silence lay unbroken.

  Then the noise started anew, and his axes sang in his hands once more from the cacophony.

  Movement began at the front of the assembly, near the Hagirr gate. Almost a mile wide and a quarter of that tall, the gate was the only passage to the new world. Four giants stood and walked through it, followed by a contingent of dwarves from another mountain chain in a land far from here.

  “It has begun,” Bordnu said.

  “It will be a few days before we can pass,” Irsu responded. “But when we do, you know the plan?”

  “I have been briefed by the King directly,” his brother answered. “We will march on our ancient homes, and once more take what was always ours.”

  “That is not how Hagirr will see it.”

  “We built the holds. We mined. We prepared. It is the dwarves who deserved that world. Not humans, insane that they are.”

  “And if the humans the dragon spoke of are not agreeable to that?”

  Bordnu shrugged. “Then they die.”

  “Hagirr will not set easy with that solution,” Irsu said.

  “The Underking believes that the magic that keeps the wizard alive will not work on Earth. That if the wizard crosses over, he will turn to dust.”

  “Do you believe the same?”

  “Why else would he not have gone with his people those many years ago?”

  “Good. Then we will make Earth ours.”

  “For the Underking.”

  “For our people,” Irsu countered. “Dwarves don’t need magic. Earth is perfect for us.”

  “For our people,” Bordnu agreed.

  Chapter 4 - Running

  May 19, 1940

  Sergeant Harold Hughes smoked with his mate, Corporal Timothy Martin. The two men comprised the light machine gun crew for their squad in the 5th Infantry Division, 25th Infantry Brigade.

  They were attached to a Matador lorry, part of a planned counterattack against the German forces sweeping through northern France. Intended solely to buy time for the evacuation of British Expeditionary Forces, the attack was a death warrant for the men involved. It was unlikely there would be time to extract the infantry sections on the line, and even if there were time, losses would be staggering under the attentions of the Luftwaffe and the German mobile units.

  Scuttlebutt was that De Gaulle was moving French forces north to the south of Lille, which might take some of Hitler’s heat off Harry and Tim’s unit, but rumors were running wild.

  “When we get out of this, Timothy, I think I’ll have a steak.”

  “A steak Harry? A night with the missus?”

  “What has she done to deserve a steak?” Harry asked.

  Both men laughed. They knew they weren’t getting out of this.

  “You pick up extra ammo?” Tim asked.

  “Twelve magazines off lads headed out. What’s that?” Harry chewed his lips as he tried to do math.

  “About a minute of fire plus the time to change the magazines,” Tim told him.

  “You’re slow as hell at that, so probably five minutes then.”

  “That’s bollocks, that’s what that is,” Tim protested. “You’re lucky to have me.”

  “That I am, mate. I got us some extra smokes.”

  “Good man.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the drone of fighters overhead. The two men set up their gun as best they could, but the enemy wasn’t attacking them. Stukas were flying over, headed west, toward richer target areas. Rumors that the Luftwaffe were strafing the roads with civilian traffic were unconfirmed, but Harry knew why they’d do it. The British Expeditionary Forces couldn’t retreat if the roads weren’t open. And Hitler would love nothing more than to capture or kill the entirety of British forces on the continent.

  A lieutenant ran up to their lorry, out of breath.

  “Sir?” Harry said. Everyone was too tired, too stressed to salute. Such normalcy could come later.

  “You’re moving out, Sergeant. Load up your men, see that vehicle over there? Follow it. Your driver has been briefed. You’ll be setting up east of Arras to slow the Krauts down.”

  “Right away, Lieutenant,” Harry answered.

  The young man extended his hand. “Godspeed, Sergeant.”

  Harry knew what that meant. While he and his men headed to Arras, the lieutenant would be headed to Dunkirk for evacuation. “And to you, sir.”

  He watched the young officer run off to the next vehicle, then shook his head.

  Picking up his machine gun, he slapped Tim on the back and yelled at the other men around him. “You heard him, boys. In the back. We’re off. We’ve been wished Godspeed, so I’m sure we’re in for a leisurely stroll by the river with tea after.”

  The men laughed as they loaded up. At least they were in good spirits. Sometimes that happened to men who knew they’d die for a cause.

  As they got in line and drove away to their fate, Harry sat in the back and looked out of the canvas at the French countryside. They passed a French family going the other way, headed toward the coast. Two young ladies, smiling despite being mud covered and haggardly tired, waved at the British soldiers. It was as if they knew the men were going to hold off the enemy coming for them and wanted to say their thanks.

  “Not many young men among them,” Tim noticed from across the lorry’s bed.

  “I didn’t see a one,” Harry agreed. “Another generation sent into the mud, lives forfeit to men who don’t get their hands dirty.”

  “Pitiful,” one of the men from the front of the bench said. “We should drag that lot out here with us.”

  “The men who send us to war have no conscience,” Harry added. “And when war comes, it wounds us all, except those old men who start it.”

  Chapter 5 - Rotterdam

  May 20, 1940

  Ernst’s driver stopped his car near downtown. Rotterdam was heavily bombed, the Luftwaffe had done a job on it. A few buildings still burned nearby, but most were simply rubble. A church stood, one of the few structures still intact.

  The Saint Lawrence Cathedral showed a few scars, but it would do for Ernst’s purposes.

  “Bring the things,” he ordered Meckler.

  As he climbed the steps to the sanctuary, he heard Meckler bellowing orders behind him. The same two dozen soldiers he’d commanded for the last five years snapped to their duties.

  Within the hour the situation was arranged. The Intepna Hojarr sat on the altar of the church. The Inshu Key was in Ernst’s hands. Meckler stood beside him, practically tittering with excitement.

  “Here, Meckler. You may do the honors,” Ernst said. “We have worked a long time for this.”

  Meckler’s face displayed how unexpected Ernst’s kind act was. It was a slight surprise to Ernst as well, but he had an uneasy feeling about the ritual that was soon to unfold. Even if that ritual was just inserting and turning the key.

  “Herr Hitler has given approval?”

  “Yah,” Ernst said. “I spoke to him myself. You may begin.”

  Meckler took the Inshu Key, then walked up to th
e altar. He crossed himself in front of the crucifix on the back wall. The Intepna Hojarr was a hammered iron box, approximately a meter long, about half that wide and tall. A depression rested on the top, a gear that connected to other gears under the lid. Two overlapping circles etched into the top of the box matched those on the top of the key. The same ones on the monolith Ernst had found it in.

  Of course Meckler gave a speech. Irritating fool.

  “Today, we finally tap into the power of other worlds,” the chaplain said. “We finally harvest the power of the mystical world for the Führer, for the Fatherland. Today, with the insertion and turning of this key, we seal the fate of our enemies.”

  Meckler placed the stone key into the geared slot. For the first time that Ernst had seen, the gear on the box turned. A seam opened around the top of the Intepna Hojarr, one he’d not seen before. Blue light flared on the key and the box, emanating from the overlapping circles.

  The lid popped open and two orbs jumped into the air over the altar. They glowed dimly with the same blue light the circles shone with, and grew brighter as Ernst watched.

  The orbs began to rotate about each other, and then grew closer together. A whooshing sound grew in volume as the orbs cut through the air. After a few minutes, as the Germans watched in stunned silence, the orbs touched and overlapped, just as the circle symbology on the key and case did.

  That was when the world changed. A circular field popped into being and began expanding. The church crumbled around him, and a mixture of dry earth and dead grass appeared where the church floor was a moment before. Ernst heard Meckler scream something, but he could no longer see Meckler.

  The altar area was gone.

  Ernst and his men broke for the door of the church. He had no idea what he was seeing, but the primal screams still coming from an unseen Meckler more than broke his will to remain. Ernst’s driver headed toward the car, but Ernst pushed him out of the way. “Get in the other side,” the Oberstleutnant yelled.

  As he jumped into the drivers seat the sphere emanating from the Intepna Hojarr burst through the walls of the church, and as it did they collapsed. Some of the debris hit the ground, the rest of it and the roof of the church disappeared into the orb.

  He slammed the car into reverse, once up to speed turned the wheels sharply and the vehicle spun around to face the other way. He popped it into gear and mashed the accelerator to the floor.

  The sphere seemed to be expanding at a few meters per second now. As he looked in the rear view mirror the church was gone. A hemispherical bubble was approaching the waters of the docks already.

  Then something he’d never erase from his mind crossed the barrier. A winged creature, looking much like the dragons of European lore, stepped into Ernst’s world. German soldiers occupying the city center opened fire on it.

  Then it opened fire on them.

  Flames erupted from its mouth, bathing the ground in liquid hot death.

  Ernst almost wrecked he was so engrossed in the events he saw in the mirror. Only the screams of the driver saved them, and the car swerved around bombing rubble at the last second.

  “Wir haben das Tor zur Hölle geöffnet,” the driver screamed again.

  Yes, Ernst agreed in his mind. We have opened the gates of Hell.

  It remained to be seen if that was a smart thing or something else entirely.

  Chapter 6 - Hell’s Spawn

  May 22, 1940

  “Harry, we have new orders,” Timothy told him. “We’re to head North to rendezvous with a Belgian contingent holding a line near Roeselare.”

  Six Spitfires roared overhead, no more than five hundred feet above the ground.

  “What’s the point?” Harry asked. “We’ve only now made it to Arras. We can die here as easily as there.”

  “Rumor has it something’s happened to draw the Germans from the front,” Timothy answered. “We’re to take advantage of it.”

  “Where’d you hear this?”

  “Radioman. That Miller fellow. He told me when he was heating up some bread on the lorry’s manifold.”

  “We taking the Matador? Or do we have to walk to our end?”

  “They’re making the French civilians that were going to take our lorry walk to Dunkirk, not that it will do them any good. We’re to keep it and put it to good use, according to the brass. We’ve an hour to make the line.”

  “Seems like the officers would have come to tell us.”

  “Not many of those still here,” Timothy observed. “We uneducated men hold the reigns now.”

  “Right. Then let’s get to it,” Harry ordered. “We can complain about our lot on the way.”

  It took five minutes to load the men and their equipment into the lorry. Five minutes after that they were pushing thirty miles per hour toward Roeselare. The road wasn’t great, the ride was rough, but in Harry’s mind that was proof he still had life in his body.

  “I think I’ll buy the missus that steak after all,” he informed Timothy.

  “Of course you will,” Timothy said, patronization all over his face. Corporal Martin fully expected this to be his last day.

  “No, you misunderstand me,” Harry said. “This was all a grand adventure until the last few days. I’ve come to realize I’d like nothing more than to watch her smile as she enjoys a meal. I’d spend my days with her, feeding the chickens, seeing to the farm. And spoil her until she’s fat.”

  Timothy shook a pack of smokes Harry’d given him earlier and handed one over. He looked Harry in the eye. “You weren’t listening, mate. I said of course you will. You’ll be shaggin’ ‘er right in a few weeks.”

  “That’s not a proper way to talk about a man’s woman,” Harry said, unsure how offended he should be.

  “Does this seem like a time to be proper?” Tim asked him.

  It wasn’t. It was a time to say it out, in as few words as possible because words took time.

  “You going to get hooked up with your girl?” Harry asked.

  “She quit me two months ago,” Timothy replied. “I got it in the post last week.”

  Harry looked down at the unlit cigarette in his fingers. “Stupid, how the world does a man.”

  Tim lit his cigarette, then leaned over and lit Harry’s. “What’ the saying Harry? Plenty of fish?”

  “Lot’s of ‘em,” he agreed.

  They rode together in silence for a bit, letting the words between them rest silent.

  It was all too soon the lorry ground one of its gears as they pulled to a stop. Harry jumped out onto the grass, then looked north toward where the Germans would attack from.

  He didn’t expect to see what he saw there, but the driver had stopped short of their destination and Harry knew why.

  A hole appeared to cover much of the northern sky, almost as if someone had set a bowl upside down on the ground. A bowl that had to be dozens of miles across.

  “What in the name of Pete is that?” Tim asked, standing next to him.

  A few miles north three German aircraft crossed from east to west, two Bf-109s and a Stuka trailing behind. The fighters had abandoned the dive bomber to a fate Harry hadn’t dreamed of in his worst nightmares, let alone expected to see.

  A black winged beast, several times the size of the German dive bomber, pounced on it from behind. As fast as the aircraft was, the creature was faster, and significantly so. It shredded the Stuka, and pieces rained from the sky. Moments later, now hovering in the air, the creature made motions that could only have one conclusion.

  It had eaten the pilot.

  “Like a bloody oyster,” Timothy said.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, wake me up,” Harry replied, stunned.

  “We must both be asleep and dreaming,” Timothy assured him.

  The six Spitfires they’d seen earlier raced upward from near the ground, spilling machine gun fire into the beast. The impacts sparked against it, almost as if the fighters were attacking the thickest armor plate.

  The
creature roared, something they heard even at this distance.

  A more distant roar answered from further north, and Harry was suddenly very sad for the lads flying those planes.

  Fire erupted from the black monster and one of the Spitfires exploded in a ball of debris and smoke. Seconds later a second followed as a second creature responded to the call from the first.

  Being sensible, the Spitfires turned and ran south, almost directly toward the Matador and Harry’s squad. His men were gathered in a semicircle around the front of the vehicle, watching the aerial battle.

  “Get to cover,” Harry yelled at them.

  A small stone wall was all they had.

  Accepting of any shelter facing the unknown enemy, the men huddled on the ground as the first Spitfire flew over a few hundred yards east of them and maybe fifty yards off the ground. A second soon followed, immediately trailed by one of the creatures.

  It was massive and green, and the wings that swept from its body pushed a torrent of air down over the men. Dust rose in great blasts, forcing them to close their eyes and shelter their faces.

  A grinding sound and an explosion shortly thereafter let them know one of the Spitfires was gone. The roaring sound of a propeller faded with distance, as did the pulse of the creature’s wing beats.

  Harry dared a view over the top of the stone wall, and was immediately shocked by what greeted him.

  A German soldier stood there, his hands up, his K98 rifle and a pistol on the ground next to him.

  Jumping up from his shelter, Harry pulled his own pistol on the man.

  “I surrender,” the German yelled in English. “We are not enemies! Not anymore.”

  Harry leaned over and grabbed the man, then yanked him over the fence. He forced the German to the ground with his back on the grass, then sat on top of him.

  Harry realized then how vulnerable they’d been. The German’s rifle was on the ground, at the spot he surrendered. The Kraut could easily have killed some of the British squad had he wanted.