The Dragons of Dunkirk

by Damon Alan

  The fellow clutched at a medallion that swung decorously from his neck, over his remarkably intricate plate armor.

  “Humans, our scout has seen you in the structure,” the fellow began. “We will escort you to the gate.”

  Harry waited for him to say something more.

  “Answer him,” Tim urged.

  “We’re fine, thank you,” Harry said. “We’ll find our own way.”

  The person laughed. “That’s not how this works. Move from the house, you will be treated well and given a new life in a new world.”

  “We rather like this one,” Harry yelled out the window. “Move along, we’ll do the same.”

  The fellow smiled, and Harry didn’t like the condescension the smile included. “Have it your way.”

  The plated warrior rode back north to rejoin his group. A few minutes after that they stormed south together on horseback, after drawing bows, swords, and readying their lances for charging.

  “Open fire!” Harry yelled.

  He charged the Hotchkiss and opened up on the surging enemy. The results were far better than he’d hoped. The horses went down quickly, although the almost-men, whatever sort of abomination they were, did not.

  Soon the enemy troops were on the ground, hiding behind what cover they could find, be it a tree, a fallen horse, or a decrepit wagon sinking into the dirt of the field.

  “Hold your fire,” Harry yelled.

  Within a few seconds the gunfire ceased. A dozen horses and half a dozen of the manlike things lay motionless in the dirt.

  “Leave now and the rest of you can live,” Harry yelled.

  “That’s not how this works,” their leader yelled back. “You’ve drawn Elistinar blood, and for that you must die.”

  “Are you sure you’re aware of your tactical situation?” Harry asked.

  “Your arrogance will change that soon enough,” the leader replied. “Surrender and your deaths will be quick and merciful.”

  Good enough, that made the solution easier for Harry. “Men, fire only when you see a target. Save ammo, make it count.”

  For half an hour the standoff continued. Occasionally one of the horse people would stick their head up enough for Harry’s crew to take a shot. Twice that resulted in a dead enemy. A few dozen times it resulted in a wasted bullet.

  Harry was trying to figure out where the leader was. Maybe if he killed that one, the rest would demoralize and run.

  A figure popped up from behind a dead horse. The person knocked an arrow, raised his bow, fired, and dropped back to the ground faster than Harry would have thought possible.

  The arrow flew straight at his position, striking one of the top panes of glass in the kitchen window. Tim hadn’t knocked the high panes out, as the gun fired below them.

  The arrow blew glass into his and Timothy’s faces, then bounced off his helmet before disappearing somewhere behind him with a loud thunk as it slammed into a wall.

  His head hurt from the impact.

  Several of the enemy popped up at once to attempt the same maneuver, but this time Harry’s men were ready. They gunned most of the archers down, although he heard at least one of his men screech as he was hit.

  “Damn,” Harry said. “Give me a grenade, Tim.”

  He took the grenade and slipped to the back door. He quickly glanced around the corner to familiarize himself with the positions of the enemy. The cart was a good twenty-five yards away, he wondered how accurate he’d be.

  As he drew his head back behind the door frame to ready the Mills bomb, an arrow raced past. A second earlier and it would have skewered his face. It slammed into a buffet that held the family’s dishes, shattering things inside as it penetrated.

  Harry didn’t hesitate. Now was the time.

  He stepped into the door and hurled the grenade. He leapt back to cover without waiting to see the results. He heard gunfire erupt from around the property, more than one of the enemy must have jumped up to shoot at him.

  Two arrows plunked into the buffet, shattering more of the dishes within.

  “Spot on, Harry!” Tim yelled.

  The grenade exploded, and the battlefield grew silent for the moment.

  A female voice called him next in some language he didn’t understand. He’d have sworn she was singing had that fit the situation.

  A second later she must have found whatever it was that allowed the fellow to speak.

  “We will withdraw,” she said. “We’d like to do so under a truce.”

  “If we see your kind again, we will fire first and ask questions after the fact,” Harry informed her.

  “You are right to put it that way,” she replied. “You will not see us again.”

  Something in her voice didn’t sound right. Something told him that she was planning him harm.

  He looked out the window and raised his binoculars to study her. She was glaring in his direction with hatred like he’d never seen. It chilled his soul seeing her face, she somehow managed to mix unearthly beauty with a malevolent and vile evil that stunned him for a moment.

  She had no intention of letting them go their own way.

  “Open fire!” Harry yelled as he slipped behind the Hotchkiss. The gun erupted, and the female screamed as she fell behind the cart. Harry splayed the gun over the field of battle. Something guided him and his men, their bullets found their marks with remarkable accuracy.

  It was at that moment he realized Miller was standing behind him, chanting something in a language Harry didn’t understand.

  The battle was over quick. The tide had turned, and the enemy, pinned down, had no escape. When the last six of the enemy broke and ran, Harry ordered his men to let them go.

  He turned and looked at Miller but didn’t ask any questions. He wasn’t sure if he’d like the answer.

  Instead he walked out to the field, to the cart to see the condition of the wounded.

  The male leader was dead, his head punched through with grenade shrapnel.

  The female was laying on the ground next to him, looking up at the sky.

  “I never thought to die so far from home,” she said, the malevolence gone.

  Harry knelt next to her, checking her wounds. Shot through the lower torso in several places, her liver and lower organs were destroyed. Assuming these things kept them where humans did.

  “You had no intention of letting us go.”

  She smiled, blood poured from the corner of her mouth. “One does not make deals with creatures such as you. Even the dwarves are more honest.”

  “The dwarves?” Harry asked. “The short men?”

  “You insult them calling them men. Humans are vile,” she spat out, coughing.

  “Your intent to betray us at your first opportunity was written all over your face,” he replied. “We’re not the vile ones. You planned to slaughter us when our guard was down.”

  “You’re not as stupid as you look,” she laughed. “Who are you? I should know my killer when I move on.”

  “We…” a voice said from over his shoulder, “we are the Templars.”

  “Aaah,” she responded, as if that explained everything.

  A second later her eyes glazed over as her body gave up.

  Harry had no pity.

  He looked around the area. Jones was shot in the shoulder with an arrow, but it hadn’t pierced anything vital it seemed. Timothy was pouring some liquor from the house on the wound, getting it ready to bandage.

  Good, that problem was dealt with, and even better, Jones would live.

  They needed to get moving, reducing risk from the ones he let go. Time to give the orders. “Take their food. These fallen horses, that’s meat. Get as much as will last for a day. Look over their supplies, see if there is anything we can use. Wilkes, get padding in the bed of the Matador for Jones. Take a mattress from the house if you like. Hans, grab a few of these bows and a stock of arrows. We might need to start practicing with them.”

  Everyone turned to the tas
k, but Harry wasn’t done. “Not you, Miller.”

  Miller looked at him, resignation on his face. He knew he had some explaining to do.

  “Let’s go for a walk and have a talk,” Harry added, gesturing toward the barn, away from the others.

  “I suppose it’s time,” Miller sighed.

  Chapter 23 - Iron Boxes

  Irsu was in a war meeting with his scout and his second in command. They were camped in a stand of trees surrounded by farm fields. The camp was dark, no fires. The area they were in was too thickly inhabited to risk anyone detecting the light. A small lantern lit the tent, a risk Irsu deemed worthwhile for the sake of the meeting.

  “There is a city to the southwest,” Numo reported. “Their torches are amazing, you can see them for dokadros.”

  Irsu leaned on his axe. They’d covered the terrain between the border scuffle and their current position in two days. Light to heavy hills, but no real mountains yet. That was about to change.

  “We need to come in from the south side of Nollen to reach the entrance,” Irsu said. “What’s the best way to go?”

  “There’s a lake south of the city, surrounded on three sides by mountains. In fact, Commander, all the low points around here have lakes, or if not lakes, streams or rivers.”

  “It won’t be easy traveling, then,” Irsu said, finishing Numo’s implied conclusion. “But we have one thing in our favor, the humans like to build bridges.”

  Coragg frowned.

  “You don’t like that?” Irsu asked him.

  “We saw the result of traveling on the road. Like it or not, the humans pack a sting. Their spitter sticks are vicious.”

  “And if we use their bridges we risk being smashed by their machines,” Irsu admitted. “With your thought in mind, we make our own way. That’s probably wise, Coragg.”

  Numo gestured toward the map they’d seized at the border post and made something of a grunting sound.

  Scouts were strange.

  Irsu handed him the papers and Numo spread them out on the ground.

  “This is where we are, roughly, almost due north of our goal. If we go to the south end of this lake here,” he pointed at the map, “we can take this valley to this location,” he moved his finger to a new spot, “and Nollen’s face will be a ten or twelve kadros south from there.”

  “It’s a good way,” Coragg agreed. “Does it have river crossings?”

  “The map doesn’t say, so probably not a major river,” Irsu replied. “We can go this way, although we will be exposed if there is no tree cover.”

  “It is the only way unless you intend to swim a lake and climb several peaked ridges to get there,” Coragg replied.

  “Alert the platoons,” Irsu agreed. “We rise early to pass this city in the dark. There is no need to attract human attention to ourselves.”

  “I’ll get the word passed,” Coragg agreed and disappeared from the tent.

  True to his intention, they were moving again two hours before the sun. It was hard on the troops to march in the dark. Visibility was already bad enough from their helms, and the darkness created even more problems. They moved at half speed to ease the difficulties.

  By sunrise, or at least by the time the sky was growing light, they were on the south side of the lake and headed east. A small village nestled against the southern shore, but thick habitation stretched up the valley to the south.

  It would be hard not to be seen. Diverting south would only add time to their journey, without helping them stay hidden.

  Irsu decided to just march through the village, the far side looked like more farmland, then a steep ridge line past that. The slope up to the ridge was covered in trees, blessed cover they’d need to survive. They’d make for those to lose the humans once again.

  That plan had already worked once.

  Other than some screams, they encountered no issues passing the village. The inhabitants who noticed them slammed their shutters, and after initial cries were quiet.

  The soldiers reached the trees just as some of the air machines began sweeping over the farm fields, undoubtedly looking for Iron Company.

  The climbing was difficult. Not steep enough to need serious equipment, but steep enough that it was dangerous to fall as one of his soldiers proved. A broken neck. Another dead.

  Soon, however, the ground leveled off and opened up to farmland once more. Irsu sent two soldiers south with their dead companion with orders to build his pyre away from the main body of dwarven troops. Hopefully the ruse would solve two problems.

  Burn the dead and fool the humans.

  “They know roughly where we are,” Irsu said to Coragg. “It’s just a matter of time before they send in ground forces.” He removed his helmet, Coragg did the same. “But hear their air machines? The moment they spot us they’ll be spitting death at our platoons again. We’ve lost enough.”

  Numo was scouting, and Irsu could wait for him to come back with a way, but time was precious when being hunted.

  “We go south,” Irsu ordered. “I think I see thicker trees down that way. It’s also away from the decoy pyre.”

  They traveled south along the ridge, staying in the tree cover. Their armor, being silver, would normally give them away. But Coragg had ordered the warriors to smear themselves down with mud from the forest floor.

  Soon not a piece of armor glinted, much to the dismay of the owners.

  “We’ll get to Nollen soon enough,” Irsu promised. “Stop whining like the mules of a common merchant. You’ll be able to clean and polish once we’re safe.”

  “How are we going to keep the air machines off of us as we scale the face of Nollen?” a soldier asked.

  “We’ll deal with that then,” Irsu answered. “We’ve already killed two of them. More will just decorate our legends.”

  The troops around laughed. That was the perfect answer for them, and they’d pass it around. Leading soldiers was as much politics as anything else. But the politics of soldiers used more lively language.

  Numo rejoined them from their direction of travel. “You’re going the way I would recommend. To the south the forest narrows to thirty kadros or so. We will do best to make haste at that point, I think.”

  “Your instincts are good,” Coragg said to Irsu. “Or your eyes. Either way works.”

  “We have to move east soon,” Irsu said. “We will lose soldiers to the air machines if they see us. How large is the stand of trees on the other side of this flatland? In the rolling ridges?”

  “Extensive,” Numo answered. “We will be able to stay in the trees for a long time.”

  “Then we move as far as we can today,” Irsu said, “using trees as much as we can. Numo, you will move ahead, scouting the path that provides the most cover, reporting back every hour with an hour long march plan.”

  “Aye,” Numo responded and disappeared.

  Irsu turned to the nearest of his soldiers. “We’re moving. Pass the message back along the column. No rest for the weary today.”

  They moved as silently as a company of armored troops could, but Irsu still believed it was only a matter of time before the humans found them.

  A small clearing ahead of them housed a few hundred troops. And two large metal boxes with the largest spitter sticks Irsu had seen yet.

  “And so it gets hard,” Coragg said. “Why does it always have to get hard?”

  “They haven’t seen us yet,” Irsu replied, ignoring the actual question. “Although I don’t know how, our company is loud like the war gongs in the Hall of Warriors.”

  “They are wearing metal.”

  “I didn’t say I blamed them.” Irsu stared across the field at the war boxes. What were the capabilities of those things? “I doubt a crossbow is going to stop those.”

  “I’d say not,” Coragg agreed.

  “We camp here and move at dark,” Irsu replied. “With our armor mudded, they’ll not see us a kadros away.”

  “I’ll let the platoons know.�
��

  “They camp in their armor, speaking in whispers, no fire, cold food only,” Irsu added. “We take no chances.”

  Coragg looked at him like he was stating the obvious. Which he was.

  “You have to give these humans credit,” Irsu said to nobody in particular after his second left to his duty. “Armoring several warriors at once is a good idea… imagine that thing with a proper ballista on it.”

  “You giving orders, sir?” a passing soldier asked.

  “Not yet, lad.” Irsu grinned.

  If he made it out of here he was going to change the nature of war thanks to the things he’d learned from the humans.

  Chapter 24 - Film

  May 30, 1940

  Much to Ernst’s dismay, Bad Münstereifel didn’t have a dark room capable of processing the film taken aboard the HS-130.

  The cartridges of undeveloped data had to be flown to Berlin, developed, and then flown back. A frustrating three day delay.

  Ernst used every second, however. He put his team to work researching the artifacts of history, particularly of the two world religions that gave rise to Western power. If the artifacts of the other religions were so great, why didn’t they help protect those areas of the world from European domination?

  He had a few leads from the men and women he’d assembled to recover his legacy. Several of them suggested the Ark of the Covenant, although few of them agreed on where it was or even if it still existed. Ernst felt he knew better. It existed. It was in Ethiopia. Case closed in his mind, although he didn’t come down on the matter with them so hard.

  Ernst had another idea, one that would take him outside of the three main religions of Abraham. In ancient China a discovery existed that intrigued Ernst. He’d have gone to China a long time ago to recover these artifacts, but he’d just heard of them from Dr. Herta Spekt, one of his new team members.

  She was phenomenal. Intelligent, yet devoid of care for the mundane emotions, Ernst was growing increasingly fond of her.

  Her contribution to the team was knowledge of a collection of artifacts called the Dropa Stones. Estimated to be over 10,000 years old, the stones tell the story of a crashed flying ship crew that mated with the locals and eventually became a part of local mythology long after their deaths. Supposedly the stones were much like phonographic records, and with the right equipment would reveal the secrets of their creators.