by Lucas Marcum
With a dark glare at the elf’s still form, Acevedo spat a stream of bloody saliva into her face, then stood up.
After a second, O’Malley reached out a hand. “You ok?”
“Don’t touch me.” Acevedo tore off the elven helmet and threw it across the small compartment, then sat down and buried her face in her hands.
Martinez, who’d been holding position in the door of the dragonboat, looked at the unconscious elf and muttered, “God DAMN, you fucked her up.”
“She’s lucky she isn’t dead.” Acevedo’s voice was muffled. “Next time she tries it, she will be.”
“I guess,” Martinez replied. “Remind me not to piss you off, Sergeant.” He knelt, rapidly retaped the elf’s hands and feet, and gesturing to O’Malley to help him, dragged the elf down the small interior of the dragonboat and out of sight.
There was a commotion from the passageway, then they heard voices. Martinez peered out, then called in a low voice, “We got company.” He raised his rifle and pointed it down the corridor.
O’Malley stuck his head out to see what was happening, and his jaw hung open. In the passageway he could see a crowd of bodies, mostly facing away from him. There were five of the massive flat-black armored figures of the orcs. They were all pointing their crossbows down the hall or had swords at the ready. One of them held what appeared to be an old machine gun with a belt of ammunition dangling from it to his shoulder as easily as a human would carry a rifle.
In front of the group of orcs stood Staff Sergeant Jones, also backing down the hall. His arm was locked around the neck of an elf, and he was keeping the elf between him and what they were facing. With a start, O’Malley realized there were at least half a dozen armored elven warriors with wands pointed at them. In front of the elven warriors was a slender, platinum-haired elf in ebony black armor. His face was furious, and he was pointing a staff with a tip glowing red at the small group of retreating orcs.
“Acevedo! Up front!” O’Malley hissed.
Snapping her head up and jumping off the bench, she poked her head into the corridor just as the lead elf yelled.
“You. Insolent, arrogant human. You dare to lay hands on our lord. The fury of the elven houses will come upon your lands. We will destroy your homes. We will…”
“Shut up,” O’Malley heard Jones order flatly. “No one gives a shit.” He tapped the elf in his grip on the head with his fist, which O’Malley could see was wrapped tightly around something. “Now, if you want elf-daddy here back with all his body parts, you’ll let us get on that boat.”
The elf at the front of the small group hissed in fury and spat. “You will never leave this ship alive, filth.” His features were contorted in rage.
There was a bellowing roar nearby and the whooshing of dragon flame from somewhere inside the ship, and the entire vessel trembled again.
The elf’s face smoothed into a cruel smile. “Hear that, human? It is your death. Give us Lord T’Mar, or you will die in flames.” The ship bucked sharply, jolting all the people standing in the hall.
With a dark grin, Sergeant Jones replied, “Sounds to me like your little flying zoo is fucked. Won’t be me dying in fire. It’ll be you and this giant piece of shit falling from the sky.” Over his shoulder, he commanded, “Durok, get them loaded. I’ll be the last one on to make sure they don’t try anything. “
With a single nod of his head, Durok snapped something in orcish. Two of the orcs peeled off. With barely a sidelong glance at the three humans already in the dragonboat, the orcs rushed up to the top deck of the small craft. O’Malley could hear a faint chiming sound and saw the lights inside the boat brighten as the magic flowed. Distantly, he could hear the elf in the front again yelling threats.
There was a sudden roar, and from behind the group of elven warriors came a yellow-orange glow. A split second later, a blast of heat rushed down the hallway. Several of the elves turned to see what was happening just as the dragon’s head snaked around the far end of the corridor. The golden yellow eyes with the vertical slits narrowed at the sight of prey in the hallway. The dragon took in a deep breath, emitting a long, evil hiss. The elves turned and ran desperately towards the only refuge in sight: the open hatch to the dragonboat. The remaining orcs in the hall piled into the craft, their massive, armored boots making the deck tremble with the impacts. Acevedo clung to the doorframe and stayed where she was. O’Malley found himself carried back into the craft.
Seeing the elves rushing forward in a panic, Jones hurled himself bodily into the small craft, along with his prisoner. He then took the fist he’d been holding to the elf lord’s head, tossed a spherical object towards the elves, and yelled something that was lost in the roar of dragon flame. The sergeant shoved his captive onto the deck of the dragonboat, and collapsed on top of him, covering his and his captive’s faces with his hands.
Dimly, Acevedo realized Jones had just thrown a grenade and hastily turned her face and tightly clamped her eyes closed. She vaguely heard O’Malley screaming to disengage the craft from the hull of the larger ship. Suddenly, there came a deafening ka-WHOMP from the corridor, and a split second of silence. Then there came an enraged roar, loud enough to shock her even through the temporary deafness from the grenade. Acevedo risked a fast glance into the corridor and saw the dragon slithering past what remained of the elves. It barely slowed down to put a massive claw through the back of a badly wounded elf, pinning the man to the floor. The dragon locked eyes on Acevedo and took another deep breath. In a daze, she realized she could see dozens of sharp, pointed teeth, shining white among the fleshy black and green of the inside of the dragon’s mouth. Frozen in horror, she watched as two tiny flames appeared at the back of the dragon’s throat, followed by a brighter spot that rapidly grew as flame surged towards her.
A massive hand grabbed her by the back of the stolen elven armor she wore and jerked her back into the dragonboat. She flew backwards and landed on her butt as a white-hot jet of fire blasted down the corridor. Throwing up her hands to cover her face from the immense heat, she struggled to her knees. There were two large thumps, then the deck of the dragonboat sank, and she saw the gap between the hull of the ship and the smaller dragonboat begin to widen.
Exhaling sharply, she turned to see who’d rescued her, when she saw in horror the head of the dragon appear in the open hatch, now about a dozen feet away. The dragon shrieked in fury and took a deep breath. Again, Acevedo saw the flames boiling up from the throat. This time, there was nowhere to go. She threw her arms up to cover her face and turned her head away. Reflexively, she screamed as the flame blasted out of the dragon’s maw, and the deafening roar overtook her senses. After several seconds, the roar stopped, and she opened her eyes. The hull of the dragonship was now about 50 yards away and receding fast. The dragon roared with impotent fury from the hole in the hull of the ship, apparently too big to fit through and give chase.
Turning to the interior of the boat, she saw that everyone was staring at her in shock. Even the orcs, who were normally unflappable, were staring. After a second, O’Malley shouldered his way past a couple of the massive orcs and demanded, “Acevedo. Are you ok? What the hell was that?” His eyes were full of concern.
“I’m fine.” She looked down at herself. “I guess he missed.”
“He didn’t fucking miss!” Martinez declared. “He blasted us. Look at the windows.” Acevedo looked at the small portholes in the hull. The two closest to the hatch were smoked over, and the frames were warped from exposure to the immense heat. Martinez pointed at her. “You threw your arms up, some kind of blue energy came out, and the fire went around it. I saw that shit.”
“I…I guess it must be the armor,” Acevedo replied, still stunned. “I don’t really know how it works.”
Suddenly, with the speed of a striking snake, the male elf on the floor of the dragonboat moved. He dove at Acevedo, reaching for the wand that remained holstered on her leg. Sergeant Jones caught the elf’s boot as he dove
for Acevedo. Startled, Acevedo fell backwards, landing on the bench next to the open hatch. The elf lord landed on his hands and knees in front of her and was beginning to rise, the dropped dagger in his hand. Suddenly, Sergeant Jones appeared behind the man. Grabbing him by his long, flowing hair and the back of his armor, he jerked the elf backwards, trying to pull him away from Acevedo—but he pulled too hard. With a short, sharp scream, the elf lord disappeared out the open door, and into the sky.
Shocked, Acevedo looked up at Jones, who was staring after the man. After a second, he shrugged, and muttered, “Fuck it.”
From the upper deck, one of the orcs called out in their guttural language. Durok leaned over, peered out the door, and gave a satisfied grunt. One of the orcs in the front of the boat called out and pointed out a porthole. The others peered through the window and laughed. Puzzled, Acevedo looked out the open door.
The dragonship was dying, trailing smoke from dozens of places, and clearly listing on the cables that connected it to the zeppelin-like gas bags. She could see a slender, open-topped boat push back from the top deck, loaded with elven crewman abandoning the stricken ship. The boat extended a pair of silvery, gossamer wings and started a gentle glide to get clear of the massive dragonship. Abruptly, one of the wings collapsed, and the boat overturned, spilling the elves into the sky. Their faint screams could be heard as they fell towards the ground, thousands of feet below.
Moments later another lifeboat launched, similarly loaded. It, too, had a wing collapse, dumping the crew into the void. The orcs around Acevedo roared with laughter and make crude comments in their own language about the falling elven crewmen. One of the young orcs they’d boarded the ship with earlier stepped down from the top deck, folded his arms cockily, and posed on the stairs with one boot up on the lowest step. The other orcs roared their approval, laughing, cheering, and hammering their armored fists against their breastplates. Staring at the orc for a second, then back out at another falling lifeboat, Jones suddenly laughed. “That sneaky little son of a bitch. So that’s what he was doing!”
“What?” Acevedo asked.
“He disappeared during the firefight on the upper deck. I thought he was trying to flank them, but apparently he was sabotaging their lifeboats.” Jones laughed again. “I really like these orcs. They’re my kind of guys!”
Crouching by the open door, Durok called out. The orc above at the helm answered, and Acevedo felt her stomach drop as the dragonship rapidly sank towards the ground. A flash of light out the door caught her eye, and she looked up as the Apache helicopters that had fled before reappeared. They were hovering next to the rapidly sinking dragonship with their chin-mounted guns, spitting fire at the deck. The heavy rounds punched through the deck now that the shielding was no longer active, turning it into a shredded mess of splintered wood and shattered bodies of the elven crewmen. A third Apache hovered slightly higher, pumping rounds into the gas bags. As Acevedo watched, enthralled, one of the huge balloons collapsed, spewing purple fire. The ship sank even more rapidly. The dark green helicopters followed their prey like wolves as it fell, raking the burning hulk with cannon rounds as it fell from the sky towards the darkening ground.
Watching the burning ship fall from sight, harried by the helicopters the whole way, Acevedo realized it was dusk, and the ground below was almost completely dark. O’Malley clambered down the ladder and thrust a duffel bag at her.
“Get out of that elven crap and get ready to move. As soon as we hit the dirt, we’re going to abandon the ship before they send more dragonriders.” He gestured at the open door. “’Cause you know they’re gonna be pissed after that.”
“Yes, sir.” Acevedo took the duffel bag and sat on one of the benches. She reached up to unbuckle her chest armor and grimaced in pain. Seeing that, Durok crouched next to her and helped her. His massive hands were surprisingly gentle, and soon she was squirming out of the tight armor. Her undershirt was soaked in sweat, and she gasped at the sudden bite of the cool wind on her skin. Martinez held out her tunic, and she took it wordlessly, modesty forgotten. As Durok packed away the elven armor, Martinez helped her pull her plate carrier over her head. Seeing her wince in pain as it settled into place, he grinned slightly.
“We’re gonna feel this shit in the morning, eh?” He adjusted the straps of her body armor and asked, “How’s that?”
With a grimace, Acevedo moved her shoulder. It screamed at her, where the elven girl had wrenched it. “I’ll manage.” She smiled wanly at the paratrooper. “Beats being dead.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth. I got an ass full of splinters from blowing up the wands. Gonna take forever to get ‘em out!” Martinez grinned for a moment. Then his smile faded. “What’s next, Sergeant?”
Shaking her head, Acevedo replied, “Get on the ground, alive. Then I guess we have to evade the search parties, if they send any. After that…” She shrugged, her shoulder protesting at the motion with a fresh wave of pain. “After that, who knows.”
Abruptly the dragonboat lurched, and a subliminal vibration started under their feet that rapidly turned into a violent shaking. From the upper deck came a yell in the guttural orcish language. The orcs around them gripped their seats grimly and didn’t say a word.
With a pensive look up the stairs, Martinez asked, “What was that?”
“We’re going down,” Acevedo replied, her voice tense with fear. “Brace.” The ship pitched and yawed as Acevedo and Martinez desperately clung to the wooden seats. The craft gave another violent lurch, then rolled hard to port and began to spin. One of the orcish soldiers lost his grip and went flying out the door into the evening sky without a sound.
Desperately, Acevedo clung to the seat and the thin leather strap as the craft spun. The still open side door was flashing, the bright sky alternating with the darkness of the ground, the strobe effect freezing the interior of the craft into a gruesome caricature of terrified statues. For a split second, Acevedo saw tree branches outlined against the sky and thought suddenly of her mother’s beef empanadas, then Oliva Acevedo’s world went black.
-13-
“Lest we Forget”
Somewhere in Central Pennsylvania
Olivia sighed and stretched contentedly. The sun was warm, almost uncomfortably so on her face, and she was glad for her sunglasses. The grass underneath her felt cool and itchy against her legs below her yellow sundress. Faintly, she could smell the distant smoke of the charcoal grill. Her papa called to her in English. He was so proud of his ability to speak English and showed it off every chance he got.
“Meija, the burgers are almost ready for our big American feast!” He pointed up at the sky. “Hurry! We don’t want to miss the fireworks! They’re starting!” Olivia sat up and smiled at the man. He was wearing everything he could decked out in red, white, and blue. Ever since coming from Cuba at 19, her father had loved his new home.
Looking up at the bright blue sky, Olivia could see them bursting, little balls of black and red flame standing out against the blue sky. She frowned. That wasn’t right. Fireworks were supposed to be at night. The puffs of black and red smoke soon filled the sky, hanging ominously. Suddenly worried, Olivia sat up and pulled her sunglasses down, staring at the roiling mass of black smoke and red flame. She turned to talk to her papa, but he was gone. In his place crouched First Sergeant Harris. He was staring up at the sky intently, then looked down at his rifle. Without looking at her, he said, his voice flat and commanding, “We’re not going to make it, Sergeant Acevedo. Take the rest of the company back around those buildings, then to the rendezvous point. I’m going to buy you some time.”
Olivia opened her mouth to reply, when the first sergeant looked at her, and she recoiled in horror. The side of his body she hadn’t been able to see was charred and blackened, the flesh seared almost to the bone. His face was half normal, stern-but-fatherly first sergeant, and half charred, smoking corpse.
First Sergeant Harris spoke again. His voice was gentle, and
his remaining eye was kind. “Olivia, I need you to step up. Take care of the troops. They’re counting on you.”
Tears welling up in her eyes, Olivia replied, “First Sergeant, I can’t. I need your help. I don’t know what I’m doing.” She gestured down at herself. “I’m not even dressed for drill.”
The first sergeant’s good eye flicked down at her, and the ghost of a smile flickered across the unburned part of his face.
She looked down at her body in horror. The yellow sundress was gone, as were her sunglasses and smooth, tan legs. In their place was the bulky combat uniform she’d worn for the past week, stained with blood, dirt, and smoke. Her boots were coated in ash. Her plate carrier was battered and worn, and her rifle was in her hands.
The ghost of the soldier was firm, but gentle. “This is not your fate, Little Warrior. You do not die here.” Olivia stared at the man she knew to be dead, feeling confused, desperate, and alone. The voice came again, urgently. “It’s time to wake up.”
Perplexed, she looked back up at the sky, pitch black now, with pinpoints of light streaming up into it. Distant popping and indistinct yelling could be heard in the distance. She looked back at her old first sergeant, but where he’d knelt now stood only shadows. The voice came again. “Acevedo. It’s time to wake up.”
With a gasp, Acevedo snapped awake. She had a stabbing pain in her side, and it was pitch black. A hand on her shoulder patted her reassuringly and murmured, “Stay quiet. They may still be close.”
After a moment trying to speak, Acevedo managed to whisper, “Water.” Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her mouth was sticky. A few seconds later, the mouthpiece of a CamelBak was put between her lips, and a gush of warm water shot into her mouth. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. A few seconds later, it was removed.
Rolling onto her side and grimacing from the pain, she demanded, “More.”
“Not until I know what your injuries are, Little Warrior.”