The Dragons of Dunkirk (Worlds at War Book 1)

by Damon Alan

  Hans kicked the creature off to the side, and then knelt down to see to the guard’s condition.

  Just in time to look into the eyes of a dying man.

  There was fear there, fear of something Hans couldn’t see.

  Then there was nothing.

  A shudder tore through Hans, caused by what he’d seen in his dead captor’s eyes. For a moment he remained frozen in horror even as the sounds of devastation echoed through the British encampment.

  “Hans?”

  He looked up. It was Wilkes, one of Harry’s men. Wilkes was a man who possessed some common sense, and Hans somewhat liked as much as one could like a captor. Two other men were with him, all three were carrying an assortment of rifle, machine guns, and ammunition.

  “Private Wilkes, you’re alive. That’s good to see.”

  “We’ve no time for that,” Wilkes said. “Come with me if you want to live.”

  “Where?” Hans asked even as he rose to comply. He shoved his newly acquired pistol into his belt. These creatures could be ended with a bullet, and there was no way he’d agree to be disarmed again.

  “Harry’s at the tent. He’ll be happy to have you with us if you’re of a mind to do so.”

  “Let’s go,” Hans said, offering to take part of Wilkes’ load.

  “I’ll carry, you shoot anything in our way that isn’t human,” Wilkes said. His eyes glanced toward the ground. “Apparently you know where to shoot.”

  “I think I do. I’ll follow your lead.”

  The four men made their way a hundred meters along a line of tents, as they did so an infantry lorry came screaming into the camp. It stopped near them and two men jumped out, one of them heavily wounded with a tear to the flesh of his arm.

  “Where’s the commander?” one asked.

  “No idea, what’s happening?” Wilkes asked in return.

  “Arras Memorial, it’s…” He stopped as if he didn’t believe what he had to say.

  “What?” Wilkes demanded.

  “The dead, they live again,” the man replied as he moved to hold up his comrade. “We don’t have enough bullets for this.”

  The men turned to find someone else who might know where the camp’s commander was.

  “Wait,” Hans said.

  The Brit turned to look at him, seemingly noticing his German uniform for the first time. “What in bloody Hell?”

  “The commandant’s office is that way, four hundred meters,” Hans informed him. “A one-story farm house. You will not miss it if you go that way.”

  The soldier, who Han at first worried might drop his friend and attack him, instead dropped the hostility from his face. “We’ll take this then,” he said, resignation in his voice as he helped his friend back into the vehicle. “It will be quicker.”

  “Come on, lad,” Wilkes urged Hans. “We need to get to the boys.”

  Hans followed him again. Soon they were inside the unit’s tent, after passing four of Harry’s men standing guard outside. None of the men even blinked at seeing Hans.

  Inside the tent smelled of blood and fear.

  “It’s you!” Harry said, clasping the German by the shoulder. “Good job, Wilkes, you’ve helped me keep my word.”

  “They can be killed,” Hans replied. “I did so.”

  “I know.” Harry pointed at a pile in the corner, a pile of bones and malformed human flesh. “That one rose up right under Jenkin’s cot.”

  “That explains the smell in here,” Hans said.

  Harry only nodded as he started passing out the guns Wilkes had secured. “Well done, Wilkes! We have enough ammo for some time.”

  The private beamed under the praise of the sergeant. Hans could see Harry was still effective as a leader, despite all the strange goings on.

  “We’ll need to get away from whatever is causing this,” Harry said, waving toward the corpse. “We may need to fight our way out of the camp.”

  “It’s all the WWI soldiers buried here where they fell,” Timothy said. “I’d wager my next meal it’s associated with the strange things we’ve seen this week.”

  “That’s absurd,” someone said.

  Gunfire from outside accentuated Timothy’s claim.

  “You deny your own eyes,” Tim said to his heckler. “Not a good move if you want to live.”

  “Can’t wager what you don’t know you’ll have, Tim, but I agree,” Harry said. “Something is bringing the dead back, and they’re not fighting on our side.”

  Harry handed Hans his Karabiner. “You can have this, there are still seven rounds. Or you can take one of the French MAS-36s Wilkes got us.”

  “I’ll take both if there is enough,” Hans said. The Kar98K was comfort. But seven rounds was a problem. The MAS would be his backup, his new British friends had thousands of rounds for those.

  “Everyone load up,” Harry ordered. “Timothy and I will take the Hotchkiss along with rifles. Everyone will carry one canister of the 11mm ammo for the machine gun. If we meet more of those armored chaps, we’ll need plenty.”

  Two minutes later they were all armed, even the four men outside who were the source of many of the shots they heard. The bodies of the dead lay about, along with a few Brit soldiers from other squads.

  “Let’s get to the lorries and get our Matador,” Harry ordered. “Hans, you’re in back this time. Put your rifle skills to work.”

  “Yah,” Hans replied. “I just want to get out of this alive.”

  Harry nodded at him in agreement. “Depends on how many of the dead are rising, and how well they stand up to being run over by a three-ton lorry, I suppose.”

  “We should go find out.”

  Harry picked up the Hotchkiss to carry as he ran. “Let’s do that.”

  Chapter 11 - Hell, Hitler

  May 23, 1940

  “The Führer has been assassinated,” the field radio blared.

  Ernst was surprised to see such openness about the event. The Nazis weren’t exactly forthcoming with information for the most part. That meant the release of this information had an unseen goal that would satisfy the killers of Herr Hitler.

  What could that goal be?

  “Generals Franz Halder and Walther von Brauchitsch have been arrested following the assassination, any and all officials related closely to the two generals are to be arrested on sight. A list of potential conspirators will be forwarded to all front-line field offices.”

  Who was in power now?

  Ernst hated such unpredictability. He was well under way with picking staff for his research team, many of them were already being delivered to Bad Münstereifel, where Ernst would assemble them into what he needed.

  Disorder at the top of the German command structure would only frustrate his requests for supplies and any additional staff.

  On the list of things he needed were several occult artifacts that were only rumored to exist. The Ark of the Covenant being one, although it was most likely to be real of all the items on his list. Ernst believed the Ark to be far more than the icon of faith the religious idiots who claimed to harbor it did. In his opinion it was the Ark that separated the Earth from other worlds like the one intruding on it now.

  Something about the Intepna Hojarr, however, had pierced that protection.

  Ernst felt the solution was to bring the Ark closer to the breach, and with that proximity whatever protective field emanated from the Ark would be powerful enough to seal the breech.

  That was his first plan.

  He was still letting a backup plan coalesce in his mind. The one that kept popping into his mind was “flee to Switzerland”, which wasn’t a valid solution. If whoever was Führer now continued to prosecute the war, it was only a matter of time before the Swiss too were brought into the Reich. After all, Germans everywhere deserved to be under a German banner.

  For now, plan A would do. He’d assemble his team and get closer to the breach, to see if there was an obvious way to close it. If not, his team would go to Ethiop
ia and secure the Ark if it existed there.

  Tomorrow most of the occult specialists he needed would arrive. He had a transport plane waiting nearby, his team would fly over the breach if that was possible. Take images. Then bring them back here where they’d brainstorm a plan.

  He looked at the open book on his desk. Open to a page displaying an artist’s rendition of the Ark of the Covenant. It didn’t look like it would be hard to steal, if the depiction was accurate, it seemed two men could pick it up like a litter and just walk away with it.

  If that were so why hadn’t it been stolen before?

  He’d need experts to determine that as well.

  Why was life so complicated? It was easier for the religious. They got to blame everything on their God, or their Devil. For him, the best he could hope for was for someone else to take the blame for any mistakes he made.

  Meckler had already paid a price higher than Ernst wished to pay and was no longer available to be Ernst’s scapegoat.

  He’d need to find another.

  Chapter 12 - Resistance

  “So, there are several human factions?” Coragg asked as they marched. “Why not let them kill each other and save our soldiers for the cleanup?”

  “They’re pathetic at it. Their slug spitters aren’t worth the metal in them,” Irsu scoffed. “We need to engage, or they’ll breed faster than they die.”

  Several warriors around laughed.

  Over the last several days the Iron Company had attacked four different units of humans, all in dark gray uniforms. One unit had prisoners from a different human faction, wearing brown uniforms. Bordnu had ordered those humans set free and given them a scroll with directions on it.

  Irsu had protested, but Bordnu overruled him, saying that the effect on the enemy when they got the scroll would be worth a few humans surviving the engagement.

  Later, marching with his platoon, Irsu had a thought.

  “It occurs to me, Coragg.” Irsu raised his face plate and scratched his nose. “Do you think the humans can read stonescript?”

  Coragg raised his visor, stared at Irsu, then chuckled. “No, of course not. Why didn’t anyone think of that before?”

  Irsu shook his head and hefted his axe higher on his shoulder. “We won’t make that mistake again.”

  They marched several hours, until the sun sat low in the west. There were plenty of roads, but the company avoided them. They moved across the countryside, and where possible, through forests. Several times over the last days they had to make rafts to cross streams. The latest terrain the dwarves marched across was rolling hills dotted with fertile fields. Slowly the hills grew higher and Irsu knew that mountainous terrain was ahead somewhere.

  Ahead of them was a small country farm, lit with the bright and unseemly torches the humans used. They couldn’t see in the dark, but does that mean they needed to banish it as an enemy? Hardly, but that’s what they did. It was hard to even see the stars.

  The dwarves of Iron Company spread out

  A strange vehicle pulled into the grounds ahead of them, let onto the property by a group of the gray soldiers who guarded the fencing and the gate. Strange wire with razors on it wove around the wood of the fence and would make crossing the barrier hard for anyone not wearing armor.

  The ugly four-armed waterwheel flag fluttered over the front of the house on a pole.

  “That razor wire is a great idea,” Coragg said. “We should carry that idea back to our homes with us.”

  Irsu grunted. “Useless against armor.”

  “But perfect for thieves and spies.”

  “Good point,” Irsu conceded. “Get some if you can, after we take this place.”

  “We attack then?”

  “Why not? Bordnu will decide, but he won’t want to leave any enemies behind us who might find our trail. It’s not like you’re not leaving footprints, you fat oaf.”

  “Food is good,” Coragg said in tacit agreement with the fat remark. “I hope they have something good to eat inside, if we’re going to take this place.”

  Bordnu tapped Irsu on the shoulder. “When my platoon charges, we all charge. There are two fortifications with the heavier spitter sticks that can penetrate our armor. One is just north of the house, the other is south. Your platoon will destroy the north one.”

  “And the humans inside the building? They must be important to be so well guarded. Do we take them?”

  “They are of no use to us,” was all Bordnu had to say before he disappeared back into the dark. Iron company had polished armor, and in the darkness under the light of Earth’s large moon it danced with streaks of light. The effect was almost magical in appearance.

  Moments later Bordnu’s platoon charged toward the front gate with a war scream. Irsu pushed through the brush shielding his unit from view, then screamed his rage at the enemy. Hearthstone platoon rushed across a small field to the fence, arriving just as the enemy opened fire with their spitter sticks.

  “Coragg, get this fence down,” Irsu ordered.

  “Aye,” his second answered as he tossed his pack on the ground to remove tools.

  “Crossbows!” he barked to his soldiers. “Suppress the spitter sticks!”

  Just as he finished the order, the nested spitter stick Bordnu had mentioned opened fire on the fence row. Several of his soldiers grunted as they were knocked off their feet, he noticed two of them not struggling to get up. That made him angry. These were his brothers in arms.

  He unstrapped his crossbow as his archers fired their first volley at the enemy.

  The heavy spitter silenced for a moment, then started back up again, and more of his platoon fell.

  He set his axe into the ground, then leveled the crossbow on the hilt of the axe. The two weapons were designed to work together as a firing platform and base. He stuck a dagger blade into the pulley for the bow string, pulling it back into position until it clicked. He placed a quarrel given him by a priest while he was still at Iron Mountain into the breach of the weapon.

  “Ixtithius,” he muttered, and the bolt came alive with a red glow.

  Even as the ground erupted around him with more spitter fire, he carefully aimed at the flames the heavy spitter emitted. Then he fired.

  The quarrel lanced across the field, a red streak flying straight and true to the target. Irsu couldn’t tell exactly what it hit, but it didn’t matter. A sphere of red light erupted from the impact point, as wide as a full-grown cave bear could stretch. Everything inside the light began to smoke, and the screams began. The humans operating the spitter writhed as their skin began to boil from their bodies, their uniforms catching on fire as well.

  The bolt wasn’t done. The heat continued to rise, until the spitter itself exploded due to the fire powder the human weapons used.

  The light blinked out as orange hot slag that had been the human weapon drooped to the ground, centered in a circle of glowing dirt turned to glass. No trace of the humans remained, having been turned to carbon.

  “By the beard of the Underking, how many of those do you have?” Coragg asked.

  “That was one of three,” Irsu said. “Worth spending seeing as we were dying.”

  “Aye,” Coragg agreed. “Spend one sooner next time.”

  As other humans with portable spitter sticks attacked, the dwarven crossbows picked them off. Soon the field near the house seemed covered with bodies, and the field by the fence as well.

  “I’m through this infernal wire,” Coragg told him.

  “We go in, but we’ve done our part. Bordnu gave us a target, and we took it out.”

  “We’re done fighting?”

  “No, but we’re done sticking our heads up.” Irsu turned to his soldiers. “Agits, Norgrin, get the wounded lined up by the fence here,” he ordered, his arms sweeping out an area for them to use. “Put the dead in a stack over there. We’ll put them on wagons when the carts show up.”

  The two soldiers snapped to their duties.

  “The re
st of you, we’re headed to the house. Another lesson learned at an absurd price. We’ll need to be more cautious against the spitter nests.”

  They pushed through the broken fence line and headed to the still lit house. Bordnu’s unit had pushed through the front gate after killing everyone there. His brother met him near the front door of the house.

  “Losses?” Bordnu asked.

  “Several.”

  “Their spirits will join the ancestors. Let’s get inside.”

  Bordnu kicked the front door in, a human inside had a spitter that fit in one hand. He shot it at Bordnu until it clicked, none of the slugs from it penetrated his brother’s stout armor.

  A swift swing of his axe, and Bordnu took the human down at the legs. Another swing stopped the screaming.

  Scrambling toward the back of the house alerted Irsu to more humans. He rushed through an open archway to see a girl and a boy. Both were young, prior to breeding age.

  Bordnu stepped up behind Irsu. “Step aside. They’re of no use to us.”

  “We don’t kill children,” Irsu said.

  “We don’t leave anyone that can report on us either,” Bordnu replied.

  “They are young and will not be of any use reporting our mission. I demand their lives be spared.”

  Bordnu stared at him, then finally grunted. “The risk is great. The price is on your shoulders.”

  “No price greater than my soul would pay to kill children,” Irsu snapped. “We will not have this discussion again if it arises in the future.”

  “You’re in command now?” Bordnu barked back at him.

  “If you do otherwise, Mother will know.”

  Bordnu glared at him, then swiveled about to storm away.

  The “threat of telling Mother” card had won. Neither son wanted to be the one to see her face broken in shame of her children. For his part, resorting to that tactic made Irsu feel like a suckling babe once more, but not in a good way.

  He walked to the back door of the room, a kitchen, and kicked that door open. “These children are free to flee into the night,” he yelled outward.