The Dragons of Dunkirk (Worlds at War Book 1)

by Damon Alan

  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.

  According to Herta the information contained on the stones was partially decrypted by a British archaeologist in the last century and contained knowledge about how to travel between worlds.

  It was possible the stones referred to gates such as the type created by the Intepna Hojarr and the Inshu Key.

  He relished the thought of such a long trip with his research team, particularly with Herta. The intellectual conversations, the shared knowledge… it would be glorious.

  Of course, the first priority was still the Ark of the Covenant, but if that research didn’t produce fruit, maybe Herta’s idea would.

  Someone knocked on his door.

  “Come,” he said.

  A technician in a white jumpsuit rolled a cart into the room.

  “Herr Haufmann, the images are fresh from the plane. Dr. Spekt asked that I bring them straight here. She would like to join you in observing the images.

  “I would like that,” Ernst said, unusually pleased. “Please notify her as such.”

  “Heil, von Krosigk,” the man said, snapping his arm into the familiar salute.

  “Heil,” Ernst responded ritually as he moved toward the cart. File boxes stored the images, categorized by time and angle from the aircraft measured in direction and side slant.

  “Hello, Ernst,” a familiar voice called to him.

  Herta.

  “Come in, Fraulein, I mean Dr. Spekt,” he replied, aware of the stupid smile on his face.

  “Herta is fine, Ernst, we are colleagues, not formal acquaintances.”

  He gestured toward the couch. “Please, have a seat. I will roll the cart up, sit beside you, and we can discuss the images. Coffee? Wine?”

  “Wine, please. Half a glass.”

  He poured from a French bottle brought back from the front, or what was the front a week ago. Now it was a chaotic mess of rumor and nonsense.

  He sat her glass on the end table, then his at the other end before sitting next to her. “I am most interested in the film from the time we were over Rotterdam’s presumed location.”

  “Presumed?”

  “That’s right, you were not on the plane, having arrived in Bad Münstereifel after we departed,” he remembered. “We did not find Rotterdam, it was not there.”

  “Not there?” she said, her face perplexed.

  He was happy she didn’t presume to say he was speaking nonsense. “The images will show all, my dear Herta, let us begin. You will be up to speed on the details of our mission by the time our study here is done.”

  They looked at the images for hours. Dinner was brought to them, a delicious roast made for the officers that staffed the bunker complex. He benefited from the fine dining flag officers often experienced.

  When they finished dinner, they returned to the task, sharing conversation. Ernst told her about the dragon attack and how they seemed to have a maximum altitude. Useful information he’d passed on to the German High Command.

  He told her about the magician on the tower, shooting what could only be a magic attack at their aircraft. The engineers looking over the prototype after their return were outraged that the team brought the plane back damaged.

  They laughed together at the engineers. Did these men think combat aircraft would always be shiny and dust free?

  “This one here, is of a German soldier, is it not?” Herta asked. “Standing next to the magician you mentioned?”

  Ernst took the image. It began to shake in his hands. He felt his body trembling as rage built inside.

  “MECKLER!” he exploded as he stood up. He raged around the room, careful not to damage the picture, but a lamp and a few small trinkets on tables were not so lucky.

  Two SS soldiers with MP-40s rushed in. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “GET OUT!” Ernst raged.

  During his loss of control Herta sat calmly on the couch, continuing her work of examining the photographs.

  Finally, Ernst was spent. Meckler was a traitor to the Fatherland.

  “I have more images of him if you need proof for the generals,” Herta said. “I think this makes it quite clear that Meckler is the villain here, not you.”

  He turned to stare at her. That was a very good angle. But he didn’t want his commission back. He wanted more power, the power that would come from appointed office.

  “You have already been more aid to this cause than that sycophant was the entire time he worked with me,” Ernst said. “I admire someone with your composure.”

  She stood up and walked in front of him, drawing close. “You were justified, Meckler is a traitor. I am outraged as well, but as a woman my indignity is demonstrated differently. My father was passionate about Germany as you are.”

  He had never met a woman like her. “Your understanding is all I could ask for.”

  She placed a hand on his suit jacket, splaying out her fingers across the fabric. “I know I am not long in your life or on your team, but I don’t see anyone else applying for the job.” She looked at the floor then back up at him. “I would like to replace Meckler, but you can rest assured, Ernst, I am both loyal to the Fatherland and to those who gift me with opportunity.”

  He was flushed with excitement at her touch. The woman was intoxicating. “I had not thought to have another second in command,” he said softly.

  “I’ve overstepped my bounds,” she said, turning away. “I’m so sorry, you have so much to think about and here I am—”

  “Nonsense,” Ernst said. “You’re right, I need someone to be my voice when I am not here. Or help me on the journeys. This task is too great for one man.”

  She turned back toward him, her face lit up. “I don’t think you aren’t up to the task at all. I just want to help, Ernst Haufmann, and I believe I would serve your needs perfectly.”

  He grabbed her arms and drew her to him. Their kiss was long, warm, and unlike any he’d felt before. “Then it is done,” he told her. “You will replace Meckler, and together we will close this gate the traitor opened upon the Reich’s territories.”

  Her perfect lipstick was smudged slightly from their embrace. “We will, Ernst. We will make it right and find greater power for the Reich.”

  “For the Reich,” he said as he pulled her close again.

  Her fingernails dug into the back of his neck with just the right amount of pain.

  They were going to go far together as a team. They’d close the gate with Meckler on the other side, leaving him there for eternity. And maybe just enough of the fantastical otherworldly enemies on this side to keep the Allies off guard and allow Germany to return to their just war.

  Chapter 25 - The Fire of the Templar

  May 31, 1940

  Wilkes was in back of the Matador for a change. Miller, Timothy, and Harry sat in the front where they could discuss issues at hand.

  “Tell Corporal Martin what you told me,” Harry demanded.

  Miller looked uncomfortable, like he was revealing the secrets of the King himself. “My family has been associated with the Templars, an ancient order of knights, for hundreds of years. Since the age of betrayal, when several knights escaped the slaughter of Jacques DeMolay and the seizure of Templar assets.”

  “What the blazes are you talking about?” Tim said, laughing.

  “Tim, listen to him,” Harry insisted. “He’s got the juice to back it up.”

  “My great grandfather was a part of the founding of the Sovereign Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem last century, near to 1800,” Miller explained. “But that was just the public rebirth of an order that had been underground for centurie
s, and stretched back far past public knowledge of the Templars in the 1200’s.”

  “You’ve both gone loony,” Tim said. “Bad liquor at the last stop, maybe?”

  “Show him,” Harry ordered.

  Miller, sitting in the middle, raised his hand. A deep chill entered the cab despite the open front windshield as he began his effort, and a tiny glow appeared over the palm. Soon the glow became a roiling ball of fire a few inches in diameter, turning in on itself in a constant roil of heat and energy. Frost began to appear on the windows, and the breath of the men created wisps of clouds.

  Timothy stopped the lorry and jumped out onto the country road. “What in the blazes was that?” he yelled.

  The men in the back spilled out to see the concerning matter. Even Jones, who was feeling much better although his arm was still out of commission.

  “The jig is up, Lieutenant,” Miller said, his display no longer in effect. “We might as well show them all.”

  “Give me a minute,” Harry said, alarmed. He’d counted on Timothy’s discretion, apparently that had been asking a lot. He had a few choices. Throw Tim under the wheels and make the men think he’d lost his mind or take the chance that the men would be able to handle Miller’s display of… well, witchcraft was the term that came to Harry’s mind.

  Tim was his friend. Once considered, betraying him was out the question. He really liked Miller, but they weren’t close like he and Timothy.

  “Over here,” Harry ordered the men. “Form a circle around me.”

  Once they did, Harry pushed them back a few yards. To give Miller room, and to make sure nothing physical happened.

  “Miller, here with me,” Harry ordered. “We’re going to get this all out in the open.”

  The puzzled looks on the faces of the men amused Harry and would have been a lot funnier if the situation wasn’t both so strange and serious.

  “Before this starts, the first man to take any action against Miller will get my boot in his arse,” Harry said. “He’s a vital part of this team, the only one that can get a sensible word out of that damned wireless, and we can’t spare him. So if you’re unable to handle what you’re about to see, Dunkirk is that way.” Harry pointed toward what he thought was the right direction. “Good luck.”

  That threat made the men’s faces much more stern. Now they knew something was about to happen that would threaten their unity.

  Harry unhooked the flap of his sidearm. “Now then, Miller. Get to it.”

  Miller raised his hand and once again the glow started over his palm. Soon the small sphere of fire was roiling once more. Harry noted that unlike in the confined cab of the Matador, he didn’t really feel the temperature change much around him.

  The men said nothing other than a few surprised expletives. Nobody wanted to hoof it to Dunkirk, especially not through a line of the dead, but Harry could see a mixture of fascination, horror, and disbelief in their faces now.

  “Something’s awakened in this world,” Harry said, “and Miller’s a conduit. Not a fault of his, but he’s maybe one of the first to realize it. Maybe some of you could do the same.”

  Roughly half of the men put their palms out, Harry almost laughed at the looks of concentration.

  “I’ve got more you haven’t seen, Lieutenant,” Miller said. “It might be useful.”

  “Do it then,” Harry said. “Let’s have it all.”

  Miller swiveled away from the group’s half circle and raised his hands in a cup pointed toward a broken down carriage house on the side of the road.

  The ball of fire shot from the center of his cupped hands, growing as it did so. When it hit the carriage house, it was a few yards across. Dimmer, roiling less violently, but with a lot more volume.

  The raging orange sphere struck, then flowed over the building, like a drop of water might strike an absorbent sheet of paper. It was as if the fire was something the carriage house needed. The entire structure was in flames within a few seconds.

  “Holy mother of Jesus,” Garrett exclaimed from behind him.

  “That’s an affront to God,” Harry heard someone else say.

  He spun around. “Miller’s on our side,” he said angrily. “He’s one of ours. You don’t know God isn’t giving him that ability, and for the first time in my life I can honestly say I might have seen something that proves the bloke exists.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “If you have a problem with Miller’s new ability, or abilities, then as I said, that way to Dunkirk. As I see it, in a world gone mad, at least some of the madness can be put to work by us.”

  Lars Henry, a young private from the northern isles of Scotland, spoke. The kid didn’t say much, it was some effort for him to speak and be understood. “If tis witchcraft, then guid fur us,” he began. “Yin mair gibble against oor enemies.”

  “What did he just say?” Jones asked.

  “Witchcraft is good for us,” Wilkes answered. “Another tool against our enemies.”

  “He’s right,” Harry continued, affirming Henry’s statement. “We need all the help we can get.” He looked at Miller, who looked drained if Harry was being honest, something that helped form his next statement. “I don’t know how often Miller can do this trick of his, or any other he might learn, but imagine how useful that would have been against the pointy ears at our last engagement.”

  Nods. It was hard to deny that logic.

  “Miller is one of us. He’s been honest with us, even beyond my expectations. Therefore, we’ll be straight with him. That’s why anyone who can’t handle what he can do, you can go out on your own. We’ll give you supplies, your equipment, and wish you well.”

  It was the third time Harry had offered to break up the unit. Still no takers. He was pleased. “You’ve had your chance,” he continued, “and you chose to stay. The first one to give Miller a problem, I’ll be dealing with you harshly. Do you understand?”

  Nods. More than a few of the men looked excited by the events of the night. Maybe they felt like Miller offered them more security. Harry wasn’t sure yet, but that burning trick would certainly be useful in a battle. He wondered if it would make a man, or the dead for that matter, as hungry to burn as the carriage shack had been.

  The shack was engulfed now, and flames raged toward the sky.

  Harry waved toward the lorry. “We’re a beacon to every nasty about. Load up, we’re going to get down the road.”

  Two minutes later they were heading toward the east again. The same three men sat in the cab.

  “Timothy, what’s on your mind?” Harry asked.

  “Lots of things,” Tim replied. “I’m nervous. But I see the benefits of Miller’s new talent too. Cooking might be easier.”

  Harry laughed. “Might be.”

  He looked over at Miller, who was smiling. Clearly the revelation had unfolded better than the lad had expected. “Can you teach anyone else the tricks?” Harry asked him.

  “I’m not sure. It’s more of a feeling than a conscious intent.”

  “Well, if you can or can’t, we’re better off than we were a day ago. Fire is a powerful thing.”

  “It is,” Miller agreed.

  “Lighting smokes will be easier too,” Tim said, still thinking of uses.

  Harry laughed. They were going to make it to whatever destiny life had planned for them. And he was more and more certain that destiny was a positive thing.

  It was time to get on with it.

  Chapter 26 - The Toll

  “You scouted all night?” Irsu asked.

  “There will be time to rest at Nollen,” Numo replied. “Most of our way is forest. We will be exposed mainly when we get to the mountain.”

  “Then we should get started,” Irsu replied.

  “I’ll tell the company to expect a hard day’s march,” Coragg said. “Will we stop at all?”

  “Only if we must,” Irsu replied. “The prize is in sight. We will feast when it is in our hands.”

 
; Coragg left to rouse the soldiers for marching. Irsu heard surprisingly little grumbling, at least from the nearby troops.

  Looking from the tree cover out over the plateau of fields, there were even more humans, and now four of the armored boxes with big spitter sticks.

  “We stay hidden,” Irsu advised Numo. “We will progress single file, and every step of every soldier will be on a spot your feet have chosen.” He gestured toward the south for Numo to get moving. “So choose well.”

  They set off along the edge of the plateau, for any human to see them that person would need to be not only at the edge of the level ground looking down on them, but also some distance into the pine trees.

  With the light returning to the sky, the drone of the air machines returned as well. The humans deserved credit, they were searching very hard for the dwarves.

  Unfortunately for the humans, this was the dwarves native type of terrain. They knew how to remain unseen and knew how to both surprise an opponent or sneak around an opponent.

  Today they’d be doing the latter.

  Numo had done wonders in the dark. Irsu, at the front with only Numo ahead of him, saw the work of the scout. He gained a cartload of respect for the strange dwarf. The trail was clearly marked, with scuffed bark, overturned stones, or bent twigs. Soon Irsu was learning to pick out the path before Numo took it.

  This was a skill that would prove useful if they were ambushed and Numo went down. After an hour they were now east of the human encampment, having circled them from the south. They were climbing higher into the mountains, and Irsu’s lungs felt unburdened with too much air for the first time in days.

  “Ahead the first ridge of many,” Numo whispered to him.

  Irsu didn’t pass that along. The troops would find out soon enough.

  “The humans will send troops into the trees,” Coragg said. “They can’t leave this cover unsearched for long, if their commander has a trace of sense in his head.”

  “I’m aware,” Irsu replied.

  “I’m saying you should not be in front.”

  “And I’m saying I’m aware of your concerns,” Irsu snapped back at Coragg before taking his next step forward.