The Iron Fey Series Volume 2

Alpha was halfway up the lawn when the roof exploded.

Something dark, scaly and massive erupted from the hacienda, sending tile and wood flying as it launched itself into the air. It was huge, a full-grown adult, the height of a bull elephant and three times as long. Curved horns spiraled up from its narrow skull, and a mane of spines ran down its neck to a long, thrashing tail. The sun glinted off midnight scales, and leathery wings cast a long shadow over the ground as the dragon hovered in the air a moment, glaring down at the battle below, then dove to attack.

Wings flared, it landed on the lawn with a roar that shook the earth, and sent a cone of flame blasting through the ranks of soldiers. Bodies fell away, screaming, flailing, as hellish dragonfire consumed armor and flesh like tinder. The dragon pounced, scything through the ranks with its claws, crushing soldiers in its teeth before flinging them away. Its tail whipped out, striking an entire group coming up behind it and knocking them aside like bowling pins.

Now! I leaped to my feet, as did the rest of my squad, and opened fire on the huge reptile. The M16s chattered in sharp, three-round bursts, and I aimed carefully for the dragon’s side, behind the front foreleg where the heart would be. Blood erupted along the armored hide, and the dragon screamed as some of the shots hit home, though not enough to kill it. It staggered, and I pressed forward grimly, concentrating fire on its weak points. If we could kill it quickly, the less damage it could do, and the fewer lives it would take. There could be no hesitation on our part; it was either us, or the dragon.

Directly across from us, a black jeep with a mounted .50 caliber Browning M2 burst from the bushes, and machine gun fire joined the cacophony as the vehicle sped toward the dragon. Caught in a deadly crossfire, the dragon roared. Bounding away, it opened its leathery wings and launched itself into the air with a powerful downward thrust.

“Aim for the wings!” the commander barked in my ear, though I was already switching targets, methodically firing at the sweeping membranes. “Bring it down now! Don’t let it fly away.”

But the dragon had no intention of fleeing. Roaring, it turned and swooped from the sky, dropping fifteen tons of scales, teeth and claws onto its target. It smashed full force into the jeep, halting its momentum, crushing the hood and causing the driver to fly into the windshield. The gunner flew from the back, tumbling to the ground and sprawling limply in the ferns. With a triumphant bellow, the dragon overturned the whole vehicle, crushing metal and glass and turning the jeep into a mangled wreck. I winced inside, but there was no time to think on the lives lost. We would pay our respects to the fallen when the battle was won.

My squad switched fire back to the dragon’s flank. Streaked with blood, the dragon jerked, and that long neck snapped around, a murderous gleam in its red eyes as it glared in our direction.

“Hold position!” I snapped to the rest of my squad, as the dragon roared a challenge and spun, tail lashing. “I’ll draw it off. Keep firing!”

I left my hiding place and started forward, firing short, controlled bursts as I did, heading around the dragon’s side. Spotting me, the dragon reared its head back and took a breath, and my pulse spiked. I dove away as fire erupted from its jaws, searing into the jungle and setting the trees ablaze. Rolling to my feet, I looked up to see the huge lizard coming for me, jaws gaping wide. My heart pounded, but my hands remained steady as I raised my gun and fired at the horned skull, knowing the thick breastplate would protect its chest and stomach. The dragon flinched, shaking its head as the shots struck its bony brow and cheekbones, and kept coming.

I threw myself to the side as the dragon’s head shot forward, jaws snapping shut in the spot I had been. Quick as a snake, it whipped its neck around and lunged again, teeth that could shear through a telephone pole coming right at me. I avoided the six-inch fangs, but the massive, horned head still crashed into my side, and even through the combat vest, pain erupted through my ribs. The ground fell away as the force hurled me into the air, the world spinning around me, and I rolled several paces when I struck the earth again. Clenching my jaw, I pushed myself to my elbows and looked up...

...into the crimson eyes of my enemy.

The dragon loomed overhead, dark and massive, its wings partially open to cast a huge shadow over the ground. I looked up, gazing into its ancient, alien face, saw myself reflected in those cold red eyes that held no mercy, no pity or understanding; just raw hate and savage triumph. It took a breath, nostrils flaring, and I braced myself for the killing flames. There was no fear, no remorse. I was a soldier of St. George; to die honorably in battle against our oldest foe was all I could hope for.

A single shot rang out from somewhere in the jungle, the sharp report echoing loudly even in the chaos. The dragon jerked and lurched sideways with a roar, a bright spray of blood erupting from its side, as the armor-piercing .50 caliber sniper round struck right behind its foreleg, straight into the heart. The precision-perfect shot that Tristan St. Anthony was known for. The blow knocked the dragon off its feet, and the ground shook as it finally collapsed. Wailing, it struggled to rise, clawing at the ground, wings and tail thrashing desperately. But it was dying, its struggles growing weaker even as the soldiers continued to pump it full of rounds. From where I lay, I watched its head hit the ground with a thump, watched its struggles grow weaker and weaker, until it was almost still. Only the faint, labored rise and fall of its ribs, and the frantic twitch of its tail, showed it was still clinging to life.

As it lay there, gasping, it suddenly rolled its eye back and looked at me, the slitted, bright red pupil staring up from the dirt. For a moment, we stared at each other, dragon and slayer, caught in an endless cycle of war and death.

I bowed my head, still keeping the dragon in my sights, and murmured, “In nomine Domini Sabaoth, sui filiiqui ite ad Infernos.” In the name of the Lord of Hosts and his son, depart to hell. An incantation taught to all soldiers, from when they’d believed dragons were demons and might possess you in a final attempt to remain in the world. I knew better. Dragons were flesh and blood; get past their scales and armor, and they died just like anything else. But they were also warriors, brave in their own way, and every warrior deserved a final send off.

A low rumble came from the dying dragon. Its jaws opened, and a deep, inhuman voice emerged through the screams and gunfire. “Do not think you have won, St. George,” it rasped, glaring at me in disdain. “I am but a single scale in the body of TALON. We will endure, as we always have, and we grow stronger even as your race destroys itself from within. You, and all your kind, will fall before us. Soon.”

Then the light behind the crimson orbs dimmed. The dragon’s lids closed, its head dropped to the ground, and its whole body shuddered. With a last spasm, the wings stilled, the tail beating the earth ceased, and the huge reptile went limp as it finally gave up its fight for life.

I slumped, collapsing to my back in the dirt, as cheers rose around me. Soldiers began emerging from the trees, shaking their weapons and letting out victory cries. Beyond the massive corpse, bodies from both sides lay scattered about the lawn, some stirring weakly, some charred to blackened husks. Flames still flickered through the trees, black columns of smoke billowing into the sky. The crumpled remains of the jeep smoldered in the middle of the field, testament to the awesome power of the huge reptile.

The firefight with the guards had ceased. Now that their master was gone, the last of the enemy was fleeing into the jungle. No orders were given to track them down; we already had what we’d come for. In a few minutes, another crew would chopper in, clean up the debris, raze the hacienda, and make all the bodies disappear. No one would ever know that a monstrous, fire-breathing creature of legend died here this afternoon.

I looked at the lifeless dragon, crumpled in the dirt while the squads milled around its body and grinned and slapped each other on the back. A few soldiers approached the huge carcass, shaking their heads at the size, disgust and awe written on their faces. I stayed where I was. It was not the first dead dragon I’d seen, though it was the largest I’d ever fought. It would not be the last. I wondered, very briefly, if there would ever be a “last.”

Dragons are evil; that was what every soldier of St. George was taught. They are demons. Wyrms of the devil. Their final goal is the enslavement of the human race, and we are the only ones standing between them and the ignorant.

While I wasn’t certain about the entire wyrms of the devil part, our enemy certainly was strong, cunning and savage. I’d fought enough battles, seen enough of what they could do, to know they were ruthless. Merciless. Inhuman. Their power was vast, and they only got stronger with age. Thankfully, there weren’t many ancient dragons in the world anymore, or at least, most of our battles were against smaller, younger dragons. To take down this huge, powerful adult was an enormous victory for our side. I felt no remorse in killing the beast; this dragon was a central figure in the South American cartels, responsible for the deaths of thousands. The world was a better place with it gone.

My ribs gave a sharp, painful throb, and I gritted my teeth. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and the fight was done, I turned my attention to my injury. My combat vest had absorbed a good bit of the damage, but judging from the pain in my side, the force of the blow had still cracked a rib or two.

“Well, that was amusing. If you ever get tired of the soldier life, maybe you should consider a career as a dragon soccer ball. You flew nearly twenty feet on that last hit.”

I raised my head as a mound of weeds and moss melted out of the undergrowth, shuffling to my side. It carried a Barrett M107A1 .50 caliber sniper rifle in one shaggy limb, and the other reached up to tug back its hood, revealing a smirking, dark-haired soldier four years my senior, his eyes so blue they were almost black.

“You okay?” Tristan St. Anthony asked, crouching down beside me. His ghillie suit rustled as he shrugged out of it, setting it and the rifle carefully aside. “Anything broken?”

“No” I gritted out, setting my jaw as pain stabbed through me. “I’m fine. Nothing serious, it’s just a cracked rib or two.” I breathed cautiously as the commander emerged from the trees, slowly making his way toward us. I watched him bark orders to the other squads, point at the dragon and the bodies scattered about, and struggled carefully upright. The medic would be here in a few minutes, taking stock of the wounded, seeing who could be saved. I glanced at Tristan. “Killing shot goes to you, then, doesn’t it? How big was the pot this time?”

“Three hundred. You’d think they’d figure it out by now.” Tristan didn’t bother hiding the smugness in his voice. Glancing over, he gave me an appraising look. “Though I guess I should give you a portion, since you were the one who set it up.”

“Don’t I always?” Tristan and I had been partners awhile now, ever since I turned fourteen and joined the real missions, three years ago. He’d lost his first partner to dragonfire, and hadn’t been pleased with the notion of “babysitting a kid,” despite the fact that he was only eighteen himself. His tune changed when, on our first assignment together, I’d saved him from an ambush, nearly gotten myself killed, and managed to shoot the enemy before it could slaughter us both. Now, three years and dozens of battles later, I couldn’t imagine having someone else at my back. We’d saved each other’s lives so often, we’d both lost count.

“Still.” Tristan shifted to one knee, grinning faintly. “You’re my partner, you nearly got yourself eaten, and you might’ve set a world record for distance in being head-butted by a dragon. You deserve something.” Tristan nodded, then dug in his pocket and flourished a ten-dollar bill. “Here you go, partner. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

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