Dragons Of Englor

Chapter 21

Elva Thompson showed her identification to the sentry at the gate. He scanned it by the faint light of a hooded flashlight. Elva had to fight to keep a smile off her lips. The blackout would not save the Special Operations compound when the dragons came. It would make it easier for her to slip out into the countryside and call the dragons down out of the sky.

«Sure you want to go out tonight, Miss Thompson? The weather's making up for a storm.»

«Thank you, corporal. But I've spent just a few too many hours at my desk. I need to take a walk and unwind.»

«All right, miss. I'll log you out. Don't go too far down the path to the left. The river's up a bit and the ground's gone bad.»

«Thank you. I'll be careful.» The corporal opened the gate for her and she strode out of the compound. The gravel of the parking lot crunched under her feet.

Elva crossed the parking lot at a leisurely walk. By the time she'd reached the far side of the lot, she was out of sight from the gate. She swung to the right and broke into a steady lope that was almost a run.

Her goal was a field two miles to the north, a field bordered on the east by a long thin strip of woods. In those woods she'd concealed the equipment for tonight's work.

Each dragon landing tonight had a small radio receiver surgically implanted in its skull. In the woods Elva had a portable transmitter, broadcasting on a selection of wavelengths that the dragons' receivers could pick up. On some of those wavelengths she could activate the pleasure centers of the dragons' brains, to draw them irresistably toward her. On other wavelengths she would work on the pain centers, driving the dragons into a fury.

Tonight she would use pleasure to bring the dragons out of the sky, practically on top of the compound, then use pain to drive them mad. They would rampage about the area, smashing and slaying everything in their paths. Then she would turn on the pleasure again. The dragons would become as harmless as lambs while she moved about freely, gathering up files and films from the ruins of the headquarters.

Then there would be pain again, and the dragons on the loose to spread terror and destruction across the countryside. As the dragons cleared a path for her, she would at last make her way to the river to wait for her rescuers.

She hoped she would not have to wait long. She had done well for the Red Flames. So she felt she deserved all the rewards they'd promised her. She wouldn't say that out loud, of course. General Golovin had a reputation for dealing harshly with those he thought were getting greedy. But General Golovin was not the only man with power in Russland. If necessary, she could earn the gratitude and support of some of the others.

After a while she had to leave the path and cut across country. The long grass was already wet with the night's dew and quickly dampened her slacks up to the knee, while brambles jabbed their thorns into her.

The mile of cross-country walking slowed her, but she still had plenty of time when she reached the field. It stretched before her, dark and empty and agreeably silent. On the far side the trees rose in a forbidding wall. She lay down, watching for any sign of ambush.

The darkness and the silence remained unbroken. Crouching low, she made her way across the field. With a sigh of relief she grasped the handles of the transmitter and dragged it out of its hiding place. It weighed less than thirty pounds, so it had been easy for her to carry it to the woods. Now it was easy for her to carry it back out again.

On top of the transmitter was a small balloon. Elva pulled the cord to inflate it, and watched while it swelled into a six-foot sphere of dark plastic. Then she carried it out into the open and released it. It rose into the night, the antenna wire trailing behind it. She waited until the antenna was fully unreeled, activated the transmitter, and set the frequency selector to one of the pleasure wavelengths.

Then she leaned back against the moss-grown trunk of an elm. Her work was done for the moment. She looked at her watch. The signals pouring out into the night should be reaching the dragons now. The leading wave of tonight's attack should be no more than twenty miles offshore.

Richard Blade stood on the bridge of the motor torpedo boat, staring up into the sky and listening to the reports as they came in over the radio. He knew there was no good reason for staring at the sky yet. The nearest dragons would still be well out of sight. Watching the sky merely eased the strain of waiting.

With every minute, a new report of dragons came in from the radar stations along the coast or from the patrol planes offshore. The young lieutenant in command of the torpedo boat was beginning to fidget.

«Damn it,» he finally muttered. «Why can't the planes hit the dragons before they land? It makes more sense to get them in the air.»

Blade hesitated, not wanting to reveal information that was not yet in general circulation. But he happened to know that the lieutenant came from an East Coast town. His wife and baby daughter were there now, where the dragons might land tonight. The man had a right to know at least some of the truth.

«They aren't a good target for missiles,» said Blade. «If a plane slows down enough to hit them with its guns, it's likely to stall out and crash. Antiaircraft guns can pick them off while they're in the air, but there aren't enough antiaircraft guns.» The lieutenant nodded, obviously wishing that things were otherwise, but was silent.

Blade's eyes swept forward and aft along the boat's deck. The sailors were at the bow and stern cannon, in their helmets and flak vests. His own men sat on the torpedo tubes or leaned against the superstructure. Each man carried an Uzi and a light antitank rocket launcher. The decks were piled with extra rocket rounds and ammunition cans. Blade hoped no dragon would get a good breath of flame onto that deck. The fireworks would be spectacular and deadly.

He checked his own weapons. Blade carried his Enfield 7 rifle, now fitted with infrared telescopic sights, a heavy revolver, hand grenades, and a flare pistol.

More minutes, more reports. Then suddenly the lieutenant pointed a shaking hand upward into the darkness. Blade raised his eyes from the man's pale face and also stared upward.

Dim but unmistakable in the night, three dragons were gliding in across the river. They came and went so fast that they might have seemed ghosts if the radar operator hadn't called in.

«Sir, it looks like they're heading upriver. Estimate landing point about ten miles west.»

«Very good. Keep tracking them until they go off the screen.»

Before the first three dragons went off the screen more swept in from the sea, three, six, ten at a time. All were following nearly the same path as the first three.

The lieutenant smiled shakily. «The buggers are going to be landing right on top of each other if they aren't careful.» It was a weak joke delivered in a weak voice. Blade said nothing.

Still more minutes, more reports, and more dragons. Blade found himself coming alert at the slightest noise. His reason told him that the dragons could not attack the boat from a thousand feet up. His instincts told him that it would be death to attract the notice of a single one of those monsters gliding eerily overhead.

Blade stopped thinking of minutes. Time became something long and formless, without beginning or end.

Then the speaker crackled. «Radio message, sir. Dagger to Buckle Teams. Hollyhock.»

Blade grinned. «Dagger» was R, and the «Buckle Teams» were his own striking force in their helicopters and boats. «Hollyhock» was the order to move in. R had reached his decision about where the dragons were landing. Now the trap was going to close.

Blade slapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. «Let's get underway. Up the river, standard cruising speed.»

«Aye, aye, colonel.»

The engines rumbled into life and the deck began to vibrate, then tilted gently aft as the boat got underway. Blade clung to the bridge railing and the grin on his face grew broader.

It felt good to be springing the trap, instead of having one sprung on him.

Elva Thompson straddled the branch, counting dragons. She stopped when she'd counted a hundred, landing in the field or passing so low overhead that they were certainly about to land. Then she scrambled down the tree, so fast that she tore her slacks all along the inside of one thigh.

She ran quickly to the transmitter. The dials showed that everything was still working, and the batteries had a good hour's life still in them. That would be more than enough time to finish her work.

She lifted the transmitter and hooked the carrying straps over her shoulders and around her waist. Her hand reached for the main knob that would turn the broadcast wavelength from pleasure to pain, turn the dragons from docile to furious. The hand wavered for a moment, then twisted the knob.

Pain roared and thundered in the brains and along the nerves of all the dragons. They roared and thundered in turn. Elva clapped her hands over her ears as the sound filled the darkness all around her. It seemed that the ground itself was shaking so that the trees might fall down on top of her and crush her into the earth.

Then the roaring and thundering of the dragons started finding echoes. Elva listened, in surprise and confusion and mounting fear. There shouldn't be any such thing as the sounds swelling in the air high above.

Then fear swamped her as she recognized the sounds. Rockets were coming down out of the sky at the dragons-at her. They might have been launched from the air, from the ground, even from the sea that was so close and had promised a road to safety. She didn't know or care. She only knew that the rockets had been launched, and now they were about to land.

She would have broken into a run, dashing in panic for the river or anyplace else away from the sound of the rockets. But her legs would not move. She pressed herself against a tree for support-transmitter, dragons, mission and everything else but the rockets totally forgotten.

Then the night was full of flame and thunder, as the rockets landed.

The bridge of the torpedo boat wasn't high enough to give Blade the view he wanted. He climbed up the mast and braced himself on the mounting for the radar. It was a precarious perch. The torpedo boat was working up to more than thirty knots, vibrating wildly and lurching sickeningly from side to side every time it rounded a bend in the river. Blade had to cling with both hands to the mast to keep from being shaken to the deck or even straight over the side.

He was holding on when the rockets arched across the sky and exploded among the dragons. He saw the yellow flames of the explosions and the blazing silver trails of white phosphorus. He saw dragons thrown into the air, some whole, some in pieces. He saw others knocked out of the air by the concussion, to land among the writhing remains of their comrades. He saw the orange fire-breath of the dragons, now pitiful instead of terrifying. He saw all this, and he wondered if there was going to be anything for his own men to do. It looked as if the salvos of artillery rockets R had called in on the dragons' main landing site might do nearly all that would be needed.

There was no way to be sure about that, not without men going over the ground with weapons in their hands to deal with whatever might be left. Blade scrambled down the mast and into the radio room to get reports from the other Buckle Teams.

One by one they checked in. One by one they reported dead dragons all over the place, but plenty of live ones as well. They were going into action, and Blade wished them good luck and good hunting. He didn't need to do anything else. Picked men from Special Operations and the Imperial Marine Commandos could fight anything, without officers looking over their shoulders.

The rocket trails flamed across the sky for a few more minutes, then stopped. R didn't want to risk hitting the Buckle Teams as they moved in against the dragons. Then the radio crackled again, and it was R's own voice that Blade heard coming over the air.

«Dagger to Buckle One. We have reports of an unidentified small craft seen heading upriver about half an hour ago. Also, Imperial Navy Patrol Craft 991 reports a probable submarine contact off the estuary. Suggests possible attempt to land or extract saboteurs under cover of dragon operations.»

«Buckle One to Dagger. Description of small craft.»

«Dagger to Buckle One. Estimate is standard Russland folding assault boat with outboard motor. Crew and armament unknown. Continue to give first priority to operations against dragons in your area.»

As Blade hung up the earphones, he heard the torpedo boat's engines suddenly slow. A moment later he had to grab the battle light to brace himself as the boat swung into a sharp turn. He was still holding on for balance when both bow and stern guns cut loose with an ear-splitting pom-pom-pom. Smoke swirled in through the hatch as Blade hauled himself furiously up the ladder.

As his head thrust into the open, he saw the whole deck lit up by the streams of tracer spewed out by the boat's deck guns. The light shells were tearing into a dragon lurching along the bank. It dragged itself a few more yards, then collapsed and rolled into the water with a sullen splash.

Another dragon reared up from behind a line of trees, flame licking out from its mouth. The jet of flame leaped across the water toward the boat, but couldn't reach all the way. Two of the rocket launchers went off together and both rockets took the dragon in the mouth. The dragon's long neck still heaved up and down, but suddenly there was no longer a head on it. The guns swung toward the maimed dragon, chopping into its body.

Blade sprang down onto the deck and unslung his rifle. The battle against the dragons was joined now. The range was long for sharpshooting under these conditions, but Blade did not want to be left out of the battle. He was too much of a hunter by instinct. Another dragon loomed up on the opposite side of the river, the rifle came up, Blade's eye clamped to the sight, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Elva Thompson was walking toward the river. After two miles she no longer had the breath to run. She could only be sure her legs were still attached to her body because pain stabbed through them every time she took a step.

She stumbled on, tearing through a prickly hedge. By the time she was clear of it, one sleeve of her blouse and one leg of her slacks were ripped from her body. She thought: «At this rate I'll show up on the river bank with no more clothes on than a Palladium stripteaser.» The thought did not stop or slow her. It could not, as long as the thought of reaching the river drew her onward. She'd survived the rockets, she'd survived the slaughter of the dragons, she'd been able to get rid of the transmitter. After all that, she wasn't going to let a simple cross-country run defeat her.

She half-scrambled, half-rolled down a bank into a ditch filled with stagnant water. She arose shivering and soaked to the skin, the slime stinging her cuts and scrapes. She staggered across the road, aware that she was in full view but ignoring it. She knew the road. On the other side of it lay the last stretch of woodland and field before the river.

Elva was unaware of crossing that last stretch. It seemed to her that she crossed it in a single leap, to find herself by the river bank. She held on to a branch and craned her neck. She almost lost her grip when she saw the slim black assault boat with the two men in it, snugged close against the bank just upstream. She managed to hold on with one hand and use the other to signal. The boat slid across the water toward her, and one of the men rose from his seat to help her down into it. She huddled between his knees, bent almost double, as the other man opened the throttle wide. The boat lifted as suddenly and as violently as if it was going to take off like a seaplane, the bow rising and the stern digging in. They raced out into the river and headed downstream.

Elva felt an immense release of the tension and the pain that had filled her for so long. Not a complete release, though-not yet. They still had to reach the sea and the submarine waiting for them. Was the river defended as the land had been? Someone had learned enough to lay a murderous ambush for the dragons. Had they learned everything? For a moment fear stabbed at her again.

The fear was fading again as the assault boat swept around a bend in the river. Elva looked ahead-and all her breath tore itself out of her body in one terrible shriek.

The assault boat and the motor torpedo boat were each doing nearly thirty knots. So it was at a combined speed of nearly sixty knots that they met bows-on, and the torpedo boat pounded the smaller craft out of existence. Elva Thompson had no time for any last thoughts or words. Death came at her too swiftly, as the torpedo boat smashed her down into the depths of the river before she could do more than scream.

The woman's scream from the water died as the torpedo boat roared on. It still seemed to linger in the air and in the ears and minds of every man aboard the torpedo boat. Blade was the first man to shake himself free of its spell. Even he wasn't quite in time to see the dead dragon floating in the river ahead.

The dragon was dead, but it was still a ten-ton mass of armored flesh. Ramming it at thirty knots was like ramming a solid log. The torpedo boat bounced wildly, with a deafening booming and clanging of strained and twisted metal. The shock knocked everyone aboard flat, Blade included. Ammunition boxes, weapons, helmets, and men skittered wildly along the deck. By some miracle no one fell overboard.

Then the boat rode up over the dragon and plunged into the water on the far side. It dug its bow in until the spray soaked the men at the forward gun. With a hideous metallic screech one propeller tore free of its shaft, caught in the dragon's scaly hide. The propeller shaft was already spinning at nearly top speed. Now, with the shaft suddenly freed of the propeller's weight, the engine ran wild. Its rumble turned into a whine and the whine into a shrill scream. Before the men at the controls could cut the throttle, the scream ended in a deafening bang as the runaway engine exploded.

The men in the engine room died instantly, from the concussion or from the jagged bits of metal that flew in all directions. The metal flew on. It flew up through the decks, hitting several men there but by some miracle not hitting any of the ammunition. It flew out through the hull, tearing a dozen jagged holes. It flew downward, rupturing fuel tanks and lines, which promptly poured their contents over arcing electrical circuits. Flames roared up, fighting against the inrushing water.

The boat began to slow as the water flooded in. Blade rose to his feet, aware of aches and pains in various parts of his body but indifferent to all of them, and started shouting orders.

«Get that ammunition overboard! Fast! If the fire catches it-«

He didn't need to finish. All those men who could still move and grab something started picking up rocket rounds and ammunition cans and heaving them into the river. Along with the splashes Blade could hear the growing roar of the flames below. He'd hoped the water might put them out, but apparently the burning fuel was rising on top of the water.

The torpedo boat was beyond saving. Time to get off. Blade pulled himself painfully up onto the bridge, cupped his hands, and began shouting:

«All hands, abandon ship! Abandon ship! Make for the south shore! Hold on to your Uzis if you can.»

«Aye, aye,» came back from all along the deck. Blade saw men stripping off helmets and flak vests, tightening the straps on life jackets, bending to help wounded comrades. The young lieutenant was slumped over the control panel, with an ugly purple lump on his left temple. Blade grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled the man erect.

As he did, a blast of hot air roared up around them from below, and flames followed a moment later. They would have cremated the lieutenant where he stood, if Blade hadn't dragged him clear in time.

Carrying the lieutenant, Blade scrambled down the ladder on the outside of the bridge. The deck was deserted, except for the dead, and beginning to buckle and twist under the growing heat from below. It was time to go. Blade pulled on his own life jacket and strapped another around the unconscious man. Then he lowered him over the side and slid into the water himself. The torpedo boat was so flooded that by now the deck was only two feet above the water.

The chill water of the river revived the lieutenant. His eyes flickered open, taking in Blade first, then the rest of the scene around him, including his sinking boat. His eyes closed again, as if he wanted to shut out the sight. Blade knew that a captain who is losing his ship seldom feels much like talking and said nothing. He struck out for the south bank, towing the lieutenant with one hand and holding his rifle out of the water with the other.

A hundred yards of chill water lay between Blade and the south bank, and the current was strong. They'd covered about half the distance when Blade saw something dark bobbing on the surface just ahead. Another few kicks, and he recognized a body. A few more, and he recognized Elva Thompson.

So it had been her death scream splitting the darkness. Blade was glad that she was dead, but also glad of the darkness. A woman battered and drowned and perhaps slashed by the torpedo boat's propellers would not be something he wanted to see too clearly. Not when he'd held that woman in his arms with desire and even with affection.

He swam on toward the bank. Eventually it loomed up ahead of him. Hands reached down to help the lieutenant, and Blade scrambled up after him.

Blade formed the survivors into a rough defensive perimeter and settled down to wait. There was nothing they could do with his rifle and the Uzis except defend themselves, and even that might be a problem if the dragons came at them in force.

They saw no dragons nearer than the far bank of the river. Gradually the roars and bellows and screams of raging and dying dragons faded away. They began to hear the sound of boats coming up the river and helicopters flitting low over the trees, searching the area. It was one of those helicopters that found them half an hour later, and one of the boats that took them away to medical care, dry clothing, and hot tea.