Contact – The Raid
More than 400 dragons. 51 commissioned officers. Dozens and dozens of NCOs. A support company that was the best of the best and a supply train carrying with them over a thousand tons of food, medicine, ammunition and other equipment all day, every day over hundreds of miles.
It'd been a long-ass flight to get here from the Seagull islands, though shorter than the one from the mainland, and the least Staff Sergeant Byrd had expected was a scuffle or a chance encounter with the enemy, but they hadn't seen another living soul since they'd left over eleven hours ago.
Byrd belonged to 108th recon brigade of the 2nd Cohort of the proud 1st Army, commanded by Lieutenant Thorn. More specifically, he was the NCO in charge of 3rd company, which Thorn had assigned the unenviable responsibility of providing a forward screen for the rest of them.
Which meant that he and his wing were braving the frigid air at 9,000 feet, far above and ahead of the main body of his group, keeping an eye out for any potential hostiles in front and to the sides. Noon had faded to afternoon, and afternoon had become evening, warm, golden summer light glowing off the clouds and making the sea sparkle.
Below them was a tiny island barely larger than a sandbank, three-hundred yards long and with a bit of grass growing on the lee side of a dune. Byrd paid it no mind. They'd rested and eaten less than an hour ago on an islet no bigger than that one, and he'd seen plenty of them since, though doubtless the navigators had marked it down on their charts. They were getting closer to the mainland, and soon their brigade would space themselves out and fly low over the ocean to avoid any scouts or chance encounters with civilians taking a fishing trip.
They had their orders. Whoever spotted them had to die before they could warn anyone else. No threats to the mission would be tolerated. There would be no mercy, because this had to be a complete and total surprise.
Another island came into sight, this one bigger than the first, longer. They were nearing the coast, then. A tiny, dark strip coalesced at the edge of the horizon. The continent.
"Land ho!" shouted Byrd. "Tell the others."
Corporal Lancer fell back from the V formation, went down to the rest of the brigade to inform Lieutenant Thorn by word of mouth. They had no signal flags; too visible. There was a minutes' wait, then Lancer came back again.
"Plan A," he said, and knowing exactly what that meant, the company stopped heading forwards and descended in a corkscrew, going down to the deck at the maximum safe speed as Thorn's group wheeled and did the same, separating themselves as they did so until there was more than 500 feet between each flight.
Spread out as they were, Byrd had no way to communicate with the rest of 3rd company, so he had to rely on their training to carry them through the difficult maneuver. Plan A called for a small screen at low altitude to spot any shore cities or towns as the vanguard of the brigade approached at slower speeds behind them. Avoiding any possible contact with civilization, they would disappear onshore and begin recon at once.
There was no high-level screen, something which made Byrd nervous, but he could see the reasoning behind it; there was more of a chance of slipping past the enemy gaze that way. Which begged the question of why HICOMCN had sent an entire brigade for this job instead of individual companies or even a battalion. Oh well. Better to have the numbers and not need them than to need them and not have them.
Reconnaissance in force.
Luckily no contact was made, and the first wings put down on the shore just before nightfall, muffled thumps on the sand marking their arrival in the new world.
"Sound off!" came the command from Thorn.
There was a moment as everyone counted everybody else.
"1st company, here."
"2nd company, here."
"3rd company, here."
"4th company, here."
And so on, until everyone was accounted for, not an easy task in the dim light, but it was accomplished with the usual efficiency and soon a very temporary camp was set up for their supplies while scouts were sent out to explore the area and report on the terrain, as well as any sign of nearby enemy presence.
Naturally, Byrd's company was chosen for the scouting job, split up into its individual wings commanded by warrant officers.
If the islands they'd passed on their flight had been pretty, the mainland must've been beautiful beyond description in the daytime. As it was, their eyes were ill adjusted to the darkness, having spent most of their lives in the Hive, where every night the flamesilk lanterns provided a warm glow. Now they could barely see anything even where the moon shone strongly, only the trunks of huge plants that reached high into the air, some delicate, some stout, all of them unlike anything they'd ever seen before except in picture books; majestic and awe-inspiring.
It took a while for Byrd to realize that he had seen his first tree, and then he was flabbergasted, though he didn't show it. His men were not so scrupulous, jaws dropping as they took in it all, finding the realness of the experience to be almost overwhelming. Almost.
Byrd whipped them back into shape and continued the patrol, but save for the wonder of the flora there was nothing else of note, save for a tree that had had its bark scraped off on one side, but a thorough inspection found that the marks could not have been made by a dragon's talon, and thus it was likely the work of a 'bear', whatever that was.
Clear. For at least five miles around their landing zone there wasn't so much as a dragonet or a hermit's hut.
For hundreds of miles up and down the coast a similar scene played out, as most of the recon brigades discovered almost nothing of note. But not all of them. Some ran into patrols, but their concentrated firepower combined with the element of surprise made it almost easy for the Hivewings to destroy their enemy.
Strange dragons they were, blue and green and sometimes purplish or pink with webs between their toes and odd scales that almost seemed to glow, if that was even possible. They were easy to defeat. Weak.
A few found coastal towns or forts as they approached the mainland; these were skirted around and their position was passed along to the invading force following less than five hours on their heels. But the fact was that they were already known to 2nd cohort in advance. Queen Wasp had had her eyes on Pyrhhia for longer than anyone knew.
But still, live intelligence was needed, and the recon brigades were glad to oblige.
Fort Sea Lion, City of Abalone, July 1st, 5,015: 4 Hours before Contact.
To the casual observer looking towards it from the sea, Puck Hill would've looked like any other hill near that place; rather like the back of a turtle. Just outside the town, it was thoroughly unassuming, except perhaps as a soft glade or a good spot to have a picnic or as the sort of knoll where dragonets would learn to fly.
But then, there were no dragonets allowed in that place, or picnics, or civilians, for that matter. For Fort Sea Lion was almost entirely underground, with only one way in and one way out; long, orderly tunnels within leading to large, organized storerooms that had been hollowed out during the War with months of hard work; some filled with food, some filled with weapons.
It was still a military base these days, but it was quieter now, less rigid, and its security… more lax. Here was a town that the war had passed through, and yet four years after the fact life went on for most as it had for centuries. The sudden peace had brought good times.
For Lance Corporal, no - Sergeant Starfish Wells, tonight was a good night. Today was the day he'd gotten a promotion and two week's leave, and now he would be celebrating it with his buddies from his company in the marines. Not the Royal Marines, mind you, just the regulars, but he was fine with that. He didn't need all the reputation, not him.
Because he was finally off of patrol duty, which was the boringest damn assignment he'd ever had, even though he'd served with the Marines for four and a half years. He was a veteran of The War, if you could call him that, for he'd only joined six months before its end and had only seen two or three battles, which was nothing compared to some of his fighting brothers.
He had a lot of brothers; which meant he had a big family, hence the fact that he had a last name.
Now he was going into town to visit his sweetheart, Crest. They would be married soon, and he'd promised not to get drunk because of his promotion like he had when he'd been upgraded to Private First Class way back in the day. So he wouldn't. Not that he had an addiction to it like some of the other vets did, but he'd indulged from time to time before.
Besides, he needed to save the money to buy her the perfect ring. He had his eyes on one, had been saving up his paycheck month after month to buy her one with a sapphire instead of one of those boring steel rings that he saw on the talons of old people.
He'd keep the ring a secret, of course, but he'd buy it tonight, after he'd visited her first. They would go on a date that weekend; maybe he'd tell her then.
He was almost to her street by now, still thinking about his plans for the future. He passed a peach stand, asked the merchant if he could buy one. Normally they were an expensive fruit, but today there was a sale and they were half off. On second thought, could he have two?
He walked away with his coin pouch a few coppers lighter and a bounce in his step. Then he was at her place and he knocked on the door, twice, like he always did, and she let him in, smiling as usual, whereupon he broke out in a happy grin and she kissed him on the cheek.
He was the luckiest guy in the world.
"I bought a peach for you."
"Oh, you shouldn't have," she said, but he could tell that she was grateful.
"They were on sale. I knew you liked them, so -"
"Thanks."
"No problem."
They both bit into the sweet, juicy fruit, enjoying the slightly spicy taste of the southern variety, larger than most other peaches. Wells almost ate his whole, pit and all, but Crest savored hers more, and she finished later.
"Well, I'd say that was well worth the money, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Yes it was."
"Yeah. I've gotta be off to celebrate my promotion soon. My buddies ought to get back from patrolling in a bit, and I don't want to miss them. Staff Sergeant is letting them stay up late tonight."
"Can I come with you?"
"Uhhhh.. sure? I wasn't really planning on it, but I guess you can tag along."
"I'm keeping an eye on ya'."
They laughed.
"Where are we going?"
"The Silver Run. It's a Sandwing place. Better than going to a Mudwing pub any day."
Soon they were out of the beautiful house and on the street again. Already the street lights had been lit and people were igniting the lanterns that hung over their doors. Walking was more romantic.
Then they started getting to the shops and the restaurants and the stands. Some were closed, some were open, and some looked like establishments it would be embarrassing to be seen walking into, but they passed those and turned a corner, finding themselves before some outside seating and beyond that, an open door and a placard over it that said Silver Run.
It was only then that Wells realized that he couldn't buy the ring while Crest was around, or it wouldn't be a surprise.
He'd get it tomorrow then, or after she went.
"Dinner for two?" asked the waiter.
"Yes, but we're expecting company."
That was fine, he said, and soon they had a table and a drink of water. They talked for a while, and when his buddies didn't come he ordered an appetizer, and they talked over that, about what they'd do when they were married; where they'd go and who they'd visit and how many kids they'd have and how soon he planned to retire. He would, sometime. Just not yet.
An hour passed pleasantly in that way, but Wells grew more and more anxious.
"They're still not here."
"Maybe they went to the wrong restaurant or something?"
"No. Don's too smart for that. Can I go look for them for a little bit?"
"Be back soon."
"Don't worry about me!"
Maybe they had gotten mixed up, visited the wrong pub or something. He'd told them the place exactly! - What was taking them so long?
"Excuse me; have you seen my friends? One's kinda skinny and tall and the other three look something like this -"
And so on. But no one knew where they were, and he was forced to return to the Silver Run in frustration.
They had dinner, but it wasn't as enjoyable as he would've liked it to be, though the food was better than good and he ended up having a single glass of wine. They split the tab and Wells escorted Crest home, then flew back to the fort to check with his commanding officer. He had a bad feeling about this.
Getting in was easy; the sentries at the entrance to the tunnel knew him by sight, hardly bothering to verify his metal dog tags before stepping aside. Things had settled down this late at night; most of the daytime personnel had gone to sleep by now, and there were only a few still left awake to keep watch.
The dragon in charge of enlisted scheduling was Staff Sergeant Glaucus, and there was a good chance he was in bed. Wells checked the office; he wasn't there. Which meant that he had probably turned in for the night, and even with his newfound rank Wells didn't have the authority to look through the materials himself; it wasn't in his chain of command, a countermeasure to prevent spies from walking in and getting valuable information just like that.
Which meant that he'd probably have to ask the warrant officer who was in charge around here to get a clerk to root through the papers, which would take time, and the warrant officer might be in a different part of the base.
He could ask around to learn if they'd reported in, but that would take time.
Or he could do it the easy way and badger somebody into doing it for him, preferably one who wasn't aware that he wasn't supposed to be giving orders.
It took some searching, but eventually he found a private in the hallway, whose name he didn't remember and probably wasn't important.
"Who are you?" he asked. Maybe he'd missed the shiny new insignia on the other dragon's shoulder, maybe he actually had the guts to stand up to him.
"Sergeant Wells. I need to know if one of the patrol wings reported in today."
"Sir!"
An automatic salute. It felt good to have that rank.
"I need to know whether or not one of the marine patrol wings reported in today. You know, the schedule?"
"Wait, you mean the check-in sheet?"
"Obviously. There's paperwork for everything, isn't there."
A rhetorical question, but the private answered it. "Yes."
"Typical."
He lead the dragon back to the Staff Sergeant's office and let him in. It was only a few minutes before the check-in sheet was found and Wells was allowed a look.
Don's wing hadn't reported in since 8:30, when they were supposed to get back, but because of curfew the Staff Sergeant had probably left the matter hanging when he went to sleep, expecting them to come in later and for the next Staff Sergeant to check it out. A thirty minute delay was nothing much; it happened all the time, but if they were tardy much longer they would be reprimanded.
Don was never late. So what had happened to make him delay? He was too experienced not to check in before he left for town, right? He'd only been granted a two-hour extension after 9:00, after which he was supposed to turn in. It was twenty minutes to eleven now.
And speaking of which, where was the new Staff Sergeant?
This was getting very odd, very odd indeed, and he didn't like it.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd had a glass of wine at dinner and the alcohol had given him a confidence boost. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just gotten a promotion and he felt daring enough to wake up Glaucus. Maybe it was the fact that his gut feeling about this just wasn't right. On its own the tardiness of the Staff Sergeant working the night shift wouldn't have been a major problem. A problem, but not a major problem.
Patrols didn't just disappear. Something had to happen to them to make it so, and it was better to be safe than sorry. Glaucus was woken up and told about the missing sentries and the situation of the Staff Sergeant. It turned out that Glaucus had also been worried about Don's patrol, but since 30 minutes was within the acceptable margins for that kind of thing, he hadn't said much.
And since the Staff Sergeant on the night shift wasn't around to raise the alarm when Don became more than two hours late, the sentries had simply assumed that they must've missed Don coming in during the shift change. And since no one had told anybody else about it, the rest of the base either didn't know anything was wrong or assumed that they'd made a mistake.
Even if he'd gotten in an engagement with a group of small-time pirates or street criminals, he should've dispatched a messenger to notify the base of the fight so they could send reinforcements. But he hadn't, and it'd been over two hours. A fight of that size would be over in about 20 minutes, give or take, not this long.
Either he'd been ambushed and overpowered by some unknown force or he'd deserted. Both of those things weren't likely.
So they woke up the Captain, who woke up the Colonel, who woke up the dragon in charge of the base, Brigadier General Hammerhead, and he said that search parties must be sent out at once, which meant mobilizing the base, which meant waking up about a battalion of dragons at once.
That was when the sentry came running in, screaming something about enemies pillaging the city.
General Hammerhead ordered General Quarters, but by then it was too late for the poor, poor town of Abalone.
Wells was already out the door, because he knew that he needed to do one thing and one thing only, or he would never forgive himself. Save Crest.
