THERE BE DRAGONS (22 page)

The dragon lost its grip on Moore’s leg and fell into the raging rapids below. The water and the bubbles turned red.

Stephens stood back upright on the bridge and helped Moore back into a secured stance. “How’s the leg?” asked the sergeant.

“I can cope.”

“Okay, let’s get off this bridge.” Stephens could see over Moore’s shoulder the rest of the platoon firing into the jungle.

“We got Russians back here!” Diaz shouted to them.

“Lay down as much fire as possible then get over the bridge!” Stephens yelled back. He turned and rushed over the wire back to Jackson and Teacher. Moore followed on, but had difficulty keeping up with the sergeant’s swiftness.

Stephens jumped from the last steps of the bridge to the cliff and turned back towards the jungle on the other side.

Moore did the same, but he landed awkwardly on his injured leg. It gave way and he dropped to the ground on that side of the cliff.

“Fire at that tree line across the bridge. Give our boys as much cover as possible,” commanded Stephens.

Jackson let the M-60 roar.

Stephens and Moore, who was now kneeling, fired on full automatic.

They saw Cage fire the Blooper and some of the trees explode. Smoke billowed into the skyline.

The corporal started for the bridge.

Diaz, Smith, and Buttons continued to lay down suppressing fire.

Cage was halfway over the bridge when one of the guide cables broke with a twang. He took ahold of the remaining one with both hands.

The snapped cable fell down into the water, and Cage started to sidestep over the bridge. The bridge rocked and dipped. His legs and arms moved back and forth. He tried to keep the two wires from parting.

“Keep going, Corporal!” shouted Stephens. The sergeant placed a new mag in his CAR-15.

“Teacher, get near the bridge. Grab the men as they cross.”

“Sure thing, Sarge!” Teacher got in position and kept low.

Buttons started to sidestep over the bridge. The weak structure swayed even more and the remaining guide cable fastened in the stone pillar squeaked.

Cage looked back down the line to see the RTO. “Are you crazy, Buttons? This bridge can’t hold us both.”

“Have you seen how many Russians are back there?” Buttons kept his eyes on his feet and rushed as fast as he could. Bullets hissed over both their heads. They had to duck several times.

Cage made it to the other side; with a jump and a hand from Teacher he was safe. He unslung his M-16 and started to fire at the tree line.

Buttons made it from the bridge, the cables bouncing as he dismounted. He joined Cage and fired at the concealed enemy.

“Diaz, Smith. Move! We’ve got you covered!” hollered Stephens.

Diaz turned and started on the bridge. Smith was right behind him. They sidestepped at an unbelievable pace to the middle of the bridge.

A group of Russian soldiers exited the jungle as they started the incline.

Cage dropped his M-16 and fired the Blooper.

The blast hit the Russians. Some of their bodies split apart and two flew from the cliff into the water below.

More of the Russians exited the growth. They took heavy fire from the other side of the bridge and got down low or ran for cover. Once settled, they returned fire. Their AK-47s rattled and cut up the scenery around Stephens and his men.

Diaz and Smith had made it halfway up the bridge’s incline when the Russians got their chance to fire at them.

A bullet ripped into Smith’s shoulder. Blood spat from front and back and he lost grip with that arm. His feet fell from the wire and gravity started to suck him down. He hooked his other arm around the guide wire and held himself up by his inside elbow joint. The bridge sprang up and down from the shift of weight and Smith’s legs dangled in the gun smoke stained air.

The thunder came once more.

Another dragon dove at the bridge.

Diaz turned to Smith.

“Go on! Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Smith said through gritted teeth.

Diaz ducked as the dragon swooped for him. The animal shirked over him and back into the sky.

Diaz took one last look at Smith and started towards Stephens’s position.

Stephens fired a burst at the Russians before he turned his fire to the dragon. He missed with his first volley and with the second. The bullets skimmed past the beast as it turned, changed its course and faced the bridge again.

It dove.

Stephens fired. The bullets found their mark. They rippled into the dragon’s chest. It stopped its dive with a spread of its wings. Its body straightened and its neck contracted. It spat fire.

The flames engulfed Smith. He screamed from the burn, and from the fall, as his body nosedived from the rickety wire bridge and onto the serrated rocks. His blood left a red skid mark as it slid into the tide.

More of Stephens’s bullets hit the dragon. It turned towards his position. Its neck coiled, but then the animal exploded.

Stephens looked to his right to see Moore had taken out the creature.

Moore didn’t acknowledge the sergeant; he just turned back to the bridge and fired at some prone Russians.

The last guide cable snapped and the bridge collapsed.

Diaz kept ahold of the wire as he fell downwards. It had broken in its center but was still attached to the pillar at the side of the crossing the platoon was now at.

The cable swung the private like Tarzan on a vine. He impacted into the side of the cliff. His body bounced backwards from the rock into the air, then back into the rock again. He now hung with his elbows scraping the stone. His grip was loose and his knuckles bloody. A rib surely broken.

Stephens had dropped his rifle when the cable snapped and was already at the edge of the cliff. He’d leapt down onto his chest and was looking over the threshold at Diaz, who was trying to climb the rope.

Stephens took ahold of the cable and started to pull. His muscles rippled and his veins pumped.

“Hold on, Diaz! I’ve got you!” he shouted.

He heaved.

Diaz rose slightly.

Stephens took a moment to breathe. He tugged again.

Diaz moved farther up the cliff face.

The sergeant closed his eyes for a second. He gathered his last remaining energy.

Stephens heaved once more as his teeth gnashed and his throat groaned. Some bullets impacted in the dirt by his side, but he ignored them. One last pull and Diaz was in reaching distance.

Stephens cried out in pain. his arms aching. They felt like they might be pulled from their sockets.

Diaz was at arm’s length and he shot up a hand.

Stephens grabbed it and pulled him onto their side of the cliff.

The sergeant got back up to his feet and ran from the bridge. “Fall out!” he screamed.

The men charged into the tree line with Stephens.

The Russians’ bullets chased them.

• • • • •

Demons were in this place, like the Trickster, and Godly things subsisted there too.

Jacobs saw the Trickster sat on a swing.

The swing was tied to a tree, with a trunk made from a brushstroke of black ink and its branches, black eyelashes. Around the tree was the color red, a concrete of red, an encasing.

As the Trickster swung back and forth, the swing thunderously cracked rubble from the tangible crimson air.

Everything that moved here existed in an unyielding compacted space. Objects swam in the immovable but movable air. They floated in it.

The rubble that was flung … hung … didn’t fall … It turned and twisted. It was formed into bricks. Molded by invisible hands.

The invisible hands started to build a house, brick by brick.

Untruthful musical notes were brought forth from the Trickster. He played a panpipe that chimed discouragement.

The musical notes embossed as they told their deceits. They tattooed the concrete of red when they’d finished their propaganda song.

Graffiti. Now forever reading the objections of the Trickster.

The unseen Creator had to deal with more falsehoods, this time thrown from the mouth of the Trickster. They manifested as ribbons of red and yellow vomit scribed with deceits.

But the house was finished.

It had four windows, two on the lower and two on the higher level. It had a door. The door was open.

Light blasted from it.

The light hit the Trickster and he folded into a ball of zero, a dot as small as a period on a page.

The light from the house invited Jacobs inside.

He accepted and entered the shine.

Inside the building he was greeted by a moment of perfection.

The moment you share with a person when everything seems to slow, drawing a brief second out to a prolonged image of beauty, a moment when everything aligns for exquisiteness.

A moment when you see something exceptional in someone, a moment that is able to capture that person’s splendor, paused and elongated for you to bask in.

He saw one of Samantha’s moments of perfection. He saw moments from his grandparents and parents … and even from Lynch.

If he believed in the lies the Trickster had written into his world, he would never see the corn blow in the wind at his parents’ farm again.

He would never see the sun shine in through his window, its light hit the small clock that sat on his bedside table, and flicker off, its golden fingers sparkles of rainbows, like infinitesimal stars.

He would never see his dad in the moon’s radiance, sat on the front porch, smoking his pipe, the swirls of smoke drift in slow majestic brilliance.

All these things and many more, are sights and moments he had taken for granted; he had thought of life as an inexhaustible well. But everything only happens a certain number of times. Everything has an end in the world ordained by the Trickster.

How many more times would he be able to remember precious moments from his childhood? Sure, he had an amazing memory, but that would also fade. Everything fades to black.

An event that seemed so deeply a part of his being, an event he could not conceive of his life without remembering, could only be reminisced a diminished number of times. But yet they all seemed limitless.

In the light, though, he could live in a moment of perfection, a moment of perfection an eternity in length.

• • • • •

Jacobs was raised from the goop. He could see dim light through his eyelids. He felt the slime slide down his chest. He could feel air on his skin. He snorted and a slug shot from a nostril.

He was out the pit and was moved away from the hole.

He opened his eyes and saw Dragon Master before him. The Dragon Master’s knife, the knife that had once doodled his body with blood, was drawn and at the ready.

Jacobs’s head dropped again and he saw the leeches that were feasting on his chest.

The Russian walked around Jacobs’s body and flicked the leeches from him. He stepped on each one of them when they fell to the dirt. “Put the Son Of Adam back in his cage.” Dragon Master smiled.

• • • • •

Stephens slowed to a walk then stopped. He wiped sweat from his brow and took in a deep breath. The air was hot and his throat was raw. “I feel like I’ve just burned my way through a box of Cuban Cigars,” he said. He turned around and saw the men run to a stop near him. They all breathed heavily and dripped with perspiration too.

Jackson sat on the ground and lay his M-60 down. He interlocked his fingers and clicked them. He removed the belt of bullets from around his neck and his upper body waved side to side then fell back. He was awake but exhausted. Pain showed in his expression as he fought to keep his eyes from shutting. He slapped himself on the cheeks a few times. Sweat splattered as he did.

Cage removed a magazine and clipped a fresh one in. He chambered a round and clicked the rifle’s safety on. He straightened his back and looked into the sky. He squinted at the sunlight that flickered through the leaves. He let out a groan then a hard breath. He coughed a dry sound and his throat croaked. He tried to clear it again but it didn’t work.

Teacher held himself upright with a hand rested on a tree. He looked down at the jungle floor with swelter dripping from his face. A droplet rolled down his nose and fell into the air. More sweat pooled on his chin before it started to drip into gravity’s grasp. The private cursed through ragged, struggled breaths. “The piss-ants! Everything has gone bat shit crazy.” He licked the salty liquid from his lips then spat.

Buttons removed his radio. The device dropped to the ground with a clunk. The RTO rubbed at his shoulders and yawned. Once he’d finished the yawn, he moved his lower jaw side to side. It clicked. Then he shut his eyes and dropped onto his butt. He leaned to the side and his body arched as he retched.

Diaz moved his feet from Buttons’s bile and stumbled slightly over them. He held at his cracked ribs. His breathing was more strained than the other men and no doubt more painful. He felt at his teeth with his tongue and noticed his gold tooth had been knocked from him. He was left with a hole lined with blood.