Built of Scales and Steel

"Stand up all the night and call the fight, let your mind before the light."

The sky was ablaze with smoke, fire and glory. Ferocious dragons sweeping down like meteors to face the foolhardy heroes who answered the call to face them. Subversion, intimidation, exhaustion, extermination and annihilation were five types of military strategy we utilised throughout the war.

"Here we come the army of the night, Mater Maria."

Their stoic stance, the almost impenetrable layer of scales, that impressive wingspan and, of course, the crimson and ocher of the fear-inspiring monsters' earth-scorching breath. We had our own impenetrable layerof defense and attack.

"Lined up side by side and bound to pray, Sent to die and fight the final day"

I watched entranced and enthralled from my bedroom window and with our family in front of the television. I marvelled at those brave enough to stand at the front lines to present the unfolding drama of the war. It was more than just a war against man and beast, it was a war for freedom from oppression. The dragons with their awe-inspiring wingspan and deathly breath that seemed to turn even the toughest defense into cinders.

"Army of the night - we came to slay, Mater Maria"

Embers lay, twinkling around the ground as the valiant, charged with the honour and privilege to stand up to the vile creatures. They were the bastions of bravery without regret. Our final defense against the forces of evil incarnate in scaled leathery flesh and the breath of crimson devastation.

"Better you pray before the night is falling, Call on the Heaven sent, amen"

As one leader of integrity marched forth, joining his brothers on the battlefield, something like fear was found in his eyes, for just a moment. This made me want to take up the mantle all the more. To join the ranks of those willing to put their body and life on the line for the sanctity of our civilisation and the purity we held true.

"Follow the night, it's your Messiah calling, Bring on the sacrament, amen"

There were the naysayers, of course. The cries of the fallen and the blood spilled was never enough to convince some of the worthiness of the cause.

"Come on the other side, Into the dark we hide"

Many would claim the dragons were but figments of our imagination, the result of a collective psychotic break. "Where are the fallen dragons? Where is the sulfur, the dragons' blood?"

"Gather them for the rite, Sacristarum"

In times of distress, it is easy to get caught up in the lies of those who'd have us surrender.

"We are the force allied, Into the war we ride."

Military manoeuvres are always questioned after the fact, lest we forget the Charge of The Light Brigade. The "dragon's cry" footage was deemed a hoax - an anti-war sentimentalist sought to break the spirit of our good and true forces. Claims the dragon's cry was that of a mere mortal, a child even, just as the cries of fakery and masks were discredited as malicious and disgusting. Evidenced by the head of one of the beasts was displayed in a live broadcast.

"Hallelujah"

I never for one moment believed their lies. To me, the threat was very real. Our perilous position is what prompted our scientists, engineers and men of science to develop machinery and weaponry that gave us a fighting chance.

"We all can see with our own eyes, the demons raining terror upon us."

Why would our government fund the great machine men of the North, the anti-aircraft tanks that had been upgraded to take down an entire weyr? Although fearsome and destructive, they were flesh and bone at their core, like us. As has been the example set by the wars of old, flesh and bone is no match for gunpowder and tenacity, bullets and patriotism.

Enemies fallen when the sermon's spoken. Taken by higher hand, amen."

War is never something you wish for, but dragons do not entertain the thoughts of us mortals. They are the apex, we the prey. In just two days, I would be of age, 17 and would be called to the great crusade. I longed to stand side-by-side with those who decreed enough is enough in the face of complete destruction.

"Hallow the martyrs when the Bible's broken, Summon the testament, amen"

~

On the day of my 17th birthday, there was no time to sit around and enjoy a celebration of cake and excess. I had been drafted to the front line to fight the evil horde, the foul beasts that brought with them fire in the sky and destruction across the earth.

"The Eastern world, it is explodin' Violence flarin', bullets loadin'"

In the days leading up to my birthday, I had been officially trained and equipped with the finest weaponry at our disposal. A broadsword that could, if aimed correctly, make surgical incisions of devastation into the weakest points of the scaly armour of our enemy. Precision was required, but even in the hands of an amateur, the broadsword was a formidable armament. In addition to the trusty steel, all soldiers were provided with two Colt M1911 handguns, known for their reliability and long service life, with my favourite, the Glock 17 as a back-up.

The Hail Mary of our individual arsenal was the chain of five RG 60TB thermobaric and five German H3 (Hafthohlladung) sticky bomb . While the former offered the best blast effect, the latter was favoured as an anti-tank grenade with widespread shrapnel. though it felt like a condescending lecture, the why and how of each weapon choice helped steady my nerves and gave me a sense of greater purpose.

"You're old enough to kill but not for votin', You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin'?"

That morning a Humvee stopped outside our house. My parents were beyond proud at their most privileged and fortunate son. My dad found himself fighting back patriotic tears, as he had been ruled unfit to fight.

"Take down one or two of those bastards of misery for your old man, kid" he shouted as I joined the ranks of my battle-ready brethren. As we drove out towards the skirmish I had watched for so long, the ground vibrated with aftershocks, undoubtedly from the dragons reeking havoc on our poor brave soldiers. What I hadn't noticed until we were several hundred miles into our journey was the stench, a bouquet of serpent or reptilian blood, human remains, incinerated flora and barbecued everything else.

"And even the Jordan river has bodies floatin'"

Why we were listening to that particular song on the radio, I'll never know. I think the guy driving the Humvee did not understand the meaning of Barry McGuire. It left an awful taste in the back of my throat. We were not, after all, waging a pointless war like Vietnam of old. These were ancient creatures who sought to rid the earth of the human race.

"But you tell me, Over and over and over again, my friend"

I did ask for the music to be turned off. But no one listened. We were all concentrating on what lay ahead. As a last-minute warning, we were told there would be a window of approximately five minutes for us to find our bearings on the battleground and assume our position in fighting the good fight.

"How you don't believe, We're on the eve of destruction"

Those were the last words of that song I heard before - well everything.

We were bandied together and sent forward into a mess of broken bodies, almost-carbonised vegetation and smoke, a shit-ton of smoke. Given orders to taken down a younger dragon attacking the area, we could hardly make out our target.

There was a lot of screams, roars and metal, clunky metal and mechanical weaponry. Mechanical weaponry and clunky metal was not something I expected as I approached the unholy harbingers of desolation that had forced our hand into a war we'd rather not participate in.

But, mechanical noises. "What the...". A roar sent me ducking behind a torched Humvee, and as my nerves got the better of me, I launched two of my ten grenades towards what I believed the source of the noises.

There was the biggest boom I've ever heard... no felt. Felt and heard?

I waited with my handy broadsword drawn as a broken dragon's head launched into my field of view as a Chinook cleared some of the ground-covering smoke.

I was simultaneously shocked, devastated and just... confused by what I saw.

The dragon's head did not look nearly as impressive as it had done on TV broadcasts and from the window in our family home.

It was tough, but looked... decidedly man-made.

What the...

From behind the beast's head came not a roar, not a screech of terror, but a cough and a cry. A human cough and cry.

A woman in rags fell from what looked like a cockpit, throwing her hands in the air to surrender to me.

In the days that followed, I was debriefed and told to keep my story quiet, that it would "blemish" the good name of the King, country and the men and women who bravely defended our land in the armed forces.

I almost gave in and agreed to keep quiet as they cleaned up the remaining lower-class farmers who had dared to stand up to the might of our army.

Until I remembered the look of pride in my father's eyes.

That is why I am sharing my story. I will undoubtedly be arrested and imprisoned, "disappeared". But, the truth must out.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is my second entry for the "Everything Looks Better From Far Away" Challenge. This story incorporates lyrics from the songs "Army of the Night" by Powerwolf and "Eve of Destruction" by Barry McGuire. For irony.

Here are some other things: