The Human Invasion

Chapter 1
Gunshots echoed around her. The stench of blood and smoke filled her nostrils and the horrible taste of ash choked what little oxygen she was capable of drawing from the nauseating air. Mud turned up around her talons, and dirt sunk into the cracks between her scales. Dried blood caked the sides of her wings. The horrifying part was she had no way to tell if it was her, or a friend who had been bleeding. 
“Sundew!?” a voice called out to her from the haze of sickly smog.
“Willow!? Willow, is that you?” she replied, “Stay there, I’m going to come to you!” she said.
“Are you okay?” said Willow,
“I think so. Are you?” Sundew hollered into the noxious smoke. Before a reply could sound, a horrible crack of gunfire kicked in nearby. Instinctively, she hurled herself to the ground. Dirt and dust kicked up around her, and splinters rained down as the spray of bullets flew into her hiding place amongst the trees. The owner of the weapon, hidden inside the thick fog, took their hand off the trigger to listen for any signs their target had been hit. Another burst of automatic fire and the shooting stopped. Sundew checked herself for injuries, as she had been told to do by her instructors in the army, and satisfied herself in the knowledge that if she was hit and couldn’t feel it, the problem would be so drastic that the odds of it continuing to be a problem in the future would be low. She instinctually knew that if one of the bullets that had pierced a tree trunk and came out the other side retaining its original velocity had struck her, and now she couldn’t feel it, the only explanation was that it had pierced a nerve ending and severed connection to the brain entirely. If that had happened, the amount of blood she would be losing would quickly render the problem null and void. She’d be dead as a doornail in a matter of seconds. 
“Damn, thought I had that one,” said a deep male voice. She recognized it as human.
“These poodle shooters can’t hit anything at range,” replied a second distinctively male, human voice “can’t see why they even issued them. We’d do better throwing rocks or waving spears around.”
“I don’t know about that one, Edwards. Given the choice between a sandstone-basalt composite rock, the type of mineral you would find around here, and a CTAR-21, I’d opt for the Israeli Special Operations assault-rifle,” said a third voice. Sundew was surprised by the tinge of an accent in it. If she had to compare to anything, she’d say that it sounded distinctly like a NightWing. Could a dragon be helping the humans?
“The ’21 sounds great, in theory. In reality, it shoots so damn fast and has so little recoil control, that the benefits of emptying a full 30 rounder in 1.2 seconds are outweighed by the fact that none of those 30 rounds will hit something,” said the second voice.
“Maybe you’re just a bad shot?” said the possibly NightWing.
“Baine Trenton Edwards? A bad shot? Noooooo. What could ever give you that impression?” said the sarcastic voice of the first human.
“Hey, Nate, don’t forget I outrank you,” said the second voice who Sundew now knew was named Baine.
“Just a little joking between pals, cool your jets, Baine,” said the one whom Sundew guessed was called Nate.
“We are not pals while on duty. I am your commanding officer, and we need to treat this seriously Private Wild,” said Baine.
“Technically, I’m the commanding officer here Mr. Edwards” said the NightWing.
“Of course, Captain. No intentions of disrespect from me, sir,” said Baine.
The voices faded out as the humans got farther and farther away. Sundew herself was left in a full-on panic. A NightWing allied with the humans? A NightWing who outranked the humans? Who had had time to attain the rank of Captain? She was considering what she could do now if the dragons had a mole who was helping the humans when a rustling in the bushes grabbed her attention. Drawing her RazorLeaf-Arms Mk. II Wasp pistol, the standard issue weapon of all Pantalan dragons, she positioned the muzzle of the handgun, training her sights on the bush. The concerning satisfaction that came with the click of the weapon’s hammer locking into place was quickly undone when the unmistakable voice of Willow called out
“Wait!”
“Willow, you’re okay!” said Sundew nearly breaking into tears.
“You’re okay too! We’re both okay!” Willow choked out through relieved tears, “I knew you’d be okay. I knew it,” she said.
“I figured that today just wasn’t really the day I wanted to die on,” said Sundew. Willow was covered in cuts, scrapes, bruises, and she was fairly sure the bandage on her left leg was covering a bullet wound. The war between humans and dragons constantly served to remind her of just how fragile dragons were. Their diamond-hard bones couldn’t stop bullets. The horrible flamethrowers humans used to clear foliage could melt through dragons instantly. Their tough scales couldn’t stop the razor blades humans called “machetes”. Dragons had been able to fight back, the initial scouting parties sent by the humans had left behind enough technology for dragons to replicate many different inventions, most notably guns. However, to any casual observer, it was clear the humans were winning. Their guns, tanks, planes, and ruthless determination made them an unstoppable fighting force. Humans would fight until the very last one of them was killed. Their bulletproof armor gave them a courage dragons couldn’t replicate. As Sundew surveyed the damage to her home and to the dragon she loved the most, she realized the bitter truth. Until dragons found a way to halt the advance of the human army, they’d be beaten back by the superior numbers and weapons of their enemies. The horrible landscape created by their bombs and bullets would be all that was left of Pantala and Phyria. Eventually, there would be no place to retreat to.
Chapter 2
My dearest Olivia,
William Shakespeare once wrote "Tomorrow and tomorrow creeps at this petty pace from day to day." I'm inclined to agree with him, this conflict is hardy a war. I'm writing from a classified location somewhere in P-43. Can't say where, but the scenery is quite lovely. Maybe we could take Lily here after all of this, just to get away from it all. Yesterday we happened upon a family of the most strange and fantastical creatures. Like butterflies, yet dragon still. They were in colors of every shade imaginable. One of our prisoners identified them as a "SilkWing." Beauty in its purist form, if I were to be honest. A collage of scales and colors. Just yester-
He paused writing as Corporal Edwards stepped into his tent. Baine Edwards was a stocky guy of 34, if he remembered correctly. Ages were not Captain Arthur Flash's strong suit. This name always confused people. It always came with complicated explanations, such as: "Well yes, technically, I am called Captain. However, I am actually a Major. My parents named me Captain after my grandfather Captain Ian Flash, who was actually a Captain, but now I outrank him and it's rather confusing, as you probably can now tell..." and so on and so forth. Edwards, as Captain called him, was his best friend in the world. They met at a UN conference back in '45 and had been inseparable since.
"Morning sir," said Edwards, reaching to the coffee stand to poor himself a drink "the men and I are glad to report that there were no trespassers in the camp last night"
"Most excellent, Edwards," said Captain as he too got up and started to poor himself a cup of coffee, careful to add exactly 2 liters of cream, no more no less "I doubt that the draconic forces of which we are engaging would bother with a raid, however. Resources are finite and they're certainly not going to waste them on something so unlikely to succeed as a night-raid on this position."
"No doubt, sir, just thought you ought to know." With that, Edwards drained the last dregs of his small cup of coffee, threw the styrofoam cup in the trash, and left. Captain was left to his thoughts. Interactions with Edwards always circled back to the same old topics of which he conversed with himself in his mind. Usually it was how on Earth he managed to drain a coffee cup in as little time as it took him to start talking. Today, it was the gruffness of Americans. Another favorite topic. Captain was always surprised about how quick Americans were to end a conversation. No manners, no culture. At Oxford, the first thing he'd been taught by his family was that behavior would not stand. Growing up in upperclass London, and as the only male heir suitable to inherit the Flash family fortune, it had been his job to maintain the respectability of the long lineages of Flashes that had come before him, and would proceed him when he inevitably died. His father always made it a point that one day, Captain too would have to have a son. Olivia and he had one daughter, Lily, and it had been Captain's father's job, since the date of her birth, to remind Captain that a daughter would not be able to inherit the noble house of Flash. He personally thought it was ridiculous, and had no intentions of birthing a male heir, and hoped his father would stop bringing it up at every family gathering he had ever attended. No luck so far. Draining the last dregs of his perfectly creamed coffee, he stood up and grabbed his trademark revolver off his desk. A present from his grandfather. The Colt .45 Navy was built of solid iron with a gold finish and engraved pearl handle. It matched his leather holster perfectly, he thought. He stepped outside his tent, and surveyed the scene in front of him. Soldiers milled about, playing cards and talking about their trophy kills. He chuckled, and started morning announcements and inspection.
"Attention! Single-file! Present arms!" The standard commands of a troop inspection, at least for this garrison. Captain secretly had invented "single-file" as a command. No one had called him on it yet.
"SIR YES SIR" came the response of the many privates and sergeants standing in the neat, orderly rows they'd practiced time and time again.
"At ease!" said Captain. The mens arms dropped and the powerful guns hung limp at their sides. Oh, if his father could only see him now.
"SIR YES SIR"
"Lunch at 13:30. Reinowitz, Edwards, Crelbourne, Mortonson, you're on cafeteria duty! The rest of you, Drill Teams! DISMISSED!" he hollered. Ah, it was perfect. He smiled to himself as the men went off to train. He returned to his tent and picked up his pen. Now where was he? Oh yes.
Just yesterday, the men and I thought we heard a voice in the woods...
Chapter 3
Cricket couldn't sleep. This wasn't exactly surprising considering the amount of noise outside, but much to her chagrin, this was not a case of noise disruption preventing a good nap. Her brain was spinning out of control. Blue was next to her, heavily breathing and deeply among the dreamers, and she could not join him no matter how hard she attempted to. Her thoughts were kaleidoscopic; every color of idea and memory spiraled around and around whilst the outer edges of her brain rotated counter to the movement of her own brain's inner machinations. It was giving her a headache. I'm not going to sleep tonight, might as well do something... she thought. Shifting out of bed, groaning with sleep deprivation and anger that even though she felt as if her thoughts were muffled by pure need to sleep as if bundled in wool, there was nothing she could do to fix it. She went downstairs to the cabinet she and Blue had carved together, and took out a bottle of hard cactus cider. This bottle had been from Moon and Qibli when she and Blue had announced their plans for a dragonet. Two trips to a hospital and a days worth of crying later, they had found out she couldn't. The doctors didn't understand it, and Blue and she hadn't wanted to learn more. It didn't matter. They had sold the crib, redecorated the room they had been repairing, and gone back to being just the two of them. And that was fine. She loved him, and that was all she needed. Returning to reality, she took a glass out of the kitchen's only other cabinet and poured a drink. The hard, acrid taste of fermented cactus juice hit her like a 7.62 to the tongue. Another swig. The burning in her throat had receded and the painful headache with it. Another tip of the bottle, cold amber liquid filling to the top, and another drink. Her brain numbed a little and she stopped remembering things she didn't want to. About her family. Wasp. Her dragonet. How she never would have one. That's not going to be enough to forget, she thought, I'll have just one more glass and that's it. She did. Just... one more now, Cricket, and you're done. Another glass. Okay, really, that's enough. The bottle was half empty now. Seems a shame to waste it, now that there's only that much left... She raised the bottle, but stopped. Putting it down, she sighed. The door swung open and Cricket tensed up,
"Cricket, what's wrong? It's the middle of the night- oh... oh, my bad... I'll go" said the familiar voice of Blue
"Blue! Oh, moons, I didn't mean to wake you up I am so sorry please don't be upset I just couldn't sleep and thenIneededadrinkanditwasrighthere" she felt her self speeding up, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. Just... needed a drink,"
"No, it's fine. Still not able to sleep?"
"I... can't. The artillery, you know?"
"Is that," said Blue, twining his tail with her "really what's keeping you up?"
"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" she heard herself lie,
"Really?"
"I... no. No. I'm sorry. I just keep thinking about... everything"
"The war?"
"Yeah. That and... and..."
"I know," said Blue. They both were happy, and Bumblebee was growing into the most adorable and charming dragonet they knew, but they still always felt the gap where their dragonet should have been. Cricket and him had been talking about it for a long time.
"I feel better. I'm going to stop drinking this stuff, it's just, nothing else works," she said. That wasn't technically true. The humans had brought with them powerful tranquilizers, but Cricket had been shocked by what they used to put themselves to sleep. Opioids, morphine, and different powerfully addictive substances were their main sources of rest. According to Sundew, humans had no trouble taking them in small doses. They were addicted, but not enough to effect them. Until it was, and they overdosed. Cricket had seen dragons try to take the recommended dose for humans. The smell of poppies was on their breath when she had come back in. At least, would have been. They had stopped a while ago.
"It's okay, Cricket. I understand," said Blue. He released her tail, and took the bottle of cider and placed it back in the cabinet.
"Let's go to bed, Blue. Go to sleep. Things will be better tomorrow," said Cricket. They both went upstairs, and lay down. Finally, the hunger for sleep overcame her mind, still slightly kaleidoscopic and rushing to bring up more and more random memories and facts, and she fell deep asleep.
Miles away, Captain Arthur Flash was still awake reviewing a board of his meticulously detailed battle plan. They needed an informant. Someone with a tactician's eye of the area. His spy had told him that a dragon lived nearby who had a scientists eye for the world, and was more than capable of giving him the information he needed. A special operations team was out to get her now. What a curious name to give a dragon... he thought to himself as he scanned the board searching for areas he would need details on, dragons are much bigger than bugs, after all. He paused. Well, it doesn't really matter. I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Cricket, you have some details to inform me of...
Chapter 4
Baine Edwards sights were on, and the familiar incandescent glow of his infrared laser, green, filled his night vision goggles. God how he loved his night vision goggles. Legally identified as a NV1-MAX-IV or "NightVision System 1-Maximum Glow-Mk. 4" helmet, most of the men called them "Max-4s". They certainly did have a lot of glow. There was a rumor that you could see the iconic green beams they emitted 40 yards away. His Heckler & Kosch 416 hang off his side. For now, it was only chambered in .223 Remington. A cartridge basically nonlethal for dragons... kind of. Basically was the key word in that sentence. In reality, he had every intention of switching it to .300 AAC Blackout cartridges. That would change the name of his gun too. Legally, it would then be an HK237. Oh how he loved these silly little facts. Growing up in the South, his whole family had been the holy grail of goofy southern of gun nuts. Complete with Souther drawls and beef jerky to spare, he had been nicknamed "Cleetus" upon joining the unit and had been constantly talked to in a Southern accent. That was before he became a Corporal.
"Movement sir. The Blue one just walked in," said a voice he couldn't identify over his radio. Crackly static followed.
"You're supposed to say Over. Over."
"Oh, sorry."
"Do I really need to... explain what you just did?"
"Sorry! My bad... over"
"Thank you, over," said Baine as he snuck towards the back door of the house their target lived in.
"Breach team is in position, sir. Over," said another crackly voice over the intercom.
"Hold until my signal, over." Lining up the sights of his rifle, he positioned the barrel so it was directly ready to open fire into the living room at potential security threats. Dragons had an annoying habit of being near invisible in the dark. It's a good thing they still hadn't figured out bulletproof armor.
"3. 2. 1. BREACH!" said Baine, and with that a series of explosions rocked the house. The door blasted open as the breaching charge on it blew the lock into one hundred tiny pieces. He tossed a flashbang inside, and covered his ears.
BANG!
With a noise like thunder, a bright light filled the room and smoked poured out everywhere. The target wasn't there. They were awake now. Storming through the house, connecting with the second squad of Special Operations in the next room, he took the stairs two at a time until he reached the bedroom. A soldier in Winter Camoflouge came forward and retrieved a battering ram from his pack. The door gave way and a second soldier, clad in Winter Camo as well led the way, clutching a riot shield in front of him. The two dragons had just woken up. Before either could reach for a concealed weapon, Baine made the best of the situation. They couldn't be transported quietly now. His under barrel tranquilizer gun fired two darts, straight into both of them, and four members of the team secured the two targets. He was still surprised dragons were human size in this universe. They'd even seen tiny humans running around beneath their feet. As far as he was concerned, this whole dimension made no sense at all. Running back to his helicopter, he dialed a command into his commander.
"Captain. Targets secured. No casualties. Over," said Baine.
"Well done, Edwards, well done."
Climbing into the Blackhawk MU-60H, he found himself, instead of celebrating a successful mission, thinking of one thing alone. How in hell can no one in these units remember to say "over" when they're done with their damn message?
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Semi-Canon)
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)