Page 68 of Legion

I gazed at the crudely sketched map in my hand as I walked beside Tristan down the narrow road that cut through the base. It was late afternoon, and around us, the base was eerily silent, though I knew no one was idle. A tense stillness hung over the chapterhouse, and soldiers went about their duties in full combat gear, myself included. For the first time in months, I was back in uniform, the black-and-gray combat armor of the Order of St. George. I knew I had to wear it to survive, that the suit designed for fighting dragons was my best shot at coming out of this alive, but I took no pride in it. It was just another reminder of what I had done, the years I had killed without a thought. Tonight, though, I would wear it to defend my former brothers and the dragons I had once driven toward extinction.

I glanced at the map again. The scribbled drawing showed the whole of the Western chapterhouse in messy black lines, but the layout was as familiar to me as the back of my hand. None of the hastily scrawled “buildings” were labeled or numbered, but I knew each of them by heart.

“Snipers will be set up here, here and here,” Tristan answered, pointing to three positions on the map. Chapel tower, headquarters and armory roof. “We won’t be staying in position, though,” he added. “Orders will be your standard ‘shoot and scoot.’ We can take two, maybe three shots at most. But then the risk of discovery becomes too great, and we’ll have to fall back to avoid being swarmed.”

I nodded and gazed up at the chapel as we passed beneath, at the faded white walls and pointed steeple; it wasn’t hard to imagine Tristan up there, aiming his rifle at passing dragons. “We’ll need more guns in the air than just snipers,” I muttered, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Machine gunners will take up position at these four points,” Tristan went on, tapping the map. “So all angles of attack will be covered. Hopefully we can fill the sky with so much lead it’ll be like it’s raining dragons.”

I tried not to wince at that image, visualizing a small red dragon tumbling limply from the sky, landing on the hard ground with a thump. For a moment, my thoughts strayed. I hoped she was all right. I had tried calling her this morning only to remember that all our personal possessions had been taken away when we’d been captured by Talon, phones included, and I had no way of contacting her. I didn’t know if she’d been able to convince Riley and the hatchlings to fight, but I had to assume that we were on our own—that no help would be coming.

Truthfully, part of me hoped she wouldn’t come. After sending away the civilians, the true rookies and the small number of family units, there weren’t very many soldiers left. Surprisingly, few actual soldiers had opted to leave, and the number had been far less than I had expected, but the loss of every dragonslayer still hurt. From what I’d learned of the Night of Fang and Fire, Talon knew the exact number of soldiers stationed here; they would know the numbers needed to take us out. If the Order fell, if I died tonight in a hail of gunshots and dragonfire, I would rather Ember be far away, safe from the madness that was to come.

“Good,” I muttered, stopping in front of the large square building in the center of the base. “That takes care of the antiair support. The rest of us will bunker down in the armory.” Of all the buildings in the chapterhouse, it was the most defensible, with reinforced doors, few points of entry and heavy brick walls that would hold up well to dragonfire. Pulling the door open revealed that it had already been prepared for an attack; the glass in the windowpanes had been taken out and replaced with boards and sandbags, giving soldiers a spot to fire at incoming dragons. Iron barricades had been erected, creating choke points for enemy forces and cover for the rest of us. A machine gun turret was in the process of being set up near the door, pointing straight toward the entrance, so that if the doorwasbreached, the first thing the attackers would run into would be a storm of turret fire.

I walked along the back wall, taking note of everything. Ammo, firearms, grenades, combat gear, fortifications. “Looks like we’re as ready as we can get,” I mused, feeling time slipping away from us. Only a couple hours till sundown, and after that, the countdown began in earnest. “I’ll need to report back to Martin with our progress. Is this everything?”

“Nearly,” Tristan said, stopping at a long shelf covered by a tarp. “There is one more thing.”

He flipped the canvas back, revealing a pair of RPGs—rocket propelled grenade launchers, designed to pierce armor and punch through tanks. Fired from the shoulder, the weapon’s pointed, nearly foot-long grenade did significant damage upon impact, and could severely cripple or even kill a full grown Adult dragon. Unfortunately, they weren’t that effective against agile, fast-moving targets, nor could they be deployed in public, so the Order rarely used them.

“There is one more team we haven’t talked about,” Tristan explained, his dark gaze roaming over the deadly weapons. “If the dragons break through the defenses and get into the armory, we’re screwed. We need an ace in the hole, a crack team to hang back and hit the dragons from behind. To strike at the perfect moment and do the most damage possible.”

“Basically, you need a suicide squad,” I said. “Because once that attack hits, that team is out in the open, isolated from everyone. They’ll have no support and no backup once the dragons turn on them. They go in and they wreak as much havoc as they can before they’re wiped out.”

“Yep. And, of course, the commander will have to know just when to strike. If he springs the attack early, we lose any advantage. If it’s too late, we’ve already taken too much damage and the base could fall. We’ll need someone with experience, who can be patient and wait for the perfect moment, but who isn’t afraid to charge screaming at the enemy to save everyone else.” Tristan gave me an unreadable look. “So how ’bout it, partner? You up for leading one more counterstrike? Probably the very last one?” He shrugged, and a faint, rueful grin crossed his face. “Lieutenant Martin said he wanted the best leading this attack. But since we’re kind of short-handed, I figured I would ask you.”

I gave a tired smile. That was Tristan extending the olive branch, on the last day we might be alive. I was grateful, however long it lasted.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’d be honored.”

* * *

“Damn fools.”

I stood in Gabriel Martin’s office, hands clasped behind me out of habit, watching him replace the phone and shake his head. Behind him, the clock on the wall read 5:36 p.m.; I knew he’d been on the phone with various members of the Order since early this morning. Beside the clock, the red dragon hide glimmered dully, making my stomach twist. It was strange; I’d been in this office several times before, but had never really noticed the hide until now, never thought about what it truly represented. That a hatchling had been killed, murdered by the Order, and its skin had been taken for a trophy. I wondered what Ember would say if she could see it.

Martin sighed, rubbing his forehead as he glanced up at me. “I’ve notified everyone I can think of,” he said. “I’ve warned the council about the impending attack, and I’ve sent a message to every base and chapterhouse I could get through to.”

“Do you think they’ll listen?”

“I don’t know.” Martin shook his head. “Maybe. The council, certainly not. They believe this is a ploy by Talon to get us to panic and take advantage of the confusion within the Order.” He paused a moment, then sighed. “They are already calling for my resignation. The other chapterhouses might take the threat seriously—it’s difficult to say. But I’ve done all I can.” His jaw tightened. “What’s it look like on our end? Are we prepared?”

“We’re as ready as we can be, sir.”

Martin nodded. “And what of yourself, Sebastian?” he asked. “Have there been any problems with the rest of the men?”

“No, sir,” I replied. Most of my former brothers had either accepted my presence with cool politeness, as if dealing with a squad leader we all knew was a jerk, or pretended I didn’t exist. There had been a few death glares, and one incident where someone had spit in my direction before being shouted down by his squad leader, but no outright challenges or attempts to corner me. This was partially due to the respect Gabriel Martin commanded, but an imminent attack from dragons also commanded everyone’s attention. The chapterhouse had been so busy preparing for the assault there had been no time for scheming or thoughts of revenge against a single soldier.

Martin nodded, his face dark. “If they do,” he said, “if there is trouble, Sebastian, I want you to come to me. Don’t try to handle it yourself. If this attack doesn’t happen soon, tempers are going to fray, and the tension is going to drive some very foolish decisions. I don’t want this base to fall into chaos, nor do I need anyone in the infirmary right now. I know most of the men will follow orders, but I can’t be everywhere at once. If you think there could be trouble, I want you to tell me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that goes for your dragons when they get here, as well.”

“They might not show up, sir. There are only a few hours of daylight left.”And the attack is supposed to happen tonight.I swallowed the bitterness in my throat.Ember, it’s probably for the best that you don’t come. I suspect very few of us are going to live to see the next morning.

“Even so. If they do arrive, we’ll have our hands full keeping everyone in line.”

---