PRELUDE TO WAR
Yolo's Landing, seven centuries ago
The Dragonslayer opened his eyes, and saw the sky.
Above, the city spires reached for the heavens in blocky defiance. The morning radiance glinted off the hull of an ascending orbital shuttle. His gaze traveled downward, resting upon the many utilitarian buildings and plain streets, crowded after years of intra-urban expansion.
He was alive.
He had survived his vertical descent, thrown against the waiting alleys below with nothing else besides his sword and sheer determination. His eyes turned back to the skyscraper before him, the broken panoramic window visible thirty floors up. He willed himself to rise, his body broken, yet his mind blazing with everbright fire. He went back into the building, ignoring the startled looks and the worried shouts. Of course, there was no one in his apartment. His Nemesis had fled, gone beyond his reach, seeking the protection of those the Dragonslayer had branded enemies. His path to vengeance was now barred by the unity of the very ones he wanted to deliver his wrath upon. For his crusade to succeed, he needed a union of his own.
The Dragonslayer examined his lodgings. The environment was heavy with neglect, reflecting the despair in his soul. His possessions were meager, his wealth nonexistent, his wardrobe solely the uniform he had worn with pride for so long. Only his blade remained sharp and in perfect order.
He wanted one more thing.
The Dragonslayer left his home away from home for the last time. He traveled to the cosmodrome, and commandeered an airjet. Then he flew away from the city, to the coast, and away again, to the distant south, where the ocean waves guarded the weathered shores of an old archipelago. There he landed on a small island, and left the airjet on a verdant clearing. He walked on stone steps to the highest point of the island, where a tall edifice loomed over the horizon like a forlorn beacon.
The Dragonslayer ascended the steps, and stood before Her shrine.
The triune sun hung low in the sky, its rays soft upon the monument, the purple-black surface sparkling with a thousand tiny stars. The Dragonslayer stepped closer, and knelt before Her final resting place. The shrine towered above him, massive, sharp, yet vague in shape, resembling outspread wings. He looked at it with bitter despair. He had transformed Her entirely, to give himself a ghostly semblance of peace, yet he had heeded Her last wish. In his memorial farewell, he had given Her the flight of freedom.
The Dragonslayer said no prayers. He kept kneeling before the tectonic expression of his grief, and quietly wept.
In time, he composed himself, and slowly rose. There, at the base of the shrine, lay a gridcaster gauntlet, its sable color indistinguishable from the dark body of the monument. The Dragonslayer stepped forward and took the gauntlet. His only memento of Her.
He put on the gridcaster, and felt a deep longing as its nanites adjusted the gauntlet to fit his arm perfectly.
"I will always remember you, my love," the Dragonslayer whispered, and lifted his head toward the twilight heavens.
Now he had everything he needed.
The Dragonslayer activated the gridcaster's commlink, and made a call.
***
The meeting was arranged at the city's edge. The apartment building was a plain, prefabricated structure, cheap housing for the swelling population of a former military stronghold struggling to reform into a proper colony center. When the Dragonslayer arrived, the remaining old guard from the 23rd Starlight Division had already gathered in the small studio. Twenty men and women lifted their heads as he strode into the crowded room, his closest and most loyal subordinates. One of them, a towering individual known as the Templar, stepped forth and saluted the Dragonslayer with a fist over his heart. "We're glad you are back among us, Commander," he said.
"What happened to the others?" the Dragonslayer asked.
"Most were killed in skirmishes after the Campaign, or went off-world with the returning colony ships. Some deserted when they learned where the Order was taking things. The rest decided to side with the damn lizards."
"Have there been deserters from other divisions?"
"Many," the Templar rumbled with dark approval. "The higher-ups thrill and croon over the dragons, but we know them for the savage beasts they truly are. They ignored the bloodshed and the horror of the Campaign, and think they can just invite these fire-breathing bastards into our society without any consideration. But we haven't forgotten, and we intend to fight back.
"However, resistance is disorganized, and lots of veterans choose to do nothing, unless someone unites us."
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Twenty pairs of eyes fixed upon the Dragonslayer. He met each of them, and returned his gaze to the Templar. "You all know my loss," he said. "You know my title. And I tell you this: I harbor only hate for dragons... and for those who choose to take their side. I want to rid the Cosmos of those monstrosities, and I will strike down anyone who stands in my way. If you are with me," he declared, "I will lead you."
A fierce cheer came from the packed crowd. Twenty individuals pledged their loyalty as one to their former leader. "We will follow you into the blackest void, Commander," the Templar said. "Until not a single dragon lives on this world."
"Then let us get to work immediately," the Dragonslayer said. "Our first objective will be to arm ourselves... and provide armament for those who will follow us."
"Sir, how will we call ourselves?" a short, burly woman asked. "How will the people know us?"
The Dragonslayer paused a moment to think.
"We will be known as the Dragon Removal Movement," he said.
***
The military compound was surrounded by the first echelon of the newly-formed Movement. The Dragonslayer watched the dark figures of ACUs and sky interceptors through the tactical helmet's night vision. Procuring personal arms was easy in a city originating from a former army base, yet to fight dragons, the Movement needed much greater tools for war.
The commlink susurrated. "Commander, all units are in position. Standing by for rules of engagement."
"Employ shock grenades and stunners for main takedowns," the Dragonslayer said. "If you encounter powered sentries, use lethal force. Try to keep a low profile as long as possible. Once the alarm goes off, fire at will. Remember, these people may join us one day, yet tonight they help our enemy. Do not hesitate."
The commlink buzzed with curt agreements. "Begin," the Dragonslayer commanded.
He signaled his team of five, and stormed the front gate. The guards went down before even realizing what was happening. The Dragonslayer led the group forth, toward the compound's main building. In the distance, grenade blasts punched the nighttime quiet, accompanied by muffled shouts.
They had just cleared the entrance hall, when alarms around the compound went off. The Dragonslayer discarded his stunner, and drew a heavy pistol. He shot three rushing guards, and made his way toward the command center, while his team neutralized any potential threats.
The commlink crackled. "Commander, Strike team Alpha has begun hijack procedures. Strike team Delta is in position, and ready to counter any additional opposition, over."
The Dragonslayer's team burst into the command center. There was a short, vicious melee. The Dragonslayer wiped blood from his blade. "Roger that," he replied over the commlink. "We have taken the command hub. NetSec team is ready to act when you are."
"Understood, Commander. ETA nine minutes."
The Movement soldiers took seats behind the control terminals. They began rapidly interfacing the system, decrypting passwords and downloading available information. Down in the field, strike teams provided hardline connections where necessary. "Sir, we have access to the system," one of the datatechs called. "We are ready to execute automation routines on your command."
"Do it," the Dragonslayer said, watching the compound's grounds from the observation windows.
Seconds later, the entire vehicle contingent of the military base rumbled to life. Skyships and giant mechs ascended on powerful thrusters, while interceptors and aerial cruisers lifted off runways, all disappearing into the night. The sky alighted with searchlights and laser beams, and small-arms fire erupted down onto the tarmac, as the alarms finally drew reinforcements to the assaulted compound. Yet they were too late.
The Movement had assembled its first warfleet.
***
The dragon screeched in anger and fear as it plunged lower, trying to flee the battle. The Dragonslayer forced the ACU's thrusters to maximum, staying in close pursuit. Green scales rippled as the dragon frantically beat its wings, its ruby-colored eyes desperately searching for an escape. It took a sharp turn, going around a bend in the wide canyon. The Dragonslayer slowed down, the clumsier mech following in pursuit. Suddenly, the viewpanel was filled by a wall of scaled muscle, gnashing jaws, and raking claws. The dragon's running ambush had succeed, and now it tried to shred the ACU with its deadly natural weapons.
The Dragonslayer parried the charge, but the dragon bowled into him, and they both tumbled from the sky. Alarms went off in the cockpit as the dragon tore large chunks from the hull plating. The Dragonslayer slammed the dragon with the mech's giant fist, stunning the creature. He rolled, putting the dragon between himself and the ground moments away from impact.
ACU and dragon hit the earth both with a tremendous crash, blowing up a huge cloud of dust and soil. The dragon roared in pain, and thrashed weakly. The Dragonslayer extended the mech's internal blade from one arm, and plunged the veronite-tipped edge into the dragon's chest. The winged reptile's roar cut into a hoarse wheeze, and it stilled, dead.
The ACU stood up and the Dragonslayer surveyed the area. Smoke rose from nearby sites, where positions had been bombarded, or enemy mechanical units had fallen. The Dragonslayer scanned frequencies. "Second, report," he commanded over the comm channel.
"The base is completely under our control, Commander. Only minor losses on our side. Veronite extraction teams are currently awaiting instructions."
"Tell them to take everything," said the Dragonslayer. "Prioritize the blood; it is the most potent element if it is extracted fast enough. Also, organize a salvage group. See if we can recover anything from the enemy's equipment."
"Understood, Commander. Anything else?"
"I think we have gathered enough. We will try next to hit those bastards right into the heart of their domain."
***
Months passed. The Dragonslayer's crusade caught like wildfire, turning social dissent and occasional rebellion into a full-scale war. More veterans flocked to his cause every day, bringing with them experience, armament, and the will to fight. The general populace was left defenseless, and the very existence of the emerging sapient dragons was threatened. The authorities were powerless, their soldiers refusing to fight against their former comrades-in-arms. The citizens were divided between opinions, some seeing the Dragonslayer as a war criminal, others saying he was the greatest protector transhumanity ever had.
Finally, to put an end to the chaos, the Anti-Insurgency Division was formed, a task force composed of the dragons themselves and their most ardent supporters, dedicated to fight for a lasting peace between two races who had begun their relationship through conflict.
Thus the AID became the face of the enemy the Movement fought, and they bore the brunt of the Dragonslayer's relentless wrath, taking heavy losses in selfless sacrifice to protect others and in hopeful desire to triumph over a single man, who had lost his mind, yet commanded a devoted army to carry out his mad will.
The Dragonslayer cared not for what others thought of him or his Movement, whether they were allies or enemies.
He desired only vengeance.