49 Elder's Attack

Several members of my team, Luce included, didn't seem too sure of that, but he and Fields began to slowly edge around us anyway, their weapons never quite pointing at my children, but never all-that far from it, either. Three gleaming heads immediately lifted, and baleful draconic eyes tracked the men. A rumbling growl issued from the gunsteel throat of the pack leader. What shall I call you, dear one? Have you chosen a name for yourself yet? I surprised myself by giving vent to an annoyed-sounding hiss and all three dragonets flinched, quickly turning to butt their heads against me in crooning apology.

Both men were still more than fifty feet away from the opposite stairwell when the fire door slammed open and the building's guards began pouring in. Instantly my team threw themselves behind whatever cover they could find as moments later a hail of submachine gun fire came slicing across the floor. Assault rifles thundered in reply, and the guards dove behind crates and drums as well when several of their number went reeling back through the fire door and tumbled down the stairs.

The scene was like something out of a madman's nightmare. Behind us a huge dragon howled brokenly as he continued to paw at what was left of his face, his thrashing body knocking crates and metal drums flying in all directions. In front, MP5s winked at us like little fireflies from behind cover as G3s bellowed their response and the air all around us snapped, snarled and buzzed while I half-shoved, half-dragged a yelping trio of dragonets to cover behind a stack of heavy steel drums, the air turning blue around me as I vented my rage and frustration. Pinned! We had to get out of here before the big guns arrived!

So far, none of my guys were injured; the anonymous crates and other whatnot they were crouching behind were easily absorbing the 9mm our opposition was flinging at us. The guards, however, weren't as lucky as they found to their horror the heavy NATO armor-piercing rounds ripping right through their ersatz cover like it was so much wet cardboard. Their firing became frantic. Mink's mini-mortar went TONK again, and another cloud of CS blossomed among the guards. Several more mercs tried to make it up the stairwell, but were forced back as at least two of my men kept a steady rain of fire pouring through the doorway. Abruptly a small, ominous canister went skittering across the concrete, and moments later a slamming concussion came rolling out of the stairwell door. No one else emerged after that.

I ducked involuntarily as the steel drum just above my head made a loud PONNNG, and a clear liquid began cascading down the side of the pallet. I sniffed it, and felt my eyes go wide as I recognized the acrid smell. Acetone!

"THE DRUMS!" I screamed "DON'T HIT THE DRUMS! DON'T HIT THE DRUMS, OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!"

There was a hesitation amidst all the shooting, then it resumed; slower, more deliberate in tempo. Across the floor, several of the surviving guards realized what was gushing out of the bullet-riddled containers they were hiding behind, and began to desperately crawl towards other cover.

Then the floor exploded.

There was no other way to describe it, as huge fragments of concrete spalled off the buckling section of floor and flew whistling across the room while friend and foe alike scrambled to get out of their way. Then the floor heaved, and the enormous armored skull of an Elder dragon burst into view. Both sides stared in shock as heavy rebar screeched and bent and the Elder began to shoulder her way up through the hole she'd dug from below, eyes like huge amber lanterns glaring at my men, glowing with rage. Again the G3s thundered and I heard the Elder grunt with pain. She paused for a moment, but then she kept right on coming, grimly ignoring the rounds slamming into her.

My forelegs hit the floor with a thump. Within moments I completed shifting to my true form, screeching dragonets scampering out of the way as I rapidly swelled to full size. Stefan was right about there being Power woven about the building; even before I finished my shift I could sense a harsh keening in my head as magical alarms were set off by my presence. What I did not expect were the broad, snarled bands of bright red light that suddenly seemed to leap at me from every wall, unfurling like gaudy ribbons and reaching out towards me to snare and bind. . . .

With a snarled oath I flung out a taloned hand, activated a slicer spell and hurled it at one of the onrushing traps, which disintegrated beneath my pattern's actinic lines. But the other spells came on unabated. I managed to destroy a second one, then the remaining two slammed into me across my back and hindquarters, rapidly twining their way around me. I hissed in alarm, clawed at the ribbons frantically while I watched the Elder arch her neck, an ominous glow beginning to emanate from within her gaping jaws.

A solid column of blue-white flame went surging across the floor at my team, who dove behind crates that were turned into flaming torches instants later. Men rolled away, beating frantically at smoldering clothing. I was too tangled up in those damned ribbons to invoke any of my patterns, but I managed to grab a nearby steel drum with my single free hand, and desperately fling it at the Elder like a rock. It caromed off her skull, but she merely blinked and shook her head. She turned and gave me a murderous glare that clearly said later for you, then turned back to my men, her neck arching to flame again.

But now there was someone standing out in the open, directly in front of her, weapon braced at the hip. White-hot flame roared out to wrap the figure, but not before the Mad Mink's M203 went TONK and a gold-green shell flew glinting through the air.

The blast was incredible. I felt more than heard the concussion of the HE round shatter the surrounding windows as the shockwave battered against me, shrapnel pinging off my metal scales. The Elder's head went whipping back on its long neck like it had been drop-kicked by God, smashed against the ceiling, then fell limply to the scarred concrete. Either dead or unconscious, the Elder then began to slide back through the hole she'd only half-emerged from, to finally flop back down to the floor below us with a resounding crash.