Artemis's Finest - Chapter one

Day at the Office
20th January, 2057, 1539 hours
Trollhelman Mountain Ranges, Norway

Tracking dragons isn’t difficult. On the contrary, the tracking is the simplest part. Dragons are massive, loud, and have temper issues to match your most infuriated toddler. Except they’re massive. Their faeces are acrid enough to make anybody vomit, and their roars can successfully compete against thunder.

Tracking them is, without a doubt, simple. You’d just have to be a complete idiot to do so.

The bigger ones are capable of destruction similar to atomic bombs, just a lot slower and more painful. Swallowing humans in one mouthful is easy enough for most of them and they all have different weapons for gruesome deaths.

Flame-throwers, twenty-inch claws, razor sharp teeth, venom spitters and spiked-club tails, just listing some of the few. Not only that, their scales are bullet-proof, they have muscular power to destroy a battle tank and enough speed to dog-fight jets.

So why would you try capture one in a post-apocalyptic world where humans are being overrun by your worst nightmares? Simple. Cash and sport.

Scales are worth more a few hundred each, researchers will buy samples of innards handsomely, teeth and claws are always a favourite, and the strange fabrics that make up the wings are always in fashion (not literally).

Snow fell lightly, but the winds pushed it at speed so it stung against uncovered flesh. Two men were crouching on a ridge in the Trollhelman Mountain Range that was jutting out of a cliff face. It was shielded from the bitter winds, but it didn’t stop it from being freezing. They were standing literally five centimetres from the edge, their backpacks pressed against the rock face, the gaping drop stretching out below them.

Michael Chrat took a drag on a cigarette. Next to him, Graham Reith rubbed his gloved hands together while blowing warm air onto them. They were both wrapped in thick, white winter apparel, their equipment in big backpacks, their bodies covered in climbing gear.

Michael offered the cigarette to Graham, who shook his head. Michael shrugged, took one last drag on the cigar and flicked it into the abyss below them. They watched it disappear into the darkness when there was a tremendous roar from somewhere, almost indistinguishable over the howling winds.

They felt the mountains tremble as the rolling rumble bellowed through the mountains. Graham turned to Michael.

“Ready to go?” He asked him. The microphone built into Graham’s balaclava echoed the voice to Michael’s earpiece.

“Let’s move,” Michael responded. They stood up, knowledgeable of the two thousand foot fall in front of them. The two of them shuffled along the ridge, pressing their backpacks against the frost-bitten wall. They were edging along it cautiously, knowing that if the rock gave way, they would fall to their deaths.

Graham followed Michael, side-stepping along the rock until what they found what they were looking for. An ice wall. The thick barrier of frozen water towered upwards, clinging to the rock face.

They checked that it would hold their weight, and started to climb. They hit their ice axes (which are really just little scythes that fit into your hand) into the ice, hoisted themselves up the eighty-degree wall. The two of them were expert dragon-hunters. They were very good and very expensive. Possibly the only two of three left across the globe that were capable of scaling a mountain and taking on a dragon.

Graham was infuriated at the cold, how it managed to sneak through the smallest crevices and create a freeze-burn, like the tiny space between his goggles and balaclava. Despite this, he never complained, he just climbed.

Michael on the other hand, used the cold to drive himself, he powered upwards, slamming the axe in his hand into the ice, pulling himself up, and slammed his other axe into the ice before kicking the spikes under his boots into the wall.

They were nearly at the top, when Michael felt one of his axes slip slightly, accompanied by the sound of cracking ice. His heart skipped a beat. And the axe gave way. He clung to the other axe as he fell, his boot-spikes slipping out of the ice, powder falling onto his companion below him. Graham looked up at him, shocked. Michael hung suspended in mid-air, the axe in his left hand his only lifeline, his whole body weighing down on it.

“Shit.” Michael watched the ice crack and crumble around the axe, and as if in slow motion, it slid from the ice. He tumbled away from the wall, his heavy pack pulling him down into the chasm. He was going to die. He knew it.

Then an arm lashed out and a strong hand gripped Michael’s wrist. Graham’s muscles strained, and Michael was swung under Graham, and slammed into the ice below his saviour. Michael grunted as his body hit the wall.

Michael quickly dislodged his face from the ice and embedded his spikes and axes into the wall. Both of them were breathing hard.

“I am never taking one of these jobs again,” Michael’s words echoed into Graham’s ear. Graham chuckled sarcastically, knowing that was Michael’s way of saying ‘thank-you’.

“You’re going to go the Wing-Tailed in a few nights and show off about it to all the girls there,” Graham replied. Michael hesitated.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I will.”

They reached the top, clambered over the edge and reached the snow covered peak. They were standing in ankle deep snow, the wind suddenly cutting into them, snow hitting against them. Close by, maybe half a mile away, was the summit, the tower of white clear against the dark grey clouds. Their source said the cave was on the south-east side of the Mountain, facing the ranges. They trudged off, heading towards the cave, glancing towards the sky every now and again.

Meanwhile, further down the mountain, James Tanner was driving up in The Tractor. It was a caterpillar-tracked semi-trailer the team used to get their goods back to the colonies. He was one of the trio, but a day earlier The Tractor had been bogged down in deep snow, and the two others had left James to get it out, while they scaled the steep side of the mountain on foot.

He had lost contact with them after they had gone for a few hours, devoured up by the snow and wind. He wasn’t worried, this wasn’t the first time they had lost comms before, and James didn’t doubt the others for a second.

The Tractor powered through the snow, driving the longer way up the mountain, across less sloping climbs. James had a small armoury in the cabin behind his seat, which he needed to get to the others quickly, before they froze and before they took on a dragon that had destroyed a whole town.

The other two, Michael and Graham, heard another roar. They were moving towards the approximate location of the cave when it nearly caused an avalanche. They could feel the dragon’s footsteps slamming against rock somewhere below them. Both of them wondered why it was so annoyed.

Graham pulled out his GPS mapping system and they both stopped next to the cover of some large rocks, out of the bitter winds. Michael removed his backpack and took out an MRE (Meals, Ready-to-Eat), which was basically disgusting unperishable food in a cardboard bag.

“James is still a few kilometres off, he’s moving really, really slowly.”

“Not surprising,” Michael said through a mouthful of potato. Graham watched as little pieces of vegetable sprayed onto the snow. “What?”

“Nothing, never mind.” Graham said. He had long learnt to not question Michael’s eating habits. “We don’t have the resources to take on a class three; but it’s not like we can wait that long for James.”

Dragons were ranked differently, mainly because nobody had bothered to name the different species. A clss one being the smallest, a class five the largest. They were also judged on the kind of projectile it sprayed: ice, fire and poison being the main three.

Keep in mind, hunting dragons isn’t a ‘paper, scissors, rock’ thing. Fire doesn’t work on ice dragons, poison doesn’t work on fire dragons, and ice doesn’t work on poison dragons. Or any other combination you can think of. It doesn’t work like that. Shooting a fire-hose at a fire dragon would just make you look like an idiot.

The best way, and the tactic that the three of them almost always used, was to put it to sleep and then kill it while it’s quiet. Killing it from the inside is basically the only way to kill one. That or blow its head off with a ballistic missile, but remember, they’re trying to make money out of these.

Keeping them asleep for prolonged amounts of time isn’t a good idea either. Elephant tranquiliser doesn’t work on dragons. The concoction needed is unbelievably expensive. That’s why they usually put them to sleep for just enough time to put a special kind of explosive into its mouth.

Twenty minutes later, they were moving through the snow again, the roars of the dragon and crushing sounds it made against the cave walls underneath their feet were clearly distinguishable, and Graham noted that they were probably standing over one of its caverns.

The GPS in Graham’s hands showed the location of four cave entrances that could fit a grade-four. Judging by the seismic movement, both of them guessed that there was a tunnel network, and that the four cave entrances were linked anyway. So they were heading for the closest one.

They trudged through the knee-deep blanket of frozen water, thinking of the large reward the Swedish were going to pay them. Graham looked around them. Snow. Rock. More snow.

He never dreamt of going to Norway, but he was really starting to hate it.

They were about fifty metres away from the cave when there was a jolt of static through their headsets, and James’ voice, almost indistinguishable, reached them.

“Graham, Michael, it’s Jam-.” Static. “-Ou can hear th-.”

“James, this is Graham, if you can hear this, we can barely hear you, get closer and try again,” Graham said. James didn’t get the message. He kept trying. They ignored him and walked the last fifty metres. The mouth of the cave was hard to miss.

A giant black, gaping mouth in the side of the mountain, flanked by pure white. The snow that had once covered it had been blasted aside, and there were massive tracks in the cave entrance. Four front claws, a massive palm, and another talon at the back. Michael was looking into the cave, while Graham inspected the footsteps.

“Did we pack night-vision goggles?” Michael asked him. Graham looked up.

“You were in charge of the backpacks, you tell me,” Graham said. Michael hesitated. Graham sighed and mopped his face with his hands.

“I brought flashlights though,” Michael said, pulling out his led torch. They would most definitely lose the element of surprise. Despite this fact, Michael was grinning. “Should be fun, man.”

“No, it should not be fun. How many times can me and James get angry at you before you learn to organise things?” Graham asked him, scowling. Michael looked hurt.

“Okay, first off, it’s ‘James and I’, not ‘James and me’. And secondly, I packed torches, and food, and cigarettes. And the explosives,” Michael explained to him.

“We’re going to have to wait for James.”

“Don’t worry about it buddy, the dragon’s probably half-dead, remember?” He smiled cheerfully from behind his balaclava, clasped Graham on the shoulder, pulled out his tranquiliser rifle and walked into the darkness. Graham considered leaving Michael to face his well-deserved fate with the dragon. He sighed, furious, before pulling out his identical gun and following him into the cave.

The gun they used was a jet-black assault rifle with a twelve round magazine that held the large tranquiliser bullets. They both had scopes attached and could attach their flashlights to the bottom.

The wind howled outside the cave. The torches penetrated the darkness, illuminating the walls and casting long shadows. Graham was acting a lot more worried than Michael, as usual. Graham was quiet, his gun stock pushed against his shoulder reassuringly, his heart slamming against his ribcage like a jackhammer, while trying to stay quiet.

Michael, on the other hand, was a lot more relaxed. He was lighting a cigarette with a match, his gun under his arm. In Graham’s ear, he could just hear him humming a tune.

The cave shook as the dragon’s body made contact with the rock. Whether it was footsteps, or it was just scratching its body against the wall of the cave, was indiscernible. Dust fell from the ceiling, alongside small stalactites. James’ attempts with contact had cut out completely. A gigantic roar echoed through the caves, damn near deafening them. Cold air drifted from the innards of the caverns in the roars wake, halting the two of them in surprise.

They glanced at each other, despite not being able to see past each other’s balaclava’s, they knew they were showing uncertainty. Graham led the way deeper into the tunnels.

A few howling roars and a couple of earthquakes later; they found themselves at a junction. The cold pressed in on them in waves, in time with the dragon’s audible, heavy breathing. They were certain it was close by.

They whipped around the corner, lifting their guns, and their torches fell upon the massive beast standing in the middle of the massive cave. The cavern was over ten metres high, with deadly looking stalactites protruding from the ceiling. Not like that was the most eye-catching feature.

The dragon was massive, well over twenty metres, snout to tail. It was standing on all fours, but had stopped stomping around furiously having noticed the two bounty hunters as soon as they had turned the corner. It had ice-blue scales that glistened under the flashlights glare, a spine of deadly looking spikes ran down its back, its wings folded close to its body, it had two massive fangs that hung over its lower lip, like a sabre-tooth. It emanated cold.

Funny, it could have been beautiful. It turned its head to face them, the red and black eyes standing out against the bullet-proof hide. Its scales moved and reflected the light as its giant muscles powered its neck. The wings were made of semi-transparent material, still bullet-proof. It was almost a shame something so great and dominant was destined to die.

As it turned towards them, Graham noticed the angry red wound on its body, almost hidden by its wing. The scales had been removed by an explosion and the exposed flesh had taken hits by an AA gun. Ice covered the wound, sealing in the blood and keeping out the dirt. The dragon had been using its liquid-nitrogen to keep its wound clean.

Michael caught the beast’s eye, waiting for it to roar, or release nitrogen, so he could put it to sleep. Instead, the monster turned around, bringing its rear end up, and suddenly, there was a club of a tail sailing towards the two of them.

They swore in unison. Graham ducked, flattening himself against the cold ground as Michael jumped backwards. The spiked tail whistled past, narrowly missing them both before slamming into a wall, pieces of rock flying from the impact point. The dragon removed its tail and tried to slam its club onto Graham.

He rolled sideways, while Michael tried to flank the dragon while it was distracted. The club hit the ground where Graham had just been, the force made Graham stumble backwards, the flashlight moving continuously, changing the size of the shadows.

The dragon turned its head to face Michael. He raised his gun, waiting for it to open its mouth. A wing appeared out of nowhere; hit Michael in the chest with force. He was pushed off his feet, dropped his gun and his back hit the rock wall with a worrying crack.

Graham avoided another swing, jumping out of range of that lethal-looking spiked tail. He glanced at his unmoving friend, slumped against the rock wall. Instead of moving backwards when the tail came at him again, he sidestepped left, rolled, came up crouching, and aimed at the wound on the side of the dragon.

He squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew out of the barrel, followed by orange flame. The shell surrounding the tranquiliser dart fell away mid-flight, leaving a silver syringe. The needle embedded itself into the ice over the wound uselessly.

The dragon roared, making Graham’s ears ring. On the other side of the beast, Michael opened his eyes. The tail soared towards Graham, and he ducked before the spikes hit him in the face. The club hit the wall above his head, raining rocks on top of him.

The whole dragon turned while Michael was still in shock and Graham was blinded with dust and rock. It opened its mouth slightly at Graham. Squinting through tear-glazed eyes, he could make out the massive blood-stained fangs, the snake-like tongue, the slit opening at the back of its mouth.

He felt around his immediate area, came to the conclusion his gun wasn’t there, and scrambled to his feet, diving right just as liquid nitrogen burst from the dragon’s mouth like a fire hose.

The cavern dropped another five degrees. The spray hit the wall and dissipated into gas, Graham narrowly avoiding the nitrogen. It turned its head to follow him, Graham trying to outrun the freezing spray while scanning the cave for his gun.

He saw it. It was lying next to the dragon’s front foot, the flashlight had stopped working and it would have been invisible if the other torch in the room hadn’t moved. Michael had stood up. He was winded and pain ebbed in his spine, but his friend wasn’t going to freeze to death in this cold, uninhabitable place.

Michael launched himself forward, and jumped at the dragon. The scales were icy to the touch, but he quickly found a grip in between the spaces and held on. The dragon bellowed, turning its attention away from Graham and trying to dislodge the puny human from its leg by shaking him off.

On the other side of the dragon, Graham dived for his gun. And almost reached it, before a giant, taloned foot came from nowhere and stood on it, smashing it to bits. The barrel slid across the ground and stopped between his feet. Slight drawback.

Graham could barely see anything in the dark. The dragon was stomping around, and it was smashing its tail and body against the wall, trying to dislodge Michael, somehow, Michael still had his gun on his body, the torch pointing upwards into the stalactites. Graham couldn’t do much but back the hell up as it started rampaging around the cavern.

“There’s a reason nobody’s ridden a dragon before!” Graham shouted over the dragon to Michael.

“I know why firsthand!” Michael responded with difficulty, clinging to the other side of the very cold-blooded reptile. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to have children!”

“Get the hell off that thing, man!” The dragon heard him shout, remembering that Graham was there. It swung around, bringing its tail up. He dodged, even though its aim was off, and it missed by a mile.

The whole cavern shook, bits of rock rained from the ceiling, tumbling onto Graham and he looked up to the ceiling. Michael’s beam illuminated the massive, wobbling stalactites. Plan B.

Graham picked up a nearby rock, and threw it with all his might at the dragon’s rear. It bounced off the scales uselessly. Still, got its attention. The tail came at him again in a sweeping motion. The dragon was still distracted by the guy with the iron-grip. It was trying to swing its head to an angle where it could freeze Michael. The club-tail missed Graham easily, but it still hit the wall like a freight-train.

The whole mountain shook. James looked up from the wheel towards the summit as The Tractor vibrated, expecting an avalanche. He wasn’t comforted when there wasn’t a tidal wave of snow stampeding towards him. He chewed his gum nervously, wondering why it was taking that long for them to put it down.

The trio was capable of taking down a dragon in less than ten seconds. It wasn’t that hard to outsmart most of them. James pressed down on the accelerator, his mind jumping to the worst conclusions, the treads on the rear axles churning snow faster and faster.

Rocks rained down from the ceiling. Graham lifted his arms up to protect his head. The dragon barely noticed the raining rocks, as it finally got annoyed enough to slam its flank against the rock wall with colossal might. Michael was smashed into the wall again. Graham was forced to the ground as the floor quaked beneath him. Even from where he was, he heard the crunch of Michael’s bones against the rocks.

Michael roared in pain, and he let go, his hands slipping from the scales, pain spiking through his back. He slumped to the ground again, as a large stalactite fell from the ceiling and landed a few metres away from Graham. The sharp piece of ice slammed into the ground, so solid it didn’t even shatter.

The dragon turned to Graham, bringing its whole body around to bear death onto him. Another stalactite broke away, hitting the ground to the right of the dragon. It ignored it. The beast opened its jaws, and the odour of blood mixed with every other awful smell on earth wafted towards Graham.

He would have retched if shock hadn’t gripped his body. Fear wrapped around him, as menacing and blood-chilling as the icy breezes emanating from the pits of the dragons lungs.

A stalactite suddenly pummelled the dragon in the back. It screeched in pain, extending its wings out in surprise. Dragon saliva sprayed over Graham, who recoiled, disgusted, the roar bringing him out of shock. Another icicle fell closer to Michael.

Graham was just standing up to run while the dragon was distracted, when a big stalactite fell and impacted the monster right on top the skull with a strangely satisfying crunch.

It made a strange bird-like whine, tottered a few steps to the right, then a few more to the left, disorientated. It shook its colossal head, before turning around and charging out of the collapsing cavern, tucking its wings in close, into the same tunnel they entered in, its massive footsteps making the ground shudder, trying to escape.

Graham swore. He ran towards Michael as fast as he could, doing his best to dodge the falling rocks. Michael’s expression was screwed up in pain. There was a large gash across his right cheek, his balaclava demolished. Blood pumped from the wound, rolled down his neck.

“Michael!” Graham shouted at him, removing the rest of the white balaclava. “Michael!”

Michael moved his neck, the bone cracking.

“Shouting at me won’t magically heal me, Graham!” Michael said, irritated..

“Want me to go on without you?” Graham asked.

“God no,” Michael said. “Carry me, fat boy.”

“Fuck you.” Graham responded. He picked Michael up from under the shoulder and supported him as he stood up. Michael groaned in pain as he was lifted to his feet, his gun in his right hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Michael said through gritted teeth. “Try to get through to James.”

They exited the cavern into the tunnel, Michael limping next to Graham, arm around his shoulder. Ahead, they could hear the dragon forcing its large body through the tunnel without grace.

“Goddamn, man!” Michael shouted right into Graham’s ear, temporarily taking his attention off the headset. “Stop bouncing my spine!”

“You’re such a little bitch!” Graham said between gasps, pulling the annoying bitch alongside him.

“I may have a broken back!”

“You wouldn’t be talking if you had a broken back!” Graham retorted. Michael stayed quiet for five seconds. Graham almost got his hopes up.

“Now do you believe I have a broken back?” Michael shouted. Graham rolled his eyes.

Loose pebbles covered the ground from where the dragon had dislodged the walls and ceilings. Michael kept talking into the headset, trying to get contact with James. The dragon roared ahead of them, struggling to make its way through the cave.

Above them, James was struggling to make his way through the snow while it was moving around like water. The Tractor had dealt with forests, to deserts, and everything in between. Including snow. But not while there was a dragon creating an upheaval underneath it.

It didn’t take long for it to get bogged. The massive tracked semi-trailer was suddenly three feet deep in snow, almost like it was in quick-sand. James swore, pressing down on the pedal, the treads not even turning as the snow filled every conceivable crack below the cab.

The dragon roared, and James wondered why the hell it was still alive. Concern pumped through his system. He bit his lower lip and kicked the steering wheel. He swore out loud.

James pulled on his balaclava and sunglasses and opened the truck-door. The cold pushed against him. Cussing profusely, he jumped out of The Tractor and onto the snow. That snow was going nowhere. Unless…

James found a flamethrower in the trailer and, grinning evilly, walked back round to the bogged cab. His headset started cracking softly. His heart skipped a beat.

“Graham, Michael, come in,” he said into the headset. More static. James realised that his boots had been sinking into the snow. He pulled himself out and strapped the gas pack to his back.

The static started becoming clear as he worked; gaps appeared between the crackling, which became indistinguishable words. He wondered what the other two were doing as the mountain continued to shake, tremors running through the snow and up James’ legs.

He aimed the flamethrower at the treads of The Tractor, ready to pull the trigger.

“James, come …” Static. “Respond, James, we need your help!”

“Say please,” James responded.

“Oh, thank Christ, listen carefully!” Michael grunted. It sounded like he was in pain. “The dragon’s escaping, can you-? Oh shit.”

There was another almighty roar. The cold wind pushed harder and James stumbled back. In the distance, a geyser of snow burst into the sky, white powder showered upwards, and a massive head, followed by a snake-like neck, and a giant body emerged from the ground, finished with a powerful tail. The vibrations stopped.

The ice dragon screeched, an ear-piercing shriek, which made all three of them clap their hands to their ears. James watched as the dragon extended its colossal wings.

It was almost… art-worthy. The ice-blue brute standing gracefully on the snow, its gigantic size breath-taking, the way its scales gleamed in the sun-stricken haven, the muscles shifting under the bullet-proof hide.

It didn’t just emit cold. It emanated power.

It beat its wings. Two hundred metres away, James was lifted off his feet from the down-force. It beat both of them again. The dragon jumped as it did it a third time. It was launched into the air, somehow airborne.

“DOWN THE MOTHERFUCKER!” Michael shouted. James pushed himself out of the snow and jumped into The Tractor. He reached into the back of the cab, and found what he was looking for in the armoury.

The dragon was gaining altitude when he lifted the massive tube to his shoulder, holding the grips securely, looking into the scope with his right eye. A guided missile launcher. It used a laser system to follow moving targets, you just had to keep the rocket launcher aimed on the doomed enemy.

He turned off the safety switch and pulled the two triggers simultaneously. The rocket thundered to life. Fire and smoke burst from the back of the barrel, melting the snow behind it. The missile flew from the tube, straight towards the dragon, leaving a white smoke-trail.

James kept the reticule on the body of the dragon, the missile following the laser.

Graham felt his heart stop before the missile hit the beast elevating above the two of them. The warhead detonated against the bottom of the dragon. Flame engulfed the belly, black smoke hiding the whole dragon from their line of sight. They felt the heat wave from the explosion, shielding their eyes from the sudden amount of bright light.

The dragon tumbled out of the sky, falling back towards them like a meteorite, smoking. Unable to use its wings to slow itself down, the beast pummelled into the snow a hundred metres away from them. Another earthquake shook their world.

It was a great excuse for Graham to drop Michael. Michael shouted in pain as he hit the snow.

“You dick!” Michael said. Graham scoffed at the irony. “You did that on purpose.”

“No, I didn’t,” Graham said, looking down at him, failing to sound innocent. “I am sorry, my friend.”

A hundred metres away, the dragon was furious. It stood up. Physically, it looked fine; the explosion had knocked off a few of the scales, but hadn’t been able to penetrate the hide underneath. The dragon turned towards the two men, standing outside the entrance of the cave.

Even from where they were, they could see the anger glint in its eyes. It roared at them, the tremendous lungs making the mountain shake, the awful waft of its breath making Michael and Graham gag. The dragon turned towards them and started charging at the two of them on foot. Its massive legs were crossing the distance in no time at all.

It opened its mighty jaws, getting ready to release its payload. Michael pulled the pin of his gun, turned off safety, and threw it to Graham. Graham turned the barrel to the dragon, aiming into the mouth when it was almost right on top of them. He pulled the trigger.

The tranquiliser dart hit the dragon’s tongue. Its eyes closed as it lost consciousness, and its limbs stopped working but the momentum kept it moving. The beast ploughed into the snow. It skidded through the iciness on its belly, limbs and wings trailing with it, before coming to a full halt a few feet from Graham and Michael.

James walked casually over to them, holding the flamethrower over his shoulder. The monster lay there peacefully. Breathing heavily, blowing chilly winds onto the two men standing in front of it. Both of them were amazed they were still alive.

“Nice shot,” James said to Graham.

“Likewise,” Graham responded, smiling. Michael bent down and pulled the mine out of his backpack.

“You two look like hell.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, opening the dragon’s mouth with his foot. “My back’s broken man, I feel like hell.”

James glanced at Graham, raising his eyebrows from under the balaclava. Graham shook his head.

Michael crouched down and reached into the dragon. He stuck the mine to the roof of the beast's mouth, below the brain, so the pieces of razor-sharp tungsten would kill it good and proper.

He crawled back out of the saliva-filled hollow and threw the detonator to James.

“First rounds on me,” James said and pulled the detonator’s trigger.