A Clockwork Dragon, Chapter One

8/8/2019 A Clockwork Dragon, Chapter One

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A Clockwork Dragon

Chapter One



Lieutenant Wade Rielly ran off the back of the C-130 into

Camp Justice. His mind was consumed with worry. Worry

that he would drop his M4 rifle and embarrass himself,

worry that his Army Combat Uniform was to bright and

unblemished. Worried that he brought too much, worriedthat he brought too little. Most of all, he was worried he

would never make it out of Iraq.

The camp resembled nothing more to him than the

beachfront of Santa Monica, if constructed out of tractor

trailer boxes. The ground was loose and slippery under

his feet, from loose, soft, sand, the kind you would

normally find at a beach volleyball court. The sun was

bright, so bright. He fumbled in a grenade pouch and

brought out a pair of Oakley sunglasses. He was instantly

gratified by the sudden muting of the glare. Still, the sun

shone down hot, and the sky was as bright as he had

every seen it.

Suddenly he realized he was alone. There had only been

two other soldiers with him on the airplane, an

overweight staff sergeant who worked in supply, and

another lieutenant. Neither one of them had said much.

Both of them had recognized him as an FNG, or fucking

new guy, and kept their distance. And now both weregone, in directions Rielly could not see. He looked

around, lost. He was vaguely aware of looking foolish,

and his cheeks started to burn. The green duffel bag on

his back grew heavy, he heaved upwards on the straps.

A group of enlisted passed. He saw their faces, young,

grimy. He suddenly remembered officer s chool. They



were supposed to salute. He raised his hand to stop

them.

“Hey.”

A young specialist, E-4. Turned and stopped. He looked

to be around fifteen, with a smooth face and a prominent

adams apple.

“Sir?” He asked.

It suddenly hit Rielly. This was a combat zone. You didn’t

ask your men to salute in a combat zone, theconsequences could be fatal. How could he be so stupid,

not to remember that?

“Sir?” The specialist asked, again.

“Which way is first Rangers?”

“Its that way.” The soldier pointed behind him. “Past the

hesco’s and the burning shitters. Bot before the hangers

for the helo’s.”

“Thanks.” Rielly said, before adding “Specialist.”

Already his head swam. Hesco’s? why would shitters

burn? He heard the men laughing, as they walked away.

When he walked past the trailers he saw for his own

eyes. The Orcs were there, stirring something that

smelled like excrement and kerosene. They were

disgustingly ugly, with mottled grey skin and yellow

fangs. His hand instinctively went for his rifle, then

stopped. This was, after all, their country.



“Hez bak no lar.” The Orc snarled. Rielly lowered his

head and said nothing. Over his shoulder he looked at

the flag patch velcroed on his left shoulder. The silver

tree and the seven stars. Was this, after all, just another

crusade?

“Lieutenant Rielly!”

A solder walked up. His hands were tucked into the top

part of his vest, he had a thick beard and smoked a

cigarette. He wore a different helmet than Rielly, a green

one with attachments and no cloth cover.

“Hez bak no lar.” The orc said again.

“No lar hez bak.” The soldier said back. “Hey lieutenant,

Sergeant Mullanix. Lets get you checked in.”

“What did you say to him?” Rielly asked, once the orcs

were safely out of earshot.

“Blood be with you.” Mullanix said. “It’s a greeting.”

“Sounds pretty rough.”

“Blood means a lot to the gob-heads.” Mullanix said. “Its

part of their religion, its in everything they do.”

Rielly lowered his head. He had heard that before. Why

didn’t he remember it? With Ranger school and officer

school, he hadn’t much time to study orcish. What kind

of leader was he, to make that kind of error? Was he any

kind of leader at all?

Colonel Miers sat at a desk in a conex trailer while Rielly

stood in front of him. He thought that he should stand at



attention, then thought differently, as it would prove

difficult with his bags. Behind the Colonel was a large

commemorative poster of the September attacks. Atop

the World Trade Center Towers the black outline of a

dragon stood, breathing its fire. Rielly imagined what itmust have been like on that day, to be working in on

office and suddenly seeing that shrieking metal monster

coming through the window, turning the world to flame.

“Lieutenant Rielly.” The Colonel said. “What the fuck are

you doing here?”

“Sir?” Rielly replied.

“What the fuck is the army doing, sending me a

butterbar?”

Rielly felt cold sweat running down the back of his neck.

“You got an answer, lieutenant?”

“This is where the Army sent me, sir.” Rielly answered.

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A Clockwork Dragon, Chapter One