Soldiers and Dragons

Six crows sat upon the quickly darkening spruce tree. Six crows squawking at the setting sun. Six crows watching the hooded stranger climb the lonely hill. The stranger, a large man hewn from the rough stones, walked right under the branch with the 6 crows, looking down. The man reaches into his trench coat and produces a pistol; a standard-issue Sig P320 pistol. Judging from the scratches and mud caking the grip, the weapon had been used for a while. The stranger checked the chamber and aimed the pistol at the 6 crows. A short ‘bang,’ and the forest was cleared. Another shot; four still sat on the branch. Another still and only 3 remained. Another, and another until only one crow remained.  

The stranger aimed his pistol at the last crow, a statue now, and said, “So what will it be? A game of chicken?” The stranger’s finger tightened around the trigger.

“You win,” the crow squawked, quite annoyed at the circumstances. The crow began to alter its appearance, first becoming an almost solid ball of malleable light, and then a man. The man. An African American man appeared to be in his late forties, dressed in a fine tuxedo, top hat, and monocle. The man rested on a long black cane held in a strong gloved hand.

The stranger laughed as the crow transformed. “That is one more for me, is it not?”

“You seem to be in high spirits. What happened, another genocide?”

“I wish, but that is what were are trying to accomplish, is it not?”

The gentleman smirked as he leaped from the branch to meet the stranger. The stranger removed his hood, revealing a tanned complexion, like years of toil under the watchful gaze of fire. A bright red, scraggly, and mangy mane covered the man’s head, held only by a black eye patch over his left eye.

“So, why am I here? I thought the plan was running smoothly,” the unkempt man asked.

“Well, partner, there seems to be one thing we didn’t account for.”

“Damn it, Egarim, just spit it out!”

“I meant no offense, the great and terrible Tabmoc. I only wish to show you this.”

At this point, Egarim walked toward the other end of the hill and beckoned Tabmoc to follow. Once at the edge, Egarim pointed to a gothic-style mansion nestled among a clearing of spruce trees, surrounded by police tape. 

Tabmoc smirked, and said, “So, who is making these moves? I thought we were the only uneasy alliance.”

“I can’t tell,” Egarim responded, looking intently at the house, clearly searching for any evidence. “I can tell you that we need to move quicker with the plan.”

“Fine by me, I can almost taste the blood,” Tabmoc laughed as he licked his lips.

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The television whirred to life as the man set his AK-47 assault rifle on the table. The picture of a military official appeared. The reporter, a Malagasy man wearing a bulletproof vest with the word, “Press,” inscribed on the chest, was interviewing the General of the  U.N. coalition in French.

“These pirates are better equipped than we would have ever guessed,” the officer explained, visibly exhausted from days of constant fighting. “We won’t give up, though, until Madagascar is free.” The officer was a rough cut, European man. Broad shoulders threatened to break the tight fatigues. His face was covered in sweat, which caused dirt and dust to stick to his face. The aroma of smoke and gunpowder clung to his body. Despite being the General of the U.N. coalition, the man had obviously seen some type of combat. The smell of blood was also noticeable, to those who could detect it.

The screen changed to a woman sitting behind a desk. Though one would expect a stark contrast between the recording studio and the frontlines, the reality was much different. The woman sat at a desk made of palettes and a 2x4. She sat in a tent in the U.N. coalition’s camp. “Thank you, Officer Xavier, and good luck. The country of Madagascar has been in this situation for almost a month now, after the leading cartel on the island, Ny Dragona Mena, the Crimson Dragons, overthrew the democratically elected president, Andry Fandriampa. This was after Fandriampa had declared it a priority to take down the Crimson Dragons. With the Suez Canal closed due to ongoing conflicts between Egypt and Greece, the Cape of Good Hope became a strong trading port once again. Control of this port is speculated to be an ulterior motive to the rebellion. Now, back to-”

“They have no idea why we fight,” the woman sighed as she approached the man. “Right, Satan?”

Satan didn’t look up as he lit a cigar and took a long drag. “Don’t call me that. Please” 

The woman smirked, amused by Satan’s frustration, “‘The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray.’ Which verse was it?”

The man put his hand to his pistol. “Revelations, chapter 12, verse 9. What do you want?”

“Just to let you know the men are ready to-”

“That’s not what I meant, Egarim.”

A devilish smile crept across the woman’s face. “What gave me away?”

“No one is brave enough to approach me, the leader of the Crimson Dragons, unannounced.”

“Your right, I should have been more careful,” the woman laughed.

At this, Satan’s eyes widened. He jumped to his feet and aimed his pistol at the woman. “What is going on here?! Answer me! NOW!”

“Touchy,” the woman smirked again. “You know, some scholars believe that beast is actually Abaddon, the destroyer, one of Satan’s top lieutenants. Shall I call you Abaddon?”

Satan growled, “ You’re up to something.”

“Did it take you this long to notice?”

Satan yelled once more, “What do you want?!”

“To say good luck!” 

With that, Satan squeezed the trigger. In the small mountain cave, the sound was deafening as it reverberated off of the low stone ceiling and walls. Satan had aimed straight for the head, at the tip of the nose. A one-shot kill as the bullet went straight through the cerebral cortex. Though he knew Egarim was like him. Egarim wasn’t gone; just delayed. In fact, Satan could almost hear the sly voice call him by his true name: Rhamnousia.

Seconds later, a soldier ran into the room, gun ready to kill any trespasser. “Sir, are you ok? Are you injured?” The soldier scanned the room once, twice, three times until he was sure no one was there. “What happened, sir?” 

“My gun misfired, that’s all. Any news,” Satan asked, exhausted. “anything at all? It doesn’t matter how small.”

“That’s why I was headed up here, sir. Big news.”

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The funeral for Xavier Cesario Michel was quite meager. The congregation, however, was not. All 30,000 members of three main divisions of the  U.N. Coalition were in attendance. The entire refugee community surrounding the encampment, numbering about 20,000 were also in attendance. About 50,000 civilians also made the perilous trek to witness the general’s final resting place. The bigger question on everyone’s mind, however, was who was to be the savior of Madagascar now?

Six colonels were selected as pallbearers. The six men wore immaculate service formal wear, not a single crease in their suits or the bright blue berets that adorned their heads. The coffin was made of polished wood from the local baobab trees. The flag of the United Nations, white earth surrounded by a wreath on a sea of bright blue, was draped over the coffin.

As the pallbearers brought the coffin to the makeshift stage, a man in the front row approached the lectern.

“Most of you soldiers and civilians would know me as, ‘the brass,’ or just a military official, but my name is Lieutenant General Michael Arnold. I was the right-hand man to General Xavier Cesario Michel. He has appointed me as the General of the Coalition in his absence.”

To many in the crowd, the word stung. It was as if the general was merely taking a break. That he would one day be back. To Lieutenant-General Michael Arnold, rather Egarim, it was all he needed to pull the men to his side. However, Egarim felt he should send a message to his adversary.

“Many of you know the duality of vengeance; a double-edged blade, which should pierce the heart of those who wield it. However, I promise to you, we do not hold a double-edged blade in our hands. Instead, we hold an executioner’s ax. I promise to the men, women, and children, those in attendance, and those who continue to hold out hope, that hope is coming. That all the crooks and thieves that stole this land away will meet the ax of our vengeance!”