Meacham

I was being carried in the claws of the beast. My ribs were screaming in agony, blood was pouring down my face and I could barely see a thing. My left hand was trapped but my right was free. If I were willing to risk getting dropped from who knows how high up I would have grabbed my hatchet off my belt and started wailing on the wyvern. That and the fact that if I passed out I would drop the hatchet kept me paralysed for a time.

It didn’t take long for the wyvern to start heading for land. It’s now or never I thought. I grabbed my hatchet and started hacking at the fleshy part of the claw just above the talon. I didn’t have the best angle of attack; but I seemed to be doing some damage. The monster screamed and started dragging its leg towards its mouth. The scream was loud enough it made me miss my next attack. It squeezed me in its claw and I screamed almost as loud. But my next attack struck home.

I could just barely see the darkness of its maw in the dim moonlight. I didn’t know if I’d be able to hit its eye from this position. So I kept hacking away at the claw in the hopes it’d drop me at a safe height. One strike landed. And then another.

I was starting to make out the individual teeth when we landed with a thud thump on some sort of unsteady surface. It distracted the creature long enough for me to get a solid hit on its snout. It screamed again and then dropped me.

The surface I landed on felt smooth and cold. Like sanded down rock or possibly even metal. I was too delirious to figure out what that meant. All I knew was I had to get away. I rose unsteadily to my feet as a claw raked across my shoulder and pushed me forward. I stumbled further when I tripped over the edge and fell again. I heard a crunch as my hip hit the ground. I don’t know how I managed to stay conscious long enough to take a swig of the potion of minor healing Gorn had gifted me. It wasn’t enough to keep me from passing out.

My eyes opened upon a number of blurry shadows hovering above me. A halo of light surrounded them. I couldn’t make sense out of the echoing voices. One of them knelt beside me and looked deeply into my eyes. “Sir…Sir. Sir, I’m Dr. Swart, can you understand me?” She repeated the phrase a number of times before I started to parse what she was saying.

“He probably can’t speak English,” another voice said.

“I’m telling you that’s the soldier who was speaking to Major Phillip a lot when he was still in charge. His name was ‘m’ something. ” Another voice said. This one sounded a lot younger.

“Meacham,” I managed to slur out.

“Sir,” the doctor’s voice continued, “can you understand me. I’m Doctor Swart. And your name is Meacham…?”

“Corporal Donovan Meacham, United States Marine Corps. Ma’am.” I was starting to get a headache. My ears were ringing and as I turned my head towards the light a sharp pain hit my eyes.

“Too bright,” I said. A wave of nausea hit me.

“Fok. This is not my field of expertise. It might be a concussion. Or it might be something worse.” The doctor said. “There’s definitely some sort of brain injury. And his hip is most definitely broken. I wish we could get up to the cabin from here. Amardeep is much better suited to help.”

“Healing potion. Belt pouch.” I gasped out.

She said something in a language I didn’t understand. I passed out again.

This time when I woke up I was feeling much better. I still had a pounding headache and the ringing in my ears was still there; but I could think more clearly and my eyes were focused.

“What happened?” I gasped out.

“You’re up again. Can you tell your name?” The doctor asked.

“Donovan Meacham. What happened?” I replied.

“The creature came back and you fell off the wing. We grabbed you as soon as we could and pulled you into a cargo hold.” She replied.

“What time is it?”

“Midmorning, maybe.” She said.

“The attack will start soon. Keep inside.”

Phillip

Only three wyverns were lounging around the camp that morning. And they were injured. Yet we still sat there doing nothing. “Reynolds, the arrows must have come from the rescue party. Relax. We’ll be fine.” At that point I knew Ferucci well enough to know he compensated for his insecurities by pretending they didn’t exist. He was just as uncertain as I, yet never in a million years would he admit it.

“Mr. Ferucci, Marshal Johnson has had to break up half a dozen fights over food in the last two days. Those three beasts out there could feed us all comfortably for the better part of a week.

Ferucci was pacing up and down the small upper deck of the plane being used as a command centre. “One more day, Reynolds. Give me one more day. If our rescuers don’t arrive by then you can have your precious militia throw their lives away.

I glanced out the window and I caught something odd in the corner of my eye. “Sir, can you pass me those binoculars?" I asked.

“What? Is the attack starting?” He stopped pacing and looked at me.

“I don’t know. There’s a small herd of sheep or goats or something in the middle of the clearing. I want a better look.”

Ferucci grabbed the binoculars and peered out the window towards where I was pointing. “The goats look like they’ve been tied to some sort of post. I think they’ve been left as bait,” he said. “Ready the militia. I want them prepared to attack the second I give the order.” Ferucci’s voice had risen an octave.

I was prepared to order men down the ropes in order to engage them. But I wasn’t confident in our success. We didn’t have any heavy ranged weapons that would take down a creature of that size. I doubted our hunting rifles could have managed it even if we had ammo to burn.

Regardless; Ferucci ordered me to wait for his command. So I was stuck with fifty men behind me holding improvised spears and whatever other weaponry they might have scavenged.

The wyverns only stirred around noon. The sky was overcast and the wind was bitingly cold. I was waiting at the open door just behind the wing facing the clearing. None of the wyverns had decided to roost on the wing this time. I think they were nervous. Their heads kept darting back and forth towards anything that moved. I nearly had a heart attack the time one of them stared right at me.

When the time came they cautiously crawled towards the goats. Their wings were unfurled as they paced forwards. The goats weren’t moving much. They had been pulling against their tethers in a mad panic for the past few hours. But they were probably too exhausted to care.

The storm of arrows started when all three wyverns were well clear of the plane. I wasn’t looking at the tree so I only noticed the blurs when they hit the wyverns. The wyverns’ screams were horrible. After the first volley the wyverns made a mad dash to grab a goat or two before immediately lifting off and flying away as fast as possible. More volleys followed after them. I was surprised the bows could reach those ranges. They must have been two hundred meters away when the first one fell. And they were maybe fifty meters further when the other two crashed into the trees below. To my most sincere relief the battle was one huge anti-climax.

I was thinking about wyvern steaks when Melissa came running two minutes later. “Ferucci said to send down a greeting party. But keep the militia back in the plane.”

“We need to send someone to check on the cargo holds.” I replied.

“I’ll do it,” she said.