Dragon

Hans screamed and pressed the throttle as hard as he could. The motorcycle’s wheels spun into action, propelling Hans forward at breakneck speed. The machine’s engine revved and roared like some unholy beast. Almost exactly like one by Hans’ reckoning. He had a good comparison, after all. And glancing over his shoulder Hans saw the Dragon was still chasing him. As he approached the checkpoint, Hans saw two guards waving their arms madly for him to stop. When his pace did not abate, they raised their rifles threateningly. Hans wondered if they were blind. Then he heard the noise, not quite a burp, not quite a roar. And then there came the sensation of heat licking the back of Hans’ neck. If, through some stupidity, the guards had failed not to see it before, there was no way to ignore the Dragon now, arching through the sky – wings flapping madly in the pursuit of Hans. The beast toppled the small, triangular-roofed buildings of the check point as it swooped madly to gobble Hans. The fortress loomed before Hans and no sooner could he see the gates than they were opening for him. Just behind the walls, the artillery kicked into gear, lobbing shell after shell in a mad-cap flurry of snap-fire. Hans sped through the gate and a mere moment after braked and swerved. He sat on the bike for some moments panting. The officer who approached muttered some words that Hans could not understand, panting as he was, with exhaustion and exhilaration. Guessing the officer’s meaning, Hans relinquished his backpack, filled with the booty of a successful mission. The officer checked the Dragon’s egg quickly, muttered some congratulations, before disappearing.