His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain

[Cynical Cat]

"I need some medics with balls!" roared Frostfell. "No these fucking scardy cat eunuchs! Medic!" he bellowed. "And get this moron off me before I kill him. If you're not going to treat me, then there's no point in my playing good patient and standing still!"

[rhoenix]

Laying on his stomach, and staying mostly still, Veritas was performing an activity considered unusual among dragons, especially one of his size. He had his notebook open, and was sketching and writing in it with painstaking care and detail.

Ever since being directly hit with a bomb (on what seemed to be last month now - how quickly time passes when one's blood is pumping, he mused as he sketched), Veritas had become more serious and intent on his duty. He would learn tactics and aerial tactical combat, as well as honing his own combat skills.

Not only would he never be struck by a bombing ever again, he would become a precise, methodical reaper in the skies. Evidently the Wendigo has a deserved reputation for pure bloodthirsty aggression and savagery. Veritas had just as much aggression and savagery within him, but it was not his way to let that bloodlust overtake him. Focused, precise, and horrendous savagery would become his tokens, Veritas decided, analyzing another maneuver he observed the German forces using, considering the timing as well as the effect.

His notebook was an immense tome, a little over two feet wide closed (nearly four and a half feet wide opened), and nearly four feet tall, and being half a foot thick with large, heavy blank pages. Using a quill sized and shaped properly for his forepaw, Veritas continued sketching intently even as a group of Draconarians arrived.

They were about to hail him in their usual way when Veritas spoke to them without looking up. "Do as you will, but don't impede my drawing," he said, carefully sketching a figure of a dragon performing an aerial maneuver against several others.

[General Havoc]

A Wendigo's roar is quite a thing, and there was likely not a soul within half a mile who did not hear his every word loud and clear. And the scottish draconarian that had been supervising work on Kunja and Jebediah groaned and whispered to himself in Gaelic and finally turned and walked over to Frostfell, yelling just as loud (relative to size).

"What ye need is a damn boot up yer arse, ye overgrown salamander," yelled the draconarian as he walked over to where Frostfell was. "Shoutin' like that while there's wounded aboot..." he grumbled and waved in another surgery team while medics on Frostfell's back finished manhandling the bullet-riddled 20mm gun off and finished detaching what was left of Frostfell's combat harness. "Ye'll drive yer Captain ta' distraction with a racket like that. He'll think we've set the damn Coppers on ye."

Work quickened under the eye of the supervisor, who walked around in front of Frostfell, pulling on a fresh set of forearm-length gloves. "Now lower yer head and open wide. Ye got bits o' skull round yer mouth and that means broken teeth. And keep yer' opinion to yerself, I don't need to be gettin' bitten in half today because o' you wantin' to flap yer lip."

The only way to properly check a heavyweight's teeth was to literally climb into its mouth, a prospect with a Wendigo that generally was considered fatal, and yet apparently that was what the Draconarian was preparing to do. The other medics worked in silence, two or three of them trying to coax Capricorn into getting off of Frostfell, but while the little Aussie dragon had quieted down, he utterly ignored both Frostfell's roars and the medics' pleas, and small though he was, they could not physically shove him off without a half dozen men or another dragon.

"You don't feel like frost..." said Capricorn a bit sleepily. "You're too warm." And with that, the little dragon gave a yawn and settled down into a little heap on Frostfell's back, apparently perfectly content to stay right there, whatever the medics or Frostfell himself thought.

"Don't worry," he whispered as he dozed off, having clearly missed the point of why Frostfell was yelling like that. "The medics won't hurt you... you're one of the good guys..."

[Cynical Cat]

"Finally," said Frostfell, "someone with enough balls to treat the fucking wounded." He opened his mouth with a titanic yawn and held it open.

[Charon]

The smile on Kunja's face had faded quickly at Jeb's explanation of what had happened to the Stuka after it's captain had died. The dragon opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it again.

It wasn't until Frostfell roared out that Kunja spoke again. "Well, it sounds like the White Bastard is feeling better."

[General Havoc]

"Well that's better," said the Draconarian gruffly, and with no apparent hesitation, he stepped over the first couple rows of Frostfell's teeth into his mouth, and set quickly to work with pliers and wire brushes, apparently accustomed to the smell. He quickly pried two bullets out from between Frostfell's teeth, brushed away the more aggravating bits of brain matter and skull from where they were stuck, and called in an assistant to help him pull three teeth that had been broken or badly chipped on the Swabian's skull. This was not as terminal an affair as it might have sounded. Dragons, like sharks or crocodiles, regrew their teeth constantly, and it took a surprisingly light amount of pressure (relatively speaking) to pry one out. A shot of novocaine followed by two men with a prybar was sufficient. With the pressure relieved, the replacements would grow in in less than a week.

It was barely ten minutes before the Draconarian and his assistant stepped out of Frostfell's mouth again, to the visible relief of the assistant, by which point Frostfell's slashes and wounds were being slowly bandaged, and his harness had been stripped off and ruled a total loss. A new one would have to be made.

"Now ye behave yerself," said the Draconarian as he set to work on the lighter facial lacerations Frostfell had suffered along his snout and cheek from the Bavarian he had killed. "That Venomspitter won't do ye any harm up there, and I'm not cleanin' him up the mess ye'd make of him, or the mess he'd make o' ye. What'n the bloody hell're ye lookin' ta make more enemies for anyway? Germans not enough for ye anymore?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Tough guy," said Frostfell and gave the Draconarian a gentle head butt. "You can operate on me anytime."

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah looked over at Frostfell and snorted. "Prove you've got balls, an' the White Bastard respects ya..."

[Cynical Cat]

The doctor stripped off his mask and came into the waiting room. His gown was splattered with blood.

"Well?" asked McKenzie. "Is he gonna make it?"

"What if he won't?" asked Riley.

"Then we'll have an even bigger dragon tell the White Devil," said McKenzie.

"The worst is over," said the doctor. "He's lost a lot of blood, but we were able to repair the vessels. His arm is broken, but that should heal. Given his . . . previous injuries, he has a greater than normal risk of infection, but that's unlikely. You should be able to see him in a day or two."

"Thank Christ," said McKenzie. "I'll tell the White Bastard."

[General Havoc]

"Hmph," snorted the Draconarian as Frostfell nudged him with his head. "A fine reward, that! I get the privilege o' dealin' with a heavyweight whene'er he stubs his toe on some damn Jerrie bastard?" Still, despite the obligatory complaint, the Middle-aged Scott was clearly pleased by the reaction he had gotten. Draconarians were an odd breed, anyone who constantly worked with dragons was, and having a Wendigo agree to your ministrations, especially in a country where Wendigo were quasi-legendary to begin with, was no mean feat.

"This'll all heal up fine in a week or two, 'long as ye don't scratch at it. We'll put somethin' on it for the itch, but try not ta let a Kampfritter rip it all up again. If ya' got ta fight one o' those bastards just kill it ootright."

The draconarian then returned to the work of bandaging and sealing the various lacerations Frostfell had received. And meanwhile, perched atop Frostfell like a sparrow atop a condor, Capricorn lay fast asleep, ignored by the draconarians, oblivious to what else might be occurring.

Everyone was back, after all...

*---------------------------------------------*

"How you're still alive is beyond me..."

"Sorry to... dis... *cough* disappoint..."

"Stop talking, you'll make it worse," said the Draconarian as he directed his crew. "I swear to God, what the hell did you do?"

Fulminatus merely coughed up more bloody phlegm. "Tried to... take a Stuka... and about four others..."

"At your damned age, you ought to know better than that. My god -"

"God's got nothin' to do with it, doc," choked out Fulminatus. "Now if you don't have somethin' useful to say..."

"You ought to be dead," replied the Draconarian. "Most midweights your size would be. That you aren't dead is likely because I don't have that kind of luck."

"Not just you."

"Quite. Now shut up. You'll tear your lung cartilage."

Fulminatus plainly didn't have the strength to protest, and did not even flinch at the enormous tranquilizer needle that the Draconarian's assistant and his two aides injected him with. Almost instantly he felt the effect of the needle, and managed just enough strength to raise his head to where the other dragons were crouched, being looked over.

"They gonna... make it?" he managed to ask.

"Most likely. None of them were daft enough to try and wrestle a Stuka down in your state."

"Well, nobody ever 'cused me of bein' smart..."

The doctor smirked. "No smart dragon would volunteer to fight the Luftwaffe."

"Well then..." said Fulminatus, a more pronounced Texas drawl appearing as he lowered his head and shut his eyes, his voice descending into a tired whisper, "guess you all're just... lucky... I'm still... flyin'... round..."

"Luck like you, we can do without," said the Doctor, who waited another ten seconds for the American Reaper to fall completely unconscious, and then set to work as quickly as he could to try and ensure that they would not need to...

*--------------------------------------------------------*

"Are you ready, Captain?"

Captain Rankin did not turn back to Temeraire to answer, instead simply watching the draconarians tend to the various dragons. One even seemed to have placated Frostfell... for the moment at least. Miracles never ceased.

"I imagine the charges are to be laid at Uxbridge?"

"Admiral Tolkien is not a fool, Captain," said Captain Laurence. "He'll want an explanation before he decides what to do with you."

"You mean before he recommends what to do."

Laurence said nothing. Rankin knew it in any event.

"Who will command in my absence?"

"Bader's squadron is being rotated back for a rest. They'll likely put him in charge here temporarily."

Rankin smirked. "Æquitas won't care for being removed as flagdragon so quickly."

"I imagine," said Temeraire in what passed for a whisper, "that Æquitas will have much greater worries, ones I hope you will not forget."

"You think there's a chance I would?" asked Rankin without batting an eye.

"Honestly, Captain," said Temeraire, "I don't know what to think."

"Then perhaps it is fortunate that I don't care what you think."

"Perhaps," replied Temeraire, not at all put out of sorts. "but it is time we went in any case."

Rankin waited a moment before responding. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it is."

The rest of Temeraire's crew had finished mounting up, and Temeraire slowly lifted both captains onto his back. Captain Laurence took position at Temeraire's neck, while Captain Rankin was placed on his back, along with the rest of the crew. And as the enormous black dragon slowly lifted off and turned towards the north, Rankin could do nothing but clip in his carabineer and sit down, watching Tangmere disappear behind them.

"For what it's worth, Captain Rankin," said Temeraire audibly. "I don't think it will be as bad as you imagine it is."

"Really..." said Rankin, clearly not convinced. "Is this where you tell me you'd have done the same thing in my place?"

"I did the same thing," said Temeraire, "or near enough. More than a century ago."

"And what became of you?"

"Extreme indignities," replied the Celestial. "But that was then. We're in a new war now. Things change."

"The admiralty does not change."

Temeraire chuckled, a shudder running through his frame. "Everything changes, Captain Rankin. Sooner or later, everything changes..."

[General Havoc]

August 20th, 1940

It has been eleven days since a single battered RAF squadron launched a daring dawn attack into the very teeth of the lion's den, rescuing two dragons and a captain from captivity by the Nazi authorities, derailing a prisoner train, and mauling a great number of the German beasts sent against them. Since the spoiling attack on the Bayeux-Paris railroad and the Pointe Du Hoc radar station, the German forces of Luftflotte 2 have been relatively quiet, with only a few nuisance raids and scouts sent over to harry the battered RAF Tangmere squadron. Having purchased themselves a priceless interval to catch their collective breaths, the Tangmere squadron has managed to pull itself back into some semblance of shape, though replacements of crew and dragons remain behind schedule, and the squadron it remains chronically underhanded and outnumbered by the Germans. Still, after the initial stabs of early August, the Luftwaffe seems to have pulled back to consolidate their forces for the next big push. London has not been bombed in three days, and the harried officers of the RAF in the South-Eastern portions of the country are beginning to believe, perhaps, that their struggle may not be as hopeless as originally thought.

Nevertheless, not all is well in Tangmere. After being recalled to Uxbridge by a furious Admiralty, Captain Rankin has not sent any word to indicate what fate may have befallen him, and the terse telegram informing the squadron that Captain Douglas Bader will be assuming command of Tangmere "until further notice" has not cleared matters up in any way. The famous Captain Bader, a double-amputee, and his Greyling dragon Tempestas, are a welcome sight to the outnumbered defenders of this portion of British airspace, but Captain Bader has no answers to give as to what the Admiralty's plans are for RAF Tangmere, nor any news to deliver to Æquitas, who remains at the covert with no word from his Captain.

For the past couple of days, the newspapers have been reporting on rumors concerning the high-level delegation of diplomats arriving in Britain from the Russian Empire, still a neutral party in the great European War. Though the Russians and Germans have no love lost between them, particularly since Germany's annexation of Poland in the fall of 1939, Russia's terrible traumas incurred during the Civil War of 1917-1923 have left her struggling to re-establish the military and political prominence she needs to play a major role in continental affairs. Her councils are starkly divided between those within the government who believe that she must align herself more closely with Germany, and those who believe that her best course lies in communion with Britain and her Dominion. Officially, the Russian mission is in Britain merely to observe how Russian interests may be affected by the ongoing war, though rumors continue to spread that the mission is one of clandestine support for a potential ally. Russia after all does not wish to see Germany established as the sole master of Europe, not when German territorial ambitions point so starkly towards the east.

To the men and dragons of Tangmere however, the dance of the diplomats is both far away and entirely alien. Their concern is the war, and the enemy before them, whose recent lack of action may point to battle fatigue, or perhaps simply a calm before the storm. Today, Captain Bader has announced that the Admiralty has seen fit to transfer another middleweight dragon to Tangmere to shore up its defenses, another 'unique' dragon case to be deposited in their resident catch-all bin for dragons who do not fit the British standard. Whether this newcomer will be enough to ensure RAF Tangmere's continued successful resistance against the Nazi invader is a matter only time will tell.

For it is absolutely certain that the Germans do not intend to let the British wait forever...

[LadyTevar]

"So's Ah wonder wha' this new Middlewight'll be," Jebediah drawled to Kunja. The Smoke Devil was curled on one side of the small tent that ws his Captain's temporary home as Tangmere recovered from the bombing raid over a week ago. The Victorian Reaper was curled up on the other side of the tent, and the two dragons were perfectly able to see each other and speak to each other over the tent's roof.

"First we had tha' Amberback... then she went 'way, then that Par-nasty-an that th' Jerries got..." The Smoke Devil shook his head sadly. "Ah wish we knew wha' happen'd ta that one... Th' Jerries split 'em off somewhere's else from Judith 'n me."

[Charon]

Kunja shook his head. "Not a clue. We're the mismatch squad so it's hard to say what country they'll be comin' from. Let alone which middie from a country."

The large lightweight paused for a moment then. "As fer the Parnassian, we can only hope the best for them and that they're just in a POW camp."

[rhoenix]

Though others were discussing the new arrival, Veritas had decided the anticipation didn't matter - he'd meet this new arrival soon enough anyway. In the meantime however, he upheld the saying "constant improvement" as his credo. At the moment, he was high in the air above the camp, practicing the execution of several maneuvers; already it was apparent that his practice was paying off, as the maneuvers were already more smooth than they'd been this morning.

It became obvious to any observer after a time that Veritas was practicing to have those movements be precise and rote for later on.

[Charon]

Jake was not with his dragon in the tents, he was undergoing some training of his own, keeping himself in peak physical condition was not an easy task, but it was one he kept at with an amazing vigor for a young man that was so care-free about everything else. Finishing his sprints, he looked up into the air and couldn't help but see the giant heavy performing maneuvers. The Aussie watched for a few minutes before he grinned and raced off towards the tent he was sharing with Judith.

The Australian burst through the the tent flap that served as a door and looked to his dragon. "You. Air. Now." Jake had the look on his face that meant arguing would not be a choice, and when that happened it was always interesting.

Kunja slowly roused himself and yawned a bit, causing Jake to snort. "Lazy ass, you've been skipping out on our exercise."

Kunja grinned as he walked towards the door. "One of us has to keep good relations with the people here while you're busy with your exercises." He looked back at Jebediah. "Gotta cut this short. Seems Jake found some new toy to play with."

The dragon got outside and Jake, who had perhaps spared a glance or two at Judith, followed him out and pointed up. "You see that?"

Kunja followed the finger and saw Veritas. "Yeah. So what?"

Jake grinned. "Wanna see if we can harass a heavy and get away with it?"

Kunja looked back down at his captain and began to grin broadly. "Lets get me a harness."

[Avian Obscurities]

“Fuck me, it’s cold.â€

[rhoenix]

The new arrival was difficult to miss, especially as the midweight purple dragon approached - but still, Veritas and Captain Braithwaite aboard kept to their drills. One thing that Veritas also saw was Jake and Kunja preparing to fly. This caused Veritas to chuckle, a rumbling sound that sounded like thunder from where the crew sat. "Oh, good - a volunteer to test the Flyswatter techniques. Shall we?"

Smiling determinedly himself, Captain Braithwaite looked away from the collapsing telescope he carried, smiling himself. "Let's do this. We got a live one!" he yelled to the crew, as they got ready for the maneuvering that was about to begin.

[LadyTevar]

Judith followed Jake out of the tent, shaking her head. "Yer 'bout ta go pull th' tigers tail 'gain, ain'tcha." she asked in amusement as Kunja rushed over to get harnessed up. "Good thin' its jis' Ver'tas... he'll tak' it easy on ya."

She was still a little pale, and several nights she still had nightmares about falling, about the Stuka, or both. She hadn't argued too hard when Jake suggested sharing quarters. His presence helped a lot, keeping her from dwelling too much on her ordeal.

Yet some things can't be missed. "Jake! Kunja! Wha' kind-o dragon's that big n' purple?" she called out, pointing to the new arrival.

[Charon]

Jake looked to Judith. "Purple? Well it could be..." He looked up at the dragon that was coming down and couldn't help but realize what it was.

"Ha ha ha! It's the kind of dragon that'll make you dizzy from all it's talking. That, m'dear, is another Australian dragon. It's a Dreamweaver."

Kunja smiled a bit. "Think it's the same one?" He asked his captain.

Jake shook his head. "Nah, but I'll admit it wouldn't surprise me if it was."

The pair continued to finish prepping their combat harnass.

[LadyTevar]

"A DreamWeaver?" Judith echoed, looking up at the huge dragon... and getting a rare glimpse of rainbow as its scales cuaght the light just right. "ohhhhhhhhhh.."

Jebediah carefully made his way out of the tent, and looked up to see what was going on. "Wahl... tha's a right prutty dragon," he drawled, also gettng a glimpse of the rainbow irridescence as the Dreamweaver spiraled down. "Ah guess we shoul' go o'er an' say hallo, Judith."

[Cynical Cat]

"Nurse," Nathan rasped, "more morphine."

The pretty young woman looked down at her horribly scarred patient without flinching. She had seen burned men before. Too many. "I'm sorry sir," she said, "but you're at a very high dosage already."

Nathan snarled. "I've had this face since 1917," he said slowly. "Consider the possibility I've built up a tolerance to bloody pain killers because I'm in pain all the god damn time and up the dose!"

He sank back into the pillows. His wounds, his new set, didn't hurt that much. He'd lost a fair amount of blood, but he hadn't gotten a hole in the guts and a broken arm was nothing compared to the pain he lived with for more than twenty years. Unfortunately, they gave him morphine based on his bloody arm and not his acid ravaged body.

Sometimes it wasn't bad. Sometimes it flared up. Lying in bed with nothing to do didn't help. There were a few good things left in his life. Flying, fucking, drinking, mainlining, and fighting. At the moment he was doing none of those and he was alone. Vivian was a continent away and the hospital didn't accommodate dragons. His crew had come by and paid their respects, but that was it and why should it be anything else? They were afraid of him and they respected him but they didn't love him and he sure as hell wasn't pleasant company. Looking at him wasn't exactly like gazing into the eyes of a young nurse who had just left.

He fumbled for the book by the side of his bed. McKenzie had brought it. It was a fanciful tale by H.G. Wells about Martians invading turn of the century Earth with war machines so powerful not even a dragon could defeat them. He awkwardly held the book open with his right hand and resumed reading.

[General Havoc]

Though he likely neither cared nor knew that it was the case, Captain Reynolds was not the only war veteran considering his own fragility.

On the side of one of the covert clearings, fairly close to the tent where Judith and Jebediah had been put up, lay Fulminatus, his flanks and chest swathed in bandages, his head laying on the bare dirt of the covert floor, snatching fitfully at sleep which would not come. The Draconarians had spent days working on him, enough to get him out of danger, enough perhaps to ensure he would recover, but a dragon that had lived the better part of a century was simply not as resilient as one freshly hatched, and the terrible drubbing he had sustained was enough to ward sleep off for many long, interminable days.

Fulminatus heard the arrival of another dragon, wingbeats approaching distinct from the slow, heavy pace that was Veritas' almost routine flights, and after a moment's debate, he opened his eyes. An large purple and violet dragon, midweight sized, but still larger than Fulminatus himself, was braking and landing in the center of the covert. What Fulminatus thought of this strange dragon, if he recognized the breed or not, or any other matter of note he left unsaid, simply satisfied with watching, and waiting for someone to do something.

Fortunately, someone was at hand.

On the exact opposite side of the landing clearing lay a second midweight dragon roughly the size of the first, though this one was both uninjured, harnessed, and pale green. Like Fulminatus however, Æquitas was alone at present, and like Fulminatus, Æquitas appeared presently to prefer it that way. No word had arrived from Captain Rankin since the afternoon of the 8th, and despite inquiries by both Lt. Tolliver and Æquitas himself, the Admiralty had refused to clarify the situation in the slightest. Publically, Æquitas had pretended not to be concerned, had claimed that this was simply bureaucratic nonsense that one had to undergo from time to time. Privately of course, every one of the worst fears any dragon held tucked away in the back of their mind had been playing themselves out nightly. It didn't matter how well he hid it or how many times he reminded himself that times had changed since the Napoleonic Wars and that the worst the Admiralty could (legally) do was to "officially request" (again) that Æquitas divest himself of an unsuitable Captain. In the back of his mind he knew that with a war on, they had other options, binding ones, and more still that he likely didn't know about.

But life went on despite...

He stood up and shook the dust off of his back, his harness buckles jingling like bells as he did so, and then slowly walked over towards the new dragon. Captain Bader was in nominal command now, and so Æquitas had not been informed of the new arrival, but he knew his JFDW like the back of his foreclaw, and this mystic colored shimmering dragon with an audible Australian accent could only be one breed.

"Good morning," said Æquitas as he approached, trying to look and sound professional. He left it up to the Captain and Dragon to decide which of them he was addressing. "And you would be...?"

*------------------------------------------------------*

"Nick! Nick look! Look, Nick! S'a 'weaver!"

Nick Kelly chuckled and patted Capricorn's snout. "'m sure it is, mate," he said to his easily-excited dragon, who indignantly pulled the tent flap aside to reveal that, for once, he had known what he was talking about. "Well I'll be buggered..." he said as he saw the shimmering refractions from the mystic dragon. "'ow'd they get one'a them up here?"

Capricorn had no answer, indeed he sounded like he didn't even understand the question, but instead turned a complete circle like an excited dog. "Let's go'n meet 'em!" he suggested in that tone he used when he was not making a suggestion, but instead stating what it was he intended to do.

Captain Kelly smiled. "Go 'head," he said. "I'll be along'n a bit." Capricorn did not hesitate, but bolted out the entrance of the tent, and yet instead of racing over to the Dreamweaver, he took to the air and flew up and over the covert's trees, before landing in a neighboring clearing, where an enormous white dragon was presently located. One that had made no secret of what was to happen if Capricorn did not leave him be.

Not that Capricorn seemed to notice.

"There's a Dreamweaver!" he said without any introduction, hopping over to Frostfell. "They're big'n'purple'n'a little strange. C'mon!"

Three things were to be borne in mind about the above:

1: What was 'big' to Capricorn was not necessarily so to Frostfell.
2: Capricorn calling anything "a little strange" was stretching credulity.
3: Frostfell was unlikely to respond positively to being told to "c'mon" in any event.

But of course, none of these things mattered in the slightest to Capricorn.

[Avian Obscurities]

As the crew began to stir for disembarking, Allen got his first good look around at the camp and noticed details he hadn’t seen from the air. The buildings and tents were ramshackle and worn, and the people around seemed equally haggard. He noticed many slings and bandages scattered around, and was distressed to see some dragons laid up in heavy bandages as well.

“Bugger all, what happened here…â€

[LadyTevar]

"I'm thinkin' we should let Æquitas get it," Judith answered, seeing the Malachite walk over. She wasn't that happy that no word'd come from Capt Rankin, who'd vanished with Temeraire while she'd been in the hospital the first night back.

Jeb rumbled low in his throat, thoughtfully. "Bader n' Tempastas are good people," he replied low. "But Ah'm wonderin' wha's keepin' Rankin m'self. Æquitas is gettin' a mite 'noyed."

"A'least he's not bad as Frostfell..," Judith answered. "Ah swear Ah'm bout ta find a way ta get Reynolds 'way from th' doctors an' outside, jis' so the White Bastard'll quit mopin'."

Jebediah had given up on correcting Judith's language, as everyone else on the base had adopted Frostfell's new nickname. The Wendigo had taken it on as a matter of pride, himself. "Wahl... why don'cha?"

Judith looked up at Jeb with one eye raised.

"They's got those wheely-chairs," Jeb pointed out, as Judith had been brought out in one before Jake got the chance to pick her up and carry her to the tent. "Can't go too far... bu' far 'nuff fer Frostfell ta see 'em wit'out tearin' down th' horspital."

Judith didn't need much more urging, as she got a look of mischief that Kunja would recognize, and be surprised it wasn't on his Captain's face. "Why... Ah do thin' tis time Ah' paid my respects ta Cap'n Reynolds," she drawled, straightening her uniform and starting to walk determinately towards the hospital.

Jebediah smiled and moseyed along behind her, more than a bit smug. They did own the White Bastard for his part in saving them, and Judith did tell Frostfell his captain would be fine long before they knew it truth. Only right she brought the two back together....

[Charon]

Jake and Kunja finished getting their harness on and like a rocket were up in the air. The pair skimmed over the ground briefly, barrel rolling over Æquitas and the Dreamweaver before turning up sharply and climbing up to Veritas' altitude.

The much smaller Kunja looked over at Veritas. "You want some live practice? It's a lot more fun than working on your own!"