His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah looked over to Kunja in surprise, then back to Flinder. "You've th' Sight? Judith's granny had it...."

[Dark Silver]

Freed from his harness and paraphernalia, and given leave by Thomas, Hermeticus made his way towards the feeding pens, feeling very hungry after the long patrol.

Not that he minded the time in the air, Hermeticus loved to fly more than most dragons - a quirk he picked up while in the USAF training camps. The other Captains and their dragons had been - to place it nicely - horrid to Thomas and he, always pulling pranks, taking their equipment, putting them on unfair numbers. It was apparently worse for Thomas when he was away from his friend. Though Thomas never spoke of it, he often came back to Hermeticus' paddock with some new injury or slight casted upon him.

Hermeticus had not fit in well with the rest of the dragons at that base either, they considered him a misfit, the odd pairings of his mother and father left him with a - at best - awkward gait on the land, though it made him no means a clutz. His body had a strange, half completed look to it, to sinewy in places, to large in others. The proportions were slightly off. But in the air....ah the air he was agile, quick and loved every moment of it. He wasn't by far the fasted dragon in the air, but he was nimble enough when needed to, and he could outpace most in his own weight-class.

By the time he arrived at the feeding area, Hermeticus wasn't paying particular attention to anything, caught more in his ruminations of the past, until his stomach growled for the smell of blood in the air.

"Ya'll got some mutton?" Hermeticus asked the Feeder, in his thick south Louisiana Cajun accent, remembering to ennuciate as best he could in the normal American dialect.


--------------------

"Hey Cap'n!" Tobias called as Thomas walked over to the collapsable table set up near the communal tent. His crew stayed away from the other crews, not because they weren't allowed to fraternize (in fact, Thomas expected them to if possible), but because of protocol. All of them were trained Airmen of the US Air Force, and as such, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, Black Airmen were not to fraternize with White Airmen.

Thomas stood over the men, watching the card game being played, recognizing it as 5 card stud. Poker.

"Whose got the pot so far?" he asked, unlike his dragon, Thomas hid his accent from nearly everyone, the better to be heard and not thought of as uneducated.

"Willy's been taking hands all afternoon. Lucky bast'ds got the luck of Ol' Scratch on him."

Thomas shook his head, "Well, he better get a bath in soon, he's starting to smell like him to."

The five men at the table all laughed, except for Willy. The big negro shook his head, a lil smirk on his face, "Keep that up Crawfish...." Willy answered back, his face looked stern yet there was a teasing in his voice, "I'll get 'ya lata' "

Thomas grinned, patted Tobias on the shoulder, and told the men to anjoy their game. He headed back to the main body of the camp, he make concerning their patrol.

The second he broke the lines of the clearing, away from the music coming from the crew's radio and the laughs of his men, Thomas' face became stern, and his movements quickened towards the commanders tent - becoming every bit the professional soldier.

[LadyTevar]

"There's Capn' Thomas now," Judith said, pointing the black captain out to Allen. "Thomas! Joinin' us fer lunch?"

===
"More cows n' sheep, Hermeticus," Jebediah answered the Longhorn/Reaper cross. "Meet Flinder... he's from Ahstrailya lik' Cap n' Kunja. Says he's a Dreamweaver."

[rhoenix]

Walking down the path to the cow pasture, Captain Braithwaite saw Captain Thomas walking the opposite direction, presumably to go talk to the brass. Before the two men passed, Captain Braithwaite nodded in respect, accompanied by "Captain," as he passed.

This Captain seemed to keep to himself and his crew more often than not, which Captain Braithwaite could appreciate. On the other hand, he kept to himself and his crew more often than not - not good for group cohesion, tactics, or morale, as each must understand the other parts of the machine of war for the machine to run smoothly.

As he neared the pasture, he saw Veritas munching with his mouth closed, as was proper (both had been taught by a real Englishmen proper manners, and it showed in both), looking thoughtfully at the newcomer, Flinder he thought the midweight purple dragon was named. As he neared the great red bulk of Veritas, the dragon almost unconsciously extended an arm, allowing Captain Braithwaite to walk up Veritas' arm, and sit on his shoulder. "So," he asked the great red dragon, "see anything interesting?"

Veritas gave a brief soft growl, which was his equivalent of making a "heh" noise that humans might make when amused. His echoing baritone voice seemed perfectly serious, unless you were able to see his eyes - Veritas loved the British deadpan style of humor. "Plenty. Good thing too, since you normally don't."

"That's why I pay you the big money, old chap," said Captain Braithwaite with a grin, as he settled into the hollow of the dragon's shoulder.

[Dark Silver]

Captain Braithwaite and Thomas walked past each other, and performed their normal acknowledgment of each other. Braithwaite's "Captain" was answered in kind, and Thomas continued in a unbroken pace. He was nearing the main part of the camp, when he heard the distinctive twang of mountain dialect.

Judith McClung was calling to him. As much as he needed to report, he figured a few moments delay couldn't hurt though. Had to maintain civility and all.

Thomas changed his course, his face remaining rather stotic, and when he approached Judith and the Allen, he tipped his flight hat, nodded, and spoke, "Judith ma'am," he said. His voice was slightly baritone, and he continued his practice of hiding his accent behind enunciation. "I'm here to deliver my report from patrol. I'll be taking lunch with my crew today as normal. I trust your doing well today, you and Jebidiah?"


-----------------------


Hermeticus looked absolutely despondent. "No lamb," he bemoaned, heaving with a large sigh. "Capri prob'ly ate it all...."

The borderline heavyweight sighed, chose a cow, and carried it to a spot he chose as his after the raid nearly two weeks ago.

Once settled, he tore into the flank of the cow, thinking to himself that cow was no where as good as sheep.....

When the new dragon was introduced, the crossbreed blink a few times, looked at the strange dragon, and nodded, "Bon lapres midi," he said, the words coming out jumbled due to the mouthful of cattle. he quickly swallowed the meat, "I'm Hermeticus...wha' odd color you are..."

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell landed at the barracks and stretched his wings. "I have arrived," he said with great and affected dignity and an excessively thick upper class English accent. With the grace and arrogance of a stalking cat he strode through the grounds. "So chaps," he called out, still in a mock English accent, "has our new flag dragon arrive and his more or less disagreeable than our former flag dragon?"

[LadyTevar]

"We're well, Capn Thomas," Judith answered. Anything else she would have said was overwhelmed by Frostfell's dramatic arrival. "You jis' love causin' ttrouble, don'cha Frostfell," Judith sighed, looking up at the loomming white dragon. "Thomas, meet captn' Allen... his dragon's Flinder, a Dreamweaver from Awwstrailya. We were jis' goin' ta get th' man fed."

[Cynical Cat]

"I like twisting the knife," said Frostfell, "even if I don't have hands." The Wendigo maintained his atrocious mock English aristocrat accent. "Now you be a good girl and remember what Nathan said about knives. As for the Dreamweaver, he was being entertained by Capricorn the last I saw him. He really is a magnificently unintelligent beast. Cheerio."

[Avian Obscurities]

Allen was secretly fascinated by Captain Thomas. He had heard his father and men on the ranch talking of African blacks and blacks used in slavery, and assumed they had looked the same. Despite his color, Captain Thomas looked nothing like the Aboriginals he had come to associate as being the example of "black." Allen was also struck by the mans proud bearing and stern face, very different from the drunk blackies who would stumble around Darwin, begging. His father had always complained about them, saying that they proved the breed was no better than animals, and should be culled like an underbred steer. Allen had never met any of the wild Aboriginals out in the Outback, but from what he had glimpsed from afar while wandering with Flinder, those blackies were as different from their lost drunkard cousins as this man standing in front of him was different from them all.

He thought of what his father would think of this man, and how he would react to him, and did the exact opposite. "Good to meet you, Captain. I'm Allen Marston," he said and held out his hand.

*~~~~~~~*

At Kunja’s comment, Flinder paused in his eating, considering. “Allen couldn’t find anyone who could explain, or wanted to explain, exactly why it happens. All the draconarians would say was that it was…horn…no…horm-onial.â€

[LadyTevar]

"That jis' might be," Jebediah allowed, as Flinder pondered his name. "As fer th' Sight... well, they jis' say those havin' it jis' know things they'd not know otherwise. Judith's granny could find missin' things fer people, wit'out goin' ta their house or nothin'. An it'd be right where she'd tell 'em it was too."

++++

Judith smirked up at Frostfell, not paying attention to the other two captains for the moment. "Yer jis' upset he's been wantin' ta nap on yer back o' late. He's been tellin' Jeb how nice n' warm you are, an' axked Jeb if he'd lik' ta nap there too."

[Charon]

Kunja stared at Flinder for a few seconds, clearly still very confused at just how non-aboriginal this Dreamweaver was. The Victorian finished up the last of his meal after he remembered it existed. "Weirdest outfit I've ever seen... and I flew with Barnstormers." He muttered under his breath.

Jake had meanwhile not let anything stop him from getting to food, pleasantries be damned. The Aussie had piled up a plate of food and sat down to eat, eating somewhat slowly as he waited for others to come in.

[General Havoc]

As it turned out, Capricorn had not eaten all of the sheep.

Engrossed in devouring the better part of a cow, Capricorn had not even noticed Hermecritus arriving. Not until Hermecritus asked the feeder for some sheep did the Venomspitter pop his head up to see what was going on.

Moments later, Capricorn appeared, absolutely covered in blood, slowly dragging a pair of sheep towards Hermecritus, looking terribly pleased with himself for the feat of having thought to kill and save them for the late arrival.

As always, thought among Venomspitters was relative.

"Sheep?" he asked Hermecritus, beaming in unconscious imitation of Frostfell's description of him earlier. He stood by, as though expecting Hermecritus to gobble both sheep up immediately, apparently thinking nothing of the globs of green nerve toxin liberally spread all over the flanks of both sheep, for Capricorn had enough sense to know that those things he spat upon died instantly, but not enough to realize that while he himself was immune to his own venom, and could therefore devour a creature lathered in it, that protection did not necessarily extend to other dragons.

And so he grinned preditorialy at Hermecritus and actually wagged his tail, plainly under the impression he was delivering the American mixed-breed a nice snack, rather than a literal poison pill. The feeder could only lower his face into the palm of his hand and shake his head.

"I think we have a few sheep in the back pen," he said to Hermecritus. "I'd not take those..."

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

Fulminatus visibly rolled his eyes as Frostfell landed like the king dragon of the universe, and Æquitas simply pointedly pretended the enormous white braggart was not present, nor did he comment on his abysmal imitation of an English accent, no doubt calculated to mock Æquitas himself. Unwilling to get into it with the Wendigo, Æquitas simply betook himself elsewhere, leaving Tempestas himself to defend his own actions and demeanor if he so-chose. A single glance showed him that Tempestas would not. The flagdragon merely smirked and resumed eating, leaving his Captain to make what he would of it. Tempestas had thus far lived up to his name, but not where the Wendigo was concerned, kept no doubt in line by the fact that his captain was almost literally grafted to his back at all times.

He wandered away from the newcomer and the others, seeking seclusion where he could repeat to himself the same tired explanations he had been repeating for days. The same formulaic rationale as to why there had been no word from Uxbridge. It was no more re-assuring than it had been the last eighty three times. Lt. Tolliver continued to insist that all was well, that it was likely just a matter of bureaucratic inertia, but Æquitas was too old to be lied to in such a manner. They had said the same thing about Edward after all...

He separated himself from the other dragons, from the covert itself, moving north a distance before taking off, presently caring very little for whether or not the radar operators would throw fits at an "unauthorized" dragon appearing over Sussex by magic. If they couldn't be trusted to make the leap of logic required, then the government had best...

He stopped.

Ahead of him, far to the north, there was something approaching.

At that distance, it was impossible to tell what it was, even for him, and he peered into the distance, trying to make it out. Dragons, several dragons, at least two of them heavyweights, surrounded by others smaller that were moving about them in a circle. They were not Germans, not unless they had been painted up, and moreover they appeared to be coming from London. And yet the coloration, the brilliant red in particular of what seemed to be the largest Heavyweight, seemed somehow to be familiar, and yet alien at the same time. It didn't... look like a Regal Copper, it was too striking, too uniform. What could it...

Æquitas suddenly realized what he was looking at.

"... bloody hell!"

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

Fulminatus had apparently calmed down from whatever spook he had taken, and considered the newcomer for a moment. "A Dreamweaver..." he said, his voice indicating that the name was at least familiar to him. "Heard stories o' your kind." The grizzled dragon did not say if the stories in question had been positive or negative, nor did his voice give any indication thereof. He continued to watch Flinder with an undisguised look of concern, though he said nothing as the dragon explained, belatedly, what his hallucinations were like. A single glance at Fulminatus would have told him that he wasn't taking what the midweight said at face value, but neither did he press the matter now.

And soon enough, matters intervened.

The air horn blew, not a long, wailing cry as it would have in case of an attack, but a short burst that was simply the signal for incoming dragons, non-hostile. Moments later, the reason for this was made clear, and all talk of sheep and Dreamweaver episodes was rendered moot.

From over the trees to the north of the covert there appeared an enormous dragon. Forty tons at the least, its blood red hide positively shone in the morning sun, as it spread its wings and rode the thermals, braking almost to a dead stop in mid-air above the covert, the light shimmering about it like a phoenix afire. Harnessed and armed, the dragon wore no combat armor, instead its harness was bedecked with heraldry and rich trappings of gold and velvet and imperial purple, like the barding of a paladin's warhorse. It raised its head and gazed about, looking down on the dragons below like an eagle surveying its prey, and then, after it had hung in mid-air for several seconds, slowly it began to descend towards one of the open coverts, every move majestic and calm, letting the wind spread the banners arrayed on its back, revealing a coat of arms with a two-headed red dragon holding the scepter and orb of royalty, bedecked in heraldic shields and crests. And behind that banner flew a simple flag of black and gold bars, not the flag of a nation, but the flag of a House.

But even those who did not know the meaning of the heraldry could tell what this likely was, for the dragon in question could be of no other breed. Even had there not been another example to-hand to compare it to, this majestic beast could be nothing other than a Crimson Angel.

Behind the Angel loomed a second heavyweight, almost as large, but this one was slate gunmetal gray, and armed not with heraldry and banners, but with combat armor and a full platoon of black-bearded soldiers. Green-eyed and metal-scaled, it remained behind and slightly above the Crimson Angel, its eyes darting this way and that in search of threats. Those with Draconological knowledge would have little difficulty placing it, It was one of the famed Greater Ironwings of the Ural Mountains, one of the few Special Weapons dragons in the world large enough to rate as a heavyweight, capable of producing a toxic spray of venom potent enough to render dead an entire squadron of dragons at once. Unlike Capricorn, there was no sign of stupidity in this creature's malevolent look, sickly green eyes peering through tree and bush, sizing up each dragon in an instant and assigning it a place in a hierarchy of threat. And as both heavyweights began to descend, other, smaller dragons came into view and accompanied them down.

Two white midweights spotted blue, armed and armored and proceeding with expert skill, descended in step with a pair of swirled red and brown lightweights whose captains were bedecked in spotless jeweled turbans and caftans, and armed with ornamental swords and braces of pistols and grenades. The midweights were St. Nevski's, Russian midweights dating back to the foundation of the Muscovite Empire, but the lightweights were something else entirely. They wore neither harness nor armor nor any other symbol, and their captains rode bareback upon them, yet they darted and wheeled and twisted about the larger dragons as though the laws of gravity did not apply in their case. It was they who set down first, at opposite ends of the space they had mentally chosen for their larger brethren, and no sooner had the dragons touched the ground than their captains leaped off of them like acrobats, standing perimeter guard for the others. The red and brown lightweights did not even bother to glance at the British and allied dragons, simply watching the others land, their eyes narrow and gazes fierce and wild. Most everyone present had heard stories of the famous Zaporozhnian Cossaks, but here were two of them in person, and they pawed at the ground and sniffed the air and wind, as though eager to burst forth once again into the skies.

The larger dragons landed forthwith, and the Ironwing lowered itself to the ground and disgorged an entire platoon of tall, grim-faced soldiers in ornamental uniforms marking them as Russian Imperial Guards. These too up position too around the magnificent Crimson Angel who was quite clearly the center of this little squadron. The Angel itself looked around at the preparations, waiting until they were utterly complete, and only then did it speak, a female voice, deep and powerful, but quiet for the moment, that seemed to have a hint of concern in it. No more of course could be determined, as the dragon spoke in Russian.

As did the woman who answered it.

High atop the Crimson Angel, attended by guards and servants, there stood a woman who, had she been wearing street clothes or an RAF uniform, would still have been clearly identifiable as royalty. Her bearing, her words, her every manner was noble and elegant, and the regalia of state which she wore, even in what was obviously a set "traveling" clothes, was rich and decorative and indicated (as it was meant to) the station and importance of the wearer. She was perhaps 40 years old, her eyes blue, her hair cut relatively short and pinned under her hat, once reddish blond, now darkened with age to a light brown. She was the only woman aboard the dragon, yet everyone deferred to her visibly, even the dragon itself, who, after a short conversation, lowered her head and neck, to permit one of the Imperial Guards to assist the woman to the ground.

There was absolutely no explanation for why an entire half-squadron of Imperial Russian dragons had spontaneously descended upon the RAF covert, nor who they were, nor where they had come from. The dragons and men themselves either spoke no English or chose not to, indeed they did not even seem to take any notice of the Allied formation, save of course for some of the guards, and the two heavyweights, who watched them all cautiously, particularly Frostfell. The woman who seemed to be in charge of the entire affair spoke to one of her guards for a few moments, and then let the men bustle about as she took the settings in with a careful eye, occasionally directing a comment in Russian back up at the enormous Crimson Angel behind her, who returned it in kind. This absurd state of affairs might have persisted for God-knew how long, but finally, after a few minutes, someone else arrived.

Two dragons, one of them Æquitas himself, who had simply been caught up in the arrival, appeared from behind the Russians. Æquitas landed amidst the other allied dragons, but the other, a Lightweight Greyling harnessed though unarmed, and bearing a rider, dropped down within the Russian perimeter. Its identity was instantly deducible to any British dragon, for this Greyling was "Imperator", a dragon scarcely any younger than Fulminatus himself, and a living legend among the British. The personal dragon of Charles Gordon Pasha, Gordon of Khartoum, a fixture of the high Victorian ages, now long-past his prime, and weakened by wounds sustained everywhere from China to the Sudan, to the point where he could fight no more. His age had not lessened his mind however, for he was the sole draconic representative in Parliament, elected without pause for nearly 20 years as the MP for "His Majesty's Loyal Dragons", an arrangement that had been come to in 1848. His election had come as something of a relief to the other parliamentarians, as he was known for being, among other things the first draconic member of parliament who could actually fit inside the building. Member of the Conservative Party, Minister Without Portfolio in Sir Winston Churchill's cabinet, he was unquestionably the most senior dragon in Britain, at least since Temeraire's withdrawal from politics following the Great War.

Imperator bowed low, and addressed the woman in English, though in tones too low to be overheard. Only the reply made by the Crimson Angel overhead could be made out, spoken in elegant, refined Queen's English lightly inflected with a Russian accent.

"Your government promised us full access," said the Crimson Angel. "To be employed at our discretion, yes?"

Imperator's reply could not be heard, for it lacked the full-throated thunder of a Crimson Angel's voice, but clearly he had lost whatever point he was trying to make. As he spoke, the rider who had been upon him walked briskly away towards the others, but had gotten only a dozen paces beyond the perimeter of the guards before Æquitas's breath caught.

"Michael!" he shouted and leapt over towards him, drawing horrified stares from the Russian guards and a sharp growl from the Ironwing, though the Crimson Angel barely glanced up. Æquitas ignored them all, landing before Michael and imperturbably hoisting him into the air with one foreclaw, depositing him on his neck before he even had a chance to say hello. Rankin laughed and patted Æquitas on the neck, apparently no worse for wear, and Æquitas proudly bore him back over to where the others were standing, and only then permitted him to dismount.

Captain Bader, aboard Tempestas, was on the point of asking Captain Rankin what in the name of God was going on here, when all of a sudden the Crimson Angel was walking towards them, keeping pace with the woman who commanded or perhaps captained it, and the platoon of guards and dragons that followed and flanked them. Imperator darted out in front, and raced over to the collection of Allied dragons, looking extremely out of sorts. He gave the blood-spattered dragons and captains but a glance, , before clearing his throat.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Imperator in a London accent that resonated with Victorian gravitas, "I have the distinct honour to present Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolævna Romanov, of the Russian Empire, as well as her Sindreonic Guard-dragon, 'Vinoslivijia'.

Whatever Imperator said, it was plain he did not consider this a distinct honour of any sort, indeed he looked like he was considering defecting to Germany on the spot, yet there was nothing for it. The Grand Duchess did not give any indication as she was introduced, but the dragon looming above her did, the slightest of imperial nods of recognition as she took in the sight of th Allied dragons, giving no indications of how she found them. Imperator explained as best he could.

"The Grand Duchess has requested leave from His Majesty King George to inspect the premises of one of our forward line Coverts, and His Majesty has seen fit to request that we afford her and her... associates... every possible consideration."

Imperator looked back at the Allied dragons, as though praying either that they would all spontaneously transform into a REAL British Squadron, or perhaps that God would see fit to strike him dead on the spot with a bolt of lightning.

[Dark Silver]

Thomas looked over Captain Allen with a shrewd eye, his face remaining as blank and business like as slate, before extending his own hand and clasping the Aussie's in a firm single shake, "Captain, a pleasure."

Thomas was about to excuse himself to deliver the report, when the commotion and buggery that came with the flight's arrival. Thomas turned to watch, and straightened himself at the announcement of who the visitor was.

Something told him he was very glad his crew had quartered some distance from the main parts of the covert.

-----------------------

Hermeticus smiled at Capri as the venomspitter came out with the sheep, but was taken aback when he say the venom.

"I dun t'ink that be good Capri..." the Dragon said with the Cajun accent, "It's covard in ya venom, it make me sicksick yah."

As if to illustrate, Hermeticus lifted a foreclaw and rubbed his stomach in a small circle, but nuzzled the smaller dragon affectionately, "But t'ank ya fo t'inkin o' me."

When the feeder announced he had a few sheep, Hermeticus smiled and thanked the man, as two sheep were brought out for him.

[rhoenix]

The voice of another Crimson Angel, let alone a female one, was unmistakable. The arrival of the Russian procession had effortlessly stolen the complete attentions of Veritas and Captain Braithwaite both, as both were staring at what was effectively a symbol of how they both came to be.

Hearing the introductions beginning, Captain and dragon didn't bother even a brief glance toward each other to confirm that they both felt the same way without words - As Captain Braithwaite was already sitting atop Veritas' shoulder, the large dragon simply shrugged, helping the Captain sit more properly on his great neck, and the large, red dragon made a small leap (for him), gliding effortlessly to land near the procession. He even "landed politely" (as the pair referred to landing without trying to make the ground quake) in deference to the name of the royal child who had captured the hearts and minds of all Russian children of his childhood: Anastasia. And here she was, with her Crimson Angel companion.

As expected, the other Crimson Angel had been completely aware of Veritas' approach, as he had wished, approaching as he did in full view. When the two landed, Veritas sank down on his chest briefly and extended his arm, allowing Captain Braithwaite to slide down the large red arm to land upon the ground. Once he had done so, both stood to their full height before bowing in sync.

Veritas was still stunned at the sight of another Crimson Angel, and so Captain Braithwaite effortlessly took the first few words, his Russian a little rusty, but gaining in clarity as he spoke the words he had almost forgotten, though his accent was unmistakably a native's. Both Veritas and Captain Braithwaite spoke perfect English, accented slightly with Irish inflections as befit how they both learned English - and amusingly, this Irish accent crept into their words. "[Russian]We are blessed by your presence and interest, Grand Duchess Anastasia. Forgive us both, but we both thought we would never see any piece of home again, until the war was over.[/Russian]"

Veritas, for his part, had just finished staring at the other Crimson Angel, unable to believe his eyes. Hearing his Captain begin to speak snapped him out of it, giving his head a small shake before bowing himself, raising his head to address the gathering. Like Captain Braithwaite, his Russian inflections were unmistakably that of a native, though he did have an Irish accent. His echoing baritone voice sounded, not cynical or sarcastic, but full of reverence. "[Russian]Your presence graces this humble camp, and we are the better for it. Welcome to Tangmere, Your Majesty.[/Russian]"

[Charon]

Jake was out the flap and running over one of the younger assistants practically as the blare of the horn came to a halt. It took him a few seconds but Crimson Angels were hard to miss. The Aussie whistled in astonishment as the group of Russians came down to the ground, the Angels were impressive, but it was the Zaporozhnian Cossaks which kept Jake's eye. Even as the decked out Crimson Angel arrived, Jake only watched it for purposes of examination. He'd love to get closer to one of those Cossaks.

Kunja had also been watching the procession, though he wasn't quite as overeager as his captain. He was grinning and laughing at the antics of the Zaporozhnian Cossaks though.

As Michael appeared and Æquitas ran up to him, both Aussies grinned, seemingly ignorant of the fact that the Russians had been about to kill Æquitas for a wrong move. The pair were moving as they watched, slowly closing ranks just as the dressed up Angel released her precious cargo. "Who do you reckon that is?" wondered Kunja allowed.

"No idea. Royalty of some sort, obviously." was the response.

Then Imperator gave them their answer. And unfortunately for him it didn't look like Kunja and Jake were up to the task of going British on him at the moment.

Both captains were completely in sinc as they first blinked, then looked over at the woman, then back to Imperator, then back to the woman, then at each other. "Err, should we be bowing?"

"Hell I don't know. Never been before royalty before."

"What would she want with seeing us?"

"Hell I don't know." Kunja paused. "Think we could take one of those Cossaks?"

Jake grinned. "With two legs tied to your belly."

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah had simply sighed when the flight came over. "Dolgonnit... 'leastwise it's not th' dammed Jerries." The blue lightweight wiped the blood off his face as best he could. "Ah guess we should go n' stand by our Cap'ns, so's we kin a'least look lik' proper soldiers." He looked at the other dragons, noticing Hermeticus and Capricorn talking, and that Hermeticus was just getting dinner. He wasn't going to pull the hard-working cross-breed away from dinner. "Hermeticus? Ya'll eat, since Ah know ya d'serve it. Ah see yer Cap'n with my Judith, tho. Flinder? Ah'm thinkin' tha's yer Cap'n o'er there too...."

++++
At the same time, Judith was frowning as she watched the first dragons landing and making room for the large Crimson Angel. "Frostfell? Ya migh' wanna slink o'er ta Reynolds an' see iffen he's up ta this," Judith suggested with awe in her voice. "Ah'm thinkin' it's gonna be real important he does." She hoped to hell the White Bastard would get the hint and fall back to the hospital, so the guardian dragons wouldn't be staring at him so worrysomely.

++++
Jebediah was no fool, and he realized that the big red dragon was the same thing as Veritas right quickly. "Wonner iffen tha's why she's here," he said to no one in particular as he slowly eased himself out of the feeding area, keeping a respectful distance from the hard-eyed dragons as he joined Judith. Kunja and Jake were not hard to spot, both grinning like fools and muttering to each other. Jebediah shook his head sadly as he slipped in and stood behind his Captain.

++++

If Jake and Kunja were unsure what to do, Judith was absolutely flabergasted. From the looks of it, this 'Grand Duchess' was someone Very Important. So important the wizened little English dragon was quite upset that she was -here- of all places.

For the umpteenth time since leaving her home along the Gauley River, Judith was feeling like the country bumpkin -- graceless, stupid, and totally in over her head. The Grand Duchess was like a queen stepped out of a fairy tale, dressed in clothing that was at once gaudy and magnificent.

Veritas and Michael arrived, stopping at a very respectful distance to bow low to both woman and dragon. Both of them spoke in a language Judith had no clue they knew, bowing again in obvious reverence.

"Iffen she comes closer, Ah'm thinkin' bowin's a good idea," Jebediah murmurred as quietly as he could, startling Judith out of her open-mouthed shock. She realized quickly, however, Jebediah was talking to Kunja and Jake. "Since it's lookin' like they're kin ta Veritas an' he's bowin' n' scrappin', might be a better idear than askin' ta spar wit' her guards," the Blue Devil added in a drawl meant to shame Jake and Kunja into at least trying to behave like civilized folk.

It seemed like good advice to Judith, and the next time this Grand Duchess looked her way or came closer, she was going to curtsey like she'd been taught Proper Ladies did. Wait. She needed a dress for that. Damnation! Would a bow work? A Salute? What?!?!

[Dark Silver]

Thomas was near ramrod straight, as his eyes followed the procession of royalty and guards. He didn't meant to be rude to Captain Allen, but he had all but tuned out the Australian man.

"Hermeticus should be here.." he said in his dulcet baritone. Before he started looking about, spotting his dragon with a mouthful of sheep, and blood covering his chops.

-------------

Hermeticus looked at Jebidiah, then nodded, his snakelike tongue lapping at the gouge he made in the sheep carcass, sipping lightly on some of the blood. "Alright," said the crossbreed, and took another mouthful of the sheep.

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell smiled at the dragons watching him. They had at least sense enough to he was dangerous. It was irksome being upstaged and it was undeniable he was. The Crimson Angels were larger and stronger than he was, but slower and tamer. The Greater Ironwing was, of course infuriating. Frostfell bitterly resented that a dragon could be armed with such a formidable power and retain strength and intelligence. How was that fair?

But to look on Nathan's face was to know that life was not fair and Frostfell had done that with love ever since he was a hatchling. And they respected his power and fury, he could tell by the way they watched him. He was Wendigo, fast, strong, stealthy, and cunning. He was not Trajan but he was not to be taken lightly either.

[Russian]"Please be welcome among us,"[/Russian] he said in mildly accented Russian. Let them wonder how and why he had learned the language. [Russian] "Please excuse any mess. We were recently attacked by the enemy and suffered serious losses."[/Russian]

[Avian Obscurities]

Allen’s attention was quickly drawn to the approaching squadron along with everyone else’s. He ogled unabashedly at the display of aerial strength. The harnessing on the Angel was like nothing he had ever seen, and he desperately searched his memory of the breed books back in Cairns trying to identify the others. The Ironwing he knew, and the lightweights seemed familiar enough from pictures, although he couldn’t remember the name.

When Aequitas joyfully broke obvious protocol to retrieve the rider of the British lightweight, Allen concluded that this was the missing Captain Rankin. He turned to the feeding grounds and gestured for Flinder to come join him, so that he might formally present both of them when the opportunity arrived.

He turned back to watch the Russian squadron, listening to the other captains quietly discuss the identity of the Angel and her captain. As the word “royaltyâ€

[General Havoc]

The look on Capricorn's face made it abundantly clear that he had never in his life considered the idea that his venom might make another dragon sick. Likely he would forget in five minutes anyway, but as the chief herdsman brought two more sheep out for Hermecritus, Capricorn merely shrugged and made the best of it, tearing into the two sheep he had killed with undisguised relish. He had only been working at it for a few moments before he popped his head up again, sniffed the air once or twice, and then suddenly bounded off towards the side of the covert, paying no mind at all to the enormous flight of Russian dragons now landing.

He returned a moment later with his Captain in tow. Captain Kelly still looked rather like hell, bandaged and splinted and otherwise bearing marks of his ongoing stay in the hospital, but able to walk, albeit with a limp. Capricorn walked with him, babbling happily about sheep, Hermecritus, Dreamweavers, and a hundred other subjects, all at the same time. Captain Kelly was clearly used to this by now, and didn't even seem to mind the cow's blood Capricorn was liberally smearing all over his uniform and dressings as he bounded along, nuzzling and nudging his captain happily. It wasn't until the two of them came into view of the enormous Russian gathering that Captain Kelly reached up and stopped Capricorn with a feather-light touch to the snout, and Capricorn blinked and turned to look at the enormous Russians.

"Wow," he said. "Now she's big..."

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

Vinoslivijia, who was indeed big, raised her head as Veritas approached almost reverently, and waited. Neither she, nor the Duchess, expressed the slightest surprise at the arrival of a Crimson Angel, a dragon so impossibly hard to find outside of Russia as to be quasi-mythical. A silent glance between woman and dragon was all it took to reveal that they had all known Veritas would be here. Indeed, it was likely that very fact had informed their decision of which covert to visit. Veritas was, after all, something of a political nightmare where Anglo-Russian relations were concerned.

No words were exchanged, none were needed between a member of the House of Romanov and their Sindreon. Persistent rumors indicated that Crimson Angels could actually read the minds of their charges, but it was clear to all present that the rumors were wrong. Crimson Angels did not read their captain's minds. They did not need to. The very purpose of the Sindreonic Guard was to create a bond so close between human and dragon that mere words became unnecessary.

And so it was that with a single glance between the Grand Duchess and Vinoslivijia, many things were said, and instructions taken and understood, and slowly the enormous Crimson angel turned to face Veritas. With careful precision, the Angel stepped around her captain, past the Imperial Guards, walked by the Midweights that flanked her, who withdrew as she passed, and moved past Veritas towards the side of the covert, casting only a single wordless look at the expatriate Crimson Angel as she moved by him, one which carried a request that was not a request, that he should follow her away from the remainder of the squadron.

As Vinoslivijia walked off to presumably confer with Veritas, the other dragons in the Russian squadron slowly began to spread out over the covert. The two St. Nevski's remained with the Grand Duchess, as did two dozen armed guards and a number of other support staff, but the pair of Cossack dragons clearly were impatient at being made to wait in one place for any length of time at all. Muttered remarks between captain and dragon led one of the Cossacks to approach Kunja. More similar in size to Jebediah than Kunja, the Zaporozhnian Cossacks were sleek and lean, their walk almost feline in its graceful movement. Their wings were large and sat poorly on their backs, ruffling and twitching, for these dragons clearly belonged in the air.

One of the Cossack dragons was female, and the other male, and as they approached it became clear that the same was true of their captains, only reversed. The two Captains wore identical uniforms, ceremonial and ostentatious, but clearly functional as well, and looked almost identical. It was only when they got close that it was possible to tell that the female dragon was captained by a man, whereas the male dragon had a woman for a captain. The two captains had the same dark hair and eyes, and might well have been siblings for all they appeared, yet both were armed to the teeth, and both mounted and rode their dragons with an easy familiarity that could only have come from years of constant training, employing neither harness nor saddle nor even a rope.

The female dragon approached Kunja, who outmassed it by several tons and a considerable volume. It said nothing, it might have spoken no English, and neither did its captain, who watched Jake with a neutral gaze as his dragon eyed Kunja over as though trying to determine if he would make for a good snack, despite his size. The Cossack dragon didn't need to say a word to make clear that she thought herself far superior to anything in the field, including the Angels, Wendigo, and Ironwing, and smirked and poked at Kunja's flank with her narrow tail, as though amused by his size, perhaps even actively trying to goad him into some kind of challenge. Her captain knew what his dragon was doing, and just rolled his eyes, as if to ask wordlessly if it was really necessary for her to do this with EVERY dragon they ran into.

Her counterpart meanwhile had made for Jebediah. Though Cossacks were smaller than Kunja, they were a shade larger than Jeb, and the dragon in question was not interested in goading Jeb, but appeared more confused than anything. He stared with a puzzled look at the hooked claws on Jebediah's wings, blinking a few times and addressing a question back up to his captain, who patted him on the neck and ventured a comment or two herself, also in Russian. Finally, the Cossack ventured to walk over and sniff at one of Jeb's wings, looking for the life of him like he could not figure out why any dragon would possess such things. In all the chatter between dragon and Captain, only one word could be made out, a question from the dragon to the captain. "Amerikanski?"

The Ironwing cared nothing for lightweights. His gaze was fixed on the Wendigo, and did not leave it. It was not possible for an Ironwing to not look menacing of course, but this one did not even try, laying in wait as though expecting the Wendigo to assault the Duchess at any moment, though the Duchess herself appeared to have no such fears. Russia had native Wendigo of course, so it was reasonable to assume that this Ironwing might have had experience dealing with their warm and fuzzy nature. Or perhaps he was just being thorough. Either way, it was clear he had identified the Wendigo as a potential threat, one he was prepared to deal with if necessary.

Yet it was not the Ironwing who responded to Frostfell, nor his Captain, but the Grand Duchess herself, speaking in perfect English, obviously having learned it at a very young age.

"There is no need to apologize," said the Grand Duchess to Frostfell with the sure, steady gaze that only an aristocrat raised among dragons could possibly possess in the presence of so many. We wished to view a formation engaged in fighting, not one engaged in parades." A momentary glance at Imperator carried all the rebuke it needed to. Imperator looked like he was trying to convince the ground to swallow him up.

The Grand Duchess looked at each Allied dragon and Captain in turn, saying nothing, but taking a longer time with Allen and Flinder, who was still whispering to his Captain. She was too far away to hear what the Dreamweaver had said, but she lingered anyway, as though trying to judge what to make of the Mystic-colored Australian. In the end however, she said nothing, before turning back to Imperator.

"We will inspect the premises," she said, making it abundantly clear that she was not asking permission. "We shall interfere as little as possible with your... operations. Please inform the Prime Minister that we will return to London some time this afternoon, weather and Germans permitting."

She did not wait for Imperator to answer her before she had turned away from him and walked imperturbably into the midst of the Allied dragons, her guards scrambling to catch up. The Ironwing rose to all fours and actually growled as she approached the Wendigo directly, utterly unconcerned with what might occur. She considered the white Demon of the Canadas for a few moments, looking up at him as though judging his conformation against other Wendigo she might have seen.

"What is your name?" asked the Grand Duchess of the enormous White dragon.

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

"What in bloody hell are they doing here?"

"Keep your goddamn voice down," snapped Imperator in a harsh whisper. "They all speak bloody English even if they like to feign otherwise."

"I'll keep my voice where I like, you officious twit," snapped Æquitas. "I hear nothing from you for two weeks about Michael and then you suddenly show up with half the bloody Russian Air Force without so much as a word?! I ought to pitch you into the Channel!"

"There was nothing that could be done for it!" hissed Imperator. "I don't like it any more than you do, but she insisted. What exactly whas I supposed to say? 'Sorry your highness, we can't let you actually look about, but please do arrange for your brother to plunge his country into a world war on our behalf."

Æquitas stopped, and looked back up at Michael, who was still watching the Russians. "Is that what she's here for?"

Imperator nodded. "She insisted on taking a look 'round herself, to judge our chances. The majority of the Russian government is hell-bent on appeasing the Germans no matter what they do, to try and ensure that Germany doesn't turn their way. If we're to have any chance of the Russians assisting us in this, we need the Grand Duchess' support. She has the Tsar's ear, and her word carries enormous weight with him and the Sindreon. She is our only shot at actually getting the Russians to act, and I will not permit that to be thrown away just to smooth your damned scales!"

"Why would she help us?"

"She's been the center of the pro-British faction in Moscow since the Civil War," responded Imperator, his eyes turning back in horror as the Grand Duchess approached the Wendigo. "Appreciates what we did for them there. An Anglophile. Even with the Duma and the Sindreon dead set against us, she might be able to bring enough support 'round to convince the Tsar, but only if we avoid bollocking the whole thing up."

Imperator, Rankin, and Æquitas all watched the proceedings carefully.

"Not a lot of chance of that, is there?" asked Imperator.

"I think they might surprise you," said Rankin. "And besides, there's nothing for it. She wanted a frontline squadron, and I suspect she wanted this one for a reason."

"No doubt she'll try to steal that Angel back," said Imperator.

"If he hasn't let himself get stolen yet, she won't convince him now," said Æquitas. "Besides, all we can do now is watch."

[rhoenix]

It quickly became clear that some parts of Veritas were of his breed more than his personality. The subtlety of communication from the female Crimson Angel was understood well, Veritas following her away from the others for a more private conversation.

A part of him felt as if this were one of the most momentous occasions in his life so far, but a few slow breaths calmed his nerves, allowing him to view and act in this situation objectively - even if this was the first time he'd ever seen another member Crimson Angel.

[LadyTevar]

Her counterpart meanwhile had made for Jebediah. Though Cossacks were smaller than Kunja, they were a shade larger than Jeb, and the dragon in question was not interested in goading Jeb, but appeared more confused than anything. He stared with a puzzled look at the hooked claws on Jebediah's wings, blinking a few times and addressing a question back up to his captain, who patted him on the neck and ventured a comment or two herself, also in Russian. Finally, the Cossack ventured to walk over and sniff at one of Jeb's wings, looking for the life of him like he could not figure out why any dragon would possess such things. In all the chatter between dragon and Captain, only one word could be made out, a question from the dragon to the captain. "Amerikanski?"

"Ayup... Ah'm Amerikun," Jebediah drawled, shaking his wing in the larger dragon's face. "Iffen ya wanna know what they do... ya migh' jis' try axkin' p'litely."

"Jeb..," Judith said warningly, but it was a little too late as the Smoke Devil unfurled that wing, visibly rotating the wing-claw on its joint, before lowering the wing to the ground. Dragging the wing backwards, the wing-claw peeled back the soil like a plough-iron, leaving a sizable furrow behind as Jebediah folded the wing back in place.

"Ah've made B'varians cry wit' that claw, land'd on th' back o' a Awhseffer an' made it turn tail, an' th' only one as caught me was Albertros hisself," Jebediah told the Cussock, face to face with it, his horns laying back along his neck. "Wha've -you- done... youn'un."

Judith could only shake her head and wonder if he was doing this just because the other Cossack, examining Kunja, was female.

[Charon]

The female dragon approached Kunja, who outmassed it by several tons and a considerable volume. It said nothing, it might have spoken no English, and neither did its captain, who watched Jake with a neutral gaze as his dragon eyed Kunja over as though trying to determine if he would make for a good snack, despite his size. The Cossack dragon didn't need to say a word to make clear that she thought herself far superior to anything in the field, including the Angels, Wendigo, and Ironwing, and smirked and poked at Kunja's flank with her narrow tail, as though amused by his size, perhaps even actively trying to goad him into some kind of challenge. Her captain knew what his dragon was doing, and just rolled his eyes, as if to ask wordlessly if it was really necessary for her to do this with EVERY dragon they ran into.

Kunja and Jake eyed the female Cossack and her captain as they closed. While the dragon's face displayed her superiority, and her captain was carefully neutral, both of the Aussies were grinning as if they were in on some big secret that involved the Cossacks.

As much as it was clear that the female was attempting to goad Kunja into a challenge, it was clear that Kunja was rearing and ready to accept the challenge. Only the not so subtle kicks and jabs from Jake, who realized what a political disaster a dogfight above the Duchess would be, kept the young Victorian in line.

Kunja wasn't going to not have any fun though. As the Cossack poked at him his grin turned suggestive, and as she came around to his flank, he started waving his own, longer tail, not looking to directly smack the Cossack, but certainly not avoiding it.

[Avian Obscurities]

Allen turned in concern when he heard Flinder's mumbling, instinctively getting ready to try and soothe and center the dragon--as he had learned to do over the past three years--but paused when he saw the degree of control Flinder seemed to have. He listened to his words and frowned at Flinder's concluding statement. He doubted the young dragon had any better idea what it meant than he did, but he intended to discuss it with him about it later.

He turned back to the Russian delegation and saw the Duchess staring at him and Flinder. He froze. She regarded them briefly before turning away, and Allen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Allen glanced back and saw Flinder's attention had turned to the Cossacks approaching their squadron. Allen watched as they traded banter with Jeb, and Kunja posed threateningly. So far, the words said all seemed calm, but the tension in everyone's body language was high.

A deep rumbling came from Flinder's chest beside him, and Allen recognized it as the beginnings of one of his rare growls. "They better not be trying to threaten my new mates...." Hearing Flinder grumble this, Allen's stomach flopped. As much as Flinder wanted everyone to get along, first and foremost in his mind was defending his friends, family, or crew (collectively lumped together in his mind as "mates").

Allen put a hand out on his foreleg. "Oh no, no no no..." he muttered quietly, "don't get involved, mate, everything's fine."

[Cynical Cat]

"I am Frostfell, your grace," said the Wendigo. "Behind my back I am called the White Devil or the White Bastard, by my crew with affection and by others without it. It would be my pleasure to act as your guide. If you wish, it would be an honor to carry you around the base."