His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain

[Dark Silver]

Thomas remained rigid for the most part, as the Russians landed and several of them seemed to be inspecting the others. His eyes traveled over the Russian dragons, as he finally got a close look.

He had heard about the Russian Breeds when he was younger, growing up at the Breeding Farm. It was his fathers dream to get one of the Russian Dragons for a chance at a crossbreed, but one which would never come true.

And now....here were some of their fighting best - the breeds anyway. He had little doubt each dragon was highly experienced, and their captain's knowledgeable in their own rights. The Dragon Breeder in Thomas longed to go up and inspect the Russian Dragons with his own eyes and hands, but the soldier in him remained where he was.

Hermeticus was in his eyeshot, the Longhorn waiting only his Captain's signal despite enjoying his sheep, and Thomas gave it.

Taking only a minute to swallow and head to a water hole to clean the bulk of the blood from his foretalons and face, the Longhorn Reaper lopped up to his friend, and sat on his rear haunches, tilting his head down to whisper to his friend.

[General Havoc]

Vinoslivijia revealed nothing of her own thoughts as she moved aside with Veritas, crossing most of the Covert in a few wing-assisted leaps before settling down out of eyesight and presumably earshot of the rest of the squadron.

Turning back to the enormous Crimson Angel that had accompanied her, she waited until he had landed before saying anything. Even afterwards, she seemed to take her time, looking over Veritas with a practiced eye that was neither critical nor comforting, but merely observational, as though she half-expected him to have a second pair of wings from having lived in a barbarous land like Ireland.

"Istina..." said Vinoslivijia finally, apparently to herself, but did not explain why she had spoken the word, though clearly it had some meaning in this case, and slowly the dragon smiled, a proper and restrained smile, but clear enough all the same. Decked in her regalia though she was, there was nevertheless no mistaking Vinoslivijia for anything but an imperial dragon, regardless of what her harness might have contained. Her reserved manner, her cold eye, her carefully balanced movements, all of these bespoke a life entirely dedicated to the uppermost heights of aristocratic service.

"They told us that you had been placed in the fighting line," said Vinoslivijia, this time in English. "We did not believe they were so desperate to do such a thing." She looked disapprovingly at the still-visible marks from where the Kampfritter's bomb had badly injured Veritas' back, and shook her head. "This was not meant for you, 'Istina'," she said. "The troubles... we lost much. To be a beast of burden for these Angliskaya in their wars. In the old days we would never have permitted this..."

She seemed to sigh. "Do you know... anything of what you ought have been, Istina? Of what it is we are? Or did they permit you to think we had abandoned you to your fate here in England?"

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

Whether or not the Cossack spoke English and could interpret Jebediah's drawl, the demonstration was clear enough. The Cossack sensed the implicit challenge in Jeb's voice, or perhaps he did understand, for no sooner had Jeb asked what the Cossack could do than the Cossack exploded off the ground like a bird startled by a shotgun. Several of the other Russian Dragons and guards snapped their heads around to see what the matter was, but as soon as they saw which dragon had burst into the air, every one of them turned away, grumbling. Several rolled their eyes. Apparently this was nothing new.

The Cossack paid them no mind, flying up into the air into a full loop above Jebediah's head, his captain hanging on by some combination of centrifugal force, pressure with her knees, and black magic. Yet when the dragon reached the apex of its loop, flying upside down with its captain still on its back, the Captain either slipped or let go, and fell.

Any other dragon would have panicked, but the fluidity of the Cossack's movements indicated that this was no surprise, and it stalwartly continued its loop, diving down like a falcon pouncing on prey, swooping back around right side up again, and catching his own Captain on his back with the grace of an owl plucking a field mouse from the ground. He backswung his wings and braked, landing once more straight in front of Jebediah with a smug grin on his face, even as his captain laughed and patted his neck, saying something soft, soothing, and probably teasing in Ukranian-accented Russian.

And across the way, the other Cossack turned her head back to Kunja and rolled her eyes ostentatiously at the other dragon's antics, pronouncing a single word on the whole affair: "Lyubitely".

Kunja didn't need to know that it meant 'Amateur' to get the idea.

The dragon jumped back a bit as Kunja retaliated with tail prods of his own, and smiled devilishly, darting in and out like a boxer circling an opponent and babbling to her captain in Russian, who looked almost resigned to what she was doing. He raised his head and spoke loudly to Kunja in English with a heavy accent.

"She says your dragon is fat," he said resignedly, knowing full well what was to happen next. "She says he must be very... slow... and that if I do not tell him she is saying these things, then she will... er... how you say... make trouble?" He reached down and tapped his dragon on the side of the neck, hard enough to get her attention, but clearly not hard enough to do so for long. "She is... very young. She thinks all dragons be afraid of her, yes? She thinks your dragon is afraid. Very young, always make trouble!"

The dragon probably did not speak English, but growled up at her Captain and flared her wings as though to belie the description, rather than confirm it, but she did not goad Kunja further... yet.

The Cossack captain dismounted with a casual leap, landing easily on his feet, and walked over to Kunja and Jake. From this distance, he was clearly fairly young himself, twenty or so at a guess. "Ivan Nikitovich Kozhedub," he said, extending his hand with a grin, while his dragon continued to fidget behind him. Careful observers might note that Ivan was keeping himself between his dragon and Kunja at all times...

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

The Ironwing had been watching the entire scene with a more and more dis-satisfied look, and as the Grand Duchess spoke with Frostfell, he slowly made his way around the guards and other dragons, to position himself in a better place to intervene, should the need arise. His path took him right past both Flinder and Hermecritus, and in passing them, he stopped, and turned his head, and held.

Much larger than either Flinder or Hermecritus, to say nothing of Capricorn (who came up between both of them and sat down, his Captain in tow behind him), the Ironwing nevertheless hesitated. It was impossible to determine what was running through his head in regards to either dragon, but his gaze fell on each of the three dragons in turn. Either he did not like what he saw, or he wished to give the impression that he did not, but it was plain he was having trouble identifying Hermecritus, and that either he was having the same trouble with Flinder (or alternately, that he had already identified him to his displeasure).

Capricorn of course couldn't pick up on any such subtle impressions. "'e smells funny..." he said to anyone who cared to listen, and he stepped forward towards the enormous Ironwing with a puzzled look. The Ironwing growled and opened its wings, but Capricorn was a Venomspitter dragon, a dragon no beast in the world was fool enough to threaten, and consequently did not even recognize this obvious sign of displeasure as aggressive in the slightest. He sniffed the air around the Ironwing, smacked his lips a bit as if trying to identify what he was smelling, and utterly ignored Captain Kelly's increasingly frantic whispers for him to get back, until the Australian Captain finally had to resort to walking out to grab him and try to drag him back. Capricorn however would not be dragged, babbling quite innocently about whether or not the enormous dragon wanted a cow, a moment before he did something nearly catastrophic.

He sneezed.

Contrary to rumor, the sneeze of a Venomspitter was not actually fatal, save for the rare occasions when they were ill and accidentally channeled their venom into the sneeze. It was however fairly clear that the Ironwing didn't know that. It reacted like it had just been shot, rearing into the air with a full throated roar that attracted the immediate attention of everything within miles. Æquitas shot his head up, both St. Nevski's leapt to their feet, the Imperial Guards jumped to attention and grabbed for their weapons. But Capricorn did not have the sense to realize that he was staring at one of the deadliest dragons alive, and at the roar, reacted instinctively, sweeping his captain back behind him with one swipe of his wings, before baring his teeth and spreading both wings as wide as they would go, snarling like a buzz saw at the gigantic Ironwing. Those who knew dragons could tell from the movement in Capricorn's throat that he had primed a full load of venom, capable of reducing even a dragon that size to a convulsing heap.

And of course, everyone knew what Greater Ironwings were capable of.

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

The Grand Duchess smiled, either at Frostfell's politeness or Frostfell's presumption. Perhaps both. She did not seem immediately inclined to take him up on his offer, but neither was she doing what most sane people did when confronted with Wendigo, specifically run for the hills.

"In Russia, you would be called 'Belaya Smert'," she said, not bothering to translate the phrase 'White Death' for a dragon who clearly spoke the language himself. She left unsaid if that would be a personal name, or if that was the Russian term for Wendigo in general. It fit either way.

An old man, 70 or so years old, yet hale and dressed in the uniform of the Russian Imperial Guard, approached from behind the Grand Duchess, but said nothing, nor did the Duchess remove her eyes from Frostfell. "We have some of your kind," she said, neither admiringly nor disparagingly. "But we do not use them in places like this. We use them to fight in secret, where no other large dragons will go. My men tell me that in the Canadas, this is also how Belaya Smert are employed. So why is it that you are here, Frostfell?"

It was abundantly clear that the Grand Duchess was not merely making pleasant conversation. Her question had a military point behind it. Wendigo the world over were renowned, not as line fighters, but as black ops and special forces dragons. To find one in a front-line squadron, doing the duties of a full heavyweight, was a telling sign, one that the Grand Duchess, having known other Wendigo in her time, clearly did not neglect to notice.

She might have asked more questions, but right then, the Ironwing to Frostfell's front and right let out a roar loud enough to wake the dead, and reared up onto its hind legs, its metal-gray wings beating the air as it snarled and snapped at a dragon many many times smaller than it, or perhaps at Flinder or Hermecritus, who were behind the yellow dragon. The old man behind the Grand Duchess stepped forward and took her arm as if to rush her back, but she did not go, all movement momentarily paralyzed by the surprise of having one of her heavyweight guards suddenly act so.

[rhoenix]

Having accompanied the female (and rather regal-acting, Veritas thought) Crimson Angel out of sight of the others, he saw that she had found a spot that had satisfied her for reasons of privacy, and was now waiting for him to land. He did so, with care.

She seemed to study him clinically, showing no signs of whether the results pleased or displeased her - she simply observed without judgement, and Veritas allowed her to, standing like a statue.

"Istina..." she said softly. It took Veritas a moment to realize that word in Russian meant "Profound Truth" - it was his name in Russian. Still, Veritas said nothing yet, simply watching the watcher as she watched. Given her bearing, she was very much a product of a ruling culture, no matter what her harness suggested. She was reserved and careful in action and expression; a somewhat haughty eye; carefully-chosen words fully intended to cause an effect - all these things bespoke clearly of a life of an aristocrat. She was very obviously a product of the lineage Veritas had been told was his own.

The great female Crimson Angel, Vinoslivijia, surprised him by speaking in English. "They told us that you had been placed in the fighting line," she said. "We did not believe they were so desperate to do such a thing." There grew a disapproving look on her face as she looked at his back; she was observing the damage the Kampfritter's bomb had wrought, it seemed, shaking her head afterward. It vaguely amused Veritas that even this simple motion of shaking her head in dismay seemed to be regal, and poised. "This was not meant for you, 'Istina'," she continued. "The troubles... we lost much. To be a beast of burden for these Angliskaya in their wars. In the old days we would never have permitted this..."

She seemed to sigh. "Do you know... anything of what you ought have been, Istina? Of what it is we are? Or did they permit you to think we had abandoned you to your fate here in England?"

The difference in bearing between the two dragons, despite being of the same species, was striking. As regal, careful, haughty, and reserved as she seemed, Veritas himself appeared to be a red statue whose movements were always a surprise. His gaze was steady, clinically analytical, and missed few details. Her bearing was that of that of an accomplished aristocrat, and his was that of a soldier who had seen the horrors of war itself, and was pressing on out of duty regardless.

As he was about to reply, the tremendous roar from one of the visiting dragons echoed throughout the compound, counterscored by the fainter, but still distinct noise of Capricorn growling. It was perhaps a mark of his military training and experience that Veritas' head had whipped around to look at the source before the sounds had even properly registered in his brain. Once it had, those familiar with Crimson Angels (and Veritas in particular) saw the internal struggle he briefly underwent - whether to intervene in this, or to stay.

As his body relaxed, his choice became clear, especially as he answered. "For many years, I only knew what I was intellectually; it meant little to me except that I was larger and tougher than most other dragons I met. When Alexei - or Alexander as he is now - and I joined the RAF at the suggestion of the retired RAF officer who found us and first took us in on the shores of Ireland. It was only when I was rather far along that Alexei and I received the news that due to an agreement Britain had made with Russia, I could not be used to breed with for the English. Knowing precious little more than that at the time, I began to study what I was in my free time, with Alexei helping."

The look in his eyes was distant for a few moments as he continued. "I found that I am of a line of dragons that was reserved for defending and advising royalty, and serving an admirable job over the years in doing so. As proud as I was when I found this out, it also made me feel more alone, as what I discovered implied that there were no others of my kind serving to fight this menace coming from Germany," he said, turning to look at her directly.

"I do not view myself as a 'beast of burden,' for carrying the weight of men and weapons of war as I fly toward victory Vinoslivijia, any more than you do for carrying the weight of the well-being of your charge. As long as Alexei still breathes and still wishes to press on against Germany, to fight for our adopted home, I will unrelentingly assist him in doing so with all my strength and wits," he said, raising his head slightly with pride.

"I know that I would have adopted a member of royalty had things gone differently before I hatched, and defended them during the Communist Revolution. Quite honestly, I've no idea why Alexei and I were never contacted until now - I'd presumed it was because our case was somehow embarrassing or inconvenient, and wished we'd simply go away. Alexei's theory was that we'd become an accidental test case for Russia helping England, with results waiting to be seen," he finished, shaking his head slowly.

"Without more information, I simply don't know for certain, about any of those things," he said, looking her in the eyes directly, but without challenge - simply undisguised curiosity. "Would you be willing to elaborate?"

[Avian Obscurities]

Flinder watched the interactions with the Cossacks doggedly. However, despite their body language and banter, no one seemed about to attack anyone else. Kunja already had a look on his face that Flinder took to mean he was planning something in his head. He relaxed slightly and, grinning to himself, sat back to watch the show that would undoubtedly unfold.

However, he felt the felt the presence and stare of the nearby Ironwing and turned to face the great dragon. Grey as a stormcloud and just as ominous, the heavyweight radiated power and confidence. As Flinder realized he was leering at his nearby mates and himself, his just-settled ire bubbled up again.

As Capricorn trotted forward, Flinder had to repress a smirk. He had quickly grown to like the little dragon, and assumed his blunt friendliness and utter deadliness would confuse and scare the Russian dragon away.

These thoughts quickly evaporated after Cap sneezed and the Ironwing erupted in anger. Flinder reacted instinctively, snapping open his broad wings to dazzle in the sunlight, and poured out his deep growl. He saw Captain Kelly try and scramble around Cap’s spread wings in a futile effort to restrain him, but his eyes were focused on the Ironwing. Protective aggression drove rational thought from his mind and he moved to take a step forward.

He was stopped, however, by Allen beating furiously at his forelimbs and chest, yelling. Startled, he ducked his head down.

“—AY BACK! THEY’RE BOTH SPITTERS!â€

[Charon]

Kunja perked his head up and his nostril's flared. "Fat? Fat?! Did you hear that? That overgrown salamander called me fat." He turned to look directly at the much smaller Cossack. Jake kicked Kunja to get him under control again just as the small Victorian reared up threateningly. "Jake, you tell this scrawny little pinhead of a lizard that we eat Leuchtkaffer's for breakfast, Bavarians for lunch, and Swabians for dinner. You let this scrawny goat-licker know that we've outraced Albatros and we were doing kid's stunts like her buddy was doing since before she was an egg! Any time she wants to go I am all for it."

Jake just coughed once or twice. "Uh, yeah. What he said. Jack, sit."

"What?" Kunja looked back at his captain.

"Just, relax for a second buddy, I'll handle this."

Kunja took a few steps back as the Cossack's captain was leaping off and lowered down from his threatening position. Jake meanwhile got out of the saddle and stepped down his dragon's neck, hopping off just behind the dragon's ear.

He stepped up to the other Captain and extended his hand with a grin as well. "Jack Collington." He glanced back at Kunja. "That's Kunja. Who's the salt n' vinegar?" Jake inclined his head, implying he was talking of the Cossack.

"And, for the record, Kunja and I sure as hell wouldn't mind doin' a few aerial runs against you an' yours."

Then the Ironwing's roar filled the air. Both Jake and Kunja's attention were immediately torn away from the Cossack and her captain. Neither said a word as Jake ran back and grabbed one of the cords as his dragon was taking flight. The Aussie climbed his way up. It wasn't long of a flight at all and by the time Jake had found a seat the small Victorian was down again, closing in on the trouble, already having spotted both Cap and Flinder, the Victorian growled, Jake meanwhile was trying to figure out what had happened as quickly as he could.

[Dark Silver]

The Ironwing's roar was loud and terrible. Hermeticus' attention was almost always on Capri and, when the Ironwing reared up, the Dragonw as reacting faster than his Captain.

As Flinder pulled and restrained Capri, the Longhorn Reaper closed the distance and placed himself between the restrained Venomspitter and the Russian counterpart. Hermeticus snapped his wings out, rose on his hind legs, and let out a answering roar, followed by the accented English punctuated with some of the obscure Cajun French that was the native tongue of South Louisiana, "Arret! Settle down! 'You be actin like a petite bebe, over a eternuement!"

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell stalked forward, interposing his not inconsiderable bulk between the Grand Duchess and the disturbance. "That is how we are employed in Canada as well," said Frostfell. "Unfortunately the brass believes that that the pain of his injuries and combat fatigue have made my captain unreliable for continuing service in special operations so we have been sent to the front lines to serve in a more conventional capacity."

"They are wrong, of course, but that changes nothing. Here we remain and here we serve. Since joining this squadron my crew and I have killed two and captured one German dragon, for total of four dead, three captured. Which is, incidentally, a better record than my captain scored in the Great War."

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah and Judith were as surprised as the others when the Cossack took off. As the Russian dragon did their loop, Judith watched in shock as the captain dropped, trembling as she remembered her own fall off Jebediah's back. Jebediah, however, was watching the dragon's movements.

As it landed smugly in front of the Smoke Devil, Jebediah looked him over critically. "Circled th' barn, din't ya?" Jebediah drawled. "Iff'n ya made tha' loop any wider, Frostfell coul' o' flown thru it. Judith... why don't we show 'em how ta do a loop."

Judith never got to reply, as the Ironwing roared. "Hellfires! He's after Cap!" Jebediah exclaimed. Judith grabbed his harness as Jebediah snaked around the Cossack male. Kunja exploded into the air overhead with Jake, but Jebediah stayed on the ground, moving over to support Frostfell's position. Too many in the air would cause more problems, but Jeb was as quick on his feet as he was on his wings.

The Smoke Devil saw and approved of Flinder's fast action, noting that Hermeticus was trying to play referee between the Ironwing and the 'Weaver. "Is th' grey one a spitter too, Frostfell?" Jebediah asked the Wendigo, unsure himself.

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell turned his neck, to address Jebediah while remaining as a draconic shield against possible stray poison spray coming in the direction of the grand duchess. "Yes," said Frostfell. "Greater Ironwings are one of the rare species that are fall into the heavyweight range, have a formidable breath weapon, and a relatively high intelligence. In their particular case they are prolific venom sprayers. As is being demonstrated, their intellect does not reach the heights attained by my breed."

[LadyTevar]

"O'course not," Jebediah replied with only the faintest hint of irony. The 40yr old dragon would give Frostfell full credit for brains. Common sense that came with age and experience was what was lacking there.

"Will he spit a' Hermeticus?" Judith called over to Frostfell. "He kin see Cap's bein' calmed down."

[Cynical Cat]

"I doubt it," said Frostfell. "Since he does seem eager to enter into a dangerous stupidity contest with Capricorn, one cannot completely rule it out."

[General Havoc]

Capricorn was not a happy dragon at being suddenly restrained in this manner. He squirmed and fought against his restraints, muffled snarls and roars emanating from the dirt patch Flinder had shoved him down into. His efforts were in vain however, as Flinder was nearly ten times Capricorn's weight, and had him in a submission hold besides.

Captain Kelly fell back, he had no choice really, as Hermecritus and Flinder both flared their wings and growled up at the Greater Ironwing. Kunja and Jebediah weren't far behind, and neither was Æquitas, the other Allied dragons looking on from greater or lesser distances. The only one who had not rushed to respond in some manner was Fulminatus, who in the course of these events, had apparently disappeared. Not that anyone was sparing time to consider where he might have gotten to.

The Ironwing was not intimidated. That much was clear. Having been spooked by Capricorn, it was angry and hostile and loomed up above both midweights and the other dragons that rushed in to assist. Still, the prompt reaction of so many allied dragons did give it pause, and as it hesitated, it received a check even so mighty as he could not ignore.

Frostfell had remained on hand, displaying far more foresight than one might have expected, to ensure that no fire harmed the Grand Duchess. The old man accompanying her, an officer of the Russian Imperial Guard, rather than the Imperial Russian Air Corps, had endeavored to do the same, but neither dragon nor man could keep back the Grand Duchess of Russia when she undertook to resolve a situation.

She called out to the dragon directly, a loud, unwavering voice of absolute, authoritarian command. The words were in Russian, and thus mysteries to most present, save for those the words were directed at. At her command, the St. Nevski midweights aborted their action and fell back, and the Ironwing itself stopped dead in its tracks. The Duchess did not raise her voice so much as amplify it, and it was unnecessary to understand her to feel the force of her words, her presence and bearing sufficient to arrest the forty-ton behemoth she was speaking to, which turned uncertainly back to her, and after a few seconds, re-mastered itself.

The Duchess' commands were brief, but the dragon gave no sign of protest or sullen anger at being chastised so. Russian Imperial Guard dragons were trained to a very high level to suppress their own opinion on matters of this nature, and this was no exception. The mighty steel-Grey dragon stopped, calmed itself, glanced back at the smaller Allied dragons that faced it, and visibly backed down, lowering its head deferentially (albeit to the Duchess rather than the Allies) and stepping back from the brink, permitting the Imperial guards and the smaller Russian dragons to interpose themselves between the Allied dragons and the Ironwing itself, which slowly settled back down into a brooding silence, watching Frostfell and the other allied dragons with eyes like glowing Kriptonite.

Greater Ironwings had no need to save face before anyone.

Several figures remained aboard the Ironwing, moving back and forth slowly now that their platform was no longer heaving and moving, yet oddly enough, there was no Captain seated on its neck. Alone that would not have been too strange, two of the Allied dragons here had no Captains after all, and a Greater Ironwing was mighty enough to be used Captain or not, yet this dragon plainly did have a large crew, a harness, all the trappings of a regularly captained dragon. There was even a pair of dangling carabineers on the dragon's neck, right where a Captain should be sitting. The straps were well-maintained and the buckles polished, but nobody was connected there. A truly captainless dragon should not have had such things, but there was no sign whatsoever of a figure who should by rights have immediately raced forward to calm their angered beast.

Across the way, Imperator visibly relaxed, letting his breath out at both the Ironwing's withdrawal and at Frostfell's reply to the Duchess' question. Frostfell may or may not have known that the question the Duchess had been seeking an answer to was not the one she had asked, as was the way of politicians. However, in ascribing his presence here to a decision on the part of the High Command regarding his captain, even an unjust one, he had inadvertently avoided Imperator's biggest fear. That Frostfell should complain of unfair treatment on the part of an uncaring RAF was perfectly fine as far as Imperator was concerned, so long as he did not admit the real truth: That Frostfell, along with other dragons whose normal place was not in line squadrons, was here in Tangmere because Britain had no other dragons to put into line.

If Grand Duchess Anastasia was put out by Frostfell's ego, she showed no signs of it. If she did know other Wendigo, then it was likely she knew to expect nothing else.

"He will not attack," she said directly, without bothering even to look back at the Ironwing, so certain she was of what she said. Left unsaid was that this state of affairs persisted only so long as the Ironwing did not perceive a threat to her person, or to his own, but that much was obvious. She dismissed the Imperial Guards with a wave of her hand, who fell back and resumed their posts, spending a few moments examining the various Allied dragons present, before slowly walking towards Hermecritus and Flinder, as well of course as Capricorn, still pinned beneath the enormous midweight. Her human guards followed at a distance, the old man at a closer one, but the dragons stayed where they stood.

"Mechta tkach," whispered the older officer to the Grand Duchess, and she nodded without answering. Slowly, she approached, looking up at the Mystic-colored dragon, and finally spoke carefully.

"You are a Weaver of Visions," she said, as though the statement made absolute sense, and perhaps it did. "Why are you here, 'maljutka'?"

The irony of a human calling a 20-ton midweight 'little one' was perhaps lost...

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell made way for the Grand Duchess, of course. He kept pace with her, off to the side and out of the way like a properly differential attendant. This was how this particular game was played and he would be victorious in this, as he was in everything else. He intended to walk with the duchess and then calm Capricorn, but something else came up. Literally.

[General Havoc]

As the Duchess advanced towards Hermecritus, Flinder, and Capricorn, the Ironwing slowly stood up once again, and yet this time, as though by magic, its entire demeanor had changed. It looked relaxed and calm, though no less alert, and it carefully made its way around the various midweights and guards towards Frostfell. Its gait was that of a dragon who considered himself invulnerable and beyond threat, yet the dragon did not appear overtly hostile, at least compared to what it had been previously. For this, at least, the others had cause to be grateful.

"Belaya Smert," said the Ironwing, as it reached Frostfell and the words rumbled off its tongue like thunder in the distant mountains. It let the term stand for a while, then spoke again, in Russian, for either it spoke no English, or it realized that Frostfell's Russian was better than what English it possessed.

"Vash russkiy yazыk ochen xorosho dlya inostrantsa," commented the Ironwing to the smaller Wendigo with all apparent civility. "Otkuda vы uznali ego?"

(("Your Russian is very good for a foreigner. Where did you learn it?"))

[Cynical Cat]

[Russian]"From tutors in my captain's cabin in the Yukon when I was a dragonet," said Frostfell. He remembered curling up on the rug in front of the fireplace next to Oddball, Nathan's feisty tabby, while tutors taught him various languages. Sometimes he sat on Nathan's lap, before he had gotten too big. It had been very warm and the meat had been fresh and bloody.

"My captain's in the hospital, but he should be out in a couple of days. Where is yours?"

[Charon]

Kunja and Jake were slow to calm, keeping an eye on the Ironwing and neither so much as flinched when the creatures gaze came to them. But the Grand Duchess's control of the beast was amazing, and she wasn't the captain. Which brought up the question of where the beast's captain was. Captain and dragon had half a mind to give said captain the verbal beating of his life, but they couldn't find him.

When the Duchess addressed Flinder as a Dreamweaver, Jake was impressed. Most people didn't know what a Dreamweaver was. That she, from Russia, knew what a Dreamweaver was said a lot about who she was. Sufficiently certain that trouble wasn't going to start up again, the pair made their way back to Ivan and his Cossack. "Sorry 'bout that. Now where were we. Ah, right. This here is Kunja." Jake patted his dragon on his side. "What's her name?"

[Avian Obscurities]

As the situation disarmed itself, and the Ironwing backed down, Flinder let up on his restraint hold on Capricorn. He stepped back, folding his wings, and uncertainly brushed some mud off the little dragon's neck. "I'm sorry mate, really am, just didn't want you to make any mistakes."

He stopped cleaning Cap as he saw the Grand Duchess approach. He glanced at Allen, but he was back with the other captains and hadn't noticed this new development yet. He bobbed his head in what he hoped was a decent approximation of a bow.

"You are a Weaver of Visions," she said, "Why are you here, 'maljutka'?"

He considered her description of his breed, and found his mind gently drifting to that other place. She appeared to be the source of the visions he had upon the arrival of the Russians to the covert. She trailed emotion with her like a storm, and he saw her to be a nexus of scenes layered on top of one another. Glimpses mashed and merged together, so that he couldn't tell the histories from the dreams. At one moment, he saw in front of him a frightened child held at gunpoint; in others, he saw a stately woman, wise beyond even her advanced years. In a distressing number of scenes, however, she didn't stand in front of him at all.

Realizing this fact made him shudder, and brought him swimming back up to reality. Barely a few heartbeats had passed since she first addressed him.

"I, um...I am Flinder. My captain is Allen Marston. We're from the Northern Territories. Australia," he added after a pause. "We volunteered, is all. Wanted to see more of the world. And, so...here we are."

He thought of the visions he had just had of...dreams? other realities?...where she didn't exist before him. Remembering what had happned with Fulminatus earlier that day, he wisely decided against asking her the same question she had asked of him.

[Dark Silver]

As the Ironwing settled with the Duchesses command, Hermeticus slowly went back to his normal stance, on all fores. The Longhorn Reaper's wings settled in next to it's ungainly body, and for a bit, he looked not unlike his larger cousins, the Texan Longhorn.

Thomas, meanwhile, was moving back towards his dragon, his face stotic as ever, even though inwardly he was glad there wasn't a fight between his Hermeticus and the Ironwing...

[General Havoc]

The Cossack dragons followed Jebediah and Kunja closely, landing nearby, the female dragon's captain having vaulted back onto her back as she passed. Yet as the impending fight broke up, both Cossacks almost immediately resumed what they had been doing.

Ivan Nikitovitch slid back off his dragon, who continued to feistily stare down Kunja, and laughed. "She is 'Obrazheyevka'," he said. "She is like... er... racehorse. She thinks she is biggest and strongest dragon in world," he patted the Cossack dragon on the muzzle affectionately and laughed in a thick Russian accent. "Always she make trouble..."

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

The Ironwing gave the slightest possible hesitation as Frostfell asked him that eminently reasonable question. "My Captain," he said in Russian, "is... not well." He left it at that for a moment, then ventured a stronger explanation. "He was... not able to come with us."

Clearly, Imperial Guard dragons were a cut above, for most any other dragon on Earth would be nearly frantic with a sick Captain. Apparently Ironwings were different...

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

The Duchess gave no sign of what her thoughts on this matter were, nor did her eyes deviate for an instant even when Capricorn, finally released, scrambled back to his feet, coughing and sneezing from the dust forced into his nose. He shot a very annoyed look up at Flinder, flicking his tail where the Dreamweaver had grabbed him and shaking like a dog to get some of the mud off. The Duchess was too far away to be splattered, but Flinder was not, and neither was Captain Kelly, not that Captain Kelly paid it any mind.

The Grand Duchess watched Flinder in silence for a few moments, and then, as was the privilege of royalty, asked a direct question.

"Mechta tkach," she said, "I have known your kind before."

The world did not shatter at this simple statement, but it was certainly not something any of the Allied officers nearby had expected. Dreamweavers were well known to Draconologists and dragon-breeders, but were not at all a common sight to see outside Australia, let alone in Russia of all places.

"Your kind has the gift of sight," she said, lowering her voice slightly, prompting the officer with her to suddenly go rigid, and Capricorn to glance up at Flinder with a puzzled look (nearly endemic to Venomspitters). "Do you not? Can you see what surrounds us?"

[Cynical Cat]

"You need to learn how to lie better comrade," said Frostfell. "Work on it."

[Charon]

Jake laughed. "For your sake then, we'll try not to give in to her challenges just yet. But if she keeps it up there's no way I could, or would, stop Kunja from accepting." Jake grinned, "Just so you know though, we're known for being trouble-makers ourselves."

[Avian Obscurities]

Flinder blinked at the Duchess’s question. “Err...,â€

[General Havoc]

If Veritas believed that Vinoslivijia was an aristocratic martinet come to bandy words with the true war veteran, then he had sorely misjudged his dragon. Vinoslivijia had nearly twenty kills to her personal credit, half of them acquired alone, or while outnumbered by horrible odds. She was one of the two dragons involved in the destruction of the Ipatiev House, a living byword for the extreme lengths Crimson Angels went to on their charges' behalfs. From medium distance, bedecked in her banners and heraldry, she appeared a radiant fire-drake, ruby-red and shining like the flaming dragons of Helios, but from up close, Veritas could see the worn scales and prominent scars that criss-crossed the great red dragon, the the long slashes of dragonclaws, the rippled roughness of acid scarring, and the arrow-straight gash, healed but still visible, torn right down one side of the great dragon that could not have come from anything but an armor piercing artillery shell. The life of an Aristocrat was indeed stamped into every scale on her body, but her bearing was that of a dragon who knew herself to have been tested, and not found wanting, and who moreover did not consider her own steel core to be in question, and therefore permitted it to hide.

Still, despite her aristocratic aloofness, Vinoslivijia's face visibly fell as Veritas explained his background to her. She did not look angry, not even at Veritas' suggestion that the other Crimson Angels refused to stand against Germany. Her bearing was that of someone recollecting an old and profound sorrow, and she let him finish before she responded, all at once.

"We are not just a 'breed', Istina," she said, pointedly ignoring the roar of the Ironwing without so much as a flinch, an odd behavior for a Crimson Angel certainly, but one she did not comment on. "We are Russia. We are its soul. We are its memory. We are its bones and flesh and blood. The Romanovs rule Russia, and thereby they rule us. The Angliskaya see you as a 'Heavyweight', so many tons, so much carrying capacity, another dragon to fill the lines. Have they taught you to think of yourself in the same way?"

She shook her head and sighed. "We are not a breed," she repeated. "All of us, we are related. There are not so many of the 'Malinoviya' to make of us a breed. We are bred with precision to avoid consanguinity, but all of us are family." She raised her head and looked Veritas straight in the eye. "You could be my brother," she said evenly, "or even my own son. The krasnyja," she spat the Russian word for 'red' out like it was a foul-tasting liquid, "burned Archangel and destroyed all the records. I had an egg who was meant for the younger sibling of the Tsar himself, should his mother have given birth again. It would have hatched at around the time you did. Perhaps it was you. Perhaps not. We will never know."

"You think," she said, and this time there was pain creeping into her voice, "that you were a test? You think we left you here because we wished to?" She shook her head again, muttering curses in Russian, "Istina, we sold you to the Angliskaya."

She did not try to soften the words in the slightest, staring back at Veritas directly.

"We sold you to them, to save Russia. Because the krasnyja tried to burn us all alive, and destroy Russia's soul. And they came close to doing it. So close. The Angliskaya sent men and weapons to fight with us against the krasnyja, and in return they asked for treaties and gold, and that they keep you. And because we could not save ourselves without them, and with the rest of the West, we did this thing. Do you understand now, Istina? In order to save Russia, we sold you to England."

She sighed. "And now... you are in the Royal Air Force. You are commanded by Angliskaya dragons to fight the Germans in defense of England. You have a captain who you will defend to the end of your life, and that is proper..." the great dragon trailed off and turned to look back at the rest of the Russian and British squadrons, and specifically at the Grand Duchess, standing before the Australian Dreamweaver. "Maybe you defend Russia by doing this," she said. "Malenkaya believes that the Germans will attack Russia one day, as they did in the Great War, and that we must help the Angliskaya now or face them alone. And the Tsar says that... giving you to them was a small price to pay to save Russia. But there are so few of us left... to leave you here..."

She no longer seemed to be talking only to Veritas, and only after a few seconds had passed, did she slowly turn her head back to him.

"If I could break the yoke they have on you," she said, "I would do this. But I cannot. There is no-one who can. But never imagine that you were left here alone because it was embarrassing to us that you should exist, Istina. We believed that, since you were forced to remain in this... place... that it would be easiest for you if we did not try to interfere. The Duma and the Tsar would not have let us interfere, and the Tsar rules Russia, as he rules us. We never imagined that they would place you in the front lines. We did not think they were so desperate as to squander you there."

[LadyTevar]

The excitement died down, and Jebediah was able to back out of the crush of politics, walking back to the side of the field where Kunja was again teasing the female Cossack dragon. Part of the old dragon wanted to tell Kunja to just mount her and get it over with, but that wouldn't be proper in front of his Judith. Even if she and Jake were sharing a bed, some things just weren't proper to say in front of a lady.

Judith started to dismount, but Jebediah stopped her. "No... Ah think it's time we did som' braggin' o' our own."

"Ah saw ya measurin' tha loop... so, how many an' where," Judith answered low.

"Two loops, an'a reverse," Jeb answered. "You jis' keep yer head down an' let me do th' flyin'." He called over to the captain of the fidgeting female Cossack. "Tell yer men we're answerin' yer girl's challenge, so they don' get worried now."

Both Cossack and dragons got very large grins, before the Captain answered. "They will know."

Judith frowned a little. "Ah'm thinkin' they do this righ' often.."

"Ayup," Jebediah answered, turning his back on them and finding just the right place for his loop. "But they ain't seen us."

Powerful back legs launched the Smoke Devil's slender body into the air, the short narrow wings slicing the wind as he flew up and over to where two apple trees still stood in what was left of the covert's orchard. The trees were large and heavy with apples. Kunja could stand between them with his wings spread and just barely brush the limbs.

Once the SmokeDevil reached the height and speed he wanted, he rumbled in his chest, a low laugh. "Keep her head down, lil'girl...." Jebediah warned, before tempting fate by yelling at the Cossacks.

"HEY YA'LL... WATCH CLOSE NOW!"

Diving sharply, he rushed towards one of the trees, curving down to the ground at the last moment, then back up in a loop that left his claws nearly brushing the branches on either tree. It was a -much- tighter loop than the Cossack had done, so close to the ground his tail whistled over the raggedy grass.

Up he went, back into the air, before folding upon himself like a seal to do the loop again in reverse, once again so close to the trees and the ground the breeze of his passage shook the greenery.

Pulling out of that, Jebediah flew off over the left-hand tree, giving himself altitude and distance to build up speed before he did a split-S, dropping nearly to the ground and flying full-speed at the closer tree. From the Cossack's angle, it would look as if the SmokeDevil meant to hit it, although the dragons they served with would know what this was leading up to.

As the front half of Jebediah passed behind the tree, that terrible claw on his inside wing dug into the trunk of the apple tree, slinging the lithe SmokeDevil between the two trunks like a whip over a horse's back, straight for the Cossacks.

The outside wing now dug into the ground, slinging Jebediah and Judith to a perfect sideways stop in front of Kunja and the two Cossacks. "That. Is how it's done, youn'uns," Jebediah bragged, a smug smile on his face.

"Hav' an apple?" Judith added with an equally smug smile, holding up a branch that had fallen off during the Devil's Reverse. She'd snatched it quickly, hoping it looked like she -meant- to do that.

[Charon]

Jake looked at Kunja and Kunja looked at Jake. Kunja grinned "I think she just called us out."

"I think she did indeed. Hell of a call out, 'specially since we can't do that."

Kunja snorted. "Maybe not on a tree that size. But we've got somethin' to out do that don't we?"

Jake scratched his chin for a few seconds. "Kickstart, flipper, header to a drop, followed by a hand dragger?"

Kunja laughed. "Wish we could do those first parts on a switch."

Jake smiled but shook his head. "Nah, they ain't ready for that. But let's wait. See what these Cossacks can do."

Kunja nodded and then the pair split up, Kunja walking away from the group, towards the sheep pens.