His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain

[General Havoc]

Rather than becoming upset, the Ironwing simply smirked at Frostfell. "My Captain is not here," he said simply in Russian. "It was impossible to bring him. And I will not tell you why this is."

He changed the subject. "What put your Captain in the hospital?" he asked. "Did a German dragon get past you?"

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

The Captain of the Cossack that Jeb landed next to was nodding carefully, as though grudgingly impressed by the Smoke Devil's feat. The Cossack itself had its mouth hanging open, its eyes bulging as it sniffed gingerly at the apple tree branch Judith had retrieved. The astonishment turned slowly to what was obviously seething resentment at having plainly been showed up, which was not helped when the nearest St. Nevski's midweight burst into laughter with such vigor that he collapsed to the ground and rolled over onto his back, narrowly avoiding crushing one or two imperial guards, who restrained themselves to snickers and amused glances.

The further Cossack, the female dragon that had been teasing Kunja, looked flatly stunned, and kept whispering questions to her captain, who responded to them in the same thick Russian dialect. Finally the two Cossack dragons shouted something unintelligible to one another, and apparently without reference to their captains, scooped the captains up onto their backs and exploded into the air like ADA fire. Up, up, up they flew, before winging over simultaneously, and diving at 45 degree angles towards one another. It appeared they would surely collide, save that at the last possible instant, both dragons performed simultaneous synchronized barrel rolls, rolling around one another seamlessly. An instant later they were past one another, righting themselves...

...having somehow traded Captains in mid-roll.

Both dragons braked and came to a landing nearby, strutting over towards the Australian and American dragons, the Captains patted and laughed as though riding their own dragons, and it was quite clear, due to both the synchronicity of the maneuver, and the fact that most dragons would not permit such a swap even in jest, that both of these dragons, or captains (or both), had long histories together.

Either way though, the metaphorical gauntlet was thrown down. Surely no Allied beast could pull off something like that.

[rhoenix]

As of this moment, illusions and vagueries of the mind now seemed to be so much glass, shattered into metaphorical dust around Veritas and Vinoslivijia.

Having listened with care and intent to all of Vinoslivijia told him, Veritas remained as still as a blood-red statue, making only made minor signs that he had heard. However, given his usual lack of visible emotional response, even these small movements were nearly shrieks of shock from any other dragon.

The elder Crimson Angel Vinoslivijia had shown her true character to him in her actions, and her bearing. If the bearing of a soldier meant one must have faced horror and pain and been changed as a result, then she was just as much a soldier as he, if not more so. Her proud bearing he had mistaken for aristocratic snobbery - he had not recognized it as simple pride in who one was, and what one had accomplished - and the lack of any ego-based want to have others recognize it. It was the self-perception gained from having been been sorely tested, and winning.

Here, in this microcosm of Crimson Angels, one of them was beginning to realize the true import of what he was.

As he had told her his tale, and his points of view, her nonverbal responses said just as much as her verbal cues, if not more so. Her face slowly fell into a quiet sorrow as he related his tale; not specifically at what had happened, but for his conclusions. Her reply wasn't filled with strong rebuke, or fiery condemnation, or even light verbal castigation.

More surprising was the direct revelation that explained all of Veritas' and Alexei...Alexander's time here. He wasn't sure how he felt at first, but the explanation Vinoslivijia had given him not only fit all the facts, it told him even more about his breed, and he was filled with a small measure of pride at it.

He was silent for almost a minute after she finished speaking, his outward calm a strong contrast to the maelstrom churning within him. So many things made sense now, so many things were falling into place...

He turned his attention to Vinoslivijia directly again. It technically was a slight turn of the head and refocusing of eyes, but that simple act showed that there was now a fire burning within the depths of Veritas - the sort of fire borne only of pride.

"If I am to be here," he said, suddenly breaking the silence, "then I can do no less than my best - not only for my own pride...but for Russia's as well. I can only offer my belief that Germany is as a virus now, eagerly trying to consume all it can in a orgy of power gone mad."

"But," he continued, "even if you handed me the choice to go back to Russia with Alexei now...I could not, because of Germany. I simply could not walk away from what I now know to be a grave and terrible threat to the way we choose to live, especially knowing that I could do something to help stop it cold. Yes, I became a line heavyweight Royal Air Force dragon, weighing 45 tons - but I was wrong when I thought that was who I was. You told me that our breed are Russia," he said, raising his head slightly. "Then I can do no less than be Russia now - steadfast, and protecting those weaker than I."

Smiling slightly, Veritas looked...calm. "You have my deepest gratitude and best blessings, Vinoslivijia - thanks to you, I know who I am, and why I cannot give up what I believe I must do."

[Charon]

Jake looked somewhat annoyed now. Back in his barnstorming days a pair of Widowmakers and their captain's pulled a maneuver that relied on flying the other's dragon, but under very different circumstances. Jake wasn't annoyed that the Cossacks had done it, he was annoyed that there wasn't a dragon here that he could do that with. So instead he consoled himself with what he was going to do next.

He took a few steps towards Judith, smiling. "Hon, could you get off Jeb for a few. I'm gonna need your help with something."

Judith raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Wha' kinda help?"

Jake got close to Judith and whispered in her ear what his plan was. Mostly Jake had to convince Jeb of the soundness of the plan and there was several minutes of discussion. By the end Judith was looking incredulous. "You wan' me ta be on'a ground fer this?"

Jake only smiled for a response and then walked away, turning around as he walked. "Oh! And don't drop the apple!"

"Don' drop th' apple, he sez..." Judith muttered, pulling one off the branch and tossing the rest of them to the Cossack captain.

Jake took a few steps away from everyone and then raised his hand high in the air, he was wearing most of his flight gear. There was a pause of about thirty seconds while Jake was just holding his hand in the air and the Cossacks began to cough and chuckle to themselves at the idiot Australian.

Suddenly, A sandy brown Victorian came screaming through the air just skimming over the other dragon's heads at a blistering pace. Kunja bent his wings, cutting speed suddenly and dipping even lower just as Jake grabbed hold of his Dragon's cargo netting with his outstretched hand and was carried off, slamming into his dragon's chest and knocking most of the wind out of him.

Compared to the other three, Kunja was a monster, he was twice the size of them, and barely fit under the title of lightweight. He did not have the maneuverability of any of the three, but he had something in spades, raw power, which allowed him, despite his bulk, to be only slightly slower than the others. Kunja and Jake practiced this trick at least weekly, and had it down pat, going more based off of the timing than the feel. For the other three dragons, it went by so fast that Jake seemed to disappear and for a horrifying second it seemed that Kunja had accidentally splattered his own captain.

Kunja climbed fast for altitude while his captain climed up into the saddle, not bothering to strap himself in. When they reached the proper height Kunja was still going up at a 45 degree angle when Jake stood up, not bothering to hook himself up to his dragon for fear of it slowing his timing. The Aussie went at a run up his dragon's neck, literally leaping off of his dragon's head once he got there. Jake hung in the air for a split second from his own momentum and then began to fall.

It couldn't be said what was worse, the Aussie's free-fall or that Kunja did not immediately turn and dive after his captain. Instead the Victorian pulled up vertical and stopped beating his wings, stalling in the air for a second before he began to fall straight down after his captain, rolling over so he was facing down.

Jake was falling with his arms and legs open, slowing his fall by a decent amount, allowing his dragon to catch up with his own deadfall, but the ground was coming up quickly. Dragon and Captain maneuvered around one another for a few seconds, getting set up, and then Jake grabbed onto his saddle, pulling himself in and hooking himself up as Kunja pulled out of his dive just ten feet above the ground and 200 feet from the others, though closing fast.

Judith had meanwhile moved to where Jake had asked her to and was trying hard not to shiver like a leaf as the several ton dragon got bigger and bigger. "He knows wha' 'es doin'. He knows wha' 'es doin'. He knows wha' 'es doin'." She repeated as a chant, slowly raising her free hand into the air as Jake had done before.

One hundred feet until contact Kunja pulled his starboard wing in for a split second and rolled over so his captain was hanging upside down just a few feet above the ground, the cocky Aussie let his arms dangle, scraping his fingers against the grass as they passed. Jebediah was crouched down like a cat, watching Judith as his claws dug into the earth, he looked as though he was trying for all the world to not immediately jump in and rescue his little girl, he didn't even blink as the crazy Aussie closed in.

Judith was now facing down a several ton dragon that was upside down only a few feet off the ground, and she wasn't sure if she'd rather be falling off her saddle again or doing this.

Thirty feet before contact Kunja shifted his wings, shunting off a great deal of speed even as he raised into the air by a few feet, Judith closed her eyes and bit her lip as the mighty lightweight skimmed over her and Jake grabbed her forearm. She grabbed his almost on reflex and almost lost her lunch from the sudden acceleration. There might be bruises from the contact, but Kunja had slowed down enough that nothing had broken.

Still upside down Jake quickly flipped around in his seat and hooked Judith in, only after he did so did he plant a kiss on her lips, holding it as he wrapped his arms around her. Kunja pulled both of his wings in again and rolled over so he was right-side up. Without his wings to keep him aloft the lightweight hit the ground on his feet and skid for about twenty feet before coming to a stop, roughly 60 feet away from the Cossacks and Jeb.

The Victorian cockily strolled over to the other three as Jake released his kiss and stole Judith's apple, "Ah knew ya'll could do it..." she said... only half-lying. Jake looked to the Cossacks and their captains and took a big bite of the apple, spitting a few chunks out as he spoke. "Are we done here? Or do I need to show you up even more?"

Kunja looked at the female Cossack and chuckled. "Who is fat now, little salamander?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Of course you're not going to tell me," said Frostfell. "That's obvious and not what I said. I said your lying needs work tovarich." The blustering fool was really irritating him now, first by almost starting a needless fight and second by implying that he hadn't protected Nathan. Patience, he reminded himself. "There are these things called 'bullets'," said Frostfell. "When there are lots of the enemy around, some might end up where you don't want them. As for the dragon whose crew dared to wound by captain," said Frostfell, pausing to perform a teeth revealing gin, "I bit through his skull and drove my fangs into his brain. Does that satisfy your curiousity?"

[General Havoc]

"Russia is not at war, Istina," said Vinoslivijia without looking up. "Europe is in the hands of madmen, and the Angliskaya are losing the war. "Malinkaya believes we should join it and lose alongside you, that if we do not, then the Germans will come for us soon enough. But even if we do this, our role is not to fight Germany or protect England. Our role is to endure, as Russia endures. Through hardship and pain and fire and anguish, we endure. You alone cannot save England, Istina. All you can do is save your Captain when the time should come." She sighed. "He is not worthy of you, Istina, but he is your Captain, and you would not be one of us if you cared whether or not he was worthy of you. Preserve him, and endure. No more can any dragon ask..."

"Always the optimist..."

A rustling in the bushes nearby attracted the attention of the enormous red drake, and moments later, another dragon stepped out, a brown dragon swathed in white bandages, smaller by half than either of the others, though it gave no sign that it was in any way intimidated. It stepped forth fully, looking up at Vinoslivijia and Veritas in turn, and the Grand Duchess' personal dragon looked it over for a moment, and then smiled reservedly.

"Hello, Molnija," she said formally, and in clear recognition of the dragon before her.

"Your highness," responded Fulminatus in a manner that made it clear he considered the dragon nothing of the sort. Vinoslivijia ignored his tone.

"I did not know you were in England."

"A hopeless, thankless war against the Germans?" answered Fulminatus. "How could I possibly resist?"

"They are more desperate than I thought if they have turned to you," said Vinoslivijia with a smirk.

"Someone has to do the hard jobs," answered the midweight. "Someone expendable."

The red dragon smirked, nodding slowly, then turned back to Veritas.

"We are all expendable, Istina, but only for certain things can we spend ourselves. In the service of your Captain... that is proper. But not in the service of England."

"You assume there's a difference," said Fulminatus.

"I know that there is not," replied Vinoslivijia as she turned away slowly and began to walk back towards the covert. "But there is nothing to be done for that now..."

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

The Captains of the two Cossacks looked sufficiently impressed, but the Cossacks themselves... not so much. The female dragon, slightly smaller than the male, was quite visibly trying to pretend that nothing was at all impressive about the flight, but the male was not pretending. He sniffed at the air and muttered a single word. "Uprazhiki".

It sounded like it was meant as an insult. The female dragon snickered at the term, and the male dragon smiled condescendingly, even as his Captain reached down and smacked him on the muzzle for saying such a thing. Male and female Cossack dragons chattered back and forth for a moment in some kind of dialect, before Ivan Nikitovich sighed and turned to Kunja, Jake, and Judith.

"She says that... when you can do this without... harness. Then you will perhaps be worth something."

The female captain shouted something annoyed-sounding at Ivan, who turned and protested his innocence, spreading his arms wide, even as the female captain rode over atop her dragon like a horse and smacked Ivan in the back of the head as she had her dragon. Surprisingly perhaps, Ivan did not retaliate or shout back, pantomiming a strike of his own as he called the woman what were obviously various Russian insults, responded to in kind by the other captain.

Clearly these two knew one another fairly well.

The male dragon trotted off a few paces, and Ivan turned back to the others. "My sister," he said, "Svetlana," and he rolled his eyes, as though this fact explained everything. Perhaps it did, for anyone with siblings themselves would be easily able to tell that this was not merely Ivan's sister... but his older sister, one no doubt accustomed to cuffing him into line whenever she felt it appropriate.

Some things were universal.

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

The nearby midweights gasped. One raised its head like it had heard a cannon shot. The other stared at Frostfell in shock and astonishment, its mouth actually hanging open. The crew and guards nearby actually took several steps back, whispering to one another. They looked at Frostfell in some mixture of horror and apprehension, all of them did, at least all those in earshot, save only for the Ironwing itself.

The Ironwing was not amused, though it might not have been immediately clear what had made him unhappy. He did not roar or scream or start a fight, but simply stood up, looming over Frostfell, a dark, brooding presence with his toxic-green eyes boring into the arctic devil-drake.

"If I were you," said the Ironwing, "I would take better care of your surroundings, before someone does the same thing to you..."

He leaned in and spoke the final word with the force of an avalanche, a hissing, seething word that from the Ironwing's lips was clearly the blackest of black insults, a thing of foulness and taint for which no remedy could be applied save bloody and eternal war.

"Tovarich."

Several of the Russian guards winced, as though they expected Frostfell to leap at the Ironwing's throat at the very mention of that word. The St. Nevski's even stood up, as though to support their superior in the fight they were sure was to come, but the Ironwing simply stalked off to the opposite side of the Covert, its eyes flaring with green, pausing for neither man nor dragon that might be in its path, and settled down to wait for the Grand Duchess to finish with Flinder and the others.

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

Grand Duchess Anastasia had heard nothing of the above conversation, dealing as she was with Flinder and his pronouncement. She made no move as Allen slowly brought Flinder back from the trance he had entered, but a single glance, either at her or the old man with her, indicated loud and clear that Flinder was speaking of things that truly were, or perhaps had been. The old man glanced at the Duchess, who remained motionless, as though frozen, and only slowly did she seem to snap out of it, almost as though she was having as much trouble as was Flinder, though no doubt for other reasons.

"We... suspected..." she said, though what her suspicions were were left unsaid. The old man whispered something quietly in Russian, and the Duchess gave him a half-nod. "You can... do this whenever you wish?" she asked Flinder carefully. "You can... see these things?"

She was not to receive an answer.

The siren blew, shattering the relative silence of the covert, a long, warbling wail that signaled all hands to their dragons for immediate combat. Men came boiling from the makeshift barracks lined up on one side of the covert, groundsmen, crewmen, officers. Tempestas cursed and spat on the ground, and then bounded forward towards the Grand Duchess and her escorts, asking them in flowery, diplomatic language to please proceed to one side and then to return with him to London or some other location away from the fighting line. Æquitas however merely looked into the skies to see what could be discerned. There appeared to be no sign of the Germans, meaning likely there had been a sighting elsewhere, by eye or radar, and they were needed to scramble.

It didn't really matter in the end.

[Dark Silver]

Thomas and his dragon had been ignored by the Russians.

Thomas was not sure this was a snub, or a blessing in disguise. When the scramble was sounded, Hermeticus didn't wait for orders, or being polite to the guests, but scooped up his Captain, placed him on the neck, and rushed back to his clearing as fast as possible.

Already, the crew had the battle gear out, and the moment Hermeticus landed, they were swarming over him, rigging the dragon in his gear. The men moved fast enough to set a new record for themselves, and within ten minutes, they were preparing for lift off.

Thomas sat in his place on Hermticus' back, carbiners keeping him in place,, as he checked out his service weapon.

Hermeticus went into the air, radio listening for orders, as he began to spiral in the air, gaining altitude with each circle.

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah laughed as Judith rolled her eyes at Ivan. "Ah know sisters ... an' brothers," the young woman said. She held up 6 fingers, meaning to add that she was the 5th of the six, but the sirens started sounding. Like a flash, Jebediah was beside Judith and she grabbed his harness in passing as he leapt for his groundcrew, already dragging out the new war-harness.

As the groundcrew settled the reinforced harness (Jeb's insistance) over his back, Judith rapidly donned her flightsuit with its limited protection against gunfire. As the crew on one side fed the harness up and over, the other side grabbed and pulled it down to secure it tightly, asking Jebediah to make sure it was fitting properly. Judith mounted with Jebediah's help, the head groundsman handing up her shotgun for close-range, and the American tommygun with several extra round clips.

"Frostfell?" Judith asked, looking over towards the Wendigo.
"Th' Ironwing's flyin' wit-out... ya thin' th' White Bastard will let an'one outdo 'em?" Jebediah answered lowly. "KUNJA! BEAT YA!" he called out as his groundmen jumped back, giving him room to leap to the air.

It had become yet another game between the two.

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell looked at the other Russian dragons. "Awww. He's gone off to sulk. Leaving you small fry all alone with me. What shall we talk about?" He laughed, showing dragon killing fangs.

"Mess with the bull and you get the horns. Mess with the dragons with my flight, even that piece of dogshit Aequitas, and you deal with me. That includes the little Venomspitter. So you boys and girls behave yourselves. Or else we'll have to . . . . talk."

[Charon]

Kunja and Jake looked like they were about to respond with less than kind words, probably disparaging the Cossack's parentage, wings, and skill, when the other captain came over and smacked Ivan in the head. Kunja looked to the female Cossack and merely grinned at her as her captain was abused.

Jake was the oldest child, with two brothers and a sister, but he was wondering just what Ivan had said that had gotten him cuffed. His ruminations were cut short when the sirens rang out. Kunja was about to bound for the ground crew when Jake stopped him and looked over at Ivan and his sister. "Maybe now we'll get a chance to see what each other can do in a fight." With that dragon and captain were off. In the weeks that had passed their ground crew had gotten used to the captain and dragon's demeanor and way of doing things, making the work much faster than it had been to start with. Lines were extended or shortened in quick order, and the combat rig was placed and set properly. Jake stowed his tommygun and patted Kunja on the back then looked to the head of his crew. "You managed to cut a second off the time Bill, let's see if we can shave it down even more next time. Can't let that hook-clawed cretin keep beating us can we?" With that Kunja beat his wings and was up in the air, quickly coming in close to Jebediah.

"Speed isn't everything ya know." Perhaps the young Victorian was just saying that because he'd only one these races once in all the times they'd done it.

[LadyTevar]

"Yer jis' sayin' tha' cause ya keep losin'," Jebediah answered with a grin, spiraling up to reach formation height.

[Cynical Cat]

"My armour!" roared Frostfell. His ground crew raced towards the dragon. Without guns Frostfell's ability to do damage would be confined to those dragons he could catch, which wasn't an easy proposition for a heavyweight. Still, enthusiasm would count for something.

Men wrestled heavy plates into position and secured them. "Hurry," said Frostfell. "It's killing time." The operation went smoothly and quickly. Without having to deal with guns or the saddle, it took only a fraction of its usual time. The Wendigo leaped into the sky, his wings catching air and pushing him up. Red eyes blazed as the dragon looked for likely banks of fog and cloud, something England so often provided.

There were ways to hunt without guns.

[Avian Obscurities]

Allen and Flinder were jolted out of their quiet connection by the sirens. The shock of dread and excitement that it sent through Flinder evaporated away the lingering effects of the trance. He watched sadly as the Duchess was shuttled away, wishing he could talk to her more. This strange woman from the other side of the planet seemed to know more about his breed and abilities than he did.

*~~~~~~~~~*

“Ease up, mate, time to work.â€

[General Havoc]

One after the other, the Russian midweights ostentatiously turned their backs on Frostfell, a symbol of clear and unrefined contempt for the Canadian braggart. One or two of the Imperial guards spat on the tarmac in front of him as they followed the dragons away. It was clear enough what they thought of Frostfell's sentiments. It was equally clear to what degree they wished to "talking" with him. Imperial dragons all, they cared nothing for his size or self-described prowess, and ignored him as they would the ravings of a lightweighted dragonet, only ensuring that they were sufficiently apparent in their disgust for it to register without a hint of doubt.

In the end, bigger matters intervened.

One by one, the allied dragons took to the air, the faster ones forced to circle and wait as the formation formed up and Captains Bader and Rankin attempted to ascertain what in the hell was going on. Æquitas said nothing as Frostfell rose into the fight with no crew or guns. There would be utterly no controlling him without a Captain, but then merely hurling the great white dragon in the general direction of German formations was certain to produce some kind of reaction.

Fulminatus could not fly, and remained below. Capricorn had sprinted off in the general direction of his Captain, but as Captain Kelly was still himself too weak for operations, he too would have to stay behind. There was no question of a Tasmanian Venomspitter operating without a captain. Fortunately they were not under imminent attack.

The Russian Dragons slowly began to load up for the return trip to London as the last allied drakes formed up and headed East, even as Captain Rankin, finally raising a wireless line to Uxbridge, began to relay their orders...

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

"The Germans are beginning to change tactics. Instead of broad front operations by individual squadrons, they have begun massing large numbers of squadrons together in super-formations to overwhelm our local defences and press through to bomb London or other high profile targets. They struck Hull three days ago with most of the 2nd Air Fleet, and nearly wiped out RAF Norfolk doing so. They've apparently decided to replicate the operation this afternoon by striking London with six full squadrons."

If that didn't startle the captains receiving the word, it should have. Six squadrons could represent as many as a hundred dragons if not more, fully three quarters of the entire German air strength deployed against Britain. It was also significantly more than the entire British home defence forces could muster, even if they were all assembled together.

"The Admiralty has been expecting a move like this for some time," said Rankin. "The Germans mean to bludgeon us aside with overwhelming force and reduce London to ash. Even if we assemble every RAF squadron in the air, we have no chance of stopping them in a head-on clash. Consequently, Admiral Tolkien has ordered a responce of attrition and harrassment, in which we are to play our part. Since forming up over the English Channel this morning, the Germans have been confronted with RAF squadrons peacemeal, one or two at a time, with fresh squadrons rotating in as necessary. For two hours, our forces have fought the Germans all the way from Dover to London, and back again. By massing all of their forces into one killer punch, they have deprived themselves of reserves to cover their return to France, while we have husbanded ours to fight them all the way back again. The Germans have been trying to beat back our flank squadrons in echelon for two and a half hours, and are now trying to return to France to recover. RAF Essex and RAF Tangmere are the last reserves we have to throw in against the Germans before they get there."

"The Germans will outnumber us three or four to one, but our hope is that the vast majority will be tired, wounded, or low on ammunition. Their losses so far have been fairly heavy, though not severe, as have ours. With the weight of numbers they have arrayed against us, we cannot actually stop them from reaching France. What we will do instead is inflict maximum damage to the German strike forces as they make for home, disabling, mauling, killing, or capturing as many of their beasts as possible. Their heavy and special weapons units inflicted terrible damage to London, pulverized most of the East End, and caused several thousand casulties, most of them civilians. We will make this raid of theirs so expensive in men, dragons, and shed blood that they will never again seek to repeat it."

"Choose your targets as they bear, hit hard, and get away again. Do not linger to brawl with the Germans or they will simply bury you. Strike and fade and strike anew, keep clear of their claws, and we'll stretch these bastards all the way from the North Downs to the English Channel."

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

If Captain Rankin was exaggerating those odds, it was not apparent. Indeed it looked like he mgiht be watering them down...

The first sight the Allied squadron got of the German forces was that of an enormous mass of dragons, large enough to cover part of the sky with their distant motion. A huge, almost impossibly vast armada of flying beasts, dozens and dozens of heavy and midweight beasts surrouded by waspish formations of lightweights that twisted and danced through the air like elemental particles. And yet as the Germans drew nearer, their inviolable, invulnerable formation began to appear less and less so. The Germans were already being engaged, units of British dragons were harassing their flanks, skirmishing with their guards, lopping off individual german beasts and being lopped off in turn as the German rearguard suddenly turned on them. Many of the light, mid, and heavyweights bore open, bleeding wounds, some were being supported by their fellow dragons, and those German beasts still unhurt were flying to and fro like gnats, desperately parrying successive assaults by multiple British formations at once. Though badly outnumbered, the British formations looked fresher and less fatigued than their German counterparts, though within the German formations there still flew mighty beasts for whom wounds and exhaustion seemed no toll at all.

Thirteen Aufseher Acid-spitters were marshalled in the center of the massive formation, with several more engaged hotly around the periphery. At least twenty Kampfritters flew around them in box formation, with a dozen more doing duty in the rear against the pursuers, assisted ably by no fewer than five Jotunmeisters, including one immense grey-spackled individual that could be none other than the same one who had fought with Frostfell over Dorset, and who Temeraire had struck down with the Divine Wind. To these were added every conceivable form of German dragon in numbers unimagineable, Lightning Bolts, Prussians, Bavarians, Leuchtkaffers, and a few odds and ends of indeterminate origin. Only Stukas were missing altogether, for Stukas were SS, and did not fly to the Luftwaffe's drum.

It was plain enough that a formation of Germans this size could not be stopped from reaching France, not with three times the force that the Allies had here. However the Germans were moving slower than they should have, trying to shephard home their wounded and weakened beasts, and the Tangmere squadron had ample time to select any target they liked before engaging, with only the proviso that even a wounded beast held teeth, and a squadron this size could easily crush even the strongest dragon thrown against it, if he happened to become target fixated.

[rhoenix]

Like a red bolt of thunder, Veritas rose into the air. He had lagged behind the others, having learned from his previous experience to not stand in the open while being outfitted. His crew had also managed to shave precious minutes off of the whole outfitting procedure without sacrificing anything but their own blood pressures, and as a result, Veritas rose into the air, a bit late, but fully crewed and equipped.

As his powerful wingbeats ate up the distance between the camp and the gathering Allied dragons, both he and his Captain beheld the mass of German dragons before them, gathered like a great dark cloud of ill will, comprised of men and dragons all eager to fulfill that aim.

Slowly, Veritas smiled. This was not a friendly smile - it was a smile that promised blood, screams of terror, and utter calamity. "This will be like dragons among cows," he said disdainfully. "Look how they carry themselves. They are either very good at pretending, or they are ripe to be plucked like fresh fruit. They will rain oceans of blood this day."

[Charon]

Kunja's response to the news was far from surprising to the rest of the squad. To the Russians however, it would seem rather insane.

The small Victorian laughed. "Six squadrons?! Hah! Do you hear that? The Krauts are fucking terrified of us! Sending all six squadrons! Finally, we're going to be going against something worth my time! Let's get going you sons of bitches! There's fighting to be done!" Jake swooped down low, he was feeling some of the excitement of it as well, they got close to the Cossacks as Kunja shouted out to the female. "A shame you can't join us on the hunt little salamander, but so small and dainty a dragon would likely be eaten."

Kunja swooped up into the sky again, laughing. Clearly, he was insane.

__________________________

Kunja and Jake had to be repeatedly reigned in from heading into the fray. Jake was mostly happy because such prolonged combat meant the heavies guns were nearing empty, that meant he'd get a chance to actually engage one without risking immediate death. The lightweight began to ascend high into the sky. Kunja spoke into his comm, "Hey Jeb, feel like bringing down a Prussian on our fist go?"

Kunja's eyes were barely on the Prussians though, he was looking for the tale-tell red.

[LadyTevar]

"Tha's soundin' like a Right Nice Idear," Jebediah replied, his eyes also looking over the crowded mass of German dragons. "Let's jis hope Frostfell don't think o' hittin' those Affy-whasis in th' center."

"Jake? Tain't seen Albatros, hav' ya?" Judith asked, also looking for the Red-painted dragon.

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell flew along, looking for convenient cloud cover. Without guns or crew, he could only kill claw to claw and that meant physically penetrating the German formations. Since the lighter dragons could evade to him to greater and lesser degrees and the heavier dragons were in the center it would seem, on first glance, that his options were suicide or futility.

Which is why the cloud cover mattered. Striking from cover, Frostfell could take a medium or a lightweight at the edge of the formation before it could escape. Catch, rend, and kill.

His keen eyes measured the size of the astounding German formation. Dry radio descriptions didn't do it justice. It was magnificent, an awesome display of draconic power. Too bad Nathan wasn't here to see it.

Let those thin skinned, high strung Russian nancy lizards dance around and hold their snouts up in the air. He remembered as a dragonet coiling around Nathan and listening to him read the old sagas to him and dreaming of long gone days. In his imagination his ancestors had been mighty Wendigos in Greenland that had met up with the Norse settlers and he had a hero of the sagas as his captain. In his mind he had fought a hundred bloody battles before he was old enough to carry a human on his back. He didn't believe in those ancient myths, but they had been grim, noble, hard stories worthy of a dragon.

This great armada , this was immortal glory. This was a destiny worthy of a dragon. A battle to remember, one worthy of song and story.

Cloud, he needed cloud. Something that would be close to the edges of German formation. This was bloody England. There should be something suitable.

[Cynical Cat]

As luck would have it, the sky was relatively clear even if one had to qualify that it was clear by English standards. There was some cover, which allowed Frostfell to get close to the Germans before bursting out from ambush.

The primary advantage a medium had over Wendigo wasn't speed but maneuverability. Even dragons can't overturn the iron laws of conservation of momentum. Frostfell picked his target accordingly. The Germans had been fighting and flying for hours and he was fresh, which tilted the balance in his favor. His choice of target was intended to leave even less to chance.

Prussian Bluejackets were the backbone of the Luftwaffe for good reason and were brave, reliable dragons. They were excellent middleweights in all respects, if rather dull and domestic by the standards Frostfell went by, but they did have a tendency to be slow to react to changes in the situation. Changes like a crewless Wendigo darting out of the clouds and diving onto them at full speed.

In true Wendigo tradition Frostfell went for the Bluejacket that appeared to be most heavily wounded and exhausted of the ones in the targetable part of the German formation. Fighting fair was for the French. He was a Wendigo, a killer of the northern wastes.

His plan was simple. Hit, grapple, rend, tear, kill. He would foul the other dragons wings with his own and with his claws, causing it to drop out of formation and any aid to break open the formation to come and help, thus weakening the line and leaving the rescuers vulnerable to the rest of his squadron.

And maybe to Frostfell as well. The Arctic rewarded the glutton with survival and he was so very hungry for blood.

[Avian Obscurities]

Allen slid to the ground to be out of the way as the rest of the harness and gun turrets were wrestled into place. Flinder did the requisite shake and flapping to test all the connections, then dropped to let the ground crew make minor adjustments.

The flight crew loaded up soon after, and Allen got back into position. He pulled out his own weapons—including his sharpshooting rifle—one after another to check them. He was nervous. This would be the first real combat he and Flinder had ever seen. They had done plenty of drills and practice skirmishes back at Cairns, and had chased off a few small foreign spy-dragons while on patrol, but never face-to-face confrontations with an enemy dragon who wanted to kill them.

He was confident, though, that Flinder’s instincts would take over once in the thick of things. Their crew was a hodgepodge of veterans from many different battles and previous assignments. Allen knew that all he had to do was keep his own wits about him and they would take care of the rest.

Flinder’s instincts obviously seemed to be kicking in already. Once they were cleared for takeoff, he leapt off the field with a roar and powered his way up into the air.

His large wings cast flashing rainbows as he rose laboriously above tree height. Flinder grumbled about the lack of thermals, which he was used to riding up to great heights over the outback. As they got higher, though, a stiff cross-breeze developed. The dragon obviously felt it, for he slowly banked to face it and spread his wings wide. Immediately, the breeze caught and he rose like a kite, broad wings held firm and still. He continued to bank and tack and glide as he rose in the air column toward the German squadron, flapping only occasionally. Such wheeling, soaring flight, like a hawk or gull, allowed him to conserve as much energy as possible before the fight. Indeed, his ancestors had evolved such tactics to travel for miles on very little food or water.

They rose to their favorite position in a squadron – high, with room to bank and dive and good visibility of the approaching target. Allen inspected the German dragons through his binoculars. Despite their obvious injuries, most of the dragons looked very imposing. They had rarely encountered heavyweights back home, and never one that was out for their blood. Allen decided to try for mid- and light-weights, which they had practiced with before.

He spotted three lightweights moving in a close formation. Two seemed heavily injured and were being marshaled by the third, who appeared largely unscathed. The third one’s captain was yelling at the other dragons, barking orders and glancing around at the rest of the German formation.

Allen pointed the group out to Lieutenant Bennett and handed the binoculars back. Bennett peered through, then grunted and nodded. “Speckled Bavarians. They should be in a wing of four, and they should be focusing on protecting the heavyweights, not their own asses.â€

[Charon]

Kunja rose high into the air, having spotted Albatros. Jake only nodded and pulled himself in close. The pair went high into the sky and watched like hawks.

Right now the veteran was in a grouping of other Bavarians, a dive would be suicidal, even if he could fight Albatros to a standstill. So instead the pair of Australians waited patiently for the enemy formation to break as the rest of his squad moved in for the kill.

[rhoenix]

Rising higher, and higher still, Veritas observed the great mass of German aggression, intent on simply overrunning all in their path. Rising on the wind currents, the great red dragon looked over the giant mass of dragons, looking for an ideal place to drive a wedge.

Gaining altitude, and more still, Veritas approached from the rear of the procession, spying a trio of Kampfritters that looked...tired. One had a deep back injury evidently caused by a shell at close range, another appeared to have lost a forelimb, and the third had shallow-looking scratches all over its back and neck. The trio hadn't noticed him, but some of the outlying lightweights began to notice the great shadow above them, with the sun at his back.

Before they could say much of anything, Veritas dove sharply, wings held close to his body, the gunners atop his back ready, especially the large gun.

Diving at a phenomenal rate of speed now, Veritas aimed himself for the Kampfritter that looked deeply scratched. As he neared his target, he fine-tuned his aim to hit the dragon in the back, right below the wings.

At less than two seconds before impact, Veritas extended his forelimbs, ready to tear this dragon's wings asunder, just as the gunners opened up on the other two around his mark to distract them properly.

[General Havoc]

The Bluejacket never had a chance.

The clouds were not thick enough to fully obscure a Wendigo dragon, but the Bluejacket the While Devil of the Canadas had selected was utterly spent, its lookouts dead, its energy reserves gone, its guns and harness in tatters from where it had already engaged some other nameless British dragon. The two other midweights it flew with were in scarcely better shape, and by the time they saw the Wendigo coming, it was far too late. Whether or not Prussian Bluejackets were faster than Wendigo normally, these dragons were not as fast as Frostfell, not bearing their injuries, and tired from the exertions of previous battles. Before they could form up, before they could even consider a formation to receive his lunge in, he was on them.

And what happened next was what inevitably happened to midweights surprised by larger dragons out of formation.

The dragon Frostfell pounced upon could scarcely lift a claw in its own defense. What few crew it had fired their submachine guns uselessly at Frostfell as the great white drake's claws bit deep and tore huge rents in the tattered armor and bleeding hide of the Prussian Bluejacket. The midweight screamed and bit and clawed, or tried to rather, but its teeth could find no target and its claws no purchase. One measly scratch it managed to inflict, a minor desultory scrape that barely disturbed the Wendigo's scales, before Frostfell fouled its wings and sent it spinning down towards the ground, unable to right itself, and without the energy to return to altitude. Its two fellows might have leaped immediately on Frostfell, but the Wendigo had selected his targets well. They froze an instant too long, in shock or horror or simple surprise, and missed what opportunity they had, for by the time they came around to attack, Frostfell had been afforded time to prepare to receive them. They didn't stand a chance.

But the Bluejacket's cry had alerted others, and further back in the squadron, several lightweight dragons stopped, and turned, and saw the snow-white dragon engaging.

And one of them was painted red.

"Shiesse," whispered Albatros, as he saw the Wendigo. And with a brief glance around the air, he made a snap decision.

"Ragnarok," he said into his dragon-sized radio-headset, "Eindrecken Schneeteufel angreift. Wir unterstützen Sie. Sich sofort."

A deep, rumbling voice, like distant thunder in the mountains, responded.

"Jawol, Herr Kommandant."

Slowly, like a condor circling about to strike at prey, the largest dragon in the air came about, a monstrous, hulking behemoth of argent, cobalt, and slate-grey. Larger than a Wendigo, larger than a Kampfritter, large as a moving mountain, the enormous form of the biggest Jotunmeister the Germans had flying turned, and with powerful strokes, pushed itself through the air towards Frostfell. Despite its enormous weight, it was no slouch for speed, accelerating rapidly, as other dragons moved in to support it. The red lightweight, crimson paint glistening in the English sun, flew towards the Wendigo as well, three other unpainted Bavarians in formation with it. All of these forces moved in towards Wendigo, the Jotunmeister from the east, the Bavarians from the north, while the two remaining Bluejackets lunged to the attack, hoping only to force Frostfell to remain where he was to be crushed between the lightweights and the superheavy.

And as the Bavarians flew, Albatros sized the situation up further, and gave another order.

"Ritter Flügel zwei, zerstören die purpurroter Engel."

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

Kampfritter Wing 2 was already attempting to do so.

Veritas plunged down like a meteor, but Crimson Angels were entirely unsubtle beasts, and the Kampfritter could not help but notice his approach. He rolled over and accepted the diving strike, taking it on his main body and limbs, and grabbing the Crimson Angel like a vice in all four claws. This was dangerous play, the Crimson Angel could, and did, inflict terrible blows upon the Kampfritter's form, and the Kampfritter could not retaliate in kind without releasing its quarry. Still, Kampfritters were built to take punishment, and as both dragons spiraled downwards, and the crews traded what shots they could, both of the other two Kampfritters jacknifed and dove after Veritas, their roars and gunshots merging together in a storm of noise, fire, steel, and flesh overhead, plunging down towards Veritas like a blacksmith's hammer.

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

Amidst all this chaos, Flinder had gone relatively un-noticed by the commanders, for a single lone midweight was barely worth registering in a free-for-all melee such as this. The Bavarians had fewer eyes on their backs, and missed the mystic dragon's approach until too late. The Bavarian Flinder plunged upon was hit as though by a truck, and simply beaten out of the air. Two seconds of mid-weight-inflicted fury was sufficient to send the Bavarian plunging down like a diving falcon, blood freely streaming from where Flinder had beaten it near to death.

The other two Bavarians were tired, but they rose to the challenge, darting down towards Flinder even as he snapped his wings open to arrest his fall. The machine guns blasted away at them, forcing them back, and they pumped their own wings to greater efforts, trying to get on either side of the midweight Australian. Still, two Bavarians would be hard-pressed to handle a fully-armed and crewed midweight, and so the Bavarians did the sane thing. They called for backup.

Backup responded.

A Swabian Lightning Bolt, a midweight racing dragon from central Germany, peeled off from the formation and turned towards Flinder, accelerating to a blistering speed as its own guns opened up. The dragon lowered its head, two enormous horns sticking forward like the prows of an ancient warship, as it prepared to ram the Dreamweaver. The distance was too great for a large chance of success, Flinder would likely be able to maneuver around the charge, and being as the Swabian was smaller than the Dreamweaver by a few tons, the odds were still pretty decent.

Except the Swabian was not the only thing that responded.

A forest-green dragon, midweight-sized as well, moved off from back further in the squadron, and rather than dive at Flinder, it flew over him, trying to position itself above and in firing position. This was no Lightning Bolt, but an Aufseher, an acid-spitting special weapons dragon, whose primary spray could melt the very scales of even the greatest beast alive, and who now sought a good position and shot to reduce this upstart Australian to bleached bones on the countryside below.

[Charon]

Jake looked around with his binoculars, spotting Flinder going to be in trouble soon. He openned up his comm. "Judith, go get Flinder's ass out of the fire. I'm gonna go help the Great White Bastard."

Kunja rose a little higher before he moved to follow the Bavarians in, closing the distance as much as he could before rolling over into a dive. Kunja was aimed directly for the red Bavarian. The pair were silent as they fell, and for awhile it looked as though the pair were going to finish the dive when they suddenly pulled out of the dive and ran parallel with the Bavarians 60 feet above them and somewhat behind, certain they were noticed, and if they hadn't been Kunja made certain that he was.

"Gute Jagd, Ritter der Luft!"

Kunja and Jake did not want to risk diving full-bore at Albatros, if they'd been spotted it would be all too easy for the lightweight to get out of the way of the dive and then there'd be 4 Bavarians above them, but now still above the enemy they could see how they would scatter and react accordingly.

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell didn't immediately notice how much trouble he was in. His plan had simply been to pick off a weak member of the herd and kill it and, conditions allowing, returning to kill another. He had selected the weakest medium weight around for a reason.

But it was too damn easy. Crippling the already wounded dragon and sending it toward the ground was all too easy. The other two were hurt and slow as well. Easy meat.

Most captains and dragons counted captures as "kills", but to Frostfell that was a joke. Killing was killing and he preferred it to capturing by far. The taste of blood on his tongue, the feel of flesh parting under his talons, the crunch of bone between his teeth.

He would, however, take what he could get and he could take the time to kill or to he could use that time to score multiple victories. So he let the shredded dragon go and angled toward one of his squadron mates. Frostfell, being crewless, hadn't immediately caught on to the German response to his assault was until now.

"Bloody hell," said the Canadian dragon as he has the four Bavarians and Jotunmeister joining the party. With the two remaining Bluejackets that made it seven to one. That big Russian bastard better be ready to join the party.

He could turn tail, but they had altitude on him and were in position to cut off his escape. It wouldn't work for long and it would be a gunfight, at least for a while, which meant taking hits without giving any back. There were other alternatives.

Frostfell flew full speed at the closest Bluejacket. Close in and the Germans couldn't shoot without hitting their own. Close in and Frostfell could rip and rend and tear. Foul the wings, take the fight down to the deck, give the rest of his wing the opportunity to attack from above, draw the fight out, and best of all, get the opportunity to rip the Bluejacket's throat all.

"Es gibt raum für uns aller in Valhalla!" he roared.

[LadyTevar]

"Great... 'nother Affy-whasis," Jebediah muttered, seeing the acid-spitter moving in on Flinder. Luckily, the damn things were limited in where they could spit... so an attack from above had a decent chance of doing some damage. That the special dragon had moved away from heavy-weight coverage helped, as Jebediah set up to dive upon it.

Judith, meanwhile, got on the radio. "Flinder -- Acid-spitter is above you... Avoid at all costs. Frostfell! If yer hearin' me, ya white bastard ... JOTUN due east. Albatros due North. EVADE." She hoped that the Wendigo had the brains to have taken a radio. If not...

Then she had no more time to think as Jebediah began his blistering dive upon the Aufseher, moving for the moment at speeds only a Swabian could equal. As the distance closed, Judith started firing the tommygun down onto the remaining soldiers on the Aufseher's back, hoping to make them flinch so Jebediah could hit solidly.

The last one they'd tried this on, Jebediah had simply landed on its back and proceeded to cause as much human casualties as he could. Jebediah was hoping for that... but if the Affy-whasis moved, he could still hook a wingclaw and do some damage before slipping away with a Devil's Reverse, which should confuse the Affy-whasis long enough he'd not know where to spit.

That was Plan A and Plan B, and it was time to see which one survived enemy contact as Jeb hit.