Flinder remained steady in the air as the fight erupted around him, wheeling almost lazily. His crew, however, was going full force, guns blazing and yelling between each other. They saw the Lightning Bolt begin his approach from too far out. Bennet ordered the guns to keep firing on the circling lightweights, while Allen maneuvered Flinder into a position where they could move out of the line of attack at the last minute and try to make a grab at him.
Allen was surprised to hear Judith's yelling burst from his radio. He glanced up and saw the ominous green silhouette positioned above them. He heard "acid-spitter" through the static, and his blood ran cold. Flinder was a powerful flyer, but he had difficulty channeling that force into complex maneuvers. Generally he was either building up speed, or gliding through graceful maneuvers. When he had to change direction quickly, that left only one option.
'Evasive manuevers!" Allen yelled. Behind him, the crew braced themselves as Flinder folded up his wings and dropped like a stone.
It was freefall, but with flicks of his tail and wingtips, he was able to turn himself around in the air. He fell almost a hundred feet before snapping his wings back open and soaring at speed in a new direction.
Unfortunately, although he was far below his previous position, this direction was headed straight toward the still-approaching Swabian. The guns opened up against the other dragons in the area. "Rake him, mate!" Allen yelled, and Flinder started accelerating.
His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain
Moderator: B4UTRUST
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
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#926
I accidentally all the Brujah.
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rhoenix
- The Artist formerly known as Rhoenix
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#927
Since his time in the RAF, Veritas had learned much, most particularly in the past few months. After all, there was no substitute for pure, raw, experience. Right now, he was drawing on all his test flights against Kunja, where he had tested his own speed and maneuverability relentlessly. He was learning his own maneuvers' timing more than what tactics Kunja used as a lightweight - after all, Kunja and Jake rarely re-used the same maneuver twice, so there wasn't much point. What Veritas had learned in those test flights were more control and a few manuevers of his own. They certainly weren't fast enough to use against Lightweights, but Heavyweights were another matter entirely.
Moreover, Veritas remembered with hate the type of dragon that had bombed him. He had developed a particular distinct anger reserved for them alone. These two factors conspired against the trio of Kampfritters now dealing with him.
From afar, Veritas' current situation would look like a well-coordinated aerial ballet of fire - plummeting nearly straight down toward the ground below, with wings folded up to further reduce wind resistance. A Kampfritter was wrapped around Veritas' neck and shoulders, desperately hanging on for dear life with its claws sunken into Veritas' shoulders, while the Kampfritter's two fellows followed in spiral, guns blazing a salute to desperate war all the while. If one were watching from afar, specifics wouldn't be immediately apparent - Veritas had been systematically and savagely ripping and clawing away at his Kampfritter victim's wings as they were free-falling, with the Kampfritter unable to respond, doing what it could, which was hang on for dear life.
Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds - normally short spans of time seemed almost to stretch into minutes as Veritas kept count in his head, even as he repeatedly ensured this Kampfritter's wings were utterly useless. Having learnt physics, he was waiting until they had hit true freefall velocity, when they would be plunging earthward the fastest. Moreover, he wanted to bring the four of them out of the base plane that most German dragons were flying at, cutting them off from the herd.
At eight seconds, Veritas judged that this threshold had been reached. Suddenly turning a somersault in midair to generate extra forward velocity and a bit of extra leverage for throwing the unfortunate Kampfritter, his wings snapped open to their full width the instant he finished the midair roll.
Momentum, leverage, and Veritas' raw strength all conspired against the unfortunate German dragon at this terrible moment when the somersault completed. For that one terrible second, the Kampfritter's claws came loose, and it seemed to hang in midair, time seeming to move at a crawl.
Though he did glance at his victim as he began to fall helplessly with a look of pure scorn, Veritas was already systematically moving onto his next victim, curving around from the momentum of his somersault and freefall to glide right into the next Kampfritter's belly, ready to begin the process once more. There were a few possible countermeasures his newest target could use, but they were few; all but one were easily dealt with.
Moreover, Veritas remembered with hate the type of dragon that had bombed him. He had developed a particular distinct anger reserved for them alone. These two factors conspired against the trio of Kampfritters now dealing with him.
From afar, Veritas' current situation would look like a well-coordinated aerial ballet of fire - plummeting nearly straight down toward the ground below, with wings folded up to further reduce wind resistance. A Kampfritter was wrapped around Veritas' neck and shoulders, desperately hanging on for dear life with its claws sunken into Veritas' shoulders, while the Kampfritter's two fellows followed in spiral, guns blazing a salute to desperate war all the while. If one were watching from afar, specifics wouldn't be immediately apparent - Veritas had been systematically and savagely ripping and clawing away at his Kampfritter victim's wings as they were free-falling, with the Kampfritter unable to respond, doing what it could, which was hang on for dear life.
Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds - normally short spans of time seemed almost to stretch into minutes as Veritas kept count in his head, even as he repeatedly ensured this Kampfritter's wings were utterly useless. Having learnt physics, he was waiting until they had hit true freefall velocity, when they would be plunging earthward the fastest. Moreover, he wanted to bring the four of them out of the base plane that most German dragons were flying at, cutting them off from the herd.
At eight seconds, Veritas judged that this threshold had been reached. Suddenly turning a somersault in midair to generate extra forward velocity and a bit of extra leverage for throwing the unfortunate Kampfritter, his wings snapped open to their full width the instant he finished the midair roll.
Momentum, leverage, and Veritas' raw strength all conspired against the unfortunate German dragon at this terrible moment when the somersault completed. For that one terrible second, the Kampfritter's claws came loose, and it seemed to hang in midair, time seeming to move at a crawl.
Though he did glance at his victim as he began to fall helplessly with a look of pure scorn, Veritas was already systematically moving onto his next victim, curving around from the momentum of his somersault and freefall to glide right into the next Kampfritter's belly, ready to begin the process once more. There were a few possible countermeasures his newest target could use, but they were few; all but one were easily dealt with.
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."
- William Gibson
- William Gibson
Josh wrote:What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.
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Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
- Posts: 5477
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#928
Hermeticus did not spend the time idle.
Ever since the Tangmere formation had reached the German horde, the half-breed dragon and it's crew had engaged the enemy. They were finishing with a lightweight which had decided to press it's luck in fdefense of a tired middleweight, when Thomas' midwingman pointed out the Swabian approaching Flinder.
Hermeticus winged in the air, the cracks of rifle and machine gun fire designed to keep other dragons off, and began to wing at the German Swabian.
Each beat of the heavyweight dragon's wing brought up speed. Hermeticus twisted, climbed and dove, dodging other dragons, as he aimed himself at the German middleweight.
Coming in from above, Hermeticus let out a mighty roar, and tilted his head down to present his spearing horns.
Ever since the Tangmere formation had reached the German horde, the half-breed dragon and it's crew had engaged the enemy. They were finishing with a lightweight which had decided to press it's luck in fdefense of a tired middleweight, when Thomas' midwingman pointed out the Swabian approaching Flinder.
Hermeticus winged in the air, the cracks of rifle and machine gun fire designed to keep other dragons off, and began to wing at the German Swabian.
Each beat of the heavyweight dragon's wing brought up speed. Hermeticus twisted, climbed and dove, dodging other dragons, as he aimed himself at the German middleweight.
Coming in from above, Hermeticus let out a mighty roar, and tilted his head down to present his spearing horns.
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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- Location: The City that is not Frisco
- Contact:
#929
All four Bavarians turned their heads in unison as Kunja called out to them. and though Kunja was too far away to see it, Albatros smirked as he recognized the miniature Victorian.
Not, of course, that he was prepared to drop everything and go off to give this brash Australian the single combat he so clearly wanted. No... Albatros was busy here, and if the young Aussies wanted to fight him, they would have to work for it.
"Zweiter Flügel," he said into his microphone, a smile cracked over his face, "bitte nehmen Sie die australische."
"Jawol," came the radio-reply in unison, and the two Bavarians in the rear of Albatros' box formation opened their wings and began to gain altitude, flying not towards Kunja, but to a point where they would cut him off from engaging to assist Frostfell. Albatros himself, red-paint still shining like copper-toned gold, pressed ahead, one remaining brown-speckled wingman still tenaciously at his side, as he advanced directly for Frostfell.
*------------------------------------------*
But he was not the only one to do so.
"Sie allein wird Valhalla heute, Schneeteufel!!!" roared the Jotunmeister with the force of an avalanche, as it lashed at the air with its wings, and its crew scrambled to service the 37mm gun mounted atop it. "Gibt es keine chinesischen Drake zu sparen Sie jetzt."
The first shell fell short by a hundred feet, the second by fifty, but before they could reload the third round, Frostfell had overtaken the second Prussian.
The Prussian had been desperately trying to get away, without success. It had perhaps bought itself five or ten seconds more time, but it had no chance at all to truly make it away. Three intact Prussians could easily have overwhelmed Frostfell, but these were not intact, and Frostfell was, and the result was dreadful butchery. Frostfell grabbed the dragon's tail and remorselessly dragged it in, beating it savagely as it scrambled to fight back. The last Prussian however turned, and wheeling around, struck Frostfell from the flank, its remaining crew throwing stick-grenades for lack of anything better to do, weapons that could cut the armorless Heavyweight perhaps, but only superficially. One or two of the more daring ones seized enormous battleaxes and leaped over onto Frostfell, still attached by their carabineers to their home dragon, striking out with weapons heavy enough to pierce the relatively thin scales of the Wendigo, able to draw blood, but not to themselves meaningfully injure the dragon. The Bluejacket itself could, or at least could so long as Frostfell was beating its fellow down, and its claws bit deep, though not as deeply as Frostfell's were to the other.
Still, all this was mere preparation work. The Jotun was closing in, as was Albatros and his wingman. When they arrived, things would get very very ugly.
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
The lookouts on the Aufseher were good, and they spotted Jeb coming. The dragon lunged to one side, its spit flying wide, but only by bare yards, as Jeb dove on it like a falling rock. The claws struck flank armor, bit, and tore a gash straight down it, though barely scraping the actual dragonscale. The chain armor however could not hold Jeb's claw as well as could the dragon's body, and so instead of devil's reversing out in a new direction, Jeb's purchase broke before he was able to swing himself around, and he found himself flying away from the Aufseher in a straight line, in front.
The Aufseher, presented with a target, engaged.
It roared after Jeb and pumped its wings in pursuit, racing after the West Virginian mountain dragon as its crew blasted away with machine guns. Most Aufsehers were fairly timid beasts, but even a timid Aufseher could easily countenance assaulting a lone lightweight that had annoyed it. It spat at Jeb, more for show than anything, for the angle and range were wrong, but its radioman called for support, and from overhead came a pair of Leuchtkaffers racing down to assist, hoping to pin Jeb down and force him into the jaws of the Aufseher.
Theory, practice, and the distance between the two immediately became apparent.
Something else cut across Jeb's path even before the Leuchtkaffers could deploy, something that had been making best speed in that direction since it saw Jeb dive. One moment, Jeb was facing open air, the next, there was a 20-ton Malachite Reaper in his path, moving obliquely to Jeb, machine guns blazing like twinkling stars back at the Aufseher in pursuit of him, his very body providing a possible bulwark against the several dragons pursuing him.
*-----------------------------------------------*
The Swabian hit Flinder at an angle.
The acid had missed, thankfully, but the Swabian was a guided missile that could not be evaded so easily. It smashed into Flinder at an angle, only one horn finding purchase, tearing a gash down Flinder's left flank, sundering armor and dragonscale as it rushed past. Flinder's counterattack was absorbed by armor, and moments later the dragons were past one another, and nothing remained but bullets in the air.
Medics rappelled down Flinder's side to do what they could, but the Swabian was already coming around for another pass. Smaller than Flinder, it had no intention of grappling, but would spear this damned Australian with a head-on ram, and discard it like a harpooned fish.
Of course, that was the plan prior to Hermeticus' arrival.
The Swabian saw Hermeticus coming, how could he fail to? He was forced however to abort the attack and turn to run, for here was a dragon whose horns outranged his own, and whose mass was sufficient to impale him outright. Hermecritus' dive missed, not by an enormous amount, but the Swabian put its speed on and accelerated away like a rocket, moving faster than either Allied dragon could pursue. Flying back towards the main German formation, the Swabian formed up with the two remaining Bavarians, as they filled the air-waves calling for more support, damnit! There were enough Germans left to overwhelm any two dragons, but prior to that developing, Flinder and Hermecritus were left alone in the air to do as they would.
For a time.
*---------------------------------------------*
Down below, Veritas thrust his wings out to stop his fall, and the Kampfritter was indeed shaken loose by this move... though at a price.
The Kampfritter had literally been hanging on for dear life, it's claws anchored with force into Veritas' body and harness. When Veritas arrested his fall with all the force of his mighty wings, the stresses were briefly astronomical. The Kampfritter's grip was torn away, as were great ribbons of armor and dragonscale as its grip was literally ripped loose. Veritas' entire port-side armor came off with it, as did two crewmen too slow to re-attach their carabineers. They would make it, for their parachutes opened moments later, as did those of the remaining Kampfritter crew. The Kampfritter itself was left to fall to earth, and live or die by chance, unable to play any further part.
The same could not be said of its fellows.
Veritas swung around to re-engage, only to find that the other two Kampfritters had beaten him to it. Dumb though they were, Kampfritters knew how to grapple and fight. One smashed into him head-on, ducking at the last second to prevent Veritas from getting at its underbelly. The other slammed into Veritas' right flank. Both immediately disgorged eight to ten Falschirmjaegar a piece, stormtroopers who leapt over onto Veritas' back at several points, hooked their caribineers into his harness, and fell to fighting with Veritas' crew with grenades, submachine guns, and flame throwers, even as the heavy weapons aboard the Kampfritters dueled with Veritas' own guns, saturating the Crimson Angel in fire. Instantly there was pandemonium aboard Veritas as men struggled and fought with one another hand to hand, pistol to pistol, MP-40 to Sten gun, and cries in English and German for aid or mere bloody screams as men were hurled off into oblivion or hacked down where they stood, filled the air, mingled with the savage roars of the dragons themselves, as both Kampfritters sought to pin Veritas between them and simply maul him horribly.
Even Crimson Angels could not sustain punishment like that for very long.
Not, of course, that he was prepared to drop everything and go off to give this brash Australian the single combat he so clearly wanted. No... Albatros was busy here, and if the young Aussies wanted to fight him, they would have to work for it.
"Zweiter Flügel," he said into his microphone, a smile cracked over his face, "bitte nehmen Sie die australische."
"Jawol," came the radio-reply in unison, and the two Bavarians in the rear of Albatros' box formation opened their wings and began to gain altitude, flying not towards Kunja, but to a point where they would cut him off from engaging to assist Frostfell. Albatros himself, red-paint still shining like copper-toned gold, pressed ahead, one remaining brown-speckled wingman still tenaciously at his side, as he advanced directly for Frostfell.
*------------------------------------------*
But he was not the only one to do so.
"Sie allein wird Valhalla heute, Schneeteufel!!!" roared the Jotunmeister with the force of an avalanche, as it lashed at the air with its wings, and its crew scrambled to service the 37mm gun mounted atop it. "Gibt es keine chinesischen Drake zu sparen Sie jetzt."
The first shell fell short by a hundred feet, the second by fifty, but before they could reload the third round, Frostfell had overtaken the second Prussian.
The Prussian had been desperately trying to get away, without success. It had perhaps bought itself five or ten seconds more time, but it had no chance at all to truly make it away. Three intact Prussians could easily have overwhelmed Frostfell, but these were not intact, and Frostfell was, and the result was dreadful butchery. Frostfell grabbed the dragon's tail and remorselessly dragged it in, beating it savagely as it scrambled to fight back. The last Prussian however turned, and wheeling around, struck Frostfell from the flank, its remaining crew throwing stick-grenades for lack of anything better to do, weapons that could cut the armorless Heavyweight perhaps, but only superficially. One or two of the more daring ones seized enormous battleaxes and leaped over onto Frostfell, still attached by their carabineers to their home dragon, striking out with weapons heavy enough to pierce the relatively thin scales of the Wendigo, able to draw blood, but not to themselves meaningfully injure the dragon. The Bluejacket itself could, or at least could so long as Frostfell was beating its fellow down, and its claws bit deep, though not as deeply as Frostfell's were to the other.
Still, all this was mere preparation work. The Jotun was closing in, as was Albatros and his wingman. When they arrived, things would get very very ugly.
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
The lookouts on the Aufseher were good, and they spotted Jeb coming. The dragon lunged to one side, its spit flying wide, but only by bare yards, as Jeb dove on it like a falling rock. The claws struck flank armor, bit, and tore a gash straight down it, though barely scraping the actual dragonscale. The chain armor however could not hold Jeb's claw as well as could the dragon's body, and so instead of devil's reversing out in a new direction, Jeb's purchase broke before he was able to swing himself around, and he found himself flying away from the Aufseher in a straight line, in front.
The Aufseher, presented with a target, engaged.
It roared after Jeb and pumped its wings in pursuit, racing after the West Virginian mountain dragon as its crew blasted away with machine guns. Most Aufsehers were fairly timid beasts, but even a timid Aufseher could easily countenance assaulting a lone lightweight that had annoyed it. It spat at Jeb, more for show than anything, for the angle and range were wrong, but its radioman called for support, and from overhead came a pair of Leuchtkaffers racing down to assist, hoping to pin Jeb down and force him into the jaws of the Aufseher.
Theory, practice, and the distance between the two immediately became apparent.
Something else cut across Jeb's path even before the Leuchtkaffers could deploy, something that had been making best speed in that direction since it saw Jeb dive. One moment, Jeb was facing open air, the next, there was a 20-ton Malachite Reaper in his path, moving obliquely to Jeb, machine guns blazing like twinkling stars back at the Aufseher in pursuit of him, his very body providing a possible bulwark against the several dragons pursuing him.
*-----------------------------------------------*
The Swabian hit Flinder at an angle.
The acid had missed, thankfully, but the Swabian was a guided missile that could not be evaded so easily. It smashed into Flinder at an angle, only one horn finding purchase, tearing a gash down Flinder's left flank, sundering armor and dragonscale as it rushed past. Flinder's counterattack was absorbed by armor, and moments later the dragons were past one another, and nothing remained but bullets in the air.
Medics rappelled down Flinder's side to do what they could, but the Swabian was already coming around for another pass. Smaller than Flinder, it had no intention of grappling, but would spear this damned Australian with a head-on ram, and discard it like a harpooned fish.
Of course, that was the plan prior to Hermeticus' arrival.
The Swabian saw Hermeticus coming, how could he fail to? He was forced however to abort the attack and turn to run, for here was a dragon whose horns outranged his own, and whose mass was sufficient to impale him outright. Hermecritus' dive missed, not by an enormous amount, but the Swabian put its speed on and accelerated away like a rocket, moving faster than either Allied dragon could pursue. Flying back towards the main German formation, the Swabian formed up with the two remaining Bavarians, as they filled the air-waves calling for more support, damnit! There were enough Germans left to overwhelm any two dragons, but prior to that developing, Flinder and Hermecritus were left alone in the air to do as they would.
For a time.
*---------------------------------------------*
Down below, Veritas thrust his wings out to stop his fall, and the Kampfritter was indeed shaken loose by this move... though at a price.
The Kampfritter had literally been hanging on for dear life, it's claws anchored with force into Veritas' body and harness. When Veritas arrested his fall with all the force of his mighty wings, the stresses were briefly astronomical. The Kampfritter's grip was torn away, as were great ribbons of armor and dragonscale as its grip was literally ripped loose. Veritas' entire port-side armor came off with it, as did two crewmen too slow to re-attach their carabineers. They would make it, for their parachutes opened moments later, as did those of the remaining Kampfritter crew. The Kampfritter itself was left to fall to earth, and live or die by chance, unable to play any further part.
The same could not be said of its fellows.
Veritas swung around to re-engage, only to find that the other two Kampfritters had beaten him to it. Dumb though they were, Kampfritters knew how to grapple and fight. One smashed into him head-on, ducking at the last second to prevent Veritas from getting at its underbelly. The other slammed into Veritas' right flank. Both immediately disgorged eight to ten Falschirmjaegar a piece, stormtroopers who leapt over onto Veritas' back at several points, hooked their caribineers into his harness, and fell to fighting with Veritas' crew with grenades, submachine guns, and flame throwers, even as the heavy weapons aboard the Kampfritters dueled with Veritas' own guns, saturating the Crimson Angel in fire. Instantly there was pandemonium aboard Veritas as men struggled and fought with one another hand to hand, pistol to pistol, MP-40 to Sten gun, and cries in English and German for aid or mere bloody screams as men were hurled off into oblivion or hacked down where they stood, filled the air, mingled with the savage roars of the dragons themselves, as both Kampfritters sought to pin Veritas between them and simply maul him horribly.
Even Crimson Angels could not sustain punishment like that for very long.
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
#930
Kunja laughed as the two Bavarians peeled up to engage them. "I will be with you shortly Albatros!"
Jake was less amused, he couldn't help but notice that the Bavarians hadn't scattered That meant these guys were professionals. "Jack, these will be trouble."
Kunja snorted, but still nodded slightly, and the Australians went into an immediate dive. Jake leaned in close to his dragon to be less of an obvious target as the Australians moved towards the left-most Bavarian.
Under the wind of the drop Jake's scarf flapped in the wind while his flight goggles kept the wind out of his eyes, Kunja's numerous lines jangled and shook under the fall. The sunlight that peeked through clouds highlighted the armor that fell across Kunja's body and the shine off of wingblades that he wore for the battle.
The range closed as the Bavarian rose and its partner moved to support it as the brash Victorian dived straight for it's partner. Then suddenly Kunja was gone as he initiated a sharp roll-over to his right. The miniature Victorian pulled in his left wing shortly after the turn started, letting momentum and wind-resistance from his still open right wing pull him over sharply to the right, twitching and moving his wings minutely in ways to either drag out or speed up the turn so as to place it just right. As the 180 degree roll was almost completed Kunja pulled in his right wing and spun so he was right-side up again.
If the quick calculations and practices had proven right, Kunja would now be descending on a rather surprised Bavarian as it's partner tried to get into position to assist. If it had worked, Kunja would descend upon the Bavarian, inflict as much damage as quickly as he could to the Bavarian and its wings before he shoved off of it with all his might to prepare to engage the other Bavarian.
If he was short, Jake would slide onto Kunja's port side to avoid fire and return some of his own as the Victorian opened his wings and applied the breaks to fall behind the Bavarians again. If they were wide, Jake would slide to the starboard side of Kunja and fire on the Bavarian as they stayed alongside it as best they could.
Jake was less amused, he couldn't help but notice that the Bavarians hadn't scattered That meant these guys were professionals. "Jack, these will be trouble."
Kunja snorted, but still nodded slightly, and the Australians went into an immediate dive. Jake leaned in close to his dragon to be less of an obvious target as the Australians moved towards the left-most Bavarian.
Under the wind of the drop Jake's scarf flapped in the wind while his flight goggles kept the wind out of his eyes, Kunja's numerous lines jangled and shook under the fall. The sunlight that peeked through clouds highlighted the armor that fell across Kunja's body and the shine off of wingblades that he wore for the battle.
The range closed as the Bavarian rose and its partner moved to support it as the brash Victorian dived straight for it's partner. Then suddenly Kunja was gone as he initiated a sharp roll-over to his right. The miniature Victorian pulled in his left wing shortly after the turn started, letting momentum and wind-resistance from his still open right wing pull him over sharply to the right, twitching and moving his wings minutely in ways to either drag out or speed up the turn so as to place it just right. As the 180 degree roll was almost completed Kunja pulled in his right wing and spun so he was right-side up again.
If the quick calculations and practices had proven right, Kunja would now be descending on a rather surprised Bavarian as it's partner tried to get into position to assist. If it had worked, Kunja would descend upon the Bavarian, inflict as much damage as quickly as he could to the Bavarian and its wings before he shoved off of it with all his might to prepare to engage the other Bavarian.
If he was short, Jake would slide onto Kunja's port side to avoid fire and return some of his own as the Victorian opened his wings and applied the breaks to fall behind the Bavarians again. If they were wide, Jake would slide to the starboard side of Kunja and fire on the Bavarian as they stayed alongside it as best they could.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
-
LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
- Posts: 13197
- Joined: Fri Jan 13, 2006 8:25 pm
- 18
- Location: In your lap, purring
- Contact:
#931
Instead of cursing his luck, Jebediah had taken to all-out flight, leading the Affy-whasis away from Flinder as best he could. Maybe.. if they could get the acid-spitter alone....
"Jeb... two Lightcoughers above," Judith warned, mangling the German name.
"WhoooooooooopS!" Jebediah answered as Æquitas suddenly made his appearance in front. "Well, howdy, Æquitas," Jebediah said as he flew under the Malachite, using the mid-weight's body as a blocker as the more nimble SmokeDevil swung up and around. "We get th' AcidSpitter far 'nuff out ta take 'em yet?"
"Jeb... two Lightcoughers above," Judith warned, mangling the German name.
"WhoooooooooopS!" Jebediah answered as Æquitas suddenly made his appearance in front. "Well, howdy, Æquitas," Jebediah said as he flew under the Malachite, using the mid-weight's body as a blocker as the more nimble SmokeDevil swung up and around. "We get th' AcidSpitter far 'nuff out ta take 'em yet?"
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
- Posts: 129
- Joined: Tue Nov 25, 2008 6:06 pm
- 16
- Location: The Imperial City of San Francisco
- Contact:
#932
Flinder roared as his flank was gashed, then again in frustration as his lashing attempts with his claws largely missed. As they soared clear, Allen saw Hermeticus arrive to chase the Swabian off.
“Are you alright, mate!?â€
“Are you alright, mate!?â€
I accidentally all the Brujah.
-
Cynical Cat
- Arch-Magician
- Posts: 11930
- Joined: Thu Jun 09, 2005 8:53 pm
- 19
- Location: Ice Sarcophagus outside a ruined Jedi Temple
- Contact:
#933
Frostfell angled his wings to direct the descending mass of dragons towards the waters of the Channel. Frostfell was not a modest creature and had definite opinions about his prowess as a killer, opinions that in a less lethal dragon might be considered megalomania but Frostfell really was almost as deadly as he thought he was. However, even he didn't highly rate his chances against at crewed Jotunmeister after he had tangled with three Bluejackets. Let alone a Jotunmeister getting back up from bloody Albatross.
So Frostfell half glided, half fell through the air with the Bluejackets, trying to keep as much distance from the Jotunmeister as possible. "Am I fighting the whole bloody Luftwaffe solo?" he barked over the radio. "I've peeled off Albatross, the Jotun, and a handful of others. For the love of Loki will someone bloody pounce on them?" He knew that the larger dragon would catch him soon, but exactly where he ended up catching Frostfell could end up being the difference between life and death. In the interm, he did what he did best.
His claws locked onto the captive Bluejacket and tore, alternating one pair of limbs clutching and gouging while setting up the other pair for powerful rending strikes. Black blood spilled over his hide and into the air. He ignored the pin pricks of the axeman. It took a .50cal to hurt a lightweight and even though he was thin scaled by heavyweight standards, he had his insulating layer of blubber and his armour. Minor cuts didn't matter.
The other Bluejacket did and Frostfell twisted in the air, his deadly jaws and his neck curled back. He struck at the Bluejacket's neck, with the intent of locking his jaws and crushing the smaller dragon's throat. The new position offered another bonus, placing the smaller dragon's body in his claws in between him and Ragnarok.
So Frostfell half glided, half fell through the air with the Bluejackets, trying to keep as much distance from the Jotunmeister as possible. "Am I fighting the whole bloody Luftwaffe solo?" he barked over the radio. "I've peeled off Albatross, the Jotun, and a handful of others. For the love of Loki will someone bloody pounce on them?" He knew that the larger dragon would catch him soon, but exactly where he ended up catching Frostfell could end up being the difference between life and death. In the interm, he did what he did best.
His claws locked onto the captive Bluejacket and tore, alternating one pair of limbs clutching and gouging while setting up the other pair for powerful rending strikes. Black blood spilled over his hide and into the air. He ignored the pin pricks of the axeman. It took a .50cal to hurt a lightweight and even though he was thin scaled by heavyweight standards, he had his insulating layer of blubber and his armour. Minor cuts didn't matter.
The other Bluejacket did and Frostfell twisted in the air, his deadly jaws and his neck curled back. He struck at the Bluejacket's neck, with the intent of locking his jaws and crushing the smaller dragon's throat. The new position offered another bonus, placing the smaller dragon's body in his claws in between him and Ragnarok.
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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Dark Silver
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#934
After clearing the Swabian from Flinder and it's crew, Hermeticus' lookout spooted the knot of dragons, with the great white Beast flitting around it.
"Thomas," the man called, "I think the Wendigo needs help."
Thomas looked up, using his monocular, nodded, and patted Hermeticus' neck at the same time. Hermeticus looked back, Thomas pointed, and the hybrid winged in the air, and started off at speed.
"Hit that Jotun" Thomas called out his orders, as Hermeticus beat against gravity, and speed on.
With the orders spread, rifles and machine guns loaded and aimed, Hermeticus was heading for the German Heavyweight with a hungry gleam in his dark eye.
"Thomas," the man called, "I think the Wendigo needs help."
Thomas looked up, using his monocular, nodded, and patted Hermeticus' neck at the same time. Hermeticus looked back, Thomas pointed, and the hybrid winged in the air, and started off at speed.
"Hit that Jotun" Thomas called out his orders, as Hermeticus beat against gravity, and speed on.
With the orders spread, rifles and machine guns loaded and aimed, Hermeticus was heading for the German Heavyweight with a hungry gleam in his dark eye.
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#935
((Partial post as I'm doing this from work))
"You did indeed," said Rankin back to Captain McClung over the radio, and watching as the Aufseher aborted its charge in surprise at Æquitas' sudden arrival, he rapidly issued a string of tactical orders.
"We'll split up," he said, rapidfire. "We'll loop around south to cut him off, and suppress his guns with our own fire. Vector in from the north or northwest and try and drive him towards us. Stay out of his acid vectors, and do what damage you can. He'll try to shy back towards the rest of his squadron, and we'll nail him from above when he does."
"You did indeed," said Rankin back to Captain McClung over the radio, and watching as the Aufseher aborted its charge in surprise at Æquitas' sudden arrival, he rapidly issued a string of tactical orders.
"We'll split up," he said, rapidfire. "We'll loop around south to cut him off, and suppress his guns with our own fire. Vector in from the north or northwest and try and drive him towards us. Stay out of his acid vectors, and do what damage you can. He'll try to shy back towards the rest of his squadron, and we'll nail him from above when he does."
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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LadyTevar
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#936
"Copy that," Jebediah replied, angling off as ordered to start spooking the Aufseher in the right direction.
"It looks lik' Frostfell's gettin' som' help, but Veritas got troubles," Judith reported, taking a quick look around as Jeb winged his way towards the German acid-spitter, already trying to turn away from Æquitas. The smaller SmokeDevil could maneuver much faster and was getting up to speed. While Frostfell was in trouble now, he'd started with easy targets. Veritas had gone by himself after a trio of Kampfritters, and was reaping what he'd sown there. "Kunja's got two B'varians ta play with," she finished, giving Æquitas a rundown.
She could do that, because she trusted Jebediah to do the flying, and he trusted her to do the watching. For the moment he didn't need her as the SmokeDevil made a sudden sharp turn that took him swooping in from the German's off-side rear, digging in with his front claws and hooking with the wingclaw to arrest his momentum. Any other lightweight would find that deadly, but Jebediah stayed just long enough to pull his back legs up and leap straight off off the Aufseher's backbone, leaving behind a scratched and scared dragon.
"It looks lik' Frostfell's gettin' som' help, but Veritas got troubles," Judith reported, taking a quick look around as Jeb winged his way towards the German acid-spitter, already trying to turn away from Æquitas. The smaller SmokeDevil could maneuver much faster and was getting up to speed. While Frostfell was in trouble now, he'd started with easy targets. Veritas had gone by himself after a trio of Kampfritters, and was reaping what he'd sown there. "Kunja's got two B'varians ta play with," she finished, giving Æquitas a rundown.
She could do that, because she trusted Jebediah to do the flying, and he trusted her to do the watching. For the moment he didn't need her as the SmokeDevil made a sudden sharp turn that took him swooping in from the German's off-side rear, digging in with his front claws and hooking with the wingclaw to arrest his momentum. Any other lightweight would find that deadly, but Jebediah stayed just long enough to pull his back legs up and leap straight off off the Aufseher's backbone, leaving behind a scratched and scared dragon.
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rhoenix
- The Artist formerly known as Rhoenix
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#937
Currently caught between the two Kampfritters, Veritas was in a dire predicament now, having been caught unawares by a tactic he didn't expect. In war, such thing was usually fatal.
However, he had relentlessly fought against odds at least as great as this just to survive as a dragonlet, and he certainly wasn't going to give up now. Whipping himself bodily to his right to land on the Kampfritter who had rammed into his side, Veritas rolled across the Kampfritter's back (slashing at a wing as he did with one of his forepaws) to fall once again into open sky.
Snapping his wings shut, he dove to gain some extra momentum, feeling his way toward a proper thermal, which he then snapped his wings back open to catch properly. With each massive wingbeat, he increased his speed more, and more still, as his crew furiously fought off the remaining German soldiers still left.
Veritas had heard of Frostfell's predicament, and he was coming.
However, he had relentlessly fought against odds at least as great as this just to survive as a dragonlet, and he certainly wasn't going to give up now. Whipping himself bodily to his right to land on the Kampfritter who had rammed into his side, Veritas rolled across the Kampfritter's back (slashing at a wing as he did with one of his forepaws) to fall once again into open sky.
Snapping his wings shut, he dove to gain some extra momentum, feeling his way toward a proper thermal, which he then snapped his wings back open to catch properly. With each massive wingbeat, he increased his speed more, and more still, as his crew furiously fought off the remaining German soldiers still left.
Veritas had heard of Frostfell's predicament, and he was coming.
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."
- William Gibson
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Josh wrote:What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#938
The Bavarians were professionals, veteran and poised. This much was clear just by how they flew. Yet though neither one had so much as a scratch on them, they had each been flying for hours. Tired, they were not able to react as fast as they normally would.
But they were able to react.
As Kunja dove and suddenly rolled shifting targets from leader to wingman, the wingman's captain gave an aborted cry, but his dragon had seen the motion first. He pulled up sharp into a mid-air backflip, stalling out just as Kunja landed atop him, and taking the blow to his flanks, underbelly, and armor. Kunja's claws bit, and drew blood, but the heavier dragon's own weight served to shove the Bavarian out of his claws before serious damage could be inflicted, bouncing him down several hundred feet before the Bavarian could right itself. Though the Bavarian was relatively unhurt, save for scratches and minor cuts, Kunja had managed to drive him down nearly five hundred feet, too far to re-engage in anything like a reasonable amount of time. The other Bavarian was on his own.
The other Bavarian did not seem that upset however, doubling back towards Kunja as quick as he could go, his Captain levelling an MP-40 and opening fire at Jake as he did so.
*----------------------------------------------------*
All of a sudden, the Jotunmeister became really busy.
What had begun as a direct order to attack Frostfell turned into a furball, as first Flinder, then Hermecritus cam lunging towards him, the former strafing with all guns ablaze, the latter lining up to ram. Atop that, Frostfell was attempting to flee, clearly gauging himself to be incapable of handling the Jotunmeister by himself. Pressed on two sides, the Jotunmeister now faced superior numbers and weight coming his way.
But Jotunmeisters lived for such things.
The 37 remained trained on Frostfell, but the full weight of the Jotunmeister's other firepower turned on Flinder alone, aiming not for the dragon, but for the gun turrets. Flinder's topgunner screamed as MG-34s tore his turret to ribbons, blew his guns apart, and splattered his guts all over Flinder's back, a loss only partly compensated for when Alan's first shot drilled a hole through the shoulder of one of the gunlayers. Simply put though, the Jotun had considerably more weight of fire than Flinder did, and a machine gun duel would only result in the extermination of the midweight's crew.
As to Hermecritus, the Jotun let him come.
As Flinder flew out of range, the guns switched targets to the American mix-breed, but the Longhorn Reaper was moving head-on, and there were fewer targets to mark. Bullets flew in more and more rapid succession as the two dragons closed on one another, some finding marks, most not. Still the Jotun moved on, as Hermecritus increased speed and lowered his horns to ram. Faster and faster Hermecritus came on, the Jotun ignoring him, remaining oblique to his assailant, a perfect ram target, closer and closer and closer the dragons moved, until Hermecritus was too close and moving too fast to stop himself.
And then the Jotunmeister struck.
Its wings reversed themselves and pumped hard, once, twice, slowing itself down as it pulled up. One further wingbeat to pivot, turning its body towards Hermecritus. With this little distance remaining, there was no way he could come about completely, for the Jotun had more than fifty tons of weight to move, but it did not need to. All it needed to do was get around enough to bring its foreclaws to bear. Cupping them together as though praying, it lifted both its forelegs high, and as Hermecritus came into range, brought them both down with as much force as it could bring to bear right on top of Hermecritus' skull.
It was like being hit with a falling building. The Jotunmeister's force was cataclysmic, and only the re-enforced skull and vertebrae of a ramming dragon (inherited from the Texas Longhorn he was descended from) saved him from having his neck broken like a swallow attacked by a raptor. The blow shivered all the way through Hermecritus, and flatly forced his head down, and his body to follow the new trajectory. One horn struck the Jotunmeister, but obliquely, not directly, and it skidded along the armor, carving a furrow through it, barely scratching the iron-tough scale underneath. Even a Jotunmeister could not simply arrest Hermecritus' momentum, and so both dragons scraped and bumped past one another, the Jotun's rear claws lashing out, but catching only armor. And then suddenly they were free. The Jotun had lost most of its speed, but was still moving (roughly) towards Frostfell, and Hermecritus was past it, having been delivered a hammer-blow like no other, and then left to fall behind or pursue as he would, for the Jotunmeister did not bother to pursue him.
Perhaps this was because he wished to fight the Wendigo above all. Perhaps this was because he simply had orders, and chose to obey them. Or perhaps this was because he recognized that Hermecritus was a mixed-breed dragon, crewed by black men, and his Nazi racial world-view did not permit him to consider such a target meaningful or worthy.
Granted, most Jotunmeisters were above such concerns, but it was impossible to tell.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Jeb's maneuver was textbook executed, and he hit, slashed, and bounced away again all in one swoop, the Aufseher's guns too slow to catch him as he leaped into the blue. The bad news however was that there were other dragons in the air just as fast and agile, and one of them had made clever use of the sun.
A Leuchtkaffer screamed out of nowhere, having hidden in the sun to attack, and smashed into Jeb from one side, coming up alongside the American Lightweight, and lashing out with all four claws. Unlike the Bavarians, the Leuchtkaffers wore no wingblades, for they would have interfered with the high-precision maneuvers that Fireflies were trained to perform, but the dragon still maintained more than enough weapons to deal terrible damage. Its claws were capped in iron talon-sheaths, sharpened to razor's points, and it struck with all four from above and to the right. That it was thereby getting in the way of the Aufseher's shots was immaterial to it, for at present, the Aufseher had better things to shoot at.
*----------------------------------------------*
In order to free himself of the grip of both Kampfritters, Veritas had to do things he normally would rather not.
The claws pried loose one by one through sheer physical force, tearing out ribbons of flesh, scale, and blood as they were torn free. The frontal Kampfritter lost his grip first, and overcompensated, flying forward and into the air Veritas had just occupied. The second one hung on however, even as Veritas' superior mass forced them into an interlocking roll, sending everyone on both dragons spilling out to the ends of their carabineers. Veritas righted himself and powered away, yet the second Kampfritter still refused to release, slamming its claws into Veritas' flank again and again and snapping its jaws at anything it could get within reach. Forced to propel nearly a hundred tons of weight, Veritas' trajectory fell accordingly as the Kampfritter literally began to drag him out of the air, its wings beating in reverse to slow whatever momentum the larger Angel could come up with. Stick-grenades exploded on both beasts, and axes beat at scale and flesh, yet the damned German would not let go, and Veritas, strong as he was, had not the power in his wings to force him to by sheer acceleration. The only consolation was that the quad-mounted 20mm on the Kampfritter's back was all but useless from this position, a relief to Veritas' crew, for had it been employed at this range it would have butchered them all in seconds.
The second Kampfritter was coming about. Slower with its wounds and exhaustion than Veritas normally, it was nonetheless much faster than Veritas was with another Heavyweight cloven to him. It began to eat the distance up rapidly, the 20mm on its back chattering as it ranged in the bright red heavyweight, its scales splashed with the red human blood as carnage erupted across its back.
*--------------------------------------------------*
The Bluejacket did the only sane thing it could.
The Bluejacket twisted and jackknifed, desperately trying to break free of the Wendigo's grasping claws, but like Veritas, it could not. Frostfell's muscles were not spent, and his grip was like a vice. Not even through the usual expedient of folding its wings and dropping like a stone could the Bluejacket break away. The axes and blows of its crew were of no avail, and the Wendigo was about to go for its throat. No word did it pass to its Captain. The Captain understood without speaking.
"Nicht schiessen!" screamed the Captain to Frostfell, not that Frostfell was about to shoot in any event, but the idea was there. "wir Ãœbergabe! Kapituleren!" It did not bother to translate into English, for it knew that this dragon spoke German. But just in case, the Captain reached down to his size and drew a flaregun, firing it up into the air in front of Frostfell's face, close enough to burst into his vision with the suddenness of a mid-air collision, far enough away not to scorch his eyes and piss him off further. The white flare was a symbol from the Great War, one every dragon instantly knew. It meant surrender.
The Bluejacket went limp in Frostfell's claws, and the crew, even the ones on Frostfell, threw their weapons overboard. The last remaining intact Bluejacket took this as its queue to leave. Shoving off from Frostfell's flank, it dove down and swung around south, desperately trying to make it away from the Snow-demon that had torn its wingmen from the sky.
And behind Frostfell, Albatros and his wingman flew on, undeterred by the Jotunmeister having delayed long enough to deal with Hermecritus. The red-painted dragon seemed to think nothing of engaging the heavyweight alone, or in this case, with the company of his one remaining wingman.
But they were able to react.
As Kunja dove and suddenly rolled shifting targets from leader to wingman, the wingman's captain gave an aborted cry, but his dragon had seen the motion first. He pulled up sharp into a mid-air backflip, stalling out just as Kunja landed atop him, and taking the blow to his flanks, underbelly, and armor. Kunja's claws bit, and drew blood, but the heavier dragon's own weight served to shove the Bavarian out of his claws before serious damage could be inflicted, bouncing him down several hundred feet before the Bavarian could right itself. Though the Bavarian was relatively unhurt, save for scratches and minor cuts, Kunja had managed to drive him down nearly five hundred feet, too far to re-engage in anything like a reasonable amount of time. The other Bavarian was on his own.
The other Bavarian did not seem that upset however, doubling back towards Kunja as quick as he could go, his Captain levelling an MP-40 and opening fire at Jake as he did so.
*----------------------------------------------------*
All of a sudden, the Jotunmeister became really busy.
What had begun as a direct order to attack Frostfell turned into a furball, as first Flinder, then Hermecritus cam lunging towards him, the former strafing with all guns ablaze, the latter lining up to ram. Atop that, Frostfell was attempting to flee, clearly gauging himself to be incapable of handling the Jotunmeister by himself. Pressed on two sides, the Jotunmeister now faced superior numbers and weight coming his way.
But Jotunmeisters lived for such things.
The 37 remained trained on Frostfell, but the full weight of the Jotunmeister's other firepower turned on Flinder alone, aiming not for the dragon, but for the gun turrets. Flinder's topgunner screamed as MG-34s tore his turret to ribbons, blew his guns apart, and splattered his guts all over Flinder's back, a loss only partly compensated for when Alan's first shot drilled a hole through the shoulder of one of the gunlayers. Simply put though, the Jotun had considerably more weight of fire than Flinder did, and a machine gun duel would only result in the extermination of the midweight's crew.
As to Hermecritus, the Jotun let him come.
As Flinder flew out of range, the guns switched targets to the American mix-breed, but the Longhorn Reaper was moving head-on, and there were fewer targets to mark. Bullets flew in more and more rapid succession as the two dragons closed on one another, some finding marks, most not. Still the Jotun moved on, as Hermecritus increased speed and lowered his horns to ram. Faster and faster Hermecritus came on, the Jotun ignoring him, remaining oblique to his assailant, a perfect ram target, closer and closer and closer the dragons moved, until Hermecritus was too close and moving too fast to stop himself.
And then the Jotunmeister struck.
Its wings reversed themselves and pumped hard, once, twice, slowing itself down as it pulled up. One further wingbeat to pivot, turning its body towards Hermecritus. With this little distance remaining, there was no way he could come about completely, for the Jotun had more than fifty tons of weight to move, but it did not need to. All it needed to do was get around enough to bring its foreclaws to bear. Cupping them together as though praying, it lifted both its forelegs high, and as Hermecritus came into range, brought them both down with as much force as it could bring to bear right on top of Hermecritus' skull.
It was like being hit with a falling building. The Jotunmeister's force was cataclysmic, and only the re-enforced skull and vertebrae of a ramming dragon (inherited from the Texas Longhorn he was descended from) saved him from having his neck broken like a swallow attacked by a raptor. The blow shivered all the way through Hermecritus, and flatly forced his head down, and his body to follow the new trajectory. One horn struck the Jotunmeister, but obliquely, not directly, and it skidded along the armor, carving a furrow through it, barely scratching the iron-tough scale underneath. Even a Jotunmeister could not simply arrest Hermecritus' momentum, and so both dragons scraped and bumped past one another, the Jotun's rear claws lashing out, but catching only armor. And then suddenly they were free. The Jotun had lost most of its speed, but was still moving (roughly) towards Frostfell, and Hermecritus was past it, having been delivered a hammer-blow like no other, and then left to fall behind or pursue as he would, for the Jotunmeister did not bother to pursue him.
Perhaps this was because he wished to fight the Wendigo above all. Perhaps this was because he simply had orders, and chose to obey them. Or perhaps this was because he recognized that Hermecritus was a mixed-breed dragon, crewed by black men, and his Nazi racial world-view did not permit him to consider such a target meaningful or worthy.
Granted, most Jotunmeisters were above such concerns, but it was impossible to tell.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Jeb's maneuver was textbook executed, and he hit, slashed, and bounced away again all in one swoop, the Aufseher's guns too slow to catch him as he leaped into the blue. The bad news however was that there were other dragons in the air just as fast and agile, and one of them had made clever use of the sun.
A Leuchtkaffer screamed out of nowhere, having hidden in the sun to attack, and smashed into Jeb from one side, coming up alongside the American Lightweight, and lashing out with all four claws. Unlike the Bavarians, the Leuchtkaffers wore no wingblades, for they would have interfered with the high-precision maneuvers that Fireflies were trained to perform, but the dragon still maintained more than enough weapons to deal terrible damage. Its claws were capped in iron talon-sheaths, sharpened to razor's points, and it struck with all four from above and to the right. That it was thereby getting in the way of the Aufseher's shots was immaterial to it, for at present, the Aufseher had better things to shoot at.
*----------------------------------------------*
In order to free himself of the grip of both Kampfritters, Veritas had to do things he normally would rather not.
The claws pried loose one by one through sheer physical force, tearing out ribbons of flesh, scale, and blood as they were torn free. The frontal Kampfritter lost his grip first, and overcompensated, flying forward and into the air Veritas had just occupied. The second one hung on however, even as Veritas' superior mass forced them into an interlocking roll, sending everyone on both dragons spilling out to the ends of their carabineers. Veritas righted himself and powered away, yet the second Kampfritter still refused to release, slamming its claws into Veritas' flank again and again and snapping its jaws at anything it could get within reach. Forced to propel nearly a hundred tons of weight, Veritas' trajectory fell accordingly as the Kampfritter literally began to drag him out of the air, its wings beating in reverse to slow whatever momentum the larger Angel could come up with. Stick-grenades exploded on both beasts, and axes beat at scale and flesh, yet the damned German would not let go, and Veritas, strong as he was, had not the power in his wings to force him to by sheer acceleration. The only consolation was that the quad-mounted 20mm on the Kampfritter's back was all but useless from this position, a relief to Veritas' crew, for had it been employed at this range it would have butchered them all in seconds.
The second Kampfritter was coming about. Slower with its wounds and exhaustion than Veritas normally, it was nonetheless much faster than Veritas was with another Heavyweight cloven to him. It began to eat the distance up rapidly, the 20mm on its back chattering as it ranged in the bright red heavyweight, its scales splashed with the red human blood as carnage erupted across its back.
*--------------------------------------------------*
The Bluejacket did the only sane thing it could.
The Bluejacket twisted and jackknifed, desperately trying to break free of the Wendigo's grasping claws, but like Veritas, it could not. Frostfell's muscles were not spent, and his grip was like a vice. Not even through the usual expedient of folding its wings and dropping like a stone could the Bluejacket break away. The axes and blows of its crew were of no avail, and the Wendigo was about to go for its throat. No word did it pass to its Captain. The Captain understood without speaking.
"Nicht schiessen!" screamed the Captain to Frostfell, not that Frostfell was about to shoot in any event, but the idea was there. "wir Ãœbergabe! Kapituleren!" It did not bother to translate into English, for it knew that this dragon spoke German. But just in case, the Captain reached down to his size and drew a flaregun, firing it up into the air in front of Frostfell's face, close enough to burst into his vision with the suddenness of a mid-air collision, far enough away not to scorch his eyes and piss him off further. The white flare was a symbol from the Great War, one every dragon instantly knew. It meant surrender.
The Bluejacket went limp in Frostfell's claws, and the crew, even the ones on Frostfell, threw their weapons overboard. The last remaining intact Bluejacket took this as its queue to leave. Shoving off from Frostfell's flank, it dove down and swung around south, desperately trying to make it away from the Snow-demon that had torn its wingmen from the sky.
And behind Frostfell, Albatros and his wingman flew on, undeterred by the Jotunmeister having delayed long enough to deal with Hermecritus. The red-painted dragon seemed to think nothing of engaging the heavyweight alone, or in this case, with the company of his one remaining wingman.
Last edited by General Havoc on Tue Feb 10, 2009 9:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
-
rhoenix
- The Artist formerly known as Rhoenix
- Posts: 7998
- Joined: Fri Dec 22, 2006 4:01 pm
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- Contact:
#939
Having painfully freed himself from one of the two Kampfritters, despite the scars he'd receive as a result, Veritas still had one persistent one hanging on, with the other quickly catching up.
However, against only one Kampfritter for the moment, Veritas could apply his full force. Folding his wings close to his body and using his own terrifying raw strength, Veritas spun he and the determined Kampfritter still dug in so that the determined Kampfritter was now between he and the barking 20mm cannon of the second, forcing the second to maneuver greatly to gain an angle at hitting him at all.
With that done, Veritas turned his full fury, pain, and anger into the stubborn Kampfritter still attached to him, slicing tendons, biting into arteries, and tearing into its wings with his hind legs, his foreclaws sunken in to prevent the Kampfritter from escaping his wrath.
As the two plummeted toward the ground below, Veritas relentlessly continued his clinically precise and vicious assault upon the Kampfritter's anatomy. If he managed to pull this off, he'd be able to drop this Kampfritter just like he'd done to the first, and swoop free.
However, against only one Kampfritter for the moment, Veritas could apply his full force. Folding his wings close to his body and using his own terrifying raw strength, Veritas spun he and the determined Kampfritter still dug in so that the determined Kampfritter was now between he and the barking 20mm cannon of the second, forcing the second to maneuver greatly to gain an angle at hitting him at all.
With that done, Veritas turned his full fury, pain, and anger into the stubborn Kampfritter still attached to him, slicing tendons, biting into arteries, and tearing into its wings with his hind legs, his foreclaws sunken in to prevent the Kampfritter from escaping his wrath.
As the two plummeted toward the ground below, Veritas relentlessly continued his clinically precise and vicious assault upon the Kampfritter's anatomy. If he managed to pull this off, he'd be able to drop this Kampfritter just like he'd done to the first, and swoop free.
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."
- William Gibson
- William Gibson
Josh wrote:What? There's nothing weird about having a pet housefly. He smuggles cigarettes for me.
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LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
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#940
"DAMMIT!" Whether the voice was Judith's or Jebediah's didn't matter, they'd gotten hit by the lightweight. "Oh no ya don't..."A Leuchtkaffer screamed out of nowhere, having hidden in the sun to attack, and smashed into Jeb from one side, coming up alongside the American Lightweight, and lashing out with all four claws. Unlike the Bavarians, the Leuchtkaffers wore no wingblades, for they would have interfered with the high-precision maneuvers that Fireflies were trained to perform, but the dragon still maintained more than enough weapons to deal terrible damage. Its claws were capped in iron talon-sheaths, sharpened to razor's points, and it struck with all four from above and to the right. That it was thereby getting in the way of the Aufseher's shots was immaterial to it, for at present, the Aufseher had better things to shoot at.
There's an old saying in the Appalachian hills about not being the one to start a fight, but bein' sure to be the one finishing it. Jebediah writhed and dug into the Leuchtkaffer with one of his wingclaws. Once given leverage, the wiry Smoke Devil wormed around to start planting more claws in, like a housecat wiggling to bring up his back claws. The second wing flailed downward, Jebediah buffeting down the German dragon's side and trying to let the claw dig in where it could.
Judith, in the meantime, fired a spray from the tommygun at the Leuchtkaffer's head, away from his captain. It was mostly to keep the German dragon from biting down, making it have second thoughts about continuing this fight. She'd seen enough beserker dragons so far to not want any of her gunfire to hit the German captain. If it came to it, she had RockSalt loads for the shotgun, which would hurt like hell but not kill.
The Smoke Devil and the Leuchtkaffer began to lose altitude as the two lightweights tangled and fought. Now, it would be a game of who'd let go first: Jeb and Judith, fresh into the fight, or the Leuchtkaffer and its Captain, who had been flying for hours. Hillbillies had no problems playing 'chicken'.
Last edited by LadyTevar on Sat Feb 07, 2009 8:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#941
Jake ducked low in his seat again to make himself as small of a target as he could while Kunja turned towards the other Bavarian, laughing heartily. "Ha! This one wants to play chicken!"
Kunja finished his turn and then pushed himself forward with all of his might, quickly picking up speed again. They had been close to begin with and the Bavarian had the advantage of a head start but Kunja didn't mind. If he wasn't full speed that would let him maneuver once the Bavarian rolled to get out of the way. Kunja could then hopefully get a grip on the Bavarian and tangle him out of the sky quickly.
Then again, if the Bavarian was actually stupid enough to get into a tussle with such a larger dragon Kunja wasn't about to not strike him out of the sky.
Kunja finished his turn and then pushed himself forward with all of his might, quickly picking up speed again. They had been close to begin with and the Bavarian had the advantage of a head start but Kunja didn't mind. If he wasn't full speed that would let him maneuver once the Bavarian rolled to get out of the way. Kunja could then hopefully get a grip on the Bavarian and tangle him out of the sky quickly.
Then again, if the Bavarian was actually stupid enough to get into a tussle with such a larger dragon Kunja wasn't about to not strike him out of the sky.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
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#942
Flinder rocked as the turret exploded, and his wings instinctively snapped out into a high dihedral to stabilize himself in the air. He peered around to survey the damage, and roared as he saw the crew removing the body of the dead gunner. He wheeled around to face the Jotunmeister, and Allen realized with horror he was powering up for a headfirst dive.
“Flinder! No!â€
“Flinder! No!â€
I accidentally all the Brujah.
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Cynical Cat
- Arch-Magician
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#943
The Bluejacket avoided Frostfell's snapping jaws of doom by the expedient of disengaging. The Wendigo lunged and missed and then snarled as the escaping German, still rending his prey. The other Bluejacket's captain was babbling. Frostfell wasn't paying attention. Then he saw the flare. They were giving up.
He dropped the torn Bluejacket like a lead weight. The Jotunmeister was the real prize and thanks be to the God that made Wendigos, wasps that laid eggs in paralyzed spiders, and eyeball boring worms it was already engaged with other dragons. Frostfell spread his wings and beat the air, changing from a gliding fall to a slow rise as he twisted around and began to climb towards the engaged Jotunmeister.
He swung his head around to keep an eye on the Bavarians and spot any other German dragons as he advanced. The little dragons were fast movers, quick on the turn, and brave. They couldn't take him head to head, but they wouldn't try. Just pouncing and tearing on a wing could make things . . . difficult. And Albatross was leading them. They were going to be trouble.
He dropped the torn Bluejacket like a lead weight. The Jotunmeister was the real prize and thanks be to the God that made Wendigos, wasps that laid eggs in paralyzed spiders, and eyeball boring worms it was already engaged with other dragons. Frostfell spread his wings and beat the air, changing from a gliding fall to a slow rise as he twisted around and began to climb towards the engaged Jotunmeister.
He swung his head around to keep an eye on the Bavarians and spot any other German dragons as he advanced. The little dragons were fast movers, quick on the turn, and brave. They couldn't take him head to head, but they wouldn't try. Just pouncing and tearing on a wing could make things . . . difficult. And Albatross was leading them. They were going to be trouble.
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
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#944
One minute the brown scaled form of Hermeticus was charging the Jotunmeister in mid-air, his crew firing their weapons with deadly seriousness and with malevolent purpose.....
...the next the dragon and crew where plummeting through the air, the ground rushing up at them, gravity sickeningly pulling their stomachs into their throats.
Hermeticus was rocked, dazed, seeing spots. his wings were loose and flapping in the air, his head was groggy with the blow - much like his cousins and sire, he had bitten off more than he could chew, and it had bitten him.
The ground continued to race, his crew was shouting, hitting, doing anything to get his attention, and with the swirling trees and plains rushing up at him, Hermeticus' addled brain cleared, his wings snapped out, long and strong, and his body arced.
The massive momentum of the Longhorn Reaper plummeting hundreds of feet could not be arrested so swiftly, but using the innate tricks of flying that most of Dragon-king had since birth, Hermeticus curved back up into the air.
"Everyone ok?" He called back in his gregarious tones, wings pumping as he gained back air.
"Shaken, but fine. How you feeling?" Thomas asked, worried about the blow.
"I wan' that big German bastard...."
With that, Hermeticus was climbing into the air again, locked his sites on the first German dragon he could get close to, and all but leapt upon it in a maddened rush - the all black crew lining up their shots and putting bullets to Germans.
...the next the dragon and crew where plummeting through the air, the ground rushing up at them, gravity sickeningly pulling their stomachs into their throats.
Hermeticus was rocked, dazed, seeing spots. his wings were loose and flapping in the air, his head was groggy with the blow - much like his cousins and sire, he had bitten off more than he could chew, and it had bitten him.
The ground continued to race, his crew was shouting, hitting, doing anything to get his attention, and with the swirling trees and plains rushing up at him, Hermeticus' addled brain cleared, his wings snapped out, long and strong, and his body arced.
The massive momentum of the Longhorn Reaper plummeting hundreds of feet could not be arrested so swiftly, but using the innate tricks of flying that most of Dragon-king had since birth, Hermeticus curved back up into the air.
"Everyone ok?" He called back in his gregarious tones, wings pumping as he gained back air.
"Shaken, but fine. How you feeling?" Thomas asked, worried about the blow.
"I wan' that big German bastard...."
With that, Hermeticus was climbing into the air again, locked his sites on the first German dragon he could get close to, and all but leapt upon it in a maddened rush - the all black crew lining up their shots and putting bullets to Germans.
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#945
Veritas was, by far, the largest dragon in the Allied Tangmere squadron, larger than Frostfell, larger than Hermecritus, and larger than the Kampfritters that were assaulting and pursuing him, albeit not by much. Dense, tough, and durable, Veritas outmatched his opponent in all such criteria.
But only to a certain degree.
Kampfritters were not the equal of a Crimson Angel. They had not been bred to be such a thing. Crimson Angels were the product of four hundred years of careful breeding, each one a jewel in the crown of Imperial Russia. Kampfritters were crash heavyweights, bred up all in a rush by means unknown, a way of granting Germany heavy power at any price.
However, as Veritas found, that did not make them ineffective.
Kampfritters did very little well, but one thing they could be relied upon to do, which was to take punishment and deliver it in return, and every blow Veritas landed was returned, with interest. Black blood flew in buckets, as both dragons savagely beat at one another with fang, claw, and stick grenade, spinning through the air in wild gyrations as they tumbled relentlessly towards the ground. It was a fight the Kampfritter could not win, tough and powerful as it was, Veritas was both tougher and more powerful, and yet the Kampfritter hung on despite all the galling punishment Veritas could bring to bear, its thick hide, and tough bone structure sustaining the tremendous battery that the renegade Crimson Angel inflicting with precision and automaton-like regularity.
But the race was not between Veritas and the Kampfritter. It was between Veritas and gravity.
Both dragons plunged towards the ground, totally out of control, as the second Kampfritter came up behind and above them. The one latched to Veritas held on like an undead monster, no matter how Veritas mauled it, determined to drag Veritas straight into Hell, if it had to. Soon enough, it became clear that while Veritas was winning the grapple, he would not be able to dislodge this Kampfritter by raw abuse before both of them slammed into the ground.
And the Kampfritter was not letting go.
*------------------------------------------------------*
Well trained and expertly captained, the Leuchtkaffer nevertheless clearly did not expect to be clawed at by Jeb's wings of all things. Jeb was no smaller than the Leuchtkaffer, and clearly no less agile. Having struck, the small lightweight had intended to shy off and strike anew, but Jeb's hooks had put paid to that.
A brief, brutal squabble ensued as the dragons pinwheeled around one another like two birds with broken wings fighting over a mouse. In a matter of seconds, before either captain's shots could do anything like ranging in properly, the Leuchtkaffer jackknifed almost double, twisted right violently enough to pop several vertebrae, and managed to dislodge Jeb's winghook from its flank and break away down and south, streaming blood from several nasty gashes cut into its side, and leaving behind a segment of mesh armor still hooked on Jeb's wing. His initial assault had torn Jeb's flank armor to shreds and sliced several return slashes of his own into the Appalachian's hide, but the American Dragon remained in posession of the airspace they had fought over, and the Leuchtkaffer seemed in no hurry to try and re-engage.
Of course, there was a wingman still circling overhead like a hawk, looking for an opportune moment to re-engage.
*---------------------------------------------------------*
The Bavarian was many things, but not stupid. It had no intention of grappling with a dragon more than half again larger than itself, wingblades or no wingblades. It did not betray its intentions until the last possible second, darting suddenly to one side and snapping its wing open taut to slice down Kunja's flank as he passed by.
He miscalculated. Badly.
A gust of crosswind pushed him closer to Kunja than he had intended, and instead of scraping the wingblade along Kunja's side, the entire wing smashed into Kunja's chest like a brickbat, knocking the wind out of the Australian dragon for a moment. The force nearly dislocated the German's wing, but fortunately in mid-air, the physics worked differently. Instead of having his wing sheered off, he instead collapsed inwards, like a runner whose arm was suddenly caught by an immoveable object, and swung around, smashing head-first into Kunja's flank, and nearly unseating his own Captain. And then a split second later, the Bavarian was gone, plumetting down in a flat spin, dazed and stunned by the unexpected impact. Not for three thousand feet did it manage to recover its equilibrium, pulling up at treetop level and landing in a field, if only to recover its head for a few moments. Though relatively uninjured, save for bruising and a bad shake, the dragon was now hopelessly below the level of the fight, unable to further interfere.
Should this dragon and others survive, there was little doubt that this particular Bavarian would be hearing no end of jokes about that little maneuver for the rest of the war...
*-----------------------------------------------*
The second Kampfritter, forming up for a dive at Veritas, never saw Flinder coming. One of the lookouts however easily did, for a mystic-colored dragon of twenty four tons was not exactly invisible against the bright blue sky. The crew of the 20mm gun on the Kampfritter's back quickly swung around to open fire on the diving Midweight, but not quickly enough. The gun crew had only a fraction of a second to dive out of the way before Flinder landed on top of the quad-mount 20mm and crushed it into a tangled heap of twisted metal with both foreclaws.
Flinder immediately set to work, but the Kampfritter did not panic, and the young Dreamweaver was not sufficiently experienced to know what to strike for on the armored back of a Kampfritter twice its size. The Kampfritter's crew exchanged desultory shots with Flinder's for a moment, before the Kamfpritter turned a barrel roll and bucked, hurling Flinder off of his back, before slowly making a turn to come about and engage this precocious midweight with his own full power.
((OOC: Ran out of time. MOre to come later))
But only to a certain degree.
Kampfritters were not the equal of a Crimson Angel. They had not been bred to be such a thing. Crimson Angels were the product of four hundred years of careful breeding, each one a jewel in the crown of Imperial Russia. Kampfritters were crash heavyweights, bred up all in a rush by means unknown, a way of granting Germany heavy power at any price.
However, as Veritas found, that did not make them ineffective.
Kampfritters did very little well, but one thing they could be relied upon to do, which was to take punishment and deliver it in return, and every blow Veritas landed was returned, with interest. Black blood flew in buckets, as both dragons savagely beat at one another with fang, claw, and stick grenade, spinning through the air in wild gyrations as they tumbled relentlessly towards the ground. It was a fight the Kampfritter could not win, tough and powerful as it was, Veritas was both tougher and more powerful, and yet the Kampfritter hung on despite all the galling punishment Veritas could bring to bear, its thick hide, and tough bone structure sustaining the tremendous battery that the renegade Crimson Angel inflicting with precision and automaton-like regularity.
But the race was not between Veritas and the Kampfritter. It was between Veritas and gravity.
Both dragons plunged towards the ground, totally out of control, as the second Kampfritter came up behind and above them. The one latched to Veritas held on like an undead monster, no matter how Veritas mauled it, determined to drag Veritas straight into Hell, if it had to. Soon enough, it became clear that while Veritas was winning the grapple, he would not be able to dislodge this Kampfritter by raw abuse before both of them slammed into the ground.
And the Kampfritter was not letting go.
*------------------------------------------------------*
Well trained and expertly captained, the Leuchtkaffer nevertheless clearly did not expect to be clawed at by Jeb's wings of all things. Jeb was no smaller than the Leuchtkaffer, and clearly no less agile. Having struck, the small lightweight had intended to shy off and strike anew, but Jeb's hooks had put paid to that.
A brief, brutal squabble ensued as the dragons pinwheeled around one another like two birds with broken wings fighting over a mouse. In a matter of seconds, before either captain's shots could do anything like ranging in properly, the Leuchtkaffer jackknifed almost double, twisted right violently enough to pop several vertebrae, and managed to dislodge Jeb's winghook from its flank and break away down and south, streaming blood from several nasty gashes cut into its side, and leaving behind a segment of mesh armor still hooked on Jeb's wing. His initial assault had torn Jeb's flank armor to shreds and sliced several return slashes of his own into the Appalachian's hide, but the American Dragon remained in posession of the airspace they had fought over, and the Leuchtkaffer seemed in no hurry to try and re-engage.
Of course, there was a wingman still circling overhead like a hawk, looking for an opportune moment to re-engage.
*---------------------------------------------------------*
The Bavarian was many things, but not stupid. It had no intention of grappling with a dragon more than half again larger than itself, wingblades or no wingblades. It did not betray its intentions until the last possible second, darting suddenly to one side and snapping its wing open taut to slice down Kunja's flank as he passed by.
He miscalculated. Badly.
A gust of crosswind pushed him closer to Kunja than he had intended, and instead of scraping the wingblade along Kunja's side, the entire wing smashed into Kunja's chest like a brickbat, knocking the wind out of the Australian dragon for a moment. The force nearly dislocated the German's wing, but fortunately in mid-air, the physics worked differently. Instead of having his wing sheered off, he instead collapsed inwards, like a runner whose arm was suddenly caught by an immoveable object, and swung around, smashing head-first into Kunja's flank, and nearly unseating his own Captain. And then a split second later, the Bavarian was gone, plumetting down in a flat spin, dazed and stunned by the unexpected impact. Not for three thousand feet did it manage to recover its equilibrium, pulling up at treetop level and landing in a field, if only to recover its head for a few moments. Though relatively uninjured, save for bruising and a bad shake, the dragon was now hopelessly below the level of the fight, unable to further interfere.
Should this dragon and others survive, there was little doubt that this particular Bavarian would be hearing no end of jokes about that little maneuver for the rest of the war...
*-----------------------------------------------*
The second Kampfritter, forming up for a dive at Veritas, never saw Flinder coming. One of the lookouts however easily did, for a mystic-colored dragon of twenty four tons was not exactly invisible against the bright blue sky. The crew of the 20mm gun on the Kampfritter's back quickly swung around to open fire on the diving Midweight, but not quickly enough. The gun crew had only a fraction of a second to dive out of the way before Flinder landed on top of the quad-mount 20mm and crushed it into a tangled heap of twisted metal with both foreclaws.
Flinder immediately set to work, but the Kampfritter did not panic, and the young Dreamweaver was not sufficiently experienced to know what to strike for on the armored back of a Kampfritter twice its size. The Kampfritter's crew exchanged desultory shots with Flinder's for a moment, before the Kamfpritter turned a barrel roll and bucked, hurling Flinder off of his back, before slowly making a turn to come about and engage this precocious midweight with his own full power.
((OOC: Ran out of time. MOre to come later))
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
-
LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
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#946
"Tha had ta hurt," Jebediah said, having heard the loud pops of the Leuchtkaffer's spine. "He ain'tin't comin' back."Well trained and expertly captained, the Leuchtkaffer nevertheless clearly did not expect to be clawed at by Jeb's wings of all things. Jeb was no smaller than the Leuchtkaffer, and clearly no less agile. Having struck, the small lightweight had intended to shy off and strike anew, but Jeb's hooks had put paid to that.
A brief, brutal squabble ensued as the dragons pinwheeled around one another like two birds with broken wings fighting over a mouse. In a matter of seconds, before either captain's shots could do anything like ranging in properly, the Leuchtkaffer jackknifed almost double, twisted right violently enough to pop several vertebrae, and managed to dislodge Jeb's winghook from its flank and break away down and south, streaming blood from several nasty gashes cut into its side, and leaving behind a segment of mesh armor still hooked on Jeb's wing. His initial assault had torn Jeb's flank armor to shreds and sliced several return slashes of his own into the Appalachian's hide, but the American Dragon remained in posession of the airspace they had fought over, and the Leuchtkaffer seemed in no hurry to try and re-engage.
Of course, there was a wingman still circling overhead like a hawk, looking for an opportune moment to re-engage.
Judith was pretty sure Jeb was right, and she looked up and around them, spotting its wingman. "Wingman circlin' above, Jeb. Prolly waitin' fer his turn."
Jebediah turned for the Aufseher he'd jumped again. "You watch 'em, girl... We're still got orders ta herd this one ta Æquitas. Iffen tha' Lightcoffer moves, tell me." It was a little annoying, flying with the armor mesh clinging to his wing, but Jebediah couldn't quite shake it off. "Damn thin's caught on m' claw." Still, he was trying to get both altitude and speed to catch up with the Aufseher.
Judith was watching the Leuchtkaffer for signs he was diving. "Ah can't get it while yer flyin', Jeb. We're stuck wit' it fer now."
Jebediah grumbled for a bit, the mesh making soft clinking sounds to his wingbeats. It was a rhythm that soon had him smirking, then doing the last thing any Dragon would expect. In his loud baritone voice, Jebediah started singing along to the clanking of his wingbeats, in perfect time.
~Mine eyes ha' seen th' Glory o' the Comin' o th' Lord
He is tramplin' out th' vengence where th' Grapes o' Wrath are stored
He has loosed th' Fateful Lightnin' o' his Terrible swift sword
His Truth is Marchin' On!!!
Glorrrrrry glory Halleluhah
GLorrrrrrrry glory halleluyah
Glorrrrry glory halleluhah
His TRUTH IS MARCHIN' ON!~
A small bluish dragon, with a very loud voice, singing the BattleHymn of the Republic, and it was coming straight for the Aufseher that he'd cut and slashed earlier. If it was a smart dragon, it'd run.
Last edited by LadyTevar on Sun Feb 15, 2009 8:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
- Posts: 5245
- Joined: Wed Aug 10, 2005 2:12 pm
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- Contact:
#947
((Continued from yesterday))
Hermecritus had fallen away below, shaken but alive, and was now starting to rise again. Albatros and his wingman were on-hand to assist, and no other dragon was in range to interfere, or at least so the Jotunmeister thought. Kunja he did not even consider. Were Albatros' wingdragons not sufficient to handle the miniature Victorian, then the Jotun would expect Albatros himself to do so. He had a matter of his own to deal with.
"Schneeteufel," hissed the enormous dragon, it came out sounding like a factory's smokestack churning with incalculable internal fires. It stretched out its limbs, letting its wings catch the air as it descended slowly towards the Wendigo, enormous, unconquerable, a monster of unparalleled power. It did not fear a Wendigo, or a Longhorn Reaper, or any combination thereof. It was a Jotunmeister, an old dragon of the mountains, a norse god re-incarnated in dragon form. The crew on its back worked its cannons around once more, and opened fire.
One shell, two, flew unerring. One grazed Frostfell's right wing. The second buried itself in the dragon's shoulder. The third shot missed high, barely avoiding smashing into Frostfell's skull. There was no time for a fourth. The dragons were practically atop one another. At the last second, the Jotun reversed its wingbeat and pulled up, extending all four claws to snatch at any part of Frostfell within reach, iron-shod razorclaws ready to tear hide to ribbons, while on the dragon's back, the crew prepared a shower of stick-grenades.
Hermecritus had fallen away below, shaken but alive, and was now starting to rise again. Albatros and his wingman were on-hand to assist, and no other dragon was in range to interfere, or at least so the Jotunmeister thought. Kunja he did not even consider. Were Albatros' wingdragons not sufficient to handle the miniature Victorian, then the Jotun would expect Albatros himself to do so. He had a matter of his own to deal with.
"Schneeteufel," hissed the enormous dragon, it came out sounding like a factory's smokestack churning with incalculable internal fires. It stretched out its limbs, letting its wings catch the air as it descended slowly towards the Wendigo, enormous, unconquerable, a monster of unparalleled power. It did not fear a Wendigo, or a Longhorn Reaper, or any combination thereof. It was a Jotunmeister, an old dragon of the mountains, a norse god re-incarnated in dragon form. The crew on its back worked its cannons around once more, and opened fire.
One shell, two, flew unerring. One grazed Frostfell's right wing. The second buried itself in the dragon's shoulder. The third shot missed high, barely avoiding smashing into Frostfell's skull. There was no time for a fourth. The dragons were practically atop one another. At the last second, the Jotun reversed its wingbeat and pulled up, extending all four claws to snatch at any part of Frostfell within reach, iron-shod razorclaws ready to tear hide to ribbons, while on the dragon's back, the crew prepared a shower of stick-grenades.
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
#948
Kunja took the blow like a professional boxer, refusing to let his lack of being able to breath for a few seconds slow him down as he charged as hard as he could towards Albatros and his one remaining wingman. Both dragon and captain had lost their grins, had lost the easily recognizable feral look. They were serious now. This was Albatros, the most dangerous lightweight of the century, and one of the most dangerous of all time. There was Frostfell as well. Against the jotun, he could at least hold off a beating until help arrived. Against Albatros? They would be lucky if they could drag him back to base in one piece.
Jake lay low in his seat, presenting as small of a profile as possible, his gun at one side. The pair had lost too much altitude to be able to do a strong dive on Albatros, and getting the altitude for a dive would waste time they didn't have. Besides, this was Albatros, there was too great of a chance he would get out of the way. The Australians pushed ahead, closing the distance.
Kunja struck quickly when he got in range, it was a shallow dive aimed directly for the red-painted Bavarian while Jake kept his eyes on the wingmate. One of the other wingmen was still in the air, but it would still be awhile before he could re-engage. Kunja didn't try for anything fancy, just tried to hit Albatros as hard as he could and manage to latch on to the famous Bavarian.
Jake lay low in his seat, presenting as small of a profile as possible, his gun at one side. The pair had lost too much altitude to be able to do a strong dive on Albatros, and getting the altitude for a dive would waste time they didn't have. Besides, this was Albatros, there was too great of a chance he would get out of the way. The Australians pushed ahead, closing the distance.
Kunja struck quickly when he got in range, it was a shallow dive aimed directly for the red-painted Bavarian while Jake kept his eyes on the wingmate. One of the other wingmen was still in the air, but it would still be awhile before he could re-engage. Kunja didn't try for anything fancy, just tried to hit Albatros as hard as he could and manage to latch on to the famous Bavarian.
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Cynical Cat
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#949
Frostfell was strong, vicious, and pissed but he wasn't suicidal. Blood streamed from the wound in his left shoulder, which if he was in a better state of mind he would have been grateful for. Grateful, because right now what he needed were his undamaged wings. Ragnarok pulled up and extended claws at a dragon that wasn't there.
Kilo for kilo Frostfell was stronger than even Trajan, but Trajan was still stronger and didn't outmass him by as many kilos as the Jotunmeister did. That was leaving aside the whole issue of having both superior mass and superior strength in a close combat grapple. It was a losing proposition even if Frostfell's left forelimb was still strong. Having a good power to mass ratio did have its advantages though, such as last minute course changes.
Frostfell went up and to the side. Ragnarok's claws caught air and the Wendigo caught the Jotun's right wing. He hadn't emerged unscathed though. The hail of grenades had mostly been futile. Dragon hide and armour were more than enough to repel fragmentation grenades, which were deadly to the merely human crewmen that Frostfell wasn't carrying. That the heavyweight wasn't carrying several tons worth of humans and weapons aided him in maneuvering, but unfortunately there were a few places on his body that the shrapnel could inflict damage. As the old saying goes, if you put enough metal into the air, some of it will go where you don't want it to.
A piece of shrapnel hit Frostfell on the inside of his eye ridge. Dragon hide is tough, but not invulnerable and thinner than normal in that place. On top of that, Wendigo's tend to be thin skinned by heavyweight standards. Blood spilled from the wound, half covering his nictating membrane and obscuring his vision as well as being very painful. Fortunately He didn't need his peripheral vision to engage Ragnarok. Unfortunately, he had no crew and there were Bavarians nearby.
That all mattered and it didn't. Frostfell evaded Ragnarok's claws and latched onto his wing with all of his murderous Wendigo fury and cat-quick agility. His tail lashed out as Frostfell tore Ragnarok's flesh, striking to kill the gun crew on the 37mm or at least clear them away. Frostfell, as ever, wished to repay all pain inflicted upon him ten fold.
Kilo for kilo Frostfell was stronger than even Trajan, but Trajan was still stronger and didn't outmass him by as many kilos as the Jotunmeister did. That was leaving aside the whole issue of having both superior mass and superior strength in a close combat grapple. It was a losing proposition even if Frostfell's left forelimb was still strong. Having a good power to mass ratio did have its advantages though, such as last minute course changes.
Frostfell went up and to the side. Ragnarok's claws caught air and the Wendigo caught the Jotun's right wing. He hadn't emerged unscathed though. The hail of grenades had mostly been futile. Dragon hide and armour were more than enough to repel fragmentation grenades, which were deadly to the merely human crewmen that Frostfell wasn't carrying. That the heavyweight wasn't carrying several tons worth of humans and weapons aided him in maneuvering, but unfortunately there were a few places on his body that the shrapnel could inflict damage. As the old saying goes, if you put enough metal into the air, some of it will go where you don't want it to.
A piece of shrapnel hit Frostfell on the inside of his eye ridge. Dragon hide is tough, but not invulnerable and thinner than normal in that place. On top of that, Wendigo's tend to be thin skinned by heavyweight standards. Blood spilled from the wound, half covering his nictating membrane and obscuring his vision as well as being very painful. Fortunately He didn't need his peripheral vision to engage Ragnarok. Unfortunately, he had no crew and there were Bavarians nearby.
That all mattered and it didn't. Frostfell evaded Ragnarok's claws and latched onto his wing with all of his murderous Wendigo fury and cat-quick agility. His tail lashed out as Frostfell tore Ragnarok's flesh, striking to kill the gun crew on the 37mm or at least clear them away. Frostfell, as ever, wished to repay all pain inflicted upon him ten fold.
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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rhoenix
- The Artist formerly known as Rhoenix
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#950
There was a distinctive whistle that the wind rushing by one's ears took on once one hit terminal velocity, Veritas thought, as he prepared for the second part of his assault, while still keeping this half-conscious Kampfritter between him and its wingmate, still furiously firing shells. A few had gotten through, killing one or two of Veritas' crew with the big shells - but for the most part, the hapless Kampfritter descending rapidly toward the ground with Veritas had taken the brunt of the shots fired.
The Kampfritter, which by now had been thoroughly mauled and mangled by Veritas' claws and teeth, was still hanging on - more due to semi-unconscious reflex action now than anything else. However, all four claws were dug in deeply into his flesh, preventing him from being dislodged very easily.
However, Veritas had paid special attention to the tendons of the stubborn Kampfritter's arms and claws, as well as its wings in preparation for this moment. The ground below them was beginning to change from vague smudges to distinct shapes below them. A small smile appeared on Veritas' face for a small, serene moment before he went into action.
Suddenly slamming his foreclaws upward into the Kampfritter's wrists, Veritas slashed at the Kampfritter's throat with a brutal claw strike, forcing the Kampfritter to loosen its grip, just for a moment.
In that one terrible moment, Veritas wrenched free of the Kampfritter, his wings snapping open wide as he did, allowing his fall to slow, and using his momentum to bank around. As he did so, he briefly kept an eye on the falling Kampfritter, before regarding the third, who was currently being harassed by the newer Australian dragon, Flinder - the one who Sees. Knowing that such a dragon would and had come to his aid, Veritas smiled a bit more widely, as he began to fly rapidly toward the last of the three Kampfritters. He intended to repay Flinder in spades for his brave deed - a midweight charging a heavyweight was not routine.
The Kampfritter, which by now had been thoroughly mauled and mangled by Veritas' claws and teeth, was still hanging on - more due to semi-unconscious reflex action now than anything else. However, all four claws were dug in deeply into his flesh, preventing him from being dislodged very easily.
However, Veritas had paid special attention to the tendons of the stubborn Kampfritter's arms and claws, as well as its wings in preparation for this moment. The ground below them was beginning to change from vague smudges to distinct shapes below them. A small smile appeared on Veritas' face for a small, serene moment before he went into action.
Suddenly slamming his foreclaws upward into the Kampfritter's wrists, Veritas slashed at the Kampfritter's throat with a brutal claw strike, forcing the Kampfritter to loosen its grip, just for a moment.
In that one terrible moment, Veritas wrenched free of the Kampfritter, his wings snapping open wide as he did, allowing his fall to slow, and using his momentum to bank around. As he did so, he briefly kept an eye on the falling Kampfritter, before regarding the third, who was currently being harassed by the newer Australian dragon, Flinder - the one who Sees. Knowing that such a dragon would and had come to his aid, Veritas smiled a bit more widely, as he began to fly rapidly toward the last of the three Kampfritters. He intended to repay Flinder in spades for his brave deed - a midweight charging a heavyweight was not routine.
Last edited by rhoenix on Wed Feb 18, 2009 7:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."
- William Gibson
- William Gibson
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