Flinder was surprised he had been thrown so quickly, but it would take a lot more than that to unstable him in the air. He turned his momentum into a barrel-roll, and slid out of it with wings snapped open to circle around the Kampfritter at a distance.
Allen watched the heavyweight with trepidation. Unlike the Jotun, their attack had garnered the German dragon’s full and undivided attention. He has hoped one of Flinder’s gashes would rake one of his previous wounds further open, but saw dishearteningly that they had cause little damage besides to the gun.
He was about to tell Flinder to take another dive at the beast when Bennett scrambled up behind him yet again.
“We can’t outfight him, he’s too heavy,â€
His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain
Moderator: B4UTRUST
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
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#951
I accidentally all the Brujah.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#952
The wingman was indeed waiting his turn to pounce at Jeb, but was in no apparent hurry to take it, having seen what the Appalachian dragon had done to his fellow. There was therefore nothing to stop Jeb from running straight for the Aufseher, trumpets blazing as it were.
Nothing of course except for the Aufseher himself.
Caught between the Malachite Reaper advancing from behind, and the Smoke Devil from the front, the Captain of the Aufseher made a snap decision, and ordered his dragon to press forward, away from Aequitas, towards Jebediah, gauging his chances to be better against the lightweight than the midweight. The dragon pumped its wings forward, climbing as it did so, hoping to pass directly over Jebediah and spew acid down upon it, while from above, the other Leuchtkaffer began a slow descent, not engaging yet, but placing itself in position to do so at need.
*------------------------------------------------*
The distance between Kunja and his targets closed slowly, for both Albatros and his wingman were pressing ahead, aiming to cut around the flailing heavyweights and strike Frostfell in the flank. And yet slowly, Kunja ate up the distance on the two Bavarians, rose to a striking position, and executed.
He dove out of the air, claws extended, latching onto the red-painted Bavarian, whose captain had failed to spot the incoming Australian from behind. Only at the very last second, with a shadow looming up, did the dragon have a chance to tell what was coming, and glanced back to see a massive Heavy Lightweight descending upon it with all four claws extended. Its eyes went wide, its wingbeats faltered, and for a brief second, it froze in mid-air, paralyzed with indecision, right before Kunja crashed straight into him.
And likely, that was the moment when Kunja and Jake realized that something was horribly wrong, for Albatros, the most famous veteran of the Great War, the mightiest Lightweight of the 20th century, would never do such a thing.
And so it proved.
Even as Kunja connected with a full-force strike, the wingman, the unpainted Bavarian, was already catching the air with its wings, pulling up and rolling off to the left towards his element leader. Unlike the leader, his wingbeats were precise and careful, the sun glinting off his wingblades as he rolled over completely and slash-dove straight down onto the Victorian Reaper from above and to the right. A simple maneuver, but one performed expertly, elegantly, effortlessly, like an osprey diving to snare a fish, or a kestrel dogfighting with a larger bird of prey. And even before the other dragon had approached closely enough for Jake or Kunja to identify their targets by features, it was plainly clear that the dragon they had jumped, the element leader painted in brilliant red, was not Albatros.
Albatros was the unpainted wingman.
Albatros' wingblade struck Kunja on the side of his back, narrowly missing Jake's leg, and sliced through the armor like a knife through butter. The armor nevertheless resisted, limiting the damage to a deep slash straight down Kunja's flank, exiting at the base of his flank. Albatros dove another dozen yards and pulled up, hard, stabilizing himself in front of and below Kunja, a terrible tactical position to be in, as it would enable Kunja to simply drop onto him. Yet clearly this too was a strategem. Albatros was trying to draw Kunja into engaging him. Perhaps it was a trap, a turn of the tables or some secondary ambush with a hidden dragon, or perhaps he simply wished to get him off of his inexperienced wingman, and deal with him himself.
Either way, the next move was Kunja's.
*-------------------------------------------------*
Jotunmeisters were not masters of maneuvering capacity. Thick, sturdy, powerful dragons, they could not dance through the air as Wendigo or Celestials could. The smart ones did not try to.
Ragnarok was smart.
Frostfell evaded the first swipes of the massive Jotunmeister, and swept around underneath him and up the side, rotating as he did so to bring his own weapons to bear. His teeth sank into the Jotun's wing, his claws cama about to strike the dragon's back, as the Wendigo brought the full force of his illustrious breed to bear against the massive Nazi beast.
And then the Jotunmeister rotated.
Like the rotation of a heavenly body, Frostfell, for all his 35 tons, for all his strength and grip, had as much chance of stopping the Jotunmeister as he did of halting the rotation of the Earth, not that he tried, for such an effort was plainly impossible. His teeth tore bloody gashes down the furthest third of the Jotunmeister's wing, his claws grasped only empty air as the dragon's back and crew rotated inexorably away from him, the wing tearing out of his mouth as the Jotunmeister spun. And in their place came up the dragon's four claws. As Ragnarok twisted, one leg, Ragnarok's right foreleg, found itself at the apex of the rotation, lashed out, claws clenched shut into a fist, and hit Frostfell right in the chin.
It was like being shot with a Howitzer. The blow smashed Frostfell's jaws shut and snapped his head back like a boxer struck by an uppercut. Nothing, no scrap, no rutting contest, no skirmish or pitched battle with Kampfritters, nothing could have prepared Frostfell for the force of that blow, a blow that felt as though he'd been hit by a locomotive, a blow that knocked six teeth out of Frostfell's mouth, flashed bright spots into his uninjured eye, and despite being delivered closed-fisted and clawless, still split his chin open to bleed. And in the inevitable second and a half of inactivity that resulted, as Frostfell's brain scrambled to remember what it had been doing prior to being hit with such force, the Jotun's other foreleg came around, and seized Frostfell's uninjured right shoulder, for the left was out of reach. It's grip was like a steel vice, and its claws dug into Frostfell's foreleg, superficial damage as far as heavyweights were concerned, but deadly enough given what was to follow.
The Jotunmeister was now essentially upside down, facing Frostfell from below, and moving and floating on momentum alone, which would soon fail him. His right foreleg, the one that had delivered the blow to the head, now swatted at Frostfell's left shoulder, aiming to seize, even as his other foreleg began to drag Frostfell down towards him, drag his head and throat towards the Jotunmeister's gaping maw. Frostfell still had all four legs free and facing the Jotunmeister's chest, but Ragnarok wore heavy combat armor on his underside, and his body was built to take punishment beyond the scope of mortal men or dragons. He cared not what damage Frostfell sought to inflict from his present position, instead grabbing at his legs and tail with all four claws, intent on dragging Frostfell in and ripping out his throat.
And after a blow like that, it was quite clear that this Jotunmeister had the raw strength to do just that.
*-------------------------------------------------------------------*
The tendons of a Kampfritter were not the easiest things to attack while in the middle of a gyrating spin. Designed not to be susceptible to such attacks, all Veritas could do was beat and hope that it was having an effect. And when the time came to snap his wings open and pull away, he would see what he would see.
And so he saw.
The Kampfritter's grip jolted and tore, but to Veritas' horror, it did not break. Two of the four claws came loose, but two more did not, anchored in as tightly as they could. Frantic wingbeating dislodged one more, but by then it was too late. All Veritas could do was to brake as hard as he could prior to crashing into the plowed earth.
Crimson Angels were strong, their wings powerful, and adrenaline contributed to it, but the weight was still enormous, and the Kampfritter could contribute nothing to halting their descent, nor wished to. The two dragons landed, not at terminal velocity, but hard enough, the Kampfritter landing on its back like a meteor coming to earth, gouging a divot in the earth, laying flat on the ground and moaning softly, knocked cold by the impact. Veritas managed to tear the Kampfritter free in the last moments before impact, but was unable to stop himself from slamming into the ground next to him, coming down on his side, hard enough to gouge his own divot. Fortunately, he had hit at a much reduced rate of speed, and even more fortunately, he had managed to avoid landing on top of one of his wings. Accordingly, though stunned, winded, and badly sliced up and beaten by the Kampfritter, he and his crew were alive, his ultra-durable bones unbroken.
Given a minute or so to recover, he could even fly. Which was more than could be said for his beaten adversary. Unfortunately, he still had a major problem. The gyrations had thrown both Veritas' crew and the German boarders to the ends of their carabineers, unable to fight while the dragon was spinning. The instant he stopped however, both sides immediately fell to their weapons again, and battle exploded all over the fallen Heavyweight. The numbers were even, but Veritas' heavy weapons and turrets had all been unseated, and bullets flew in every direction, as men hacked, shot, and struggled hand to hand with one another, the few remaining crew of the fallen Kampfritter that were still able to stand, staggering to their feet and rushing to join in the battle that was raging atop the Crimson Angel.
*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*
And no doubt to both Flinder and Allen's surprise, the operation went like clockwork.
The Kampfritter, hell-bent on tearing its prey apart, never even dreamed that a single midweight would undertake to board him. This was a terrible mistake, for the boarding crew Flinder carried, though smaller than a Kampfritter's by necessity, was still intact. The Kampfritter's was not. Its boarding crew was thousands of feet below, along with most of its spare hands, and of those that remained, Flinder's bellygunner cut down three at point blank range, and Allen shot a fourth through the throat as Flinder stalled out. The Kampfritter's Tailgun was practically underneath Flinder's body, the Topgun destroyed, the Belly and Collarguns out of position to hit anything, and before either of the Midwingguns could come about to strafe, Flinder's crew were upon them. One was blown apart by a stick-grenade. The other managed to open fire, killed two boarders, and wounded a third, before Flinder's Sargent-at-arms shot through the perspex turret with a Bren gun, and cut the gunner to ribbons.
A short, bloody, vicious fight ensued, but Flinder's crew had fire support, and the Germans did not. Flinder's crew were led by RASAS commandos, and the Germans were not. The Kampfritter, sensing what was going on, dove and spun and twisted in mid-air, hurling Flinder off of himself, biting and snapping as he sought ot somehow shed himself of the Australians, but it was of no avail. Three RASAS climbed hand over hand towards the Kampfritter's neck, and called on the Captain to surrender, punctuating their demand with Sten gun bursts. The Captain capitulated without further argument. At the cost of three dead, and four injured, the Kampfritter was taken.
Of course, this left Flinder almost empty-handed, but not many Midweights could claim that they had captured a dragon nearly twice their own size, after all. And right now, there was nothing else in the air nearby.
Nothing of course except for the Aufseher himself.
Caught between the Malachite Reaper advancing from behind, and the Smoke Devil from the front, the Captain of the Aufseher made a snap decision, and ordered his dragon to press forward, away from Aequitas, towards Jebediah, gauging his chances to be better against the lightweight than the midweight. The dragon pumped its wings forward, climbing as it did so, hoping to pass directly over Jebediah and spew acid down upon it, while from above, the other Leuchtkaffer began a slow descent, not engaging yet, but placing itself in position to do so at need.
*------------------------------------------------*
The distance between Kunja and his targets closed slowly, for both Albatros and his wingman were pressing ahead, aiming to cut around the flailing heavyweights and strike Frostfell in the flank. And yet slowly, Kunja ate up the distance on the two Bavarians, rose to a striking position, and executed.
He dove out of the air, claws extended, latching onto the red-painted Bavarian, whose captain had failed to spot the incoming Australian from behind. Only at the very last second, with a shadow looming up, did the dragon have a chance to tell what was coming, and glanced back to see a massive Heavy Lightweight descending upon it with all four claws extended. Its eyes went wide, its wingbeats faltered, and for a brief second, it froze in mid-air, paralyzed with indecision, right before Kunja crashed straight into him.
And likely, that was the moment when Kunja and Jake realized that something was horribly wrong, for Albatros, the most famous veteran of the Great War, the mightiest Lightweight of the 20th century, would never do such a thing.
And so it proved.
Even as Kunja connected with a full-force strike, the wingman, the unpainted Bavarian, was already catching the air with its wings, pulling up and rolling off to the left towards his element leader. Unlike the leader, his wingbeats were precise and careful, the sun glinting off his wingblades as he rolled over completely and slash-dove straight down onto the Victorian Reaper from above and to the right. A simple maneuver, but one performed expertly, elegantly, effortlessly, like an osprey diving to snare a fish, or a kestrel dogfighting with a larger bird of prey. And even before the other dragon had approached closely enough for Jake or Kunja to identify their targets by features, it was plainly clear that the dragon they had jumped, the element leader painted in brilliant red, was not Albatros.
Albatros was the unpainted wingman.
Albatros' wingblade struck Kunja on the side of his back, narrowly missing Jake's leg, and sliced through the armor like a knife through butter. The armor nevertheless resisted, limiting the damage to a deep slash straight down Kunja's flank, exiting at the base of his flank. Albatros dove another dozen yards and pulled up, hard, stabilizing himself in front of and below Kunja, a terrible tactical position to be in, as it would enable Kunja to simply drop onto him. Yet clearly this too was a strategem. Albatros was trying to draw Kunja into engaging him. Perhaps it was a trap, a turn of the tables or some secondary ambush with a hidden dragon, or perhaps he simply wished to get him off of his inexperienced wingman, and deal with him himself.
Either way, the next move was Kunja's.
*-------------------------------------------------*
Jotunmeisters were not masters of maneuvering capacity. Thick, sturdy, powerful dragons, they could not dance through the air as Wendigo or Celestials could. The smart ones did not try to.
Ragnarok was smart.
Frostfell evaded the first swipes of the massive Jotunmeister, and swept around underneath him and up the side, rotating as he did so to bring his own weapons to bear. His teeth sank into the Jotun's wing, his claws cama about to strike the dragon's back, as the Wendigo brought the full force of his illustrious breed to bear against the massive Nazi beast.
And then the Jotunmeister rotated.
Like the rotation of a heavenly body, Frostfell, for all his 35 tons, for all his strength and grip, had as much chance of stopping the Jotunmeister as he did of halting the rotation of the Earth, not that he tried, for such an effort was plainly impossible. His teeth tore bloody gashes down the furthest third of the Jotunmeister's wing, his claws grasped only empty air as the dragon's back and crew rotated inexorably away from him, the wing tearing out of his mouth as the Jotunmeister spun. And in their place came up the dragon's four claws. As Ragnarok twisted, one leg, Ragnarok's right foreleg, found itself at the apex of the rotation, lashed out, claws clenched shut into a fist, and hit Frostfell right in the chin.
It was like being shot with a Howitzer. The blow smashed Frostfell's jaws shut and snapped his head back like a boxer struck by an uppercut. Nothing, no scrap, no rutting contest, no skirmish or pitched battle with Kampfritters, nothing could have prepared Frostfell for the force of that blow, a blow that felt as though he'd been hit by a locomotive, a blow that knocked six teeth out of Frostfell's mouth, flashed bright spots into his uninjured eye, and despite being delivered closed-fisted and clawless, still split his chin open to bleed. And in the inevitable second and a half of inactivity that resulted, as Frostfell's brain scrambled to remember what it had been doing prior to being hit with such force, the Jotun's other foreleg came around, and seized Frostfell's uninjured right shoulder, for the left was out of reach. It's grip was like a steel vice, and its claws dug into Frostfell's foreleg, superficial damage as far as heavyweights were concerned, but deadly enough given what was to follow.
The Jotunmeister was now essentially upside down, facing Frostfell from below, and moving and floating on momentum alone, which would soon fail him. His right foreleg, the one that had delivered the blow to the head, now swatted at Frostfell's left shoulder, aiming to seize, even as his other foreleg began to drag Frostfell down towards him, drag his head and throat towards the Jotunmeister's gaping maw. Frostfell still had all four legs free and facing the Jotunmeister's chest, but Ragnarok wore heavy combat armor on his underside, and his body was built to take punishment beyond the scope of mortal men or dragons. He cared not what damage Frostfell sought to inflict from his present position, instead grabbing at his legs and tail with all four claws, intent on dragging Frostfell in and ripping out his throat.
And after a blow like that, it was quite clear that this Jotunmeister had the raw strength to do just that.
*-------------------------------------------------------------------*
The tendons of a Kampfritter were not the easiest things to attack while in the middle of a gyrating spin. Designed not to be susceptible to such attacks, all Veritas could do was beat and hope that it was having an effect. And when the time came to snap his wings open and pull away, he would see what he would see.
And so he saw.
The Kampfritter's grip jolted and tore, but to Veritas' horror, it did not break. Two of the four claws came loose, but two more did not, anchored in as tightly as they could. Frantic wingbeating dislodged one more, but by then it was too late. All Veritas could do was to brake as hard as he could prior to crashing into the plowed earth.
Crimson Angels were strong, their wings powerful, and adrenaline contributed to it, but the weight was still enormous, and the Kampfritter could contribute nothing to halting their descent, nor wished to. The two dragons landed, not at terminal velocity, but hard enough, the Kampfritter landing on its back like a meteor coming to earth, gouging a divot in the earth, laying flat on the ground and moaning softly, knocked cold by the impact. Veritas managed to tear the Kampfritter free in the last moments before impact, but was unable to stop himself from slamming into the ground next to him, coming down on his side, hard enough to gouge his own divot. Fortunately, he had hit at a much reduced rate of speed, and even more fortunately, he had managed to avoid landing on top of one of his wings. Accordingly, though stunned, winded, and badly sliced up and beaten by the Kampfritter, he and his crew were alive, his ultra-durable bones unbroken.
Given a minute or so to recover, he could even fly. Which was more than could be said for his beaten adversary. Unfortunately, he still had a major problem. The gyrations had thrown both Veritas' crew and the German boarders to the ends of their carabineers, unable to fight while the dragon was spinning. The instant he stopped however, both sides immediately fell to their weapons again, and battle exploded all over the fallen Heavyweight. The numbers were even, but Veritas' heavy weapons and turrets had all been unseated, and bullets flew in every direction, as men hacked, shot, and struggled hand to hand with one another, the few remaining crew of the fallen Kampfritter that were still able to stand, staggering to their feet and rushing to join in the battle that was raging atop the Crimson Angel.
*-----------------------------------------------------------------------*
And no doubt to both Flinder and Allen's surprise, the operation went like clockwork.
The Kampfritter, hell-bent on tearing its prey apart, never even dreamed that a single midweight would undertake to board him. This was a terrible mistake, for the boarding crew Flinder carried, though smaller than a Kampfritter's by necessity, was still intact. The Kampfritter's was not. Its boarding crew was thousands of feet below, along with most of its spare hands, and of those that remained, Flinder's bellygunner cut down three at point blank range, and Allen shot a fourth through the throat as Flinder stalled out. The Kampfritter's Tailgun was practically underneath Flinder's body, the Topgun destroyed, the Belly and Collarguns out of position to hit anything, and before either of the Midwingguns could come about to strafe, Flinder's crew were upon them. One was blown apart by a stick-grenade. The other managed to open fire, killed two boarders, and wounded a third, before Flinder's Sargent-at-arms shot through the perspex turret with a Bren gun, and cut the gunner to ribbons.
A short, bloody, vicious fight ensued, but Flinder's crew had fire support, and the Germans did not. Flinder's crew were led by RASAS commandos, and the Germans were not. The Kampfritter, sensing what was going on, dove and spun and twisted in mid-air, hurling Flinder off of himself, biting and snapping as he sought ot somehow shed himself of the Australians, but it was of no avail. Three RASAS climbed hand over hand towards the Kampfritter's neck, and called on the Captain to surrender, punctuating their demand with Sten gun bursts. The Captain capitulated without further argument. At the cost of three dead, and four injured, the Kampfritter was taken.
Of course, this left Flinder almost empty-handed, but not many Midweights could claim that they had captured a dragon nearly twice their own size, after all. And right now, there was nothing else in the air nearby.
Last edited by General Havoc on Sun Feb 22, 2009 6:03 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."
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Cynical Cat
- Arch-Magician
- Posts: 11930
- Joined: Thu Jun 09, 2005 8:53 pm
- 19
- Location: Ice Sarcophagus outside a ruined Jedi Temple
- Contact:
#953
Frostfell was a tough dragon. He had gone head to head with a Kampfritter and one. He was fast, he was strong, he was magnificent.
It wasn't enough.
Ragnarok's blow had stunned him. Stunned him of all dragons. Frostfell was an arrogant wyrm, although some of it was justified. That blow smashed him around like he would smack a medium weight. He had hoped to dash and maul, leaving the superheavy with scars to remember him by and an incentive to go back to Europe, but that blow made clear he couldn't tangle with Ragnarok. His strength was too great and added to his already incredible endurance, Frostfell was over matched despite his speed, his cunning, and his feral fury. He couldn't fight this one, he could only carry the guns that Nathan could kill him with.
Ragnarok was trying to drag him down into a killing embrace and it was going to work. The Jotunmeister had a good grip on his right shoulder and his left foreleg was weakened. Fending off the stronger dragon wasn't going to work.
Frostfell coiled back his neck to strike, daring the Jotun to match his strength against Frostfell's speed. Ragnarok was no fool, he wouldn't commit himself against a faster dragon that was still strong enough to hurt him until he had drawn Frostfell in. The last thing the larger beast wanted was the Wendigo's jaws closing on his throat and soon enough it would be the other way around.
Frostfell struck with his other weapons, his wings. Flying upside down on a wounded wing wasn't the easiest thing to do at the best of times and with Frostfell's wings striking out and fouling the Jotunmeister's, it was impossible. The two dragons fell through the sky.
"You can kill me Jotun, but can you kill me in time? You don't have much of it. We're too low. Odds are the impact will kill you, but you might live. Your captain will certainly die. Or you can release me and your captain will live."
It wasn't enough.
Ragnarok's blow had stunned him. Stunned him of all dragons. Frostfell was an arrogant wyrm, although some of it was justified. That blow smashed him around like he would smack a medium weight. He had hoped to dash and maul, leaving the superheavy with scars to remember him by and an incentive to go back to Europe, but that blow made clear he couldn't tangle with Ragnarok. His strength was too great and added to his already incredible endurance, Frostfell was over matched despite his speed, his cunning, and his feral fury. He couldn't fight this one, he could only carry the guns that Nathan could kill him with.
Ragnarok was trying to drag him down into a killing embrace and it was going to work. The Jotunmeister had a good grip on his right shoulder and his left foreleg was weakened. Fending off the stronger dragon wasn't going to work.
Frostfell coiled back his neck to strike, daring the Jotun to match his strength against Frostfell's speed. Ragnarok was no fool, he wouldn't commit himself against a faster dragon that was still strong enough to hurt him until he had drawn Frostfell in. The last thing the larger beast wanted was the Wendigo's jaws closing on his throat and soon enough it would be the other way around.
Frostfell struck with his other weapons, his wings. Flying upside down on a wounded wing wasn't the easiest thing to do at the best of times and with Frostfell's wings striking out and fouling the Jotunmeister's, it was impossible. The two dragons fell through the sky.
"You can kill me Jotun, but can you kill me in time? You don't have much of it. We're too low. Odds are the impact will kill you, but you might live. Your captain will certainly die. Or you can release me and your captain will live."
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
- Posts: 13197
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- Contact:
#954
If there was one things that would make Jebediah stop signing, it was seeing the Aufseher was five hundred feet away and heading right for him. Thinking swiftly, Jebediah veered off to the side and attacked the air, pushing his way upwards at an angle nearly as sharp as the rise of the Appalachians themselves. The armor hanging off his wing hampered him; there would be no way the Aufseherwcouldn't beat him to the height, but Jebediah was going to make the acid-spitter work to gain that altitude and cross the extra distance the Smoke Devil's vector caused.General Havoc wrote:Caught between the Malachite Reaper advancing from behind, and the Smoke Devil from the front, the Captain of the Aufseher made a snap decision, and ordered his dragon to press forward, away from Aequitas, towards Jebediah, gauging his chances to be better against the lightweight than the midweight. The dragon pumped its wings forward, climbing as it did so, hoping to pass directly over Jebediah and spew acid down upon it, while from above, the other Leuchtkaffer began a slow descent, not engaging yet, but placing itself in position to do so at need.
"Jebediah to Æquitas. Ya'll hurry up, Ah don' know iffen this will stall him enuff." The Smoke Devil's radio call was terse. It was two on one if Æquitas didn't catch up, and Jebediah was sure he'd not win if the Leuchtkaffer came down. "Judith, where's th' wingman?"
"In no hurry ta get ta us," Judith answered, leaning low over Jeb's neck. "He'll hav'ta chase ya too at this angle."
"Good. Buckle tight."
Judith tightened her straps, knowing that meant Jebediah was planning on maneuvering fast and sharp soon. Her eyes slipped to the oncoming Aufseher before focusing back up on the Leuchtkaffer, knowing the larger green AcidSpitter was by far the worse threat here, but the lighter dragon couldn't be counted out. Iffen the Auffy gets above us .... Judith let the thought trail off. Jebediah was handling the flying, she had to make sure the Leuchtkaffer didn't join the party and spoil whatever Jeb had planned.
Last edited by LadyTevar on Sun Feb 22, 2009 6:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#955
Kunja and Jake, for the second time, were in a race against time with Albatros. The stakes were entirely different this time, but the thought did not manage to escape their minds, and so both Australians smirked even as they closed on the pair of Bavarians. The pair were young but experienced, they'd spent their whole lives either flying with some of the better Australia had to offer, or fighting some of the meanest Australia had to offer. Little effort was wasted as they sped forward to meet with destiny.
The pounce was fast and strong, but not expected to connect. Kunja had already been trying to figure out where Albatros would go when he dodged and so it came to a complete shock to him when just before impact the dragon below him looked terrified out of its mind. Kunja was so stunned his first strike was powerful but sloppy, tearing through the back armor of the Bavarian as though it weren't there and leaving long deep grooves of tattered scale and flesh. But despite the injury it was still merely a flesh wound. Jake had made the mistake of turning to look at his target for a split second, so surprised that they had actually hit that he forgot to keep an eye on the wingman. Both paid for that mistake.
Jake quickly looked back over at the wingman and the style and grace were unmistakable. It was Albatros.
"Oh shit!"
It was impossible to determine which of the duo spoke the words as they turned their attention to Albatros. The Bavarian was past them almost before they realized, his wingblade having cut across a similar location that Kunja had just struck on the red painted Bavarian.
Kunja kept a grip on the struggling Bavarian, it was young, inexperienced, attacked from above and behind, and out of it's muscle-class. So keeping it under control was not too much of a problem for Kunja as he and Jake watched Albatros go below them to try and get them off of their current prey.
Kunja snarled and Jake roared with him. "Let's give him what he wants Jack!"
Kunja's legs worked fast, carving up the young Bavarian and almost seeming to position him for something. Then suddenly the Victorian latched onto the Bavarian, his eyes still on Albatros. He grinned and then shoved downwards with all of his might, turning the painted Bavarian into an impromptu missile that was heading right for Albatros who was only a few dozen meters below.
Kunja went upwards a short ways, but considering the mass-difference it wasn't much. The Victorian pulled his head up, turning his ascent into a sharp loop as he pulled his wings in. Jake was practically crushed into his seat as they finished the maneuver and Kunja opened his wings again, his own wingblades shining in the light for a brief moment before Kunja beat his wings hard and accelerated downwards quickly, his grey scales and white reaper markings along his wings showed clearly as he dropped from the sky behind the Bavarian they had just shoved, before he pulled his wings in close to make himself a smaller profile. Both watched carefully for a sign on which way Albatros would go to dodge his impromptu-missile of an ally. With his wings out they could see him, with their wings in it would be harder for them to be spotted. Which ever direction Albatros went they would be ready to pounce. If they missed? Well they wouldn't object to using the poor Albatros look-alike as a bumper to push off of again to chase their prey.
The problem with employing an enemy dragon as a guided missile was that the guidance package had no intention of cooperating with the thrust system.
The dragon Kunja grabbed was small enough relative to him that he could keep it under control, but not small enough that he could completely sequester its movements. Seized from behind and by surprise, the dragon panicked, screaming, twisting, and writhing in mid-air in a desperate attempt to tear itself free of Kunja's claws. Kunja dove for Albatros, using the other Bavarian as cover and as a battering ram, but Albatros had no intention of diving to either side to then be stomped upon by the Victorian endeavoring to hide itself. As Kunja released the Bavarian with a final shove, Albatros dodged.
Straight down.
He folded his wings, inverted, and dropped like a falling stone, snapping his wings open again one second later to pump his wings and propel himself towards the ground, not that he had any intention of arriving there. The instand that the other Bavarian had managed to right and recover itself and spun off to one side, Albatros slowly pulled up until he was once more flying level again, sparing a moment to glance back just for an instant and fix the larger Victorian's position as he prepared his next move, not because he had forgotten where the Victorian was likely to be, but because he wished to see what the Australian had done in reaction to this.
It took a second for Albatros to find Kunja, because he wasn't on the Bavarian's tail like all sense said he should be. The Victorian was instead still high above Albatros. Having seen Albatros make his dive, Kunja had opted instead to cut his dive short and turned sharply to level out, following after Albatros and trying to keep ahead of him. By the time Albatros had leveled out and was looking for Kunja, the Australian duo had turned into another sharp dive headed straight for Albatros from directly above him. Seconds before supposed impact however Kunja put the breaks on hard, pulling out of the dive above Albatros to end up going in the direction Albatros had been going. Kunja was ready now to go in whatever direction Albatros had and continue the chase.
Pulling up saved his life.
Albatros flew on, straight and unerring, as Kunja descended upon him like a meteor. His wingbeats did not vary in direction or tempo, and he gave no indication that he was about to come under assault by a heavier dragon. The dragons neared one another, to a hundred yards, fifty, twenty, ten...
And then they both moved at once.
As Kunja snapped his wings to pull up from his dive, Albatros did the same, only for different effect. He twisted in three dimensions in mid-air, flipping in a perfect windmill-slash, a maneuver so-called because it brought his right wing up and around like the blade of a windmill. The wingblade on its leading edge bit through the air in a flash of reflected sunlight, slashing a furrow straight into the path Kunja's dive would have taken his head, a blow which would almost assuredly have split his skull open like a battle axe had he maintained the dive for even half a second longer. As it was, the blow bit nothing but air, and Albatros recovered with textbook grace and poise, winding up ahead of Kunja and roughly on the same level plane, for a 7-ton drake like Kunja could not stop himself on a dime, as Albatros could, or near enough.
Both dragons had abandoned all of their accumulated speed, and would need a moment to put it on again. Albatros spent what was left of his coming halfway about so as to be able to face the Australian Heavy Lightweight by turning his head, his mouth stretched back in a laconic smirk.
So perhaps this Australian did know some of the tricks.
Kunja was grinning ear to draconic ear as Albatros turned to look at his foe. This was the moment he had lived his life for. To battle one of the greatest dragons of our time. There were no thoughts towards fame if he won, or even protecting the others of his squad from the Red Baron, nor was it about some wrong that had been committed against him that he wished vengeance for. There was only the desire for battle, and to push himself to limits he hadn't yet achieved.
As both dragons pushed to accelerate again to proper battle speeds, one thing became more and more apparent. Albatros had been flying and fighting for hours and even the greatest and most powerful of dragons would be tired after such a long time. Kunja meanwhile was still fresh and fit to fight aside from bruises from his confrontation with the other three Bavarians and a flesh wound on his back. As such, the Victorian started to gain slowly on Albatros as they continued to fly. It was a slow creep, but unless Albatros acted Kunja would eventually catch him.
Albatros seemed unconcerned about the Victorian slowly gaining on him. Perhaps there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he had something else in mind. His Captain threw the Victorian Reaper anxious glances, but Albatros did not deign to look. He kept his speed up enough to ensure that Kunja needed to work to catch up, and only when the other Bavarian, the one that had been painted red, was safely out of the way, only then did he move.
He raised one wing and lowered another, caught a helpful crosswind, and began to turn around, not hurrying, simply coming about like a glider , leaving Albatros the option of accelerating to catch him mid-turn, or remaining at the pace he was and facing him head on when he came about completely.
Kunja's keen eyes kept watch on Albatros and his captain, as the distance closed, the Australian dragon's eyes narrowed. "Jake. That captain. He's nervous."
Jake paused and looked down at Kunja, getting out his binoculars to get a look himself. "Well I'll be damned."
Then Albatros made his move. Kunja watched the turn carefully, but did not deviate from his course and let Albatros come around to face him. When Albatros completed his turn he discovered Kunja invitingly coming right towards him, only slightly to his left. He was in perfect position to get into a duel of wingblades with the older and more experienced Bavarian. Obviously the pair were insane. Neither dragon deviated from his course as the distance closed. The Australians had lost their grins, instead staring hard at the Bavarian and his captain before them. Sweat poured from Jake's brow, getting caught up in his flight helmet. He slowly gripped and un-gripped his saddle as the distance closed and the Victorian beat his wings.
With only a few seconds before impact, Kunja's steady wingbeats suddenly shifted. His wings went down, but then only his left wing came up as his right wing curled lower. Then with a sudden heave his left wing came down and his right wing came up and Kunja was suddenly several feet to his left and leaning upwards, outside the prime hitting range of Albatros' wingblades and steady-on for colliding almost directly with the Bavarian, both forelegs were held high, both to protect his lower neck and captain from any suddenly shifted wingblades and to come down hard on his prey.
The pounce was fast and strong, but not expected to connect. Kunja had already been trying to figure out where Albatros would go when he dodged and so it came to a complete shock to him when just before impact the dragon below him looked terrified out of its mind. Kunja was so stunned his first strike was powerful but sloppy, tearing through the back armor of the Bavarian as though it weren't there and leaving long deep grooves of tattered scale and flesh. But despite the injury it was still merely a flesh wound. Jake had made the mistake of turning to look at his target for a split second, so surprised that they had actually hit that he forgot to keep an eye on the wingman. Both paid for that mistake.
Jake quickly looked back over at the wingman and the style and grace were unmistakable. It was Albatros.
"Oh shit!"
It was impossible to determine which of the duo spoke the words as they turned their attention to Albatros. The Bavarian was past them almost before they realized, his wingblade having cut across a similar location that Kunja had just struck on the red painted Bavarian.
Kunja kept a grip on the struggling Bavarian, it was young, inexperienced, attacked from above and behind, and out of it's muscle-class. So keeping it under control was not too much of a problem for Kunja as he and Jake watched Albatros go below them to try and get them off of their current prey.
Kunja snarled and Jake roared with him. "Let's give him what he wants Jack!"
Kunja's legs worked fast, carving up the young Bavarian and almost seeming to position him for something. Then suddenly the Victorian latched onto the Bavarian, his eyes still on Albatros. He grinned and then shoved downwards with all of his might, turning the painted Bavarian into an impromptu missile that was heading right for Albatros who was only a few dozen meters below.
Kunja went upwards a short ways, but considering the mass-difference it wasn't much. The Victorian pulled his head up, turning his ascent into a sharp loop as he pulled his wings in. Jake was practically crushed into his seat as they finished the maneuver and Kunja opened his wings again, his own wingblades shining in the light for a brief moment before Kunja beat his wings hard and accelerated downwards quickly, his grey scales and white reaper markings along his wings showed clearly as he dropped from the sky behind the Bavarian they had just shoved, before he pulled his wings in close to make himself a smaller profile. Both watched carefully for a sign on which way Albatros would go to dodge his impromptu-missile of an ally. With his wings out they could see him, with their wings in it would be harder for them to be spotted. Which ever direction Albatros went they would be ready to pounce. If they missed? Well they wouldn't object to using the poor Albatros look-alike as a bumper to push off of again to chase their prey.
The problem with employing an enemy dragon as a guided missile was that the guidance package had no intention of cooperating with the thrust system.
The dragon Kunja grabbed was small enough relative to him that he could keep it under control, but not small enough that he could completely sequester its movements. Seized from behind and by surprise, the dragon panicked, screaming, twisting, and writhing in mid-air in a desperate attempt to tear itself free of Kunja's claws. Kunja dove for Albatros, using the other Bavarian as cover and as a battering ram, but Albatros had no intention of diving to either side to then be stomped upon by the Victorian endeavoring to hide itself. As Kunja released the Bavarian with a final shove, Albatros dodged.
Straight down.
He folded his wings, inverted, and dropped like a falling stone, snapping his wings open again one second later to pump his wings and propel himself towards the ground, not that he had any intention of arriving there. The instand that the other Bavarian had managed to right and recover itself and spun off to one side, Albatros slowly pulled up until he was once more flying level again, sparing a moment to glance back just for an instant and fix the larger Victorian's position as he prepared his next move, not because he had forgotten where the Victorian was likely to be, but because he wished to see what the Australian had done in reaction to this.
It took a second for Albatros to find Kunja, because he wasn't on the Bavarian's tail like all sense said he should be. The Victorian was instead still high above Albatros. Having seen Albatros make his dive, Kunja had opted instead to cut his dive short and turned sharply to level out, following after Albatros and trying to keep ahead of him. By the time Albatros had leveled out and was looking for Kunja, the Australian duo had turned into another sharp dive headed straight for Albatros from directly above him. Seconds before supposed impact however Kunja put the breaks on hard, pulling out of the dive above Albatros to end up going in the direction Albatros had been going. Kunja was ready now to go in whatever direction Albatros had and continue the chase.
Pulling up saved his life.
Albatros flew on, straight and unerring, as Kunja descended upon him like a meteor. His wingbeats did not vary in direction or tempo, and he gave no indication that he was about to come under assault by a heavier dragon. The dragons neared one another, to a hundred yards, fifty, twenty, ten...
And then they both moved at once.
As Kunja snapped his wings to pull up from his dive, Albatros did the same, only for different effect. He twisted in three dimensions in mid-air, flipping in a perfect windmill-slash, a maneuver so-called because it brought his right wing up and around like the blade of a windmill. The wingblade on its leading edge bit through the air in a flash of reflected sunlight, slashing a furrow straight into the path Kunja's dive would have taken his head, a blow which would almost assuredly have split his skull open like a battle axe had he maintained the dive for even half a second longer. As it was, the blow bit nothing but air, and Albatros recovered with textbook grace and poise, winding up ahead of Kunja and roughly on the same level plane, for a 7-ton drake like Kunja could not stop himself on a dime, as Albatros could, or near enough.
Both dragons had abandoned all of their accumulated speed, and would need a moment to put it on again. Albatros spent what was left of his coming halfway about so as to be able to face the Australian Heavy Lightweight by turning his head, his mouth stretched back in a laconic smirk.
So perhaps this Australian did know some of the tricks.
Kunja was grinning ear to draconic ear as Albatros turned to look at his foe. This was the moment he had lived his life for. To battle one of the greatest dragons of our time. There were no thoughts towards fame if he won, or even protecting the others of his squad from the Red Baron, nor was it about some wrong that had been committed against him that he wished vengeance for. There was only the desire for battle, and to push himself to limits he hadn't yet achieved.
As both dragons pushed to accelerate again to proper battle speeds, one thing became more and more apparent. Albatros had been flying and fighting for hours and even the greatest and most powerful of dragons would be tired after such a long time. Kunja meanwhile was still fresh and fit to fight aside from bruises from his confrontation with the other three Bavarians and a flesh wound on his back. As such, the Victorian started to gain slowly on Albatros as they continued to fly. It was a slow creep, but unless Albatros acted Kunja would eventually catch him.
Albatros seemed unconcerned about the Victorian slowly gaining on him. Perhaps there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he had something else in mind. His Captain threw the Victorian Reaper anxious glances, but Albatros did not deign to look. He kept his speed up enough to ensure that Kunja needed to work to catch up, and only when the other Bavarian, the one that had been painted red, was safely out of the way, only then did he move.
He raised one wing and lowered another, caught a helpful crosswind, and began to turn around, not hurrying, simply coming about like a glider , leaving Albatros the option of accelerating to catch him mid-turn, or remaining at the pace he was and facing him head on when he came about completely.
Kunja's keen eyes kept watch on Albatros and his captain, as the distance closed, the Australian dragon's eyes narrowed. "Jake. That captain. He's nervous."
Jake paused and looked down at Kunja, getting out his binoculars to get a look himself. "Well I'll be damned."
Then Albatros made his move. Kunja watched the turn carefully, but did not deviate from his course and let Albatros come around to face him. When Albatros completed his turn he discovered Kunja invitingly coming right towards him, only slightly to his left. He was in perfect position to get into a duel of wingblades with the older and more experienced Bavarian. Obviously the pair were insane. Neither dragon deviated from his course as the distance closed. The Australians had lost their grins, instead staring hard at the Bavarian and his captain before them. Sweat poured from Jake's brow, getting caught up in his flight helmet. He slowly gripped and un-gripped his saddle as the distance closed and the Victorian beat his wings.
With only a few seconds before impact, Kunja's steady wingbeats suddenly shifted. His wings went down, but then only his left wing came up as his right wing curled lower. Then with a sudden heave his left wing came down and his right wing came up and Kunja was suddenly several feet to his left and leaning upwards, outside the prime hitting range of Albatros' wingblades and steady-on for colliding almost directly with the Bavarian, both forelegs were held high, both to protect his lower neck and captain from any suddenly shifted wingblades and to come down hard on his prey.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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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
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#956
Allen and Flinder had both been so focused on executing the attack, they hadn’t even stopped to consider the tenacity and gumption needed to attack such a larger, more experienced dragon. They had simply remembered their sparse training and fought.
Now, though, with the Kampfritter’s captain surrendering under the steady gun of Lieutenant Bennett, the reality of the situation washed over Allen for the first time. He felt a wave of horror at what they had faced, but then the adrenaline took over and he whooped with joy. Flinder, too, bugled triumphantly as he circled over the retreating heavyweight.
Allen’s radio crackled with Bennett’s gruff but amused voice. “Taking this bloody jerry goanna back to base. No time to transfer crew back, and frankly I’ll need ‘em in case some other kraut tries to come and lend their mate a hand.â€
Now, though, with the Kampfritter’s captain surrendering under the steady gun of Lieutenant Bennett, the reality of the situation washed over Allen for the first time. He felt a wave of horror at what they had faced, but then the adrenaline took over and he whooped with joy. Flinder, too, bugled triumphantly as he circled over the retreating heavyweight.
Allen’s radio crackled with Bennett’s gruff but amused voice. “Taking this bloody jerry goanna back to base. No time to transfer crew back, and frankly I’ll need ‘em in case some other kraut tries to come and lend their mate a hand.â€
I accidentally all the Brujah.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
- Posts: 5245
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- Location: The City that is not Frisco
- Contact:
#957
Despite his best efforts, Frostfell could only tangentially interfere with the operation of the Jotunmeister's wings. Keeping his own body away from Ragnarok only permitted him to wrap the end third of his own wings around enough to get in Ragnarok's way What caused the dive was not his own wings, for those were on the wrong side of the enormous beast, but the fact that the Jotun was upside down, and could not maintain lift nor drag himself around right side up while still bringing the Wendigo in for the kill. Too many things to do, and not enough time.
Dragons do not fall straight. Fifty ton beasts loaded with equipment and men are ungainly creatures in a flat fall, particularly when consumed with other matters, like battle. The two dragons spun around one another as they plummeted out of the air, Frostfell wholly concentrating on not getting dragged in for a lethal bite, Ragnarok working towards the opposite. Around and around they spun as they fell, as Ragnarok fastened his empty foreclaw onto Frostfell's injured foreleg and pulled in as hard as he could. Had he been forced only to fight against Frostfell's powers of resistance, he would have overcome it, but the mighty dragon had to fight against centrifugal force as well, and while that too would likely have succumbed to Ragnarok's immense power, the abrupt time limit imposed an unavoidable problem.
Ragnarok's claws dug into both of Frostfell's forelegs like iron vices, claws sheathed in Krupp steel. His hind legs slashed visciously at Frostfell's own hindquarters, drawing blood, but unable to inflict a full power strike, for the very forces of physics worked against it. Whether or not he heard what Frostfell had growled to him, the advancing ground was in no way a secret to Ragnarok, but try as he might, he could not get the death-grip he desired on the Wendigo, not with him resisting every effort by main force, not even bothering to strike back. It was a linear equation. The Jotunmeister could do the math.
But Frostfell would not get off that easily.
Frostfell was using his own wings to foul those of the Jotunmeister, preventing him from recovering and using his titanic strength to arrest his fall long enough to finish the job. This by necessity involved wild swings, interferance strikes, and all the other flailing involved when a dragon used its wings for something other than their intended purposes. Ragnarok heaved and pulled at Frostfell until he sensed an opportunity, and then struck.
All at once, he shifted the direction he was pulling from, no longer seeking to drag Frostfell's throat to his teeth, but instead to use the Wendigo as a pivot. Heavier than his pivot, he moved himself only slightly and Frostfell somewhat more, and an instant later he let go of Frostfell, just as the Wendigo's wings were extended, fouling the flap of his own. As Frostfell drew his wings back, Ragnarok snatched at them with both foreclaws.
A direct hit would no doubt have enabled him to break or dislocate the wings, if not actually physically tear one off, but the angles were too much, and the forces too severe. He could not get a solid grip upon the Wendigo's wings, and the Wendigo itself turned with the pull to limit the damage done. Nevertheless, it was bad enough. Four claws on one foreleg, and two on the other, sank into Frostfell's wing as deep as they would go, and while Ragnarok had missed the bones and tendons, the sheering force of nearly eighty tons combined was many times what the wings could bear. The claws tore six bloody stripes all the way from the leading edge to the trailing edge of Frostfell's right wing, ripping its central wingsail apart like a flag whose seams had come undone in the middle of a hurricane. The torn flesh literally flapped in the breeze as Frostfell's right wing lost half its purchase on the air, and then the claws were free, and Frostfell was free, and the two dragons spun apart from one another.
Painful and debilitating though the blow was, it was not fatal, not unless Frostfell contrived to bleed to death, for in order to leave himself enough room to stop his enormous bulk, Ragnarok had been forced to move early, and therefore even with a wing as badly hurt as Frostfell's, a Wendigo, unencumbered with guns and crew, and lighter by almost half than a Jotunmeister, would have no trouble stopping himself.
The Jotun leveled out slowly, for it could not arrest a dive like that on a dime, coming about facing south as it permitted its crew to watch what the Wendigo did, giving them a chance to regain their feet and resume their posts. It sought about for new challengers as it inspected the allied dragons in the sky around it, caring nothing if any of them should challenge him, nor even if they should all do so at once.
Jotunmeisters would take all comers.
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
The dragons raced themselves as fast as they could, Smoke Devil, Leuchtkaffer, Aufseher, Malachite Reaper, each one striving to outdo the others and get the vital position they needed to destroy their enemies. For long, tense seconds, it was not clear who was going to win, not to the dragons themselves, not to any observer. And then finally, everything happened at once.
The Aufseher, with a final burst of speed, managed to claim first prize, only by sheer seconds, but enough. Acid was already in its throat as it managed, just barely, to edge out Jeb and claim position overhead of the American Lightweight. Another half a second and Jeb would slam into it or swerve away, but half a second was all it needed. It lowered its head, locked its target, and spat.
And missed.
No Aufseher in the universe, no matter how stupid or timid or badly trained could possibly have missed a mark like that, and yet not only did it miss, it missed by the equivalent of a mile, so badly did it miss that Jeb did not even need change course, nor likely did he immediately realize the dragon was spitting at him, for the glob of acid sailed off into the wild blue yonder without so much as a target in sight. And were Jeb to ask himself why this was the case, his question would have been answered a moment later, as the Aufseher's forward momentum suddenly fell off without apparent reason, and then Æquitas pounced on it from behind like a cat.
Why did this happen? The reason was hidden from Jeb and Judith's eyes, but an external observer could have told them. Æquitas, hearing the radio call, and making his own split-second calculation, had decided that the Aufseher had too much of a head start to be overtaken in time, and would reach Jeb and spit upon him. And having made that calculation, Æquitas had staked everything on a last-ditch lunge forward, just managed to grab the end of the Aufseher's extended tail, and yanked on it as hard as he physically could.
The Aufseher screamed as Æquitas literally reeled him in by the tail, pinning the similar-sized dragon in place underneath him as half a dozen Red Devils made the easy leap off of his back and onto the German's. Caught off-guard, the German crew were summarily butchered by Æquitas' machine guns, as the boarding crew fell to work, and unlike Flinder, Æquitas' target was no larger than he was, and therefore he had no need to let loose his boarders and fleet. Several obstinate German crewman he simply snatched up in his claws and threw off into the heavens, snapping the carabineers like dental floss. Clearly this fight would not last long.
But it was unlikely that Jeb or Judith were celebrating, for the Leuchtkaffer above suddenly folded its wings and dove, using the Aufseher's scream and bulk as cover, before unfurling its steel-clad wings once again, intending on bringing one razor-sharp wingblade down at such velocities as to strike Jeb in the middle of his back and cut him clean in half.
And if Judith happened to interpose herself in the way of the falling wingblade... well... such was war...
((More to come later tonight))
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
Dragons do not fall straight. Fifty ton beasts loaded with equipment and men are ungainly creatures in a flat fall, particularly when consumed with other matters, like battle. The two dragons spun around one another as they plummeted out of the air, Frostfell wholly concentrating on not getting dragged in for a lethal bite, Ragnarok working towards the opposite. Around and around they spun as they fell, as Ragnarok fastened his empty foreclaw onto Frostfell's injured foreleg and pulled in as hard as he could. Had he been forced only to fight against Frostfell's powers of resistance, he would have overcome it, but the mighty dragon had to fight against centrifugal force as well, and while that too would likely have succumbed to Ragnarok's immense power, the abrupt time limit imposed an unavoidable problem.
Ragnarok's claws dug into both of Frostfell's forelegs like iron vices, claws sheathed in Krupp steel. His hind legs slashed visciously at Frostfell's own hindquarters, drawing blood, but unable to inflict a full power strike, for the very forces of physics worked against it. Whether or not he heard what Frostfell had growled to him, the advancing ground was in no way a secret to Ragnarok, but try as he might, he could not get the death-grip he desired on the Wendigo, not with him resisting every effort by main force, not even bothering to strike back. It was a linear equation. The Jotunmeister could do the math.
But Frostfell would not get off that easily.
Frostfell was using his own wings to foul those of the Jotunmeister, preventing him from recovering and using his titanic strength to arrest his fall long enough to finish the job. This by necessity involved wild swings, interferance strikes, and all the other flailing involved when a dragon used its wings for something other than their intended purposes. Ragnarok heaved and pulled at Frostfell until he sensed an opportunity, and then struck.
All at once, he shifted the direction he was pulling from, no longer seeking to drag Frostfell's throat to his teeth, but instead to use the Wendigo as a pivot. Heavier than his pivot, he moved himself only slightly and Frostfell somewhat more, and an instant later he let go of Frostfell, just as the Wendigo's wings were extended, fouling the flap of his own. As Frostfell drew his wings back, Ragnarok snatched at them with both foreclaws.
A direct hit would no doubt have enabled him to break or dislocate the wings, if not actually physically tear one off, but the angles were too much, and the forces too severe. He could not get a solid grip upon the Wendigo's wings, and the Wendigo itself turned with the pull to limit the damage done. Nevertheless, it was bad enough. Four claws on one foreleg, and two on the other, sank into Frostfell's wing as deep as they would go, and while Ragnarok had missed the bones and tendons, the sheering force of nearly eighty tons combined was many times what the wings could bear. The claws tore six bloody stripes all the way from the leading edge to the trailing edge of Frostfell's right wing, ripping its central wingsail apart like a flag whose seams had come undone in the middle of a hurricane. The torn flesh literally flapped in the breeze as Frostfell's right wing lost half its purchase on the air, and then the claws were free, and Frostfell was free, and the two dragons spun apart from one another.
Painful and debilitating though the blow was, it was not fatal, not unless Frostfell contrived to bleed to death, for in order to leave himself enough room to stop his enormous bulk, Ragnarok had been forced to move early, and therefore even with a wing as badly hurt as Frostfell's, a Wendigo, unencumbered with guns and crew, and lighter by almost half than a Jotunmeister, would have no trouble stopping himself.
The Jotun leveled out slowly, for it could not arrest a dive like that on a dime, coming about facing south as it permitted its crew to watch what the Wendigo did, giving them a chance to regain their feet and resume their posts. It sought about for new challengers as it inspected the allied dragons in the sky around it, caring nothing if any of them should challenge him, nor even if they should all do so at once.
Jotunmeisters would take all comers.
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
The dragons raced themselves as fast as they could, Smoke Devil, Leuchtkaffer, Aufseher, Malachite Reaper, each one striving to outdo the others and get the vital position they needed to destroy their enemies. For long, tense seconds, it was not clear who was going to win, not to the dragons themselves, not to any observer. And then finally, everything happened at once.
The Aufseher, with a final burst of speed, managed to claim first prize, only by sheer seconds, but enough. Acid was already in its throat as it managed, just barely, to edge out Jeb and claim position overhead of the American Lightweight. Another half a second and Jeb would slam into it or swerve away, but half a second was all it needed. It lowered its head, locked its target, and spat.
And missed.
No Aufseher in the universe, no matter how stupid or timid or badly trained could possibly have missed a mark like that, and yet not only did it miss, it missed by the equivalent of a mile, so badly did it miss that Jeb did not even need change course, nor likely did he immediately realize the dragon was spitting at him, for the glob of acid sailed off into the wild blue yonder without so much as a target in sight. And were Jeb to ask himself why this was the case, his question would have been answered a moment later, as the Aufseher's forward momentum suddenly fell off without apparent reason, and then Æquitas pounced on it from behind like a cat.
Why did this happen? The reason was hidden from Jeb and Judith's eyes, but an external observer could have told them. Æquitas, hearing the radio call, and making his own split-second calculation, had decided that the Aufseher had too much of a head start to be overtaken in time, and would reach Jeb and spit upon him. And having made that calculation, Æquitas had staked everything on a last-ditch lunge forward, just managed to grab the end of the Aufseher's extended tail, and yanked on it as hard as he physically could.
The Aufseher screamed as Æquitas literally reeled him in by the tail, pinning the similar-sized dragon in place underneath him as half a dozen Red Devils made the easy leap off of his back and onto the German's. Caught off-guard, the German crew were summarily butchered by Æquitas' machine guns, as the boarding crew fell to work, and unlike Flinder, Æquitas' target was no larger than he was, and therefore he had no need to let loose his boarders and fleet. Several obstinate German crewman he simply snatched up in his claws and threw off into the heavens, snapping the carabineers like dental floss. Clearly this fight would not last long.
But it was unlikely that Jeb or Judith were celebrating, for the Leuchtkaffer above suddenly folded its wings and dove, using the Aufseher's scream and bulk as cover, before unfurling its steel-clad wings once again, intending on bringing one razor-sharp wingblade down at such velocities as to strike Jeb in the middle of his back and cut him clean in half.
And if Judith happened to interpose herself in the way of the falling wingblade... well... such was war...
((More to come later tonight))
*-----------------------------------------------------------*
Last edited by General Havoc on Sat Mar 07, 2009 1:27 am, 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."
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Cynical Cat
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#958
Frostfell's jaws gaped open as Ragnarok tore his wing. In other circumstances the Wendigo might have bellowed in agony, but during this fight he had been silent except to taunt the Jotunmeister. Another dragon might have exulted in surviving a tangle with a super heavyweight. Frostfell had torn up Ragnarok's wing and dragged the great wyrm down to the deck, altitude that was going to be very hard for the Jotun to get back. Frostfell's wing was in worse shape than Ragnarok's, but the Jotun had to support far more mass with his. Frostfell wasn't finished.
As he tore away from the Jotunmeister he lashed out, his head shooting forth at full extension. He jaws caught a chunk of the Jotun's left wing on a down beat and Frostfell tore off a small patch, literally leaving his teeth marks on the larger dragon. The wound was minor, but neither dragon needed more wing wounds. Frostfell twisted away from the Jotunmeister, heading back north to make sure the surrendering dragons didn't suffer a sudden change of heart. He hoped one would. He was in the mood to kill something and his mass advantage on a medium was greater than Ragnarok's over him.
Frostfell had bagged two mediums as well as tangling with Ragnarok and leaving the Jotunmeister a few wounds to remember him by as well as killing several of his crew with his tail lash, a more than respectable addition to his list of areal victories, especially considering he was crewless. A reasonable dragon would be proud of his performance and satisfied with his achievements.
In Frostfell pride and viciousness trumped reason and pain did not bring out what passed as the better part of his nature. Snarling, the mighty wyrm began the process of policing the defeated on his way back to base.
As he tore away from the Jotunmeister he lashed out, his head shooting forth at full extension. He jaws caught a chunk of the Jotun's left wing on a down beat and Frostfell tore off a small patch, literally leaving his teeth marks on the larger dragon. The wound was minor, but neither dragon needed more wing wounds. Frostfell twisted away from the Jotunmeister, heading back north to make sure the surrendering dragons didn't suffer a sudden change of heart. He hoped one would. He was in the mood to kill something and his mass advantage on a medium was greater than Ragnarok's over him.
Frostfell had bagged two mediums as well as tangling with Ragnarok and leaving the Jotunmeister a few wounds to remember him by as well as killing several of his crew with his tail lash, a more than respectable addition to his list of areal victories, especially considering he was crewless. A reasonable dragon would be proud of his performance and satisfied with his achievements.
In Frostfell pride and viciousness trumped reason and pain did not bring out what passed as the better part of his nature. Snarling, the mighty wyrm began the process of policing the defeated on his way back to base.
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
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#959
This was why Judith had been watching the Leuchtkaffer, leaving Jeb to watch the Aufseher. They both had been expecting the lighter dragon to make its move when Jeb would 'least expect' it. Even the sudden distraction of Æquitus capturing the Aufseher didn't stop Judith from keeping her eyes on it.But it was unlikely that Jeb or Judith were celebrating, for the Leuchtkaffer above suddenly folded its wings and dove, using the Aufseher's scream and bulk as cover, before unfurling its steel-clad wings once again, intending on bringing one razor-sharp wingblade down at such velocities as to strike Jeb in the middle of his back and cut him clean in half.
And if Judith happened to interpose herself in the way of the falling wingblade... well... such was war...
"JEB! He's Divin'!" Judith called out in warning, giving the SmokeDevil the split-second to look up and judge the timing. The Leuchtkaffer had to lead the target, aiming not for Jebediah, but for where he would *BE* in a straight-out flight, distracted by the Aufseher and Æquitus. Jebediah, given warning, now had time not to be there.
As the Leuchtkaffer snapped his wings open, Jebediah barrel-rolled into a sharp southern arc away from the Leuchtkaffer's leading wing, sacrificing some of his hard-fought altitude for a brief burst of speed to help him avoid the Leuchtkaffer entirely. It was his hope that the diving dragon would overshoot and wind up below, where Jebediah could turn the barrel-roll into his own diving strike.
Last edited by LadyTevar on Sun Mar 08, 2009 8:23 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
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#960
Albatros was a veteran of four years bloody fighting in the skies above France and Flanders, the epitome of a seasoned veteran, who had engaged in battles of legend and awe against odds so fearsome as to be scarcely credible, battles he had waged with skill and discrimination, and emerged from, sometimes victorious, sometimes defeated, but always alive.
He had not done so by assuming that his opponents were insane when they presented him with a maneuver that made no obvious sense.
The dragons closed on one another at best speeds, neither one indicating what they planned to do at impact, not until the very last moment, when all of a sudden, both dragons moved at once. Kunja shifted his weight, moving to one side as he reared up with claws extended to grab Albatros.
Albatros spun.
His wings bit the air one last time before he threw his weight to one side and dug deep with one wing while swinging the other one high. An asymmetrical pulse of his wings, and Albatros threw himself into a corkscrew spin, relying on his built up momentum to carry him forward towards Kunja like a missile. And as he spun, his wings snapped out and twisted, presented the edges of his wingblades perpendicularly to Kunja's advancing face and forelegs. The wingblades sliced through the air as he spun, like the blades on an electric fan, an awkward, strained maneuver, that not even Albatros could possibly maintain for more than a few seconds. Though of course, he had arranged it so that he would not need to. It was a maneuver few lightweights could even attempt to perform, that fewer still could actually use in combat. It was called a "Propeller Spin", named in mimicry of the propellers on ships.
The beauty of the propeller spin was that it need not be aimed. Flung at the enemy, it would simply slice through whatever part of him he presented so long as the two dragons did not collide head-on, and Albatros was skilled enough to ensure that they would not, that he would pass right below Kunja, and his wingblades would disembowel him. And as Kunja reared up and raised his forelegs to protect his neck, the wingblades found a mark, and bit. Albatros' right wingblade struck Kunja's right foreleg midway between elbow and claw, a solid, direct blow with all the force of Albatros' spinning momentum, with a blade sharp enough to literally slice the leg off a lightweight dragon. It should have been endgame.
But there was only one problem: Kunja was not a lightweight dragon.
He was close enough in size, certainly, and in weight he was closer to Albatros than he was to a Bluejacket or Lightning Bolt, but Kunja was a Heavy Lightweight, a strange class of dragonweight found only in failed experiments or genetic flukes, one that neither Albatros nor any other dragon alive had any regular experience fighting. Albatros had taken this into account of course, and had calculated that a propeller spin was nevertheless a correct move to make, and so it was. But what Albatros could not calculate was the fact that Kunja was not an overinflated Lightweight, but rather a Midweight distilled down in size. And not just any midweight, but a Queen Victoria's Reaper, a midweight famed for its density of muscle and bone, its tough hide and durable body, the Desert Rats of the bush, who like Crimson Angels, could sustain a battering far out of proportion to their size, and remain capable of operations.
And so it was that, instead of slicing Kunja's foreleg off, or simply carving a deep gash in him and then ripping free, Albatros' wingblade sliced deep into Kunja's muscle, wedged itself in the bone, and stuck fast.
Albatros' spin was aborted as though he had struck a wall, and, weighing barely half of his opponent, the momentum whiplashed him around Kunja's forequarters before slamming him shoulder-first into Kunja's chest, hard enough to stun even Kunja for a moment. No matter what plan Kunja had had for pouncing on Albatros, the speed and unexpectedness of this impact upset all plans. His right foreleg was badly sliced and then nearly dislocated by the wrenching spin, and his left was simply smashed against his chest by Albatros' body. Both dragons spun around one another wildly, neither one momentarily capable of executing a coherent action, before finally the spin straightened them out and pulled Albatros away from Kunja once again.
But Albatros' wing was still stuck fast to Kunja's foreleg, and while he had done enough damage to it to prevent Kunja from simply flailing him around like a balloon tied to a child's wrist, he was momentarily unable to free himself.
What Kunja wished to make of this was of course, an open question...
He had not done so by assuming that his opponents were insane when they presented him with a maneuver that made no obvious sense.
The dragons closed on one another at best speeds, neither one indicating what they planned to do at impact, not until the very last moment, when all of a sudden, both dragons moved at once. Kunja shifted his weight, moving to one side as he reared up with claws extended to grab Albatros.
Albatros spun.
His wings bit the air one last time before he threw his weight to one side and dug deep with one wing while swinging the other one high. An asymmetrical pulse of his wings, and Albatros threw himself into a corkscrew spin, relying on his built up momentum to carry him forward towards Kunja like a missile. And as he spun, his wings snapped out and twisted, presented the edges of his wingblades perpendicularly to Kunja's advancing face and forelegs. The wingblades sliced through the air as he spun, like the blades on an electric fan, an awkward, strained maneuver, that not even Albatros could possibly maintain for more than a few seconds. Though of course, he had arranged it so that he would not need to. It was a maneuver few lightweights could even attempt to perform, that fewer still could actually use in combat. It was called a "Propeller Spin", named in mimicry of the propellers on ships.
The beauty of the propeller spin was that it need not be aimed. Flung at the enemy, it would simply slice through whatever part of him he presented so long as the two dragons did not collide head-on, and Albatros was skilled enough to ensure that they would not, that he would pass right below Kunja, and his wingblades would disembowel him. And as Kunja reared up and raised his forelegs to protect his neck, the wingblades found a mark, and bit. Albatros' right wingblade struck Kunja's right foreleg midway between elbow and claw, a solid, direct blow with all the force of Albatros' spinning momentum, with a blade sharp enough to literally slice the leg off a lightweight dragon. It should have been endgame.
But there was only one problem: Kunja was not a lightweight dragon.
He was close enough in size, certainly, and in weight he was closer to Albatros than he was to a Bluejacket or Lightning Bolt, but Kunja was a Heavy Lightweight, a strange class of dragonweight found only in failed experiments or genetic flukes, one that neither Albatros nor any other dragon alive had any regular experience fighting. Albatros had taken this into account of course, and had calculated that a propeller spin was nevertheless a correct move to make, and so it was. But what Albatros could not calculate was the fact that Kunja was not an overinflated Lightweight, but rather a Midweight distilled down in size. And not just any midweight, but a Queen Victoria's Reaper, a midweight famed for its density of muscle and bone, its tough hide and durable body, the Desert Rats of the bush, who like Crimson Angels, could sustain a battering far out of proportion to their size, and remain capable of operations.
And so it was that, instead of slicing Kunja's foreleg off, or simply carving a deep gash in him and then ripping free, Albatros' wingblade sliced deep into Kunja's muscle, wedged itself in the bone, and stuck fast.
Albatros' spin was aborted as though he had struck a wall, and, weighing barely half of his opponent, the momentum whiplashed him around Kunja's forequarters before slamming him shoulder-first into Kunja's chest, hard enough to stun even Kunja for a moment. No matter what plan Kunja had had for pouncing on Albatros, the speed and unexpectedness of this impact upset all plans. His right foreleg was badly sliced and then nearly dislocated by the wrenching spin, and his left was simply smashed against his chest by Albatros' body. Both dragons spun around one another wildly, neither one momentarily capable of executing a coherent action, before finally the spin straightened them out and pulled Albatros away from Kunja once again.
But Albatros' wing was still stuck fast to Kunja's foreleg, and while he had done enough damage to it to prevent Kunja from simply flailing him around like a balloon tied to a child's wrist, he was momentarily unable to free himself.
What Kunja wished to make of this was of course, an open question...
Last edited by General Havoc on Sun Mar 08, 2009 2:45 am, edited 2 times 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."
#961
Albatros had made the mistake that Kunja had been trying to get him into. The pair were now locked together where Kunja's superior size and strength, useless right foreleg regardless, would give him an advantage over the legendary lightweight.
There were several seconds of chaos as the dragons tried to right themselves while the pain of the blow surged through Kunja's body. He did not roar out in pain however. If anything the creepy draconic grin grew even larger. Once the uncontrolled spin was finally put under a modicum of control, Kunja started to laugh once again in the sheer glee of battle. His right foreleg was near useless now, in no small part thanks to the wingblade that was stuck in it. Kunja didn't seem to mind at all that the pair of dragons were falling very quickly as he examined the situation. He wanted to tear that wingblade off, but if he did so it would free Albatros and he would never get as good of a shot as this again.
Kunja's left foreleg shot forward and grabbed around the wingblade and the bone of the wing itself, digging his claws into the flesh and membrane of Albatros' right wing, if Albatros wanted to dislodge him now, he'd have to lose the wingblade and probably a good chunk of his wing to do it. With that taken care of Kunja's head darted to the right, aiming to clamp his teeth around Albatros' wing joint and mauling it. Jake slid out of his seat again, clutching to his dragon tenaciously on the left side. He did so for two reasons, the first was so that Albatros nor his captain could get a good shot at that Australian captain, which is why he did not slide all the way down where Albatros might skewer him with his wing if he broke free. The second was that he held a sticky bomb in his hands, it was not lit yet, but Jake had an idea.
There were several seconds of chaos as the dragons tried to right themselves while the pain of the blow surged through Kunja's body. He did not roar out in pain however. If anything the creepy draconic grin grew even larger. Once the uncontrolled spin was finally put under a modicum of control, Kunja started to laugh once again in the sheer glee of battle. His right foreleg was near useless now, in no small part thanks to the wingblade that was stuck in it. Kunja didn't seem to mind at all that the pair of dragons were falling very quickly as he examined the situation. He wanted to tear that wingblade off, but if he did so it would free Albatros and he would never get as good of a shot as this again.
Kunja's left foreleg shot forward and grabbed around the wingblade and the bone of the wing itself, digging his claws into the flesh and membrane of Albatros' right wing, if Albatros wanted to dislodge him now, he'd have to lose the wingblade and probably a good chunk of his wing to do it. With that taken care of Kunja's head darted to the right, aiming to clamp his teeth around Albatros' wing joint and mauling it. Jake slid out of his seat again, clutching to his dragon tenaciously on the left side. He did so for two reasons, the first was so that Albatros nor his captain could get a good shot at that Australian captain, which is why he did not slide all the way down where Albatros might skewer him with his wing if he broke free. The second was that he held a sticky bomb in his hands, it was not lit yet, but Jake had an idea.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#962
Frostfell managed a Parthian shot as he flew away, but such efforts could not materially slow the Jotunmeister, and he just barely missed having his own throat torn out by the counterstroke as he managed to bite the end of Ragnarok's wing. Ragnarok's claws closed an instant too late, and just grazed the white devil's scales. And then the heavyweights were apart, and separated. Frsotfell bore away, and Ragnarok could not catch him, even if he wished to follow him north, which he certainly did not. Ragnarok, cheated of what he considered his quarry, growled in annoyance, but did as his captain bade him, and bore off to the south.
But Frostfell was not the only one given to Parthian shots.
The crew of the artillery piece on Ragnarok's back scrambled back to their stations now that the platform they had been standing upon was no longer spinning, gyrating, and being assailed by a thirty ton light heavyweight. They cranked the gun around, aiming back at Frostfell, who could outrun many things, but not shells. Nevertheless, they had not readied themselves before a shell much bigger than the one they were preparing to fire exploded thirty yards overhead.
Below, on the ground, the gunners of the RAF Coastal Command, their Anti-dragon guns aimed skyward, had been tracking Ragnarok ever since Frostfell had dragged him down out of the pack high above. So long as the two heavyweights had been locked together, they could not risk to fire, but as soon as Frostfell bore away, their sights were clear. Guns from Dover to Folkestone opened fire and began to range in, dotting the air with puffs of black smoke and shrapnel. Several of Ragnarok's crew fell screaming with bits of metal driven through them, and a direct hit from the 75mm guns below, everyone knew, could cripple or kill even a monster of Ragnarok's weight. And so it was that before Ragnarok's own gunners could bear down on Frostfell, the enormous dragon winged over, came about, and flew away south and east, making for the channel and France, now barely a quarter of a mile away.
Frostfell and he would have to fight another day.
*------------------------------------------------------------------------*
The good news was that Jebediah's maneuver was well executed and perfectly aimed, such that the Leuchtkaffer could not cut the angle close enough, not with an extended wing, and was going to miss.
The bad news was that the Leuchtkaffer realized this even before Jebediah did.
The small dragon aborted its own dive as Jeb rolled into the dive and away from slashing range. Smoke Devils were maneuverable bastards, but Leuchtkaffers were as well, perhaps even moreso, for they had no wingclaws to rely in for sharp redeployments of momentum. As such, the Leuchtkaffer skillfully followed Jeb's twisting turn in a shallow dive, pulling out still overhead, albeit closer, before selecting a moment when the Smoke Devil's captain would be required to take her eyes off of the German if only because of the gyrations of her dragon. Having stopped his dive, he waited for what he judged the right moment, when Jeb began to pull back out of his maneuver. Skillful dragons knew how to transition from one aerobatic maneuver to the next without hesitation or pause, making them nearly impossible to catch. Jeb had such skill perhaps, but not the experience. He and his captain were rookies to war, and had not unlearned all the habits that came with even hell-raising flying in the civilian world. Inevitably, the Smoke Devil came out of a maneuver into level flight just for an instant as he paused to assess the situation. And in that instant, the Leuchtkaffer pounced.
He had given up too much altitude to slice with his wingblades, so instead he pounced like a cat, landing on Jeb's hindquarters with his foreclaws which bit into the armored harness, and through it into Jeb's scales. The dragons were of similar size, so the Leuchtkaffer could not reel Jeb in, but instead reached forward with an iron-shod foreclaw, intending to either grab Judith out of her seat on Jeb's back, or failing that, to slice her to ribbons and then make an abrupt getaway.
Leuchtkaffers were not above using such tactics.
*----------------------------------------------------------------*
It was an absolutely impossible position. The stuck wingblade was buried so deep inside Kunja's leg that it could not be wrenched loose. Most dragons with wingblades had them strapped on with metal snaps designed to come loose once a certain amount of pressure was applied, but Albatros did not. His wingblades were attached with leather straps, buckled tightly to the wing, that could not be so quickly released. He preferred them this way because he did not wish to lose a wingblade in the throes of combat, accepting the greater risk that came with being unable to detach them at will. This was now coming back to bite him. He was stuck to a larger dragon of proven skill.
And yet this was hardly the worst situation Albatros had ever faced, a fact he proceeded to prove with his next action.
Kunja's claws clamped down on the wingblade-shrouded wing. There was nothing Albatros could do about that. As Kunja brought his head around to bite though, Albatros pumped his other wing as hard as he could, and swung, wrapping himself around Kunja's entire thorax, using his pinned wing as an anchor. It was both awkward and terribly dangerous, but one of Kunja's forelegs was near useless, his other was gripping the wing, and Kunja was too large to bring his hind legs to bear on Albatros. Plus, it only had to work for a moment.
As Kunja brought his head down to bite, Albatros swung around and slashed the Victorian across the opposite side of his face with one foreclaw. Unlike the Leuchtkaffers, Albatros' claws were not shod in iron, but they were razor sharp nevertheless, and no dragon wore armor on its face. Albatros tore four gashes straight down the left side of Kunja's head, from the base of his horns to the end of his snout, not particularly deep, for he had no leverage at all, but deep enough to draw lots of blood, and to abort Kunja's bite. And then as the momentum faded, in a matter of half a second, Albatros did something totally insane.
He grabbed onto Kunja.
Any other dragon would have been desperately trying to escape Kunja, thrashing around and trying to rip the wingblade free. Albatros though was not any other dragon. He seized Kunja's left foreleg with both of his own and held on. Not strong enough to tear Kunja's grip off, all he was trying to do was stabilize himself for long enough for his Captain to reach across with a trench knife and cut the straps on the wingblade, something he could never accomplish if Albatros were thrashing about.
It was a neat trick. If Kunja came at him again with his teeth, he was in a position to strike once more with his claws. If Kunja sought to use his own uninjured foreclaw, he would be wrestling against both of Albatros' which would by necessity limit the damage he could do. Albatros was suspended upside down, with his own body between Kunja and his Captain. And by the time he managed to maneuver Albatros around by main force into a position more convenient for striking with those or any other weapons, hopefully the wingblade would be freed.
Of course... one of the downsides was that it placed Albatros underneath Kunja, from whence neither he nor his Captain could see what Jake was doing, but at the moment, Albatros considered that a worthwhile sacrifice.
*---------------------------------------------------*
Flinder's guns turned the tide of the battle that had been hanging in the balance. The remaining Germans who had boarded Veritas simply could not compete with the firepower deployed. Mounted machine guns from a stable platform, coupled with the personal weapons of Flinder's crew, depleted though it was, cut them apart wholesale, and Allen's second shot split the backbone of the NCO commanding the German strike force. Even Falschirmjaegar could only take so much. The remaining Germans threw up their hands and surrendered. At the cost of 2/3 of Veritas' crew in dead and wounded, the German forces had been defeated. Flinder's casualties were limited to a single man hit by a stray ricochet.
Nearby, the fallen Kampfritter lay helpless and prone, its Captain on the ground next to it, checking for injuries. The terrible beast could no longer fly, its wings broken in gruesome compound fractures at horrible angles. Its breathing was labored and hollow, and it could not even roll over onto its side. The Captain of the Kampfritter, a young man barely 21, was so consumed with the fate of his beast that he did not even realize that the British territorials were on their way with a self-propelled gun and two Bren carriers, nor that the battle on Veritas was already finished. Scrambling over the mangled remains of his dragon's harness and artillery, he paid no more attention to the Crimson Angel to his right, nor to the Dreamweaver overhead.
*---------------------------------------------------------------*
The battle was shifting southwards, with the main block of German dragons breaking free to open sky over the ocean, and in the distance, the view of the German reserves was visible coming in. Twenty or thirty dragons, perhaps two more squadrons, scrambled out of their turn to assist the main body in fighting off the British, but arriving too late to prevent galling losses. The Germans had lost most of their stomach for this fight long ago, retreating south at best speed, avoiding any dragon that seemed too dangerous to deal with quickly. Hermecritus was plainly one of those. The few Germans he had managed to get back into range of had simply sped away, and it had been his misfortune to catch only high-speed German breeds, Swabians or Leuchtkaffers, straggling below the height of the main formation.
Frustrated no doubt at having been unable to smash the Germans along with the others, Hermecritus might well have had a dry run of it entirely, had not an alert lookout spotted two Lightweight dragons running a dizzying course that just happened to take them near to Hermecritus. As the lookout called out the coordinates, one, a Leuchtkaffer, dove atop the other... a Smoke Devil.
Neither dragon was in a position to see Hermecritus, who for all his bulk was simply in a different part of the sky, overhead and off to the right side. The Leuchtkaffer certainly did not see him, having become target fixated on his small prey. Had he seen Hermecritus, he might have run, just like the others.
As it was, Hermecritus had a golden opportunity to do exactly as he wished.
But Frostfell was not the only one given to Parthian shots.
The crew of the artillery piece on Ragnarok's back scrambled back to their stations now that the platform they had been standing upon was no longer spinning, gyrating, and being assailed by a thirty ton light heavyweight. They cranked the gun around, aiming back at Frostfell, who could outrun many things, but not shells. Nevertheless, they had not readied themselves before a shell much bigger than the one they were preparing to fire exploded thirty yards overhead.
Below, on the ground, the gunners of the RAF Coastal Command, their Anti-dragon guns aimed skyward, had been tracking Ragnarok ever since Frostfell had dragged him down out of the pack high above. So long as the two heavyweights had been locked together, they could not risk to fire, but as soon as Frostfell bore away, their sights were clear. Guns from Dover to Folkestone opened fire and began to range in, dotting the air with puffs of black smoke and shrapnel. Several of Ragnarok's crew fell screaming with bits of metal driven through them, and a direct hit from the 75mm guns below, everyone knew, could cripple or kill even a monster of Ragnarok's weight. And so it was that before Ragnarok's own gunners could bear down on Frostfell, the enormous dragon winged over, came about, and flew away south and east, making for the channel and France, now barely a quarter of a mile away.
Frostfell and he would have to fight another day.
*------------------------------------------------------------------------*
The good news was that Jebediah's maneuver was well executed and perfectly aimed, such that the Leuchtkaffer could not cut the angle close enough, not with an extended wing, and was going to miss.
The bad news was that the Leuchtkaffer realized this even before Jebediah did.
The small dragon aborted its own dive as Jeb rolled into the dive and away from slashing range. Smoke Devils were maneuverable bastards, but Leuchtkaffers were as well, perhaps even moreso, for they had no wingclaws to rely in for sharp redeployments of momentum. As such, the Leuchtkaffer skillfully followed Jeb's twisting turn in a shallow dive, pulling out still overhead, albeit closer, before selecting a moment when the Smoke Devil's captain would be required to take her eyes off of the German if only because of the gyrations of her dragon. Having stopped his dive, he waited for what he judged the right moment, when Jeb began to pull back out of his maneuver. Skillful dragons knew how to transition from one aerobatic maneuver to the next without hesitation or pause, making them nearly impossible to catch. Jeb had such skill perhaps, but not the experience. He and his captain were rookies to war, and had not unlearned all the habits that came with even hell-raising flying in the civilian world. Inevitably, the Smoke Devil came out of a maneuver into level flight just for an instant as he paused to assess the situation. And in that instant, the Leuchtkaffer pounced.
He had given up too much altitude to slice with his wingblades, so instead he pounced like a cat, landing on Jeb's hindquarters with his foreclaws which bit into the armored harness, and through it into Jeb's scales. The dragons were of similar size, so the Leuchtkaffer could not reel Jeb in, but instead reached forward with an iron-shod foreclaw, intending to either grab Judith out of her seat on Jeb's back, or failing that, to slice her to ribbons and then make an abrupt getaway.
Leuchtkaffers were not above using such tactics.
*----------------------------------------------------------------*
It was an absolutely impossible position. The stuck wingblade was buried so deep inside Kunja's leg that it could not be wrenched loose. Most dragons with wingblades had them strapped on with metal snaps designed to come loose once a certain amount of pressure was applied, but Albatros did not. His wingblades were attached with leather straps, buckled tightly to the wing, that could not be so quickly released. He preferred them this way because he did not wish to lose a wingblade in the throes of combat, accepting the greater risk that came with being unable to detach them at will. This was now coming back to bite him. He was stuck to a larger dragon of proven skill.
And yet this was hardly the worst situation Albatros had ever faced, a fact he proceeded to prove with his next action.
Kunja's claws clamped down on the wingblade-shrouded wing. There was nothing Albatros could do about that. As Kunja brought his head around to bite though, Albatros pumped his other wing as hard as he could, and swung, wrapping himself around Kunja's entire thorax, using his pinned wing as an anchor. It was both awkward and terribly dangerous, but one of Kunja's forelegs was near useless, his other was gripping the wing, and Kunja was too large to bring his hind legs to bear on Albatros. Plus, it only had to work for a moment.
As Kunja brought his head down to bite, Albatros swung around and slashed the Victorian across the opposite side of his face with one foreclaw. Unlike the Leuchtkaffers, Albatros' claws were not shod in iron, but they were razor sharp nevertheless, and no dragon wore armor on its face. Albatros tore four gashes straight down the left side of Kunja's head, from the base of his horns to the end of his snout, not particularly deep, for he had no leverage at all, but deep enough to draw lots of blood, and to abort Kunja's bite. And then as the momentum faded, in a matter of half a second, Albatros did something totally insane.
He grabbed onto Kunja.
Any other dragon would have been desperately trying to escape Kunja, thrashing around and trying to rip the wingblade free. Albatros though was not any other dragon. He seized Kunja's left foreleg with both of his own and held on. Not strong enough to tear Kunja's grip off, all he was trying to do was stabilize himself for long enough for his Captain to reach across with a trench knife and cut the straps on the wingblade, something he could never accomplish if Albatros were thrashing about.
It was a neat trick. If Kunja came at him again with his teeth, he was in a position to strike once more with his claws. If Kunja sought to use his own uninjured foreclaw, he would be wrestling against both of Albatros' which would by necessity limit the damage he could do. Albatros was suspended upside down, with his own body between Kunja and his Captain. And by the time he managed to maneuver Albatros around by main force into a position more convenient for striking with those or any other weapons, hopefully the wingblade would be freed.
Of course... one of the downsides was that it placed Albatros underneath Kunja, from whence neither he nor his Captain could see what Jake was doing, but at the moment, Albatros considered that a worthwhile sacrifice.
*---------------------------------------------------*
Flinder's guns turned the tide of the battle that had been hanging in the balance. The remaining Germans who had boarded Veritas simply could not compete with the firepower deployed. Mounted machine guns from a stable platform, coupled with the personal weapons of Flinder's crew, depleted though it was, cut them apart wholesale, and Allen's second shot split the backbone of the NCO commanding the German strike force. Even Falschirmjaegar could only take so much. The remaining Germans threw up their hands and surrendered. At the cost of 2/3 of Veritas' crew in dead and wounded, the German forces had been defeated. Flinder's casualties were limited to a single man hit by a stray ricochet.
Nearby, the fallen Kampfritter lay helpless and prone, its Captain on the ground next to it, checking for injuries. The terrible beast could no longer fly, its wings broken in gruesome compound fractures at horrible angles. Its breathing was labored and hollow, and it could not even roll over onto its side. The Captain of the Kampfritter, a young man barely 21, was so consumed with the fate of his beast that he did not even realize that the British territorials were on their way with a self-propelled gun and two Bren carriers, nor that the battle on Veritas was already finished. Scrambling over the mangled remains of his dragon's harness and artillery, he paid no more attention to the Crimson Angel to his right, nor to the Dreamweaver overhead.
*---------------------------------------------------------------*
The battle was shifting southwards, with the main block of German dragons breaking free to open sky over the ocean, and in the distance, the view of the German reserves was visible coming in. Twenty or thirty dragons, perhaps two more squadrons, scrambled out of their turn to assist the main body in fighting off the British, but arriving too late to prevent galling losses. The Germans had lost most of their stomach for this fight long ago, retreating south at best speed, avoiding any dragon that seemed too dangerous to deal with quickly. Hermecritus was plainly one of those. The few Germans he had managed to get back into range of had simply sped away, and it had been his misfortune to catch only high-speed German breeds, Swabians or Leuchtkaffers, straggling below the height of the main formation.
Frustrated no doubt at having been unable to smash the Germans along with the others, Hermecritus might well have had a dry run of it entirely, had not an alert lookout spotted two Lightweight dragons running a dizzying course that just happened to take them near to Hermecritus. As the lookout called out the coordinates, one, a Leuchtkaffer, dove atop the other... a Smoke Devil.
Neither dragon was in a position to see Hermecritus, who for all his bulk was simply in a different part of the sky, overhead and off to the right side. The Leuchtkaffer certainly did not see him, having become target fixated on his small prey. Had he seen Hermecritus, he might have run, just like the others.
As it was, Hermecritus had a golden opportunity to do exactly as he wished.
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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Dark Silver
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#963
Despite his anger at the running dragons, Hermeticus had not spoken, not had roared, did not even growl.
That would give away his intentions, would give his foes time to retreat from his grand bulk and mighty crew. Time to escape or dodge his horns.
Then then oppurtunity came to him, having working his way back up slowly, taking his victims (who still managed to elude him at the last moment), he spotted in his periphiral vision the form of Jebidiah and his crew in danger.
And the German dragon was fixated on the Smokedevil.
The lookout had spotted the two near the sametime as the dragon, and called out the co-ordinates. Captain Thomas ordered the dragon and crew, and with the same ferocity that he had displayed since being hit by the Jotun, Hermeticus twisted in the air, aimed himself, and dove.
There was no great roar, there was no announcing his intentions, there was only the sudden, massive shadow of the Reaper as it was ontop of the German dragon, flencing claws in the fore-legs exposed and ready to strike, the dull, but massive goring horns drawing ever closer, though not to be used just yet. Hermeticus wanted the thrill of gripping the German and cutting through it's flesh with his bare claws.
If the half-breed managed to get his foe this time, he wouldn't let up till the dragon's throat had been ripped from it's neck, and it's blood rained from the sky.
That would give away his intentions, would give his foes time to retreat from his grand bulk and mighty crew. Time to escape or dodge his horns.
Then then oppurtunity came to him, having working his way back up slowly, taking his victims (who still managed to elude him at the last moment), he spotted in his periphiral vision the form of Jebidiah and his crew in danger.
And the German dragon was fixated on the Smokedevil.
The lookout had spotted the two near the sametime as the dragon, and called out the co-ordinates. Captain Thomas ordered the dragon and crew, and with the same ferocity that he had displayed since being hit by the Jotun, Hermeticus twisted in the air, aimed himself, and dove.
There was no great roar, there was no announcing his intentions, there was only the sudden, massive shadow of the Reaper as it was ontop of the German dragon, flencing claws in the fore-legs exposed and ready to strike, the dull, but massive goring horns drawing ever closer, though not to be used just yet. Hermeticus wanted the thrill of gripping the German and cutting through it's flesh with his bare claws.
If the half-breed managed to get his foe this time, he wouldn't let up till the dragon's throat had been ripped from it's neck, and it's blood rained from the sky.
Last edited by Dark Silver on Mon Mar 16, 2009 11:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
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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LadyTevar
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#964
Jebediah squawled as the Leuchtkaffer's claws dug into his hindquarters, trying to twist out of the grasp. Judith turned, facing the German dragon as it reached for her with her tommygun in hand. She didn't have time to aim, she simply pointed the barrel and held down the trigger, letting the automatic unload like in the movies. As the tommygun emptied the 60-round clip, the recoil forced the barrel higher and all but laid Judith backwards on Jebediah's neck.He had given up too much altitude to slice with his wingblades, so instead he pounced like a cat, landing on Jeb's hindquarters with his foreclaws which bit into the armored harness, and through it into Jeb's scales. The dragons were of similar size, so the Leuchtkaffer could not reel Jeb in, but instead reached forward with an iron-shod foreclaw, intending to either grab Judith out of her seat on Jeb's back, or failing that, to slice her to ribbons and then make an abrupt getaway.
Leuchtkaffers were not above using such tactics.
She nor Jeb saw Hermeticus until his shadow fell over the Leuchtkaffer.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#965
Kunja's forelimbs were otherwise occupied, his hind legs in poor position to strike yet. One thing Kunja did have over Albatros at this moment however was control of the fall. Kunja was the larger, heavier, stronger dragon, and unlike Albatros he had easy use of both of his wings. Kunja's head shot forward again and latched onto Albatros' neck It was more of a move to immobilize both of them rather than to do any real damage, before Kunja pulled his wings in and the pair started to drop like a stone, a lazy spin from uneven weight distribution beginning. Kunja suddenly opened one wing and the drop slowed but the spin went even faster. It was something he'd picked up during his encounters with Frostfell. The Snow Demon called it a Deathroll.
Jake held on for dear life while the spin started to go faster and faster. He and Kunja were used to such spins, and it was doubtful that that Albatros would mind in the least. But his captain would be incapable of releasing the wingblade while they were spinning, and if he wasn't worth his weight he'd get sick from the spinning as well. The spin also gave Kunja more time to get himself into position to lay the hurt on Albatros.
Jake held on for dear life while the spin started to go faster and faster. He and Kunja were used to such spins, and it was doubtful that that Albatros would mind in the least. But his captain would be incapable of releasing the wingblade while they were spinning, and if he wasn't worth his weight he'd get sick from the spinning as well. The spin also gave Kunja more time to get himself into position to lay the hurt on Albatros.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#966
There was nothing fancy about Judith's counterattack, merely aiming her Thompson M1928 Sub-Machine Gun in the general direction of the enemy, and squeezing the trigger. Dragons as a rule, were bulletproof, even small ones, and the Thompson's penetrating power was limited in any event, but with the power of panic, Judith simply squeezed the trigger and refused to let go, and the fifty-round drum magazine her gun was provided with simply flung projectiles into the air and did not stop. Bulletproof or not, the Leuchtkaffer was surprised, and reacted on instinct, rearing its head and chest back to protect its eyes and Captain. Burning yellow tracer bullets traced a path up the dragon's chest and throat and jawline, snapping its head back with the force of the bullet strikes, but failing to do more than bruise the iron-hard scales. And as the bullets continued off wildly into the aether, the dragon lowered its head to resume the business at hand.
That was pretty much the last thing it did.
Hermecritus did not smash into the two lightweights from their perspective so much as he materialized out of thin air. One second, the sky was clear, and the next, there was a 30-ton monster right there, covered in guns and crew and lashing out with claws and teeth. Wicked horns were mounted on the dragon's head, yet he did not use them, preferring to seize with claws and bite with teeth.
And so it was that Hermecritus demonstrated exactly what fate tended to befall Lightweights who foolishly permitted themselves to be broadsided by a Heavyweight dragon.
The Lightweight screamed and twisted and fought, but everything it did was of no avail, and when Hermecritus tore into it, all was over in moments. Blood and scales flew about like an electric blender applied to a garter snake, liberally covering Jeb, Judith, Hermecritus' belly-turret, and the air around. And when Hermecritus finally felt the Leuchtkaffer go limp, and the lightweight dragon's claws lost their grip on Jebediah... the lesson was punctuated.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Kunja dipped his head again and grabbed at Albatros' neck, latching on near where his neck met his shoulder, for there was little Albatros could do to stop him. He could however make Kunja pay for it. He proceeded to. With one foreclaw, he lashed out at the larger dragon's head, drawing another set of stripes down the side of it, and intending to draw more, save that a moment later, Kunja went into a death-spiral.
Nobody, not Albatros, not even Kunja himself, nobody could do anything of use to their opponent in the midst of a spiral like that, and Albatros didn't even try. Nor could his Captain achieve anything useful with a knife while being flung wildly about in his seat by the gyrations of the larger dragon. And yet, in retrospect, the death spiral was perhaps not the wisest maneuver to make, for the anchor point of the entire operation, the wingblade still lodged in Kunja's leg, was also subjected to the same sheering forces that was throwing Albatros' Captain around, and unlike the Captain, had two dragons pulling on either end. One seven tons, one three and a half.
Something gave.
Either a spur of bone splintered, or the wingblade itself chipped, but suddenly the wing snapped free, like a taut cable snapping and whiplashing back. The unexpected burst of momentum tore loose all grips, both Albatros' and Kunja's, and suddenly both dragons were somersaulting away from one another, the sudden loss of weight having completely thrown Kunja's spiral into a tail-over-teakettle gyrations, while the centrifugal force simply threw Albatros away from Kunja, bleeding from the neck and the wing where Kunja's claws and teeth had simply been torn out of their grips as though a giant had ripped the two dragons apart.
Within seconds, the dragons were fifty yards away from one another, struggling to right themselves. Albatros was lighter and more agile, but Kunja had been nearer the center of the spin, and was not thrown as violently, and as a result, both dragons recovered almost simultaneously. The offending wingblade, still attached to Albatros' wing, was bent and twisted out of shape, the blade unset and dulled by the impact, but Albatros showed no immediate inclination to run, not even as all the other Germans made their way south. Instead he recovered, reseated his Captain, and came about, to try and see what Kunja planned to do.
*-------------------------------------------*
The Germans were in full retreat, and their reserves would soon overtake them. Aboard Æquitas, the depleted crew scrambled about, having lost half their number, not in combat, but as prize crew for the captured German Aufseher that Jebediah had helped to corral. Rankin had already called in the capture, and issued the half-credit to Jebediah, the decoration for which would be waiting for the American lightweight back at Tangmere.
The remaining British dragons were largely falling away, returning to their coverts with a job well done. The German assault, while not stopped per se, had been savaged. Losses were murderous on both sides, but far more so for the Luftwaffe, for over British territory, wounded dragons or parachuting crews became prisoners of war, and thus were denied to the Germans. RAF Tangmere alone had accounted for two heavyweights, three midweights, a special weapons dragon and a lightweight, plus additional dragons sent home with injuries or depleted crews. No matter how massive the German numerical superiority was, losses such as those simply could not be borne forever.
The screams of the dying Leuchtkaffer in Hermecritus' claws elicited winces and glances from the rest of the crew, but Rankin merely made another mental note. 'Two Lightweights'.
"All Tangmere units," said Rankin into his radio as his lookouts began to try and spot the other dragons in the squadron. "Form up on the flag and return home. We've given Jerry a good and proper pasting today, and I doubt very much we'll be seeing them again for a long time to come."
By 'long', he meant on a timescale of days, but it was something.
That was pretty much the last thing it did.
Hermecritus did not smash into the two lightweights from their perspective so much as he materialized out of thin air. One second, the sky was clear, and the next, there was a 30-ton monster right there, covered in guns and crew and lashing out with claws and teeth. Wicked horns were mounted on the dragon's head, yet he did not use them, preferring to seize with claws and bite with teeth.
And so it was that Hermecritus demonstrated exactly what fate tended to befall Lightweights who foolishly permitted themselves to be broadsided by a Heavyweight dragon.
The Lightweight screamed and twisted and fought, but everything it did was of no avail, and when Hermecritus tore into it, all was over in moments. Blood and scales flew about like an electric blender applied to a garter snake, liberally covering Jeb, Judith, Hermecritus' belly-turret, and the air around. And when Hermecritus finally felt the Leuchtkaffer go limp, and the lightweight dragon's claws lost their grip on Jebediah... the lesson was punctuated.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Kunja dipped his head again and grabbed at Albatros' neck, latching on near where his neck met his shoulder, for there was little Albatros could do to stop him. He could however make Kunja pay for it. He proceeded to. With one foreclaw, he lashed out at the larger dragon's head, drawing another set of stripes down the side of it, and intending to draw more, save that a moment later, Kunja went into a death-spiral.
Nobody, not Albatros, not even Kunja himself, nobody could do anything of use to their opponent in the midst of a spiral like that, and Albatros didn't even try. Nor could his Captain achieve anything useful with a knife while being flung wildly about in his seat by the gyrations of the larger dragon. And yet, in retrospect, the death spiral was perhaps not the wisest maneuver to make, for the anchor point of the entire operation, the wingblade still lodged in Kunja's leg, was also subjected to the same sheering forces that was throwing Albatros' Captain around, and unlike the Captain, had two dragons pulling on either end. One seven tons, one three and a half.
Something gave.
Either a spur of bone splintered, or the wingblade itself chipped, but suddenly the wing snapped free, like a taut cable snapping and whiplashing back. The unexpected burst of momentum tore loose all grips, both Albatros' and Kunja's, and suddenly both dragons were somersaulting away from one another, the sudden loss of weight having completely thrown Kunja's spiral into a tail-over-teakettle gyrations, while the centrifugal force simply threw Albatros away from Kunja, bleeding from the neck and the wing where Kunja's claws and teeth had simply been torn out of their grips as though a giant had ripped the two dragons apart.
Within seconds, the dragons were fifty yards away from one another, struggling to right themselves. Albatros was lighter and more agile, but Kunja had been nearer the center of the spin, and was not thrown as violently, and as a result, both dragons recovered almost simultaneously. The offending wingblade, still attached to Albatros' wing, was bent and twisted out of shape, the blade unset and dulled by the impact, but Albatros showed no immediate inclination to run, not even as all the other Germans made their way south. Instead he recovered, reseated his Captain, and came about, to try and see what Kunja planned to do.
*-------------------------------------------*
The Germans were in full retreat, and their reserves would soon overtake them. Aboard Æquitas, the depleted crew scrambled about, having lost half their number, not in combat, but as prize crew for the captured German Aufseher that Jebediah had helped to corral. Rankin had already called in the capture, and issued the half-credit to Jebediah, the decoration for which would be waiting for the American lightweight back at Tangmere.
The remaining British dragons were largely falling away, returning to their coverts with a job well done. The German assault, while not stopped per se, had been savaged. Losses were murderous on both sides, but far more so for the Luftwaffe, for over British territory, wounded dragons or parachuting crews became prisoners of war, and thus were denied to the Germans. RAF Tangmere alone had accounted for two heavyweights, three midweights, a special weapons dragon and a lightweight, plus additional dragons sent home with injuries or depleted crews. No matter how massive the German numerical superiority was, losses such as those simply could not be borne forever.
The screams of the dying Leuchtkaffer in Hermecritus' claws elicited winces and glances from the rest of the crew, but Rankin merely made another mental note. 'Two Lightweights'.
"All Tangmere units," said Rankin into his radio as his lookouts began to try and spot the other dragons in the squadron. "Form up on the flag and return home. We've given Jerry a good and proper pasting today, and I doubt very much we'll be seeing them again for a long time to come."
By 'long', he meant on a timescale of days, but it was something.
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
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#967
Blood flew everywhere, black dragon blood, as Hermeticus literally pulled the Leuchtkaffer off Jebediah's back and mauled him. Judith was spattered, covered with it, even as Jeb took the moment to dive and get away from the carnage.
It was a long silence before Jebediah leveled off, with plenty of space between Hermeticus and himself. "Ya'll right, Judith?" he said softly, the smell of the Leuchtkaffer's blood overwhelming his senses.
"Ye-up," Judith said back, looking down at herself, all but coated in thick black blood. She'd killed deer, bleed hogs, wrang the necks of chickens... but she couldn't remember seeing this much blood before. The radio crackled, Æquitas calling for reform and retreat. Judith swallowed hard against the bile building up in the back of her throat. "Jeb... Ah wanna ..."
"Go home?" the Smoke Devil finished for her, tilting his wings to turn towards Tangmere. "Ya sure ya wanna get on a boat 'gain?" There was a snort, a sob, and more wetness spilled over Jebediah's back as Judith lost the battle against her stomach. "See?" Jeb quipped, covering his sudden worry at the sound of sickness. "Yer r'memberin' the ocean now."
Shaking hands wiped off the water canteen, Judith drinking some and using the rest to pour over her face in a vain attempt to get the blood off. "When... when we're back ta base... I wanna go ta that pond and wash all this off."
"We'll do that, Judith. We'll do jis' that."
It was a long silence before Jebediah leveled off, with plenty of space between Hermeticus and himself. "Ya'll right, Judith?" he said softly, the smell of the Leuchtkaffer's blood overwhelming his senses.
"Ye-up," Judith said back, looking down at herself, all but coated in thick black blood. She'd killed deer, bleed hogs, wrang the necks of chickens... but she couldn't remember seeing this much blood before. The radio crackled, Æquitas calling for reform and retreat. Judith swallowed hard against the bile building up in the back of her throat. "Jeb... Ah wanna ..."
"Go home?" the Smoke Devil finished for her, tilting his wings to turn towards Tangmere. "Ya sure ya wanna get on a boat 'gain?" There was a snort, a sob, and more wetness spilled over Jebediah's back as Judith lost the battle against her stomach. "See?" Jeb quipped, covering his sudden worry at the sound of sickness. "Yer r'memberin' the ocean now."
Shaking hands wiped off the water canteen, Judith drinking some and using the rest to pour over her face in a vain attempt to get the blood off. "When... when we're back ta base... I wanna go ta that pond and wash all this off."
"We'll do that, Judith. We'll do jis' that."
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
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#968
Flinder landed with a heavy whump of his wings. Adrenaline had shoved fatigue aside for most of the battle, but now with his most recent skirmish finished and the sky clearing of German forces, he was grateful for a rest.
His crew stayed alert, however, and poured off the harness to secure and cover the surrendered Germans. His medics--after checking the bandages on his flank--scurried off to assist Vertias's draconarians if they could.
Anger flared to life as he saw the body of his crew's latest casualty being removed from the harness. With a deep undulating hiss he turned to face the German captain, who was still fussing over his dragon and appeared to not even have noticed the lustrous midweight's arrival.
"No, Flin!" Allen yelled, rushing to unclip and untangle himself from his captain's rigging. He launched himself toward the ground, sliding down Flinder's tensed forearm. "They surrendered!"
"They injured my crew! Killed our mates!"
"Yeah, and we injured them back! Dammit, mate, LOOK at him!"
Flinder glared, but stopped hissing and settled back on his haunches. As the anger passed, he saw the details of the scene: the great gashes on the German dragon's flank, and the wings twisted at a sickeningly unnatural angle. Dead crew still lay tangled in the harness. The captain stood by the head of his dragon, where it lay prone on the ground, panting heavily and keening--obviously in too much pain to even form words. Flinder leaned forward and realized that the young man was crying.
Without warning, Flinder was struck by unbidden visions. A young boy, blond like his Allen, and running across a field so green it hurt. Flinder looked up and saw the boy was racing German dragons as they passed low over a farmhouse and dissapeared into the distance. A flash, and in a second vision Flinder saw the blonde captain that now stood before him, though untouched by battle. He stood in front of his dragon, taking part in some kind of ceremony. An officer pinned an insignia on the boy's shirt and saluted him, then stepped back and dissapeared. Flinder looked around and saw only a wash of greys, blacks, and reds. The only thing with any detail in the vision was the captain and his dragon, beaming at each other like they were the only things in the world.
Flinder snapped back to the present, and saw Allen standing below his head, looking up at him with concern. He looked once more at the German pair. The dragon's breathing had now become labored, and the captain was crying openly and repeating the same word over and over, presumably his dragon's name.
Flinder turned away. "We should check on Veritas," he announced simply, and started walking toward his squadronmate. Allen glanced back at the Germans, then nodded and hurried to follow.
His crew stayed alert, however, and poured off the harness to secure and cover the surrendered Germans. His medics--after checking the bandages on his flank--scurried off to assist Vertias's draconarians if they could.
Anger flared to life as he saw the body of his crew's latest casualty being removed from the harness. With a deep undulating hiss he turned to face the German captain, who was still fussing over his dragon and appeared to not even have noticed the lustrous midweight's arrival.
"No, Flin!" Allen yelled, rushing to unclip and untangle himself from his captain's rigging. He launched himself toward the ground, sliding down Flinder's tensed forearm. "They surrendered!"
"They injured my crew! Killed our mates!"
"Yeah, and we injured them back! Dammit, mate, LOOK at him!"
Flinder glared, but stopped hissing and settled back on his haunches. As the anger passed, he saw the details of the scene: the great gashes on the German dragon's flank, and the wings twisted at a sickeningly unnatural angle. Dead crew still lay tangled in the harness. The captain stood by the head of his dragon, where it lay prone on the ground, panting heavily and keening--obviously in too much pain to even form words. Flinder leaned forward and realized that the young man was crying.
Without warning, Flinder was struck by unbidden visions. A young boy, blond like his Allen, and running across a field so green it hurt. Flinder looked up and saw the boy was racing German dragons as they passed low over a farmhouse and dissapeared into the distance. A flash, and in a second vision Flinder saw the blonde captain that now stood before him, though untouched by battle. He stood in front of his dragon, taking part in some kind of ceremony. An officer pinned an insignia on the boy's shirt and saluted him, then stepped back and dissapeared. Flinder looked around and saw only a wash of greys, blacks, and reds. The only thing with any detail in the vision was the captain and his dragon, beaming at each other like they were the only things in the world.
Flinder snapped back to the present, and saw Allen standing below his head, looking up at him with concern. He looked once more at the German pair. The dragon's breathing had now become labored, and the captain was crying openly and repeating the same word over and over, presumably his dragon's name.
Flinder turned away. "We should check on Veritas," he announced simply, and started walking toward his squadronmate. Allen glanced back at the Germans, then nodded and hurried to follow.
I accidentally all the Brujah.
#969
The Australians were thrown, but the parting shots the two lightweights had thrown at one another were far out of proportion to one another. Kunja had a grip on Albatros' neck, which was not too terrible when the two were thrown apart. Kunja only left a few deep gashes there. Kunja's left forearm however had been securely locked around the muscles and bones of Albatros' wing and his claws had torn out a great deal of flesh and wing membrane as they were pulled away.
Black blood ran down the Victorian's face from the two swipes he had been given for his troubles but Kunja did not seem to notice at all, he was so intent upon Albatros. When Æquitas gave the order to fall back the duo either did not hear it or had no intent of following the order.
"Damnit! Damnit we had him!" Kunja spat, his eyes were glazed over red.
"We still have him. That wingblade's fucking useless." Jake looked perhaps only slightly less crazed than his dragon.
Jake was back in his seat again practically as they righted themselves, Kunja facing the direction his momentum had thrown him, the dragon used the momentum to give himself a boost as he went into an Immelmann turn. Now facing Albatros and slightly above him the Australian pair weaved back and forth as the distance closed.
Black blood ran down the Victorian's face from the two swipes he had been given for his troubles but Kunja did not seem to notice at all, he was so intent upon Albatros. When Æquitas gave the order to fall back the duo either did not hear it or had no intent of following the order.
"Damnit! Damnit we had him!" Kunja spat, his eyes were glazed over red.
"We still have him. That wingblade's fucking useless." Jake looked perhaps only slightly less crazed than his dragon.
Jake was back in his seat again practically as they righted themselves, Kunja facing the direction his momentum had thrown him, the dragon used the momentum to give himself a boost as he went into an Immelmann turn. Now facing Albatros and slightly above him the Australian pair weaved back and forth as the distance closed.
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Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
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#970
Blood.
Glorious blood rained from the heavens, as Hermeticus savaged the body of the Leuchtkaffer, black blood flew eeverywhere, peices of scale and flesh where flung as well. The half-breed did not stop till there was nothing left for him to tear into, blood and gore dripped from his mouth, his talons, even his horns. His eyes were feral and wild, filled with a anger and rage which would look more at home on Frostfell than the normally gregarious dragon.
The Captain of the German dragon screamed something that neither halfbreed nor his Captain could understand, and he died with horror in his eyes as Hermeticus' teeth tore into him - but Hermeticus didn't even bother noticing them. They were beneath him. Even now, as he slaughtered the lightweight, the Jotun was flying away.
Hermeticus roared loudly, releasing the corpse of the German dragon - Except for a foreleg which he ripped from the body as a trophy - and let it fall the rest of the way to the ground.
The order had come back to return to base, and Thomas seconded it.
His wings cupped as he banked to left, turning his great bulk back towards Tangmere, blood dripping from his Talons and leaving a black rain in his wake as it leaked from the remains of his trophy.
--------
(Edit: Cut due to continuity error)
Glorious blood rained from the heavens, as Hermeticus savaged the body of the Leuchtkaffer, black blood flew eeverywhere, peices of scale and flesh where flung as well. The half-breed did not stop till there was nothing left for him to tear into, blood and gore dripped from his mouth, his talons, even his horns. His eyes were feral and wild, filled with a anger and rage which would look more at home on Frostfell than the normally gregarious dragon.
The Captain of the German dragon screamed something that neither halfbreed nor his Captain could understand, and he died with horror in his eyes as Hermeticus' teeth tore into him - but Hermeticus didn't even bother noticing them. They were beneath him. Even now, as he slaughtered the lightweight, the Jotun was flying away.
Hermeticus roared loudly, releasing the corpse of the German dragon - Except for a foreleg which he ripped from the body as a trophy - and let it fall the rest of the way to the ground.
The order had come back to return to base, and Thomas seconded it.
His wings cupped as he banked to left, turning his great bulk back towards Tangmere, blood dripping from his Talons and leaving a black rain in his wake as it leaked from the remains of his trophy.
--------
(Edit: Cut due to continuity error)
Last edited by Dark Silver on Tue Mar 31, 2009 8:23 am, edited 2 times in total.
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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#971
"Michael?"
Rankin stopped what he was doing and turned back. The lookouts were busying themselves with the retreating Germans, and trying to ensure that no straggler presented itself or launched a sneak attack out of the sun. Æquitas however was watching a very different dragon.
"What is it?" asked Michael, who's eyes were not up to the task of following whatever Æquitas could see, not even with field glasses.
"It's Kunja," said the dragon. "He's not conforming."
To say this did not come as a surprise was something of an understatement, but Rankin grumbled and tried to find Kunja through his field glasses anyhow.
"What the devil's he doing?"
"Skirmishing with some damned Bavarian, I think."
"Not - "
"No, Albatros fell back with the other Jerries, but this one won't disengage, and it looks like Kunja won't either."
"Well he'd damned well better start disengaging, the re-enforcements are on the way. All that German has to do is hold him in place for a little longer and..."
"I don't think he cares."
"Bloody hell," said Rankin. He reached behind him and picked up the radio microphone. "Captain Collington, Kunja, there's a German reserve wave coming straight for you. Get the bloody hell out of there right now or they'll tear you to bits!"
*---------------------------------------------------*
Kunja performed an Immelmann turn as Albatros righted himself and turned back to face him. Despite everything, Albatros couldn't help but smirk. Max Immelman, the inventor of the maneuver, had been killed, along with his dragon, when he was hit at the apex of one of his 'famous' turns by a Texas Longhorn at full speed. Yet aerobaticians still fawned all over it, heedless of the dangers.
Then again, Manfred himself had been fond of maneuvers Albatros would never dare attempt nowadays...
The Australian came screaming towards him at best speeds, and Albatros bore away, letting him pursue if that was what he wished. Lothar turned back to fire his MP-40, but Albatros stiffened and his Captain hesitated and stopped. Let the Australian come. Let him think he had won, that he was driving Albatros away. Albatros had never seen a Victorian of this size, but he had fought plenty of the normal type, in Galipoli, in Salonica, and at the Somme, and if there was one constant about them, it was their aptitude for getting drawn in over their heads.
"Megaphon Bildung," he said into his radio. "Umzingeln ihn und entzieht ihm das Wort."
Deliberately, Albatros began to slacken his pace, letting Kunja get closer, giving him hope that he was tiring or weakening and that victory would be his soon enough. It wasn't all feigned. Albatros had been flying for four hours and had a damaged wing, as well as the tremendous battering he had taken at the claws of the larger Lightweight. Nevertheless, he led the Australian on, as the reserve formation spread out into a wide net, extended at the wings, ready to trap Kunja and anything that followed him.
*-----------------------------------------------*
"Mother of God, what the devil is he doing?"
"I can't raise him sir," said the hapless radio officer, fidling with his dials. "There's some kind of interference on the sidebands."
Rankin ignored him. "Take us in," he said to Æquitas.
"There's thirty-five enemy dragons coming in!" protested Æquitas. "We can't fight off two whole squadrons!"
"Take us in," repeated Rankin tersely. "And raise the rest of the squadron. Tell them to support Kunja as he withdraws."
"And if he doesn't withdraw?" replied Æquitas.
"Then drag him out of there with your teeth, damnit!"
Rankin stopped what he was doing and turned back. The lookouts were busying themselves with the retreating Germans, and trying to ensure that no straggler presented itself or launched a sneak attack out of the sun. Æquitas however was watching a very different dragon.
"What is it?" asked Michael, who's eyes were not up to the task of following whatever Æquitas could see, not even with field glasses.
"It's Kunja," said the dragon. "He's not conforming."
To say this did not come as a surprise was something of an understatement, but Rankin grumbled and tried to find Kunja through his field glasses anyhow.
"What the devil's he doing?"
"Skirmishing with some damned Bavarian, I think."
"Not - "
"No, Albatros fell back with the other Jerries, but this one won't disengage, and it looks like Kunja won't either."
"Well he'd damned well better start disengaging, the re-enforcements are on the way. All that German has to do is hold him in place for a little longer and..."
"I don't think he cares."
"Bloody hell," said Rankin. He reached behind him and picked up the radio microphone. "Captain Collington, Kunja, there's a German reserve wave coming straight for you. Get the bloody hell out of there right now or they'll tear you to bits!"
*---------------------------------------------------*
Kunja performed an Immelmann turn as Albatros righted himself and turned back to face him. Despite everything, Albatros couldn't help but smirk. Max Immelman, the inventor of the maneuver, had been killed, along with his dragon, when he was hit at the apex of one of his 'famous' turns by a Texas Longhorn at full speed. Yet aerobaticians still fawned all over it, heedless of the dangers.
Then again, Manfred himself had been fond of maneuvers Albatros would never dare attempt nowadays...
The Australian came screaming towards him at best speeds, and Albatros bore away, letting him pursue if that was what he wished. Lothar turned back to fire his MP-40, but Albatros stiffened and his Captain hesitated and stopped. Let the Australian come. Let him think he had won, that he was driving Albatros away. Albatros had never seen a Victorian of this size, but he had fought plenty of the normal type, in Galipoli, in Salonica, and at the Somme, and if there was one constant about them, it was their aptitude for getting drawn in over their heads.
"Megaphon Bildung," he said into his radio. "Umzingeln ihn und entzieht ihm das Wort."
Deliberately, Albatros began to slacken his pace, letting Kunja get closer, giving him hope that he was tiring or weakening and that victory would be his soon enough. It wasn't all feigned. Albatros had been flying for four hours and had a damaged wing, as well as the tremendous battering he had taken at the claws of the larger Lightweight. Nevertheless, he led the Australian on, as the reserve formation spread out into a wide net, extended at the wings, ready to trap Kunja and anything that followed him.
*-----------------------------------------------*
"Mother of God, what the devil is he doing?"
"I can't raise him sir," said the hapless radio officer, fidling with his dials. "There's some kind of interference on the sidebands."
Rankin ignored him. "Take us in," he said to Æquitas.
"There's thirty-five enemy dragons coming in!" protested Æquitas. "We can't fight off two whole squadrons!"
"Take us in," repeated Rankin tersely. "And raise the rest of the squadron. Tell them to support Kunja as he withdraws."
"And if he doesn't withdraw?" replied Æquitas.
"Then drag him out of there with your teeth, damnit!"
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
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
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#972
Judith heard the radio, and she spun, wiping blood off the binoculars so she could see what was going on. "Dammit, is he wantin' kilt?" she muttered.
Jebediah turned back towards the fight. "Ah don't thin' he's seein' nothin' but th' fight righ' now," the Smoke Devil said, frowning. "He's gone n' gotten fixy-ated."
"How kin we break 'em free?"
Jebediah, turned his head back, looking at her, covered with the black blood of the Leuchtkaffer. "Ya know... he gets righ' upset iffen yer hurt...." Jebediah said softly. "Why don' ya jis' lie down, an' let me handle this..."
Judith looked at the twinkle in Jeb's eye, and grinned back. "Iffen he don't com' runnin', remin' me ta hit 'em," she said, slowly settling down on Jebediah's neck, laying her head against his warm scales.
"Ah will..." Jebediah promised, before switching his radio on as loud as it will go. "KUNJA! JAKE!!! JUDITH'S NOT ANSWERIN' ME!!!!!!!!!" Jebediah roared so loudly that the radio was really not needed. He then started looking over his back frantically, as if trying to see if his baby girl was ok, shutting off the mic as he did so. "Judith! Judith... Baby girl? Answer ME!"
Jebediah turned back towards the fight. "Ah don't thin' he's seein' nothin' but th' fight righ' now," the Smoke Devil said, frowning. "He's gone n' gotten fixy-ated."
"How kin we break 'em free?"
Jebediah, turned his head back, looking at her, covered with the black blood of the Leuchtkaffer. "Ya know... he gets righ' upset iffen yer hurt...." Jebediah said softly. "Why don' ya jis' lie down, an' let me handle this..."
Judith looked at the twinkle in Jeb's eye, and grinned back. "Iffen he don't com' runnin', remin' me ta hit 'em," she said, slowly settling down on Jebediah's neck, laying her head against his warm scales.
"Ah will..." Jebediah promised, before switching his radio on as loud as it will go. "KUNJA! JAKE!!! JUDITH'S NOT ANSWERIN' ME!!!!!!!!!" Jebediah roared so loudly that the radio was really not needed. He then started looking over his back frantically, as if trying to see if his baby girl was ok, shutting off the mic as he did so. "Judith! Judith... Baby girl? Answer ME!"
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#973
Albatros was running. He was running! Kunja and Jake snorted in disgust as they changed plans. The weaving was meant as an acceleration killer, and it had been for a specific reason. If Albatros wasn't going to engage them again however than it was going to make things... more difficult. The Australians abandoned the strategy and started pushing forward at full speed.
Kunja barely even noticed the other 35 dragons that were incoming. They were only a problem if they were stupid enough to get in his way. And the dragon had few problems picking them off one by one until he finally got his prize. Jake however still had some grasp upon reality. He let out a string of curses as he realized he couldn't bring Albatros down before the reinforcements were on them and in his frustrations emptied his gun clip in the general direction of Albatros.
"Kunja. Pull back."
"What?! He's ours! Look at him limp!"
"Jack, even so I'm not sure we can bring him down before all those little chickenshits are on top of us, and even if they are small fries, we can't take them all out."
Kunja growled and continued to wing on.
"Jack... We messed him up this time, and there'll be another time."
Kunja let out a roar of frustration and anger that his prey was escaping him, it was quite loud for a dragon his size, and more terrifying was the promise of what it would bring the next time they met.
Then the Australian dragon made a sharp turn and started heading towards the others while Jake kept an eye on the reinforcements. If one of them was stupid enough to try to bring the fight to them, the Australians would be more than happy to tear them asunder.
Kunja barely even noticed the other 35 dragons that were incoming. They were only a problem if they were stupid enough to get in his way. And the dragon had few problems picking them off one by one until he finally got his prize. Jake however still had some grasp upon reality. He let out a string of curses as he realized he couldn't bring Albatros down before the reinforcements were on them and in his frustrations emptied his gun clip in the general direction of Albatros.
"Kunja. Pull back."
"What?! He's ours! Look at him limp!"
"Jack, even so I'm not sure we can bring him down before all those little chickenshits are on top of us, and even if they are small fries, we can't take them all out."
Kunja growled and continued to wing on.
"Jack... We messed him up this time, and there'll be another time."
Kunja let out a roar of frustration and anger that his prey was escaping him, it was quite loud for a dragon his size, and more terrifying was the promise of what it would bring the next time they met.
Then the Australian dragon made a sharp turn and started heading towards the others while Jake kept an eye on the reinforcements. If one of them was stupid enough to try to bring the fight to them, the Australians would be more than happy to tear them asunder.
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Cynical Cat
- Arch-Magician
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#974
"Fools," Frostfell called out as he clumsily flew back to base, with eyes open for Germans who had decided they still wanted a fight. "There is time to kill until the day you die. Let him go. Kill him later."
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
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- Location: The Imperial City of San Francisco
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#975
The ground crews soon arrived to secure the captured German crew. Flinder’s crewmen gradually pulled back and followed after their dragon and captain on foot. Allen walked in silence, thinking about the young German captain. He had been shocked to realize how close they were in age. He was used to thinking of dragain captains as older, seasoned men, like Captain Rankin, or even like his own Lieutenant Bennett.
Thinking about Bennett, he wondered about the missing half of his crew and if they had successfully returned their prize to base. Shouldering his rifle, he fumbled for his radio. Bennett was likely too far out of immediate transmission range, but he would try and ask for information to be relayed through one of the side-band operators.
He fumbled with the dials to reach the primary non-essentials channel, but picked up only static. Frowning, he tried two others. He checked the battery level and tapped the receiver against the side of his boot. Still nothing.
Frustrated, he turned to ask one of his gunners if he could borrow their radio, but stopped when he saw him going through the same routine with his equipment as well. He looked up at Allen with concern. “Cap’n, my radio’s gone dodgy.â€
Thinking about Bennett, he wondered about the missing half of his crew and if they had successfully returned their prize to base. Shouldering his rifle, he fumbled for his radio. Bennett was likely too far out of immediate transmission range, but he would try and ask for information to be relayed through one of the side-band operators.
He fumbled with the dials to reach the primary non-essentials channel, but picked up only static. Frowning, he tried two others. He checked the battery level and tapped the receiver against the side of his boot. Still nothing.
Frustrated, he turned to ask one of his gunners if he could borrow their radio, but stopped when he saw him going through the same routine with his equipment as well. He looked up at Allen with concern. “Cap’n, my radio’s gone dodgy.â€
I accidentally all the Brujah.