Jebediah straitened out of his cartwheel, thinking to himself about how that one din't go just as planned, when Judith screamed a warning. "STUKA DIVING!"
Jebediah didn't need told twice, as he knew Tot-n-Cough had been on his tail all the way down. With a sharp flick of wings and tail he cut sharply left, hoping to zig-zag out of the way. If he could get the Stuka to overcompensate and fly by him, Jebediah might have a chance to run for the relative safety of the remaining Russian dragons. Even as diminished as the Russian force was, it was better than a lone Lightweight out by himself with both a Stuka and a pissed off Wendigo nearby.
His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain
Moderator: B4UTRUST
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Jason_Firewalker
- Disciple
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#1002
Pondering the lack of radio during their high altitude patrol Janni and Lucas spoke with each other about their theories as to what was going on. Being in the dark was not something either of them enjoyed. About to turn back to their home station to check to see if their equipment was faulty they decided to give it five more wing beats.
As the fifth wing beat started to come down the radios suddenly cracked back to life almost instantly there was a distress call, "This is Tangmere Squadron! Russian envoy under heavy German assault! I repeat! Russian envoy under heavy German assault! This is Tangmere squadron we require immediate assistance!" The coordinates that followed were a little under five kilometers to the southeast of the attack on high air patrol.
"Lukey, sweety, I think its time we did some good today, this solo patrol is for the birds, literally! I say we move to engage." Janni perked up.
"I have to agree." Lucas concurred. Signaling to the crew to prepare to engage the enemy he switched on his microphone, "This is Janni out of East Suffolk station on high altitude patrol, we are approximately five kilometers out. We are moving to engage."
Two quick wing beats with great fevor and nosing down a bit to gain some good speed the crew and dragon began to wonder what it would be like to tangle with the damnable Schutzstaffel in true combat. Janni's speed was gaining and the stress aboard the dragon amidst her British crew members, Lieutenants Williams, Pope and Jackson, was palatable, so much so that you would require a scimitar to cut it. By contrast the Arab crew who had been with Janni for almost all her life, started to get everything ready. Every one of the men wore robes over their RAF uniforms, giving them the look of the desert. "أطر الله إننا شهداء لأجل اليوم !!!!" rushed across the lips of the top gunner with a almost ruthless fever. The left under-wing gunner responded with "أعداءنا سوف يكون الشهداء إلى سببهم لأجل سوف نكون منتصرون !!!!!"
Pope, the first officer of Janni, a man who was given this seemingly unfavorable assignment due to his, lack of drive, looked almost quizzical. Luke translated quickly, "Hussien said 'Praise god for we are martyrs' and Al-Abi responded 'Our enemies will be martyrs to their cause for we will win'. I like Al-Abi's attitude better at the moment."
As the fifth wing beat started to come down the radios suddenly cracked back to life almost instantly there was a distress call, "This is Tangmere Squadron! Russian envoy under heavy German assault! I repeat! Russian envoy under heavy German assault! This is Tangmere squadron we require immediate assistance!" The coordinates that followed were a little under five kilometers to the southeast of the attack on high air patrol.
"Lukey, sweety, I think its time we did some good today, this solo patrol is for the birds, literally! I say we move to engage." Janni perked up.
"I have to agree." Lucas concurred. Signaling to the crew to prepare to engage the enemy he switched on his microphone, "This is Janni out of East Suffolk station on high altitude patrol, we are approximately five kilometers out. We are moving to engage."
Two quick wing beats with great fevor and nosing down a bit to gain some good speed the crew and dragon began to wonder what it would be like to tangle with the damnable Schutzstaffel in true combat. Janni's speed was gaining and the stress aboard the dragon amidst her British crew members, Lieutenants Williams, Pope and Jackson, was palatable, so much so that you would require a scimitar to cut it. By contrast the Arab crew who had been with Janni for almost all her life, started to get everything ready. Every one of the men wore robes over their RAF uniforms, giving them the look of the desert. "أطر الله إننا شهداء لأجل اليوم !!!!" rushed across the lips of the top gunner with a almost ruthless fever. The left under-wing gunner responded with "أعداءنا سوف يكون الشهداء إلى سببهم لأجل سوف نكون منتصرون !!!!!"
Pope, the first officer of Janni, a man who was given this seemingly unfavorable assignment due to his, lack of drive, looked almost quizzical. Luke translated quickly, "Hussien said 'Praise god for we are martyrs' and Al-Abi responded 'Our enemies will be martyrs to their cause for we will win'. I like Al-Abi's attitude better at the moment."
'Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today — but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation, if we are to be saved at all'
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
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Avian Obscurities
- Apprentice
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#1003
After inadvertently drugging his German attacker and shaking him off, Flinder struggled to regain consciousness. Visions of the battle raced in front of him as his head darted around wildly. The Stukas were at once dragons, drifting holes, and wisps of storms. Sometimes he blinked and swore they were made of metal, with stiff wings and bombs clutched to their underbelly.
Looking at his comrades, he sometimes saw shadows of them, moving before and behind, repeating movements, or gesturing in motions they were about to make. In the chaos, though, he couldn't tell which images were real.
He dimly heard the yelling of Allen and his crew but couldn't make out the words in order to respond. Looking up, he saw the second Stuka making a dive at him, morphing into the buzzing iron-dragon with blades on the wings. Panicked, he instinctively folded his wings and dropped. The Stuka shot by overhead, and Flinder halted his fall well below the battle.
In his shifting mental state, he almost literally saw the wave of the Divine Wind tear through the battle above. It echoed across his visions and strangely seemed to pull them back into focus. He shook his head and continued to circle.
*~~~~*
Allen had been yelling at Flinder almost non-stop since the first Stuka broke off. Flinder was completely gone, completely unhearing and glancing around wildly, dodging unseen targets and buffeted by unfelt winds. Allen's yelling increased as the second Stuka made an attempt, but Flinder's visions must have coincided with the actual threat, since he plunged out of the way at the last second.
As they circled beneath the fray, Flinder suddenly calmed and turned his head around. His eyes were less wild, but still unfocused as he gazed into the distance. Then he spoke clearly for the first time since the fight had begun.
"The Wind...," he said, and Allen guessed he was referring to the unnaturally loud roar they had heard above, "...the Wind brings the Sand."
Looking at his comrades, he sometimes saw shadows of them, moving before and behind, repeating movements, or gesturing in motions they were about to make. In the chaos, though, he couldn't tell which images were real.
He dimly heard the yelling of Allen and his crew but couldn't make out the words in order to respond. Looking up, he saw the second Stuka making a dive at him, morphing into the buzzing iron-dragon with blades on the wings. Panicked, he instinctively folded his wings and dropped. The Stuka shot by overhead, and Flinder halted his fall well below the battle.
In his shifting mental state, he almost literally saw the wave of the Divine Wind tear through the battle above. It echoed across his visions and strangely seemed to pull them back into focus. He shook his head and continued to circle.
*~~~~*
Allen had been yelling at Flinder almost non-stop since the first Stuka broke off. Flinder was completely gone, completely unhearing and glancing around wildly, dodging unseen targets and buffeted by unfelt winds. Allen's yelling increased as the second Stuka made an attempt, but Flinder's visions must have coincided with the actual threat, since he plunged out of the way at the last second.
As they circled beneath the fray, Flinder suddenly calmed and turned his head around. His eyes were less wild, but still unfocused as he gazed into the distance. Then he spoke clearly for the first time since the fight had begun.
"The Wind...," he said, and Allen guessed he was referring to the unnaturally loud roar they had heard above, "...the Wind brings the Sand."
I accidentally all the Brujah.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#1004
Kunja was only in contact with the Stuka for a matter of seconds, and the Stuka had been concentrating primarily on blowing Frostfell out of the air, and yet in those few seconds, the Stuka still managed to respond, reversing its claws to lash at Kunja. Had the Australian remained any longer, he would have been summarily disemboweled, but he darted off just in time to avoid that fate. What he could not avoid was the Stuka's foreclaws snatching at his tail as he flew away, ripping a gash straight down the tail from base to tip with razorsteel claws.
Two seconds later, the stickbombs exploded.
The crew had actually been watching for them, and reacted about as well as they could have been expected to. An SS storm trooper rappelled down the side of his dragon and tore one of the bombs from the body of his dragon, attempting to throw it away. It exploded in his hands, blowing him to red paste, just as the other one blew up right where it was, ripping a gash in the Stuka's flank and, as it turned out, saving Frostfell's life.
*---------------------------------------------------*
Frostfell was correct roughly, in that an unarmored Stuka, for all its terrifying power, could not stand up to the punishment that a Wendigo could unleash, not for long at least. Exertion and injury had robbed Frostfell's blows of some of their power, but the Light Heavyweight remained a Light Heavyweight, and the Stuka could not fight back effectively. Its fellow Stuka had descended to try and counterattack, blasting away with the Divine Wind at the White Devil of the Canadas, but Kunja's bomb spoiled its aim, to say the least, and the cone of destruction missed high. Frostfell heard it, hell every dragon in the air heard it, a peal of artificial, atonal thunder that seemed to rip the very atmosphere apart. Frostfell also felt it, felt the air distort around him, felt he sudden pressure change from above, and being as he was not an idiot, could tell just how horribly close that had been.
But lest he congratulate himself on a job well evaded, a second later, the other Wendigo smashed into him.
There was simply no way for Frostfell to have avoided the blow, even had he known it was coming, which given everything, he probably did. He had jumped and mauled two Stukas in turn, with an interlude of fighting the other Wendigo herself, making of himself such a nuisance that the Stukas had chosen to employ the Divine Wind against him regardless of the risk to their fellows. With Veritas elsewhere, Hermecritus on the ground, and Æquitas disabled, Frostfell was also the largest allied dragon in the air by a factor of about 12. As the Stukas could not deal with him directly, not while unarmored and outnumbered, it was only reasonable to guess that the enemy Wendigo would.
And so she did.
She hit Frostfell from above and the side. Wendigo were not used by special forces as a matter of chance, they could fly very quietly at need, and any sounds the Nazi beast had made were drowned out by the thunder of the Divine Wind. Her blow was intended to do two, very precise things: Free the Stuka that Frostfell was about to beat to death, and ensure that Frostfell could threaten them no longer. She had not the raw strength to actually kill Frostfell, nor the time to beat him into submission, even assuming she could, so she aimed for a disabling strike, at his remaining intact wing.
Frostfell had a tight grip on his target, but a thirty ton impact was still a thirty ton impact, and the Stuka tore loose, albeit at the cost of literally ripping free of Frostfell's claws, leaving blood and ribbons of flesh adorning the Canadian Wendigo's talons. Frostfell was rolled over by the force of the impact, turning a complete barrel roll as the enemy Wendigo lashed at his wings. She managed a few slashes, nothing truly crippling, no joint strikes or tendon slices, but it was all further damage to Frostfell's already abused wings. And then, a moment later, she was gone, passing above and over Frostfell, bumping and scraping over him, the momentum of her pass too powerful for anything to have stopped dead, even another Wendigo.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Jeb cut as hard as he could to the left to evade Totenkopf's strike, but the Stuka was faster than he looked, and even if Jeb's agility was not to be matched this side of the Andes Mountains, he still wasn't quite agile enough. As soon as Totenkopf saw that he was going to miss, he threw his weight to one side, reached out with his foreleg, and slashed at Jeb as he fell past. The blow struck the Smoke Devil on his hindquarters, biting through the armor and slashing all the way down his left hindleg as deep as the bone. For a second, the Stuka thought he might have succeeded in grabbing the lightweight American dragon, but an instant later his claws tore free, and the Stuka fell away below, pulling up as hard as he could, but unable to arrest his scream dive in a heartbeat, leaving Jeb badly sliced open, but presently alive.
Though of course, Totenkopf had a plan or two in mind for that.
*------------------------------------------------------------*
Several Allied and Russian dragons were down, out, or dead. Æquitas lay prostrate on the ground next to his stunned and bleeding crew, and Hermecritus with him, having abandoned the fight to catch their falling flagdragon. Flinder had panicked and fallen away, leaving the battle behind. The Greater Ironwing was dead, as was one of the St. Nevski's, and the other had finally landed, simply unable to force itself into the air any further. Fully half of the Allied and Russian dragons were out of the battle.
And yet, whoever was commanding this force of the damned that the Germans had manifested over Hampshire was no idiot. With the radio jamming equipment destroyed by Jebediah and Judith, the British would soon be pouring re-enforcements into this battle in numbers no handful of German dragons could hope to face. And while half the allies had been taken out, there remained the other half, among them dragons such as Kunja, who had fought Albatros to a standstill earlier that day, or Frostfell, who had done the same to Ragnarok twice. Atop that, there was Vinoslivijia herself, undaunted by whatever damage the Stukas had managed to inflict, who was busy revenging herself against anything in reach. The Stuka in her claws had just barely managed to tear itself free, and let the Crimson Angel dive below him, and was now scrambling to coalesce back together with the remaining Germans. The Germans too had taken punishment. Two Stukas were badly hurt, one by Frostfell, one by Vinoslivijia herself. Two others had lesser damage, one again from Frostfell, and another thanks to Kunja's infernal bombs. Of the remaining two intact Stukas, one was just coming out of whatever hallucinogenic nightmare Flinder had inflicted on him, and the last one, Totenkopf himself, could not hope to take all comers on, even with the aid of the German Wendigo.
And so, someone gave an order.
What that order was, or how it was transmitted, none of the Allies or Russians knew, but slowly, the Germans began to form back up, away from the Russian and British forces, gathering together for mutual protection and assistance, either for a renewed assault, or perhaps for an imminent withdrawal.
Two seconds later, the stickbombs exploded.
The crew had actually been watching for them, and reacted about as well as they could have been expected to. An SS storm trooper rappelled down the side of his dragon and tore one of the bombs from the body of his dragon, attempting to throw it away. It exploded in his hands, blowing him to red paste, just as the other one blew up right where it was, ripping a gash in the Stuka's flank and, as it turned out, saving Frostfell's life.
*---------------------------------------------------*
Frostfell was correct roughly, in that an unarmored Stuka, for all its terrifying power, could not stand up to the punishment that a Wendigo could unleash, not for long at least. Exertion and injury had robbed Frostfell's blows of some of their power, but the Light Heavyweight remained a Light Heavyweight, and the Stuka could not fight back effectively. Its fellow Stuka had descended to try and counterattack, blasting away with the Divine Wind at the White Devil of the Canadas, but Kunja's bomb spoiled its aim, to say the least, and the cone of destruction missed high. Frostfell heard it, hell every dragon in the air heard it, a peal of artificial, atonal thunder that seemed to rip the very atmosphere apart. Frostfell also felt it, felt the air distort around him, felt he sudden pressure change from above, and being as he was not an idiot, could tell just how horribly close that had been.
But lest he congratulate himself on a job well evaded, a second later, the other Wendigo smashed into him.
There was simply no way for Frostfell to have avoided the blow, even had he known it was coming, which given everything, he probably did. He had jumped and mauled two Stukas in turn, with an interlude of fighting the other Wendigo herself, making of himself such a nuisance that the Stukas had chosen to employ the Divine Wind against him regardless of the risk to their fellows. With Veritas elsewhere, Hermecritus on the ground, and Æquitas disabled, Frostfell was also the largest allied dragon in the air by a factor of about 12. As the Stukas could not deal with him directly, not while unarmored and outnumbered, it was only reasonable to guess that the enemy Wendigo would.
And so she did.
She hit Frostfell from above and the side. Wendigo were not used by special forces as a matter of chance, they could fly very quietly at need, and any sounds the Nazi beast had made were drowned out by the thunder of the Divine Wind. Her blow was intended to do two, very precise things: Free the Stuka that Frostfell was about to beat to death, and ensure that Frostfell could threaten them no longer. She had not the raw strength to actually kill Frostfell, nor the time to beat him into submission, even assuming she could, so she aimed for a disabling strike, at his remaining intact wing.
Frostfell had a tight grip on his target, but a thirty ton impact was still a thirty ton impact, and the Stuka tore loose, albeit at the cost of literally ripping free of Frostfell's claws, leaving blood and ribbons of flesh adorning the Canadian Wendigo's talons. Frostfell was rolled over by the force of the impact, turning a complete barrel roll as the enemy Wendigo lashed at his wings. She managed a few slashes, nothing truly crippling, no joint strikes or tendon slices, but it was all further damage to Frostfell's already abused wings. And then, a moment later, she was gone, passing above and over Frostfell, bumping and scraping over him, the momentum of her pass too powerful for anything to have stopped dead, even another Wendigo.
*--------------------------------------------------------*
Jeb cut as hard as he could to the left to evade Totenkopf's strike, but the Stuka was faster than he looked, and even if Jeb's agility was not to be matched this side of the Andes Mountains, he still wasn't quite agile enough. As soon as Totenkopf saw that he was going to miss, he threw his weight to one side, reached out with his foreleg, and slashed at Jeb as he fell past. The blow struck the Smoke Devil on his hindquarters, biting through the armor and slashing all the way down his left hindleg as deep as the bone. For a second, the Stuka thought he might have succeeded in grabbing the lightweight American dragon, but an instant later his claws tore free, and the Stuka fell away below, pulling up as hard as he could, but unable to arrest his scream dive in a heartbeat, leaving Jeb badly sliced open, but presently alive.
Though of course, Totenkopf had a plan or two in mind for that.
*------------------------------------------------------------*
Several Allied and Russian dragons were down, out, or dead. Æquitas lay prostrate on the ground next to his stunned and bleeding crew, and Hermecritus with him, having abandoned the fight to catch their falling flagdragon. Flinder had panicked and fallen away, leaving the battle behind. The Greater Ironwing was dead, as was one of the St. Nevski's, and the other had finally landed, simply unable to force itself into the air any further. Fully half of the Allied and Russian dragons were out of the battle.
And yet, whoever was commanding this force of the damned that the Germans had manifested over Hampshire was no idiot. With the radio jamming equipment destroyed by Jebediah and Judith, the British would soon be pouring re-enforcements into this battle in numbers no handful of German dragons could hope to face. And while half the allies had been taken out, there remained the other half, among them dragons such as Kunja, who had fought Albatros to a standstill earlier that day, or Frostfell, who had done the same to Ragnarok twice. Atop that, there was Vinoslivijia herself, undaunted by whatever damage the Stukas had managed to inflict, who was busy revenging herself against anything in reach. The Stuka in her claws had just barely managed to tear itself free, and let the Crimson Angel dive below him, and was now scrambling to coalesce back together with the remaining Germans. The Germans too had taken punishment. Two Stukas were badly hurt, one by Frostfell, one by Vinoslivijia herself. Two others had lesser damage, one again from Frostfell, and another thanks to Kunja's infernal bombs. Of the remaining two intact Stukas, one was just coming out of whatever hallucinogenic nightmare Flinder had inflicted on him, and the last one, Totenkopf himself, could not hope to take all comers on, even with the aid of the German Wendigo.
And so, someone gave an order.
What that order was, or how it was transmitted, none of the Allies or Russians knew, but slowly, the Germans began to form back up, away from the Russian and British forces, gathering together for mutual protection and assistance, either for a renewed assault, or perhaps for an imminent withdrawal.
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."
#1005
Kunja tried to gain altitude again once he arrested his dive, but found he lacked the strength to gain it quickly, but he needed to gain altitude to stay in the fight, and so he did, immensely slowly. He was half-blinded from blood that had seeped into his eyes, and so looked at everything through a blurry red-tinged vision. He growled and spat out more blood as he saw the black things moving away.
Jake was breathing hard as he watched the Stukas move away from them. For what was uncertain. But he was fairly certain that Kunja couldn't have fought off a courier dragon right now. Let alone do more than slow down those Stukas for only a few seconds if they decided to come back. He looked up at Vinoslivijia and prayed that if it came down to it she would have the smarts to run as the Allies held back the Germans as long as they could.
Jake was breathing hard as he watched the Stukas move away from them. For what was uncertain. But he was fairly certain that Kunja couldn't have fought off a courier dragon right now. Let alone do more than slow down those Stukas for only a few seconds if they decided to come back. He looked up at Vinoslivijia and prayed that if it came down to it she would have the smarts to run as the Allies held back the Germans as long as they could.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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Cynical Cat
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#1006
Frostfell fell, his mind and belly full of fury. The bitch had blindsided him. If he had seen the attack coming he could have twisted and used the Stuka as a shield. It was all Aequitas's fault. If the over civilized moron had hit the attacking Stuka instead of Frostfell, Aequitas would still be up in the air fighting and he would be beating the hell out of whatever her name was.
He roared after her, his powerful voice ringing through the air. "You are wise to fear me! Wise to flee! Tell the Jotunmeister! Frostfell! FROSTFELL DID THIS!" Mocking laughter followed her as she moved to join the Stukas.
This fuck up did explain why Rankin and Aequitas weren't doing a better job of directing that stellar example of draconian superiority Veritas. Their ability to appropriately target the enemy was clearly almost as deficient. Fools fool fools! Overbred, domesticated fools!
Common knowledge said that long established breeds, and the Chinese had been breeding the longest, were superior to wilder breeds. They said that about dogs as well and they had been bred by men for ten times as long. If you wanted a five pound lapdog or a one hundred fifty pound mastiff, go with the breeds. If you wanted a hundred pounds of ferocious canine, you couldn't beat a wolf and if you wanted a masterful light heavyweight you couldn't beat a Wendigo. As mister Darwin had confirmed, nature had her own breeding program and it was apparently the only one that valued brains. Dumbkopfs.
He slid from the sky, spiraling down to the ground with his wounded wings folded. He couldn't catch a middleweight or another Wendigo in the shape he was in and with no cannon all he would be doing was making himself an easy target for a Divine Wind attack.
He flared his wings as he neared the ground, breaking his descent. Hermeticus had caught Aequitas in time, although the landing hadn't been pretty. He landed nearby and walked closer, his white hide smeared with the black of his own blood and that of his victims. He approached the Longhorn's head.
"Hermeticus, can you fly?"
He roared after her, his powerful voice ringing through the air. "You are wise to fear me! Wise to flee! Tell the Jotunmeister! Frostfell! FROSTFELL DID THIS!" Mocking laughter followed her as she moved to join the Stukas.
This fuck up did explain why Rankin and Aequitas weren't doing a better job of directing that stellar example of draconian superiority Veritas. Their ability to appropriately target the enemy was clearly almost as deficient. Fools fool fools! Overbred, domesticated fools!
Common knowledge said that long established breeds, and the Chinese had been breeding the longest, were superior to wilder breeds. They said that about dogs as well and they had been bred by men for ten times as long. If you wanted a five pound lapdog or a one hundred fifty pound mastiff, go with the breeds. If you wanted a hundred pounds of ferocious canine, you couldn't beat a wolf and if you wanted a masterful light heavyweight you couldn't beat a Wendigo. As mister Darwin had confirmed, nature had her own breeding program and it was apparently the only one that valued brains. Dumbkopfs.
He slid from the sky, spiraling down to the ground with his wounded wings folded. He couldn't catch a middleweight or another Wendigo in the shape he was in and with no cannon all he would be doing was making himself an easy target for a Divine Wind attack.
He flared his wings as he neared the ground, breaking his descent. Hermeticus had caught Aequitas in time, although the landing hadn't been pretty. He landed nearby and walked closer, his white hide smeared with the black of his own blood and that of his victims. He approached the Longhorn's head.
"Hermeticus, can you fly?"
Last edited by Cynical Cat on Mon Apr 27, 2009 2:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
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#1007
The halfbreed heavyweight looked up as Frostfell approached. After the crash landing, with Æquitas dead weight on his back, Hermeticus was tired, sore, and woozy.
Some of his crew had managed to remain alive, scurrying as they did off his back, and clinging where they could when it came time for him to hit the ground. Some had died in the impact, or were thrown by the hit of the middleweight in midair, their straps not fixed soon enough.
Still, Frostfell was here, which meant either the Wendigo was down, or the fight was all but over.
After managing to get Æquitas off of his back, and surveying the damage, Hermeticus remained on the ground, not curled up, but not prone, half curled really, cradling something in his forepaws.
His eyes, the black pools they were, fixated on Frostfell, and his voice, tired, the pain running through his body and elsewhere audible, as he spoke, "If it means I can kill one of those bastards...I will fly to hell and back..."
Hermeticus put his muzzle between his forepaws, lightly nuzzling the body laid within. When the halfbreed looked back up, his eyes had become pools of fire, and his voice was like acid.
"I'll tear every one of them apart....for my Thomas..."
Some of his crew had managed to remain alive, scurrying as they did off his back, and clinging where they could when it came time for him to hit the ground. Some had died in the impact, or were thrown by the hit of the middleweight in midair, their straps not fixed soon enough.
Still, Frostfell was here, which meant either the Wendigo was down, or the fight was all but over.
After managing to get Æquitas off of his back, and surveying the damage, Hermeticus remained on the ground, not curled up, but not prone, half curled really, cradling something in his forepaws.
His eyes, the black pools they were, fixated on Frostfell, and his voice, tired, the pain running through his body and elsewhere audible, as he spoke, "If it means I can kill one of those bastards...I will fly to hell and back..."
Hermeticus put his muzzle between his forepaws, lightly nuzzling the body laid within. When the halfbreed looked back up, his eyes had become pools of fire, and his voice was like acid.
"I'll tear every one of them apart....for my Thomas..."
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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Jason_Firewalker
- Disciple
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Sun May 04, 2008 8:06 pm
- 16
- Location: Northern California
#1008
The Germans were pulling back into formation, six SS Stukas and a Wendigo from what Lucas could see. "Janni, we are outgunned in this situation. Lets see who we can draw from the pack"
"A most mischievous idea my good Lucas." Janni replied.
"Pull up a bit then, lets survey the situation a bit more." Lucas looked around, two of the Stukas were severely injured, two much less injured and two unscathed, though one seemed not right in the head. The Wendigo had burn marks and claw marks all over her. Spotting over to the Allied forces there was a huge Crimson Angel, probably the Grand Duchess', enraged and looking at the Germans reforming, a crippled male Wendigo, some god-awful American mixed breed that looked like a cross between a Texas Longhorn and well, everything else to ever hit those shores collapsed on the ground, a small Queen Victoria's Reaper, some other American, a couple of Cossacks, a crashed Malachite Reaper and a dead Greater Ironwing. "This situation is FUBAR, but its our duty friend, for this is the right thing to do. Lets bring that female Wendigo back to the Crimson Angel, see how those two get along."
Flipping on his internal comm system Lucas radioed back to his Arab crew "أرخى بنادق كل, ترك رأى ما نحن يمكن أن رذاذ على ممر سريع الألمانيين و جمع من جديد فوق من قبل الروسي. Repeating for those of you who did not understand, lets strafe the Huns and then regroup over by the Russians."
The men of Janni pulled their guns out and switched off the safeties on their personal weapons and on their turrets. Lucas checked his hip holster for his sidearm and scimitar. His Webley Mk V revolver was there, loaded and ready, his scimitar there as well. He reached over and forward a tad and pulled out a bolt action stripper-clip loading rifle. He had used this weapon in the past to hunt all sorts of large game, now for the first time to his knowledge, an elephant gun would be shot in dragon on dragon combat. The .404 Jeffery rounds loaded in the rifle had enough power to punch into dragon scale of most dragons and make it hurt like hell.
Janni pushed into a slow dive and her twin belly turrets light up on the Germans as they regrouped. At a distance just over half a mile Lucas began to take bead and lead on the female Wendigo. A hundred feet later in the dive he squeezed the trigger. The kick from the rifle as he was aiming low, jostled him hard in his harness. His shoulder was in pain, he winced as he worked the bolt. Flipping his radio to talk to the Allied dragons Lucas spoke "This is Captain Lucas Tennebaker on Janni, we are on a strafing run, moving in to regroup at the Crimson Angel. Can anyone hear me? Please respond."
Taking bead again Lucas lead his target again, the same female Wendigo and fired again, his shoulder this time erupting in pain. "Janni, pull us towards the Russians."
"Yes Lucas dear." Janni responded with an almost whimsical sound in her voice. Peeling off in half upwards loop that would make most men have second thoughts about flying, she then beat her wings twice with great power and in rapid succession, she flipped over and turned towards the Russians. Moving her wings with as much power and strength as she could generate hoping to draw, from a safe distance, the much larger Wendigo into following.
EDIT: Made my plans more clear and edited out the parts about the sand.
"A most mischievous idea my good Lucas." Janni replied.
"Pull up a bit then, lets survey the situation a bit more." Lucas looked around, two of the Stukas were severely injured, two much less injured and two unscathed, though one seemed not right in the head. The Wendigo had burn marks and claw marks all over her. Spotting over to the Allied forces there was a huge Crimson Angel, probably the Grand Duchess', enraged and looking at the Germans reforming, a crippled male Wendigo, some god-awful American mixed breed that looked like a cross between a Texas Longhorn and well, everything else to ever hit those shores collapsed on the ground, a small Queen Victoria's Reaper, some other American, a couple of Cossacks, a crashed Malachite Reaper and a dead Greater Ironwing. "This situation is FUBAR, but its our duty friend, for this is the right thing to do. Lets bring that female Wendigo back to the Crimson Angel, see how those two get along."
Flipping on his internal comm system Lucas radioed back to his Arab crew "أرخى بنادق كل, ترك رأى ما نحن يمكن أن رذاذ على ممر سريع الألمانيين و جمع من جديد فوق من قبل الروسي. Repeating for those of you who did not understand, lets strafe the Huns and then regroup over by the Russians."
The men of Janni pulled their guns out and switched off the safeties on their personal weapons and on their turrets. Lucas checked his hip holster for his sidearm and scimitar. His Webley Mk V revolver was there, loaded and ready, his scimitar there as well. He reached over and forward a tad and pulled out a bolt action stripper-clip loading rifle. He had used this weapon in the past to hunt all sorts of large game, now for the first time to his knowledge, an elephant gun would be shot in dragon on dragon combat. The .404 Jeffery rounds loaded in the rifle had enough power to punch into dragon scale of most dragons and make it hurt like hell.
Janni pushed into a slow dive and her twin belly turrets light up on the Germans as they regrouped. At a distance just over half a mile Lucas began to take bead and lead on the female Wendigo. A hundred feet later in the dive he squeezed the trigger. The kick from the rifle as he was aiming low, jostled him hard in his harness. His shoulder was in pain, he winced as he worked the bolt. Flipping his radio to talk to the Allied dragons Lucas spoke "This is Captain Lucas Tennebaker on Janni, we are on a strafing run, moving in to regroup at the Crimson Angel. Can anyone hear me? Please respond."
Taking bead again Lucas lead his target again, the same female Wendigo and fired again, his shoulder this time erupting in pain. "Janni, pull us towards the Russians."
"Yes Lucas dear." Janni responded with an almost whimsical sound in her voice. Peeling off in half upwards loop that would make most men have second thoughts about flying, she then beat her wings twice with great power and in rapid succession, she flipped over and turned towards the Russians. Moving her wings with as much power and strength as she could generate hoping to draw, from a safe distance, the much larger Wendigo into following.
EDIT: Made my plans more clear and edited out the parts about the sand.
Last edited by Jason_Firewalker on Tue Apr 28, 2009 4:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
'Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today — but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation, if we are to be saved at all'
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
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LadyTevar
- Pleasure Kitten Foreman
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#1009
This was the second time a dragon had sliced into Jebediah's hindquarters, and the old SmokeDevil screamed in pain. Black-blue blood ran down his leg, the muscles of the leg glistening where Tottenkoph's metal-shod claws had ripped through scales into flesh.
Judith winced in sympathy, knowing that this was beyond her simple skills to patch, even as she kept an eye on Tottenkoph, knowing Jebediah was in a very bad spot when the Stuka came back around.
Yet the Americans were lucky, as all the Germans regrouped at an unseen signal. Judith considered her options, and took the one that seemed to be the safest. "Jeb... land near Frostfell... we're jis' as done-in as him."
Jebediah didn't have to be told twice, making sure to keep as far away from the regrouping Germans as he headed for the deck and the relative safety of Hermeticus and Frostfell ... although neither one looked in any shape to fly or fight again. However, even Tottenkoph didn't seen in the mood to bother with Jebediah as the SmokeDevil went for a landing, although Judith and Jebediah both felt the nightmarish Stuka's stare.
Exhausted and hurt, Jebediah came down as close as he could to Frostfell and Hermeticus, kicking up dust as he back-winged to a landing, his back legs touching down first ...
... and the wounded left hindleg crumpled under, sending Jebediah sprawling sideways with a cry of pain and forcing Judith to scramble to the right to keep from being pinned as the SmokeDevil landed hard on his left side.
"........... dammit, dammit, dammit... " Judith cursed as Jebediah moaned and cursed softly in true pain. Blue-black blood from the wound started staining the ground, joining the blood of Hermeticus, Frostfell, Æquitas, and the reddish blood of their human crew.
Judith winced in sympathy, knowing that this was beyond her simple skills to patch, even as she kept an eye on Tottenkoph, knowing Jebediah was in a very bad spot when the Stuka came back around.
Yet the Americans were lucky, as all the Germans regrouped at an unseen signal. Judith considered her options, and took the one that seemed to be the safest. "Jeb... land near Frostfell... we're jis' as done-in as him."
Jebediah didn't have to be told twice, making sure to keep as far away from the regrouping Germans as he headed for the deck and the relative safety of Hermeticus and Frostfell ... although neither one looked in any shape to fly or fight again. However, even Tottenkoph didn't seen in the mood to bother with Jebediah as the SmokeDevil went for a landing, although Judith and Jebediah both felt the nightmarish Stuka's stare.
Exhausted and hurt, Jebediah came down as close as he could to Frostfell and Hermeticus, kicking up dust as he back-winged to a landing, his back legs touching down first ...
... and the wounded left hindleg crumpled under, sending Jebediah sprawling sideways with a cry of pain and forcing Judith to scramble to the right to keep from being pinned as the SmokeDevil landed hard on his left side.
"........... dammit, dammit, dammit... " Judith cursed as Jebediah moaned and cursed softly in true pain. Blue-black blood from the wound started staining the ground, joining the blood of Hermeticus, Frostfell, Æquitas, and the reddish blood of their human crew.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#1010
Kunja was gliding more than flying right now, as the Sandstorm moved in to attack by himself the Victorian just shook his head. Even if he wanted to now, there was no way he could engage the Germans. He was in the air as a deterant, something to make the Germans think it would take too long to finish their mission.
Jake got back on the radio. "Don't you dare lead them back to the Russians damnit! We just fought to get them away from the damn Russians! Break off! Russians carrying precious cargo!" Jake closed the channel and growled. "I'm gonna kill him..."
Jake got back on the radio. "Don't you dare lead them back to the Russians damnit! We just fought to get them away from the damn Russians! Break off! Russians carrying precious cargo!" Jake closed the channel and growled. "I'm gonna kill him..."
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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Jason_Firewalker
- Disciple
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#1011
"Precious cargo with the Russians? Understood, rerouting towards East Suffolk station. East Suffolk do you copy on reroute plans? I need combat dragons in the air." Apparently the squadron and the Russians were more torn up then his quick glance had given him the appearance of and the Russians were carrying something important. "Tangmere squadron, good luck and apologies on the misdirect, I miscalculated the situation on approach. Lets see if I can pull these Huns away."
'Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today — but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation, if we are to be saved at all'
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
-- Sir Issac Asimov
The True Resurrection would undo the chartrusing of the Gnome
-- My friend figuring out how to permanently turn a gnome chartreuse
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents
--HP Lovecraft in Call Of Cthulhu
-
General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
- Posts: 5245
- Joined: Wed Aug 10, 2005 2:12 pm
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- Location: The City that is not Frisco
- Contact:
#1012
It was like a bad nightmare. The exhausted, beaten, spent Allied dragons and crews could watch the disaster unfolding, but could do nothing to stop it. Events conspired against them, and just as they thought all was saved, things disintegrated before their very eyes.
Badly injured as the Allies were, the German dragons had taken more than they were willing to take. The seven SS beasts flew a tight, holding pattern as someone aboard them, or perhaps one of the dragons themselves, issued orders and shouted down criticism, the winds robbing their words of any meaning by the time they had gotten to the allies. Still, it was not difficult to determine what was transpiring. An acrimonious fight between those who cautioned retreat, and those who insisted that they should fall upon their enemies again, and use the Divine Wind and the power of their escorting Wendigo to destroy all of their enemies. Which way the argument might have gone was, in the end, immaterial, for circumstances in the form of a Sandstorm intervened.
It had to be admitted that none of the Germans anticipated an attack like that. A flight of British heavyweights would have been spotted further out, but a single Sandstorm joining the fray and launching an attack against a force of dragons that outweighed it nearly 9:1 was not something they had planned against, and so Janni and her crew and captain were permitted to loose several shots from their personal weapons, turrets, and elephant gun without retaliation. Bullets thudded into dragonscale and pinged off of various bits of metal equipment, and for a brief moment, it looked as though the Germans might be tipped into retreating, that the addition of a single fresh midweight had tipped the scales in their favor.
And then one of the Arabic dragon's rounds, from a machine gun or sub-machine gun, or perhaps the elephant gun itself, took the head off of the Wendigo's first officer, and while the Wendigo did not erupt into a berserker frenzy, she instantly took action that rendered everyone's nightmare a reality.
Roaring a challenge of war and death, for there was no longer a need for secrecy, the Wendigo's wings flayed the air as she tore after the agile Sandstorm, fast and sleek enough, despite her larger bulk, to match his soaring pattern. No turrets did the Wendigo have, but her crew still carried shorter-range guns that filled the air with bullets like wasps, and behind her, with the inevitable force of inertia, first one, then a second, then four of the six Stukas came racing after, only the two most injured holding back, and these dragons did carry guns just as heavy as the Sandstorm's. All discretion momentarily forgotten, the dragons blasted away with every piece of ordinance at their disposal, bullets raining down on Janni like a monsoon, as she bore away north, straight for Vinoslivijia and her few remaining defenders.
Desperately, Kunja shouted a warning and Janni received it, an insistence that there was precious cargo aboard Vinoslivijia, and the Arabian dragon whirled about and reoriented herself to move east, towards the ephemeral protection of Suffolk or Dover squadrons, her Captain crying out on the radio for assistance from the remainder of the RAF. The Ground Controller responded in breathless tones that formations from RAF Dorset, Sussex, and reserve dragons from Wiltshire were already en-route, but that they remained minutes away at best speed. An instant later, all communication was severed, as Janni's radio and radio-operator were both crushed into shapeless mulch by the German Wendigo.
The Wendigo alone had broken off after the Sandstorm as she switched tracks to fly east, and the sharp turn had robbed her target of both momentum and speed, enough that the Wendigo caught up, slamming directly into the Sandstorm in a shower of sparks, metal debris, and black-red blood. What injuries the Wendigo had taken had only served to anger her, and she tore into the Sandstorm like a pinata, gripping the dragon with one foreclaw and slamming her other foreclaw into it again and again, tearing apart the midweight's armor and sending blood flying in buckets.
But the Wendigo was merely clearing the path.
All four Stukas advanced on Vinoslivijia in staggered diamond formation, committed to their one last strike, and conscious that there was nothing to stop them. The two bleeding, battered Cossack dragons, outweighted by a factor of 20, to say nothing of the special weapons involved, simply glanced at one another and flew to meet the Stukas head-on, hoping only to buy their charge time to escape, though any sane observer could see that this was not merely suicidal but useless. Vinoslivijia could not outrun the Stukas, and while she might or might not have been able to fight them off herself, this time the Stukas were no longer holding back for capture.
This time they were simply out to hit and run.
The leading Stuka, the same one Flinder had poisoned with his hallucinogens, took both Cossacks on the front flanks. The dragon growled as wingblades tore open both shoulders and traced patterns of slashes down its sides, but it retaliated by simply bludgeoning one Cossack out of the air with its hind leg, and drenching the other with a deluge of firepower, forcing the dragon to wing over and dive just to avoid getting its Captain shot apart. The other three Stukas, Totenkopf included, pressed on towards Vinoslivijia, who did largely the only thing she could. Knowing full-well what the Stukas intended to do, she folded her wings and dove for the ground, pulling up at the last second to land on all four feet before turning back around to face the oncoming Stukas. This was a terrible position to fight from. In melee combat any sane dragon preferred to be in the air, but Vinoslivijia knew that the Stukas had no intention of fighting in melee. Not this time.
Without hesitation, Totenkopf and his two companions descended towards Vinoslivijia in a shallow dive, and the great Crimson Angel could do nothing but simply stare at them as they approached, crouching low, spreading her wings wide, and snarling as crew and guards rushed down from her tremendous bulk. And as the Stukas levelled off and approached at flank speed, Vinoslivijia opened her maw wide and roared as loudly as she could, an earth-shaking roar of defiance as only a forty-two ton dragon could produce, a roar powerful enough shatter windows and deafen the unprepared, that, weather permitting could be heard as far away as Southhampton and Portsmouth.
And then the Stukas opened their mouths, and as one, unleashed the Divine Wind, instantly submerging Vinoslivijia's roar in an avalanche of raw, atonal sound that stripped the earth bare, shattered trees and stone walls, and conjured up from the ground a blistering collumn of dust and dirt so thick that the immense Crimson Angel that was their target vanished completely into the unearthly haze.
Badly injured as the Allies were, the German dragons had taken more than they were willing to take. The seven SS beasts flew a tight, holding pattern as someone aboard them, or perhaps one of the dragons themselves, issued orders and shouted down criticism, the winds robbing their words of any meaning by the time they had gotten to the allies. Still, it was not difficult to determine what was transpiring. An acrimonious fight between those who cautioned retreat, and those who insisted that they should fall upon their enemies again, and use the Divine Wind and the power of their escorting Wendigo to destroy all of their enemies. Which way the argument might have gone was, in the end, immaterial, for circumstances in the form of a Sandstorm intervened.
It had to be admitted that none of the Germans anticipated an attack like that. A flight of British heavyweights would have been spotted further out, but a single Sandstorm joining the fray and launching an attack against a force of dragons that outweighed it nearly 9:1 was not something they had planned against, and so Janni and her crew and captain were permitted to loose several shots from their personal weapons, turrets, and elephant gun without retaliation. Bullets thudded into dragonscale and pinged off of various bits of metal equipment, and for a brief moment, it looked as though the Germans might be tipped into retreating, that the addition of a single fresh midweight had tipped the scales in their favor.
And then one of the Arabic dragon's rounds, from a machine gun or sub-machine gun, or perhaps the elephant gun itself, took the head off of the Wendigo's first officer, and while the Wendigo did not erupt into a berserker frenzy, she instantly took action that rendered everyone's nightmare a reality.
Roaring a challenge of war and death, for there was no longer a need for secrecy, the Wendigo's wings flayed the air as she tore after the agile Sandstorm, fast and sleek enough, despite her larger bulk, to match his soaring pattern. No turrets did the Wendigo have, but her crew still carried shorter-range guns that filled the air with bullets like wasps, and behind her, with the inevitable force of inertia, first one, then a second, then four of the six Stukas came racing after, only the two most injured holding back, and these dragons did carry guns just as heavy as the Sandstorm's. All discretion momentarily forgotten, the dragons blasted away with every piece of ordinance at their disposal, bullets raining down on Janni like a monsoon, as she bore away north, straight for Vinoslivijia and her few remaining defenders.
Desperately, Kunja shouted a warning and Janni received it, an insistence that there was precious cargo aboard Vinoslivijia, and the Arabian dragon whirled about and reoriented herself to move east, towards the ephemeral protection of Suffolk or Dover squadrons, her Captain crying out on the radio for assistance from the remainder of the RAF. The Ground Controller responded in breathless tones that formations from RAF Dorset, Sussex, and reserve dragons from Wiltshire were already en-route, but that they remained minutes away at best speed. An instant later, all communication was severed, as Janni's radio and radio-operator were both crushed into shapeless mulch by the German Wendigo.
The Wendigo alone had broken off after the Sandstorm as she switched tracks to fly east, and the sharp turn had robbed her target of both momentum and speed, enough that the Wendigo caught up, slamming directly into the Sandstorm in a shower of sparks, metal debris, and black-red blood. What injuries the Wendigo had taken had only served to anger her, and she tore into the Sandstorm like a pinata, gripping the dragon with one foreclaw and slamming her other foreclaw into it again and again, tearing apart the midweight's armor and sending blood flying in buckets.
But the Wendigo was merely clearing the path.
All four Stukas advanced on Vinoslivijia in staggered diamond formation, committed to their one last strike, and conscious that there was nothing to stop them. The two bleeding, battered Cossack dragons, outweighted by a factor of 20, to say nothing of the special weapons involved, simply glanced at one another and flew to meet the Stukas head-on, hoping only to buy their charge time to escape, though any sane observer could see that this was not merely suicidal but useless. Vinoslivijia could not outrun the Stukas, and while she might or might not have been able to fight them off herself, this time the Stukas were no longer holding back for capture.
This time they were simply out to hit and run.
The leading Stuka, the same one Flinder had poisoned with his hallucinogens, took both Cossacks on the front flanks. The dragon growled as wingblades tore open both shoulders and traced patterns of slashes down its sides, but it retaliated by simply bludgeoning one Cossack out of the air with its hind leg, and drenching the other with a deluge of firepower, forcing the dragon to wing over and dive just to avoid getting its Captain shot apart. The other three Stukas, Totenkopf included, pressed on towards Vinoslivijia, who did largely the only thing she could. Knowing full-well what the Stukas intended to do, she folded her wings and dove for the ground, pulling up at the last second to land on all four feet before turning back around to face the oncoming Stukas. This was a terrible position to fight from. In melee combat any sane dragon preferred to be in the air, but Vinoslivijia knew that the Stukas had no intention of fighting in melee. Not this time.
Without hesitation, Totenkopf and his two companions descended towards Vinoslivijia in a shallow dive, and the great Crimson Angel could do nothing but simply stare at them as they approached, crouching low, spreading her wings wide, and snarling as crew and guards rushed down from her tremendous bulk. And as the Stukas levelled off and approached at flank speed, Vinoslivijia opened her maw wide and roared as loudly as she could, an earth-shaking roar of defiance as only a forty-two ton dragon could produce, a roar powerful enough shatter windows and deafen the unprepared, that, weather permitting could be heard as far away as Southhampton and Portsmouth.
And then the Stukas opened their mouths, and as one, unleashed the Divine Wind, instantly submerging Vinoslivijia's roar in an avalanche of raw, atonal sound that stripped the earth bare, shattered trees and stone walls, and conjured up from the ground a blistering collumn of dust and dirt so thick that the immense Crimson Angel that was their target vanished completely into the unearthly haze.
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
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#1013
Frostfell's vision was too impaired to see much, but he could make out the mass of German dragons moving towards the blur that had to be the Crimson Angel. "Bloody hell," he murmured. As the Crimson Angel headed to the ground and the Germans got closer, his view improved.
"He may yet live," Frostfell said to Hermeticus. "My Nathan lived. You must fly now, if you can. Fly to the nearest hospital. Go!"
The Stuka's were too close and there was too few hiding spots. The ground was just another place to be struck. Frostfell leapt into the air on wounded wings and flew clumsily away from the Germans and towards British lines as fast as he could. Hopefully they would be too busy to pursue, but there was only one way to find out.
"He may yet live," Frostfell said to Hermeticus. "My Nathan lived. You must fly now, if you can. Fly to the nearest hospital. Go!"
The Stuka's were too close and there was too few hiding spots. The ground was just another place to be struck. Frostfell leapt into the air on wounded wings and flew clumsily away from the Germans and towards British lines as fast as he could. Hopefully they would be too busy to pursue, but there was only one way to find out.
Last edited by Cynical Cat on Wed Apr 29, 2009 4:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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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#1014
Judith watched in shock as Frostfell, the White Bastard, leapt into the air with speed...
... and ran like a scart rabbit as the huge Crimson Angel dove to the ground, trying to give her crew time to escape before the Stuka got within range. "Jeb! We gotta do som'thin!" she cried helplessly, not wanting to admit that there was nothing she could do but watch as it all unfolded.
Jebediah gave up trying to struggle to his feet, his hind-leg far too wounded to take his weight, which left him unable to make the leap needed to get airborne. As Vinoslivijia roared her challenge, Jebediah reached out and pulled Judith underneath him, closing his wings tightly to protect them both as the world was suddenly filled with the unnatural roar of the Divine Wind. Debris flew about is if in a great windstorm, rocks and branches smacking Jebediah's blue-white hide and battering his wings. Judith's ears rang with the sound, fearing it would leave them both deafened for life.
Then the sound stopped, leaving only deathly silence in its wake.
... and ran like a scart rabbit as the huge Crimson Angel dove to the ground, trying to give her crew time to escape before the Stuka got within range. "Jeb! We gotta do som'thin!" she cried helplessly, not wanting to admit that there was nothing she could do but watch as it all unfolded.
Jebediah gave up trying to struggle to his feet, his hind-leg far too wounded to take his weight, which left him unable to make the leap needed to get airborne. As Vinoslivijia roared her challenge, Jebediah reached out and pulled Judith underneath him, closing his wings tightly to protect them both as the world was suddenly filled with the unnatural roar of the Divine Wind. Debris flew about is if in a great windstorm, rocks and branches smacking Jebediah's blue-white hide and battering his wings. Judith's ears rang with the sound, fearing it would leave them both deafened for life.
Then the sound stopped, leaving only deathly silence in its wake.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#1015
Kunja and Jake could do nothing but stare in horror as the events unfolded. The lightweight was entirely incapable of further fighting. When the Stuka's let loose their blasts, all the Australian duo could do was turn their heads away, both for the horror that had been unleashed and the fact that they had failed.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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- Contact:
#1016
And then, like that, it was over.
The echoes of the Divine Wind wafted out across the Hampshire fields and vanished, and a dead stillness descended over the battlefield. The Stukas were turning away, the Wendigo with them, and all of them flying south, south towards the channel, south towards their coverts.
And soon enough, it became clear why.
From the north appeared a red speck, which blossomed into a small shape, then a larger one. Those with field glasses could tell what it was. A Regal Copper, a British battleship of the air, flying at best speed south towards the battlefield from the reserve coverts in Wiltshire. With the Copper came other dragons, a Parnassian, a pair of Yellow Reapers, and four little Greylings straining at their rider's reigns. Some had no harnesses, others almost no crew. One of the Greylings flew without even a captain, for these were reservists, dragons too old or unsuited for frontline duties, and yet in this emergency they had all thrown themselves into service, and the Stukas, battered and wounded, could not hope to fight these fresh forces off, not when frontline squadrons were already vectoring in from the West and East. As one, the SS squadron formed back into a tight formation, and flew away to the south, the Wendigo flying rearguard, looking back contemptuously at the Allies she had faced.
Before she left, she shouted something in German, her eyes locked on Frostfell.
"Tell the Russians," she said, her voice biting and mocking, "Valkyrie did this, and Frostfell ran away!"
Her laughter keened over the battlefield as the German Wendigo flew away.
*----------------------------------------------------*
The small gaggle of Russian officers and men stood in the middle of the field like toy soldiers, unsure of what to do. A pitiful handful there were, mere remnants of the proud guard company of hours before, and not one man among them had not lost blood. Yet rather than act, they stood apart, as if paralyzed, staring at those who should have been giving them orders, and were not.
Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolævna Romanov stood in the center of the field and ignored every living man therein. Her dress was torn, her hat missing, her hair matted with blood mingled black and red, perhaps her own, perhaps someone else's, but she seemed not to notice. She was standing by the head of Vinoslivijia, her Sindreonic guard-dragon, the mightiest Crimson Angel alive save only for one other. Behind her stood the old man who was the captain of her guard-entourage, the one Kunja had saved from a prompt decapitation at the hands of SS stormtroopers. He had not the wherewithal to thank Kunja and Jake now, for he was gently trying to guide his Grand Duchess away from her dragon, but the Grand Duchess remained as Grand as she had ever been, and refused to move.
It was plain why.
Vinoslivijia lay twisted and broken on the ground, her wings contorted in an agonizing pose, like the aftereffects of a Strychnine seizure. She lay slumped onto one side, her breath coming in wheezes, one eye squeezed shut, and the other only barely open. The force of three simultaneous Divine Winds had been more than even a Crimson Angel could bear, plainly enough. The violent internal cavitations would have undone even mightier dragons, as they were intended to. What the soldiers of the Ipatiev house had failed to do, what the armies of Soviet Russia could not conquer, the SS had done. The British and Allied dragons had, at murderous cost and terrible risk, bought Vinoslivijia enough time to offload her crew and her most precious of cargoes. That was, in the final counting, all that could be done.
The two Cossack dragons landed a distance away, Ivan Nikitovich and Obrazheyevka putting down midway between Kunja and and Jeb. The little Cossack was soaked, positively soaked in blood, much of it clearly her own, and no sooner had she landed than Ivan leaped off and immediately rushed to her flank where a Stuka had laid her scales open to the bone with a slashing strike. The dragon however paid his ministrations almost no mind. A thousand miles removed from the troublemaker of the morning, she ignored Kunja, ignored Jeb, ignored everyone except her captain, head hung low, tail curled limp upon the ground. There were tears, bitter tears of Lord-knew-what in the dragon's eyes, and she winced, not in pain, but at every sound from the dying Crimson Angel. Young and brash and violent though she may have been, Obrazheyevka was a dragon of the Russian Imperial Guard.
Nobody needed to ask what the matter was.
And then, at long last, the labored sounds of breathing stopped, and the small red mountain that was Vinoslivijia ceased to move. And as the British reserve squadron approached at flank speed, and the radios buzzed with the call for Dragon Transporters and medical staff and all manner of logistical crews, the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia fell to her knees in the muddy field and wept as she had not done for more than twenty years, throwing off the proffered hand of her guard-captain, and caring nothing for who might see her and think it unbecoming of royalty. And as the Grand Duchess wept, Obrazheyevka, heedless of her Captain's ministrations, curled herself up around him like a constrictor snake, laid her head in his lap, and did the same.
The echoes of the Divine Wind wafted out across the Hampshire fields and vanished, and a dead stillness descended over the battlefield. The Stukas were turning away, the Wendigo with them, and all of them flying south, south towards the channel, south towards their coverts.
And soon enough, it became clear why.
From the north appeared a red speck, which blossomed into a small shape, then a larger one. Those with field glasses could tell what it was. A Regal Copper, a British battleship of the air, flying at best speed south towards the battlefield from the reserve coverts in Wiltshire. With the Copper came other dragons, a Parnassian, a pair of Yellow Reapers, and four little Greylings straining at their rider's reigns. Some had no harnesses, others almost no crew. One of the Greylings flew without even a captain, for these were reservists, dragons too old or unsuited for frontline duties, and yet in this emergency they had all thrown themselves into service, and the Stukas, battered and wounded, could not hope to fight these fresh forces off, not when frontline squadrons were already vectoring in from the West and East. As one, the SS squadron formed back into a tight formation, and flew away to the south, the Wendigo flying rearguard, looking back contemptuously at the Allies she had faced.
Before she left, she shouted something in German, her eyes locked on Frostfell.
"Tell the Russians," she said, her voice biting and mocking, "Valkyrie did this, and Frostfell ran away!"
Her laughter keened over the battlefield as the German Wendigo flew away.
*----------------------------------------------------*
The small gaggle of Russian officers and men stood in the middle of the field like toy soldiers, unsure of what to do. A pitiful handful there were, mere remnants of the proud guard company of hours before, and not one man among them had not lost blood. Yet rather than act, they stood apart, as if paralyzed, staring at those who should have been giving them orders, and were not.
Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolævna Romanov stood in the center of the field and ignored every living man therein. Her dress was torn, her hat missing, her hair matted with blood mingled black and red, perhaps her own, perhaps someone else's, but she seemed not to notice. She was standing by the head of Vinoslivijia, her Sindreonic guard-dragon, the mightiest Crimson Angel alive save only for one other. Behind her stood the old man who was the captain of her guard-entourage, the one Kunja had saved from a prompt decapitation at the hands of SS stormtroopers. He had not the wherewithal to thank Kunja and Jake now, for he was gently trying to guide his Grand Duchess away from her dragon, but the Grand Duchess remained as Grand as she had ever been, and refused to move.
It was plain why.
Vinoslivijia lay twisted and broken on the ground, her wings contorted in an agonizing pose, like the aftereffects of a Strychnine seizure. She lay slumped onto one side, her breath coming in wheezes, one eye squeezed shut, and the other only barely open. The force of three simultaneous Divine Winds had been more than even a Crimson Angel could bear, plainly enough. The violent internal cavitations would have undone even mightier dragons, as they were intended to. What the soldiers of the Ipatiev house had failed to do, what the armies of Soviet Russia could not conquer, the SS had done. The British and Allied dragons had, at murderous cost and terrible risk, bought Vinoslivijia enough time to offload her crew and her most precious of cargoes. That was, in the final counting, all that could be done.
The two Cossack dragons landed a distance away, Ivan Nikitovich and Obrazheyevka putting down midway between Kunja and and Jeb. The little Cossack was soaked, positively soaked in blood, much of it clearly her own, and no sooner had she landed than Ivan leaped off and immediately rushed to her flank where a Stuka had laid her scales open to the bone with a slashing strike. The dragon however paid his ministrations almost no mind. A thousand miles removed from the troublemaker of the morning, she ignored Kunja, ignored Jeb, ignored everyone except her captain, head hung low, tail curled limp upon the ground. There were tears, bitter tears of Lord-knew-what in the dragon's eyes, and she winced, not in pain, but at every sound from the dying Crimson Angel. Young and brash and violent though she may have been, Obrazheyevka was a dragon of the Russian Imperial Guard.
Nobody needed to ask what the matter was.
And then, at long last, the labored sounds of breathing stopped, and the small red mountain that was Vinoslivijia ceased to move. And as the British reserve squadron approached at flank speed, and the radios buzzed with the call for Dragon Transporters and medical staff and all manner of logistical crews, the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia fell to her knees in the muddy field and wept as she had not done for more than twenty years, throwing off the proffered hand of her guard-captain, and caring nothing for who might see her and think it unbecoming of royalty. And as the Grand Duchess wept, Obrazheyevka, heedless of her Captain's ministrations, curled herself up around him like a constrictor snake, laid her head in his lap, and did the same.
Last edited by General Havoc on Tue May 05, 2009 9:24 pm, 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."
#1017
As the Germans finally left the field, Kunja could no longer hold up the charade, the dragon landed hard on the ground, not able to support himself he lay there, both his eyes and Jake's on the dying Crimson. They did not know the pain personally, nor had they known the mighty Crimson for more than a few minutes, but even now they felt it was enough. Even had either captain or dragon had the strength to speak, they would not have.
When the behemoth's labored breathing finally stopped, Jake patted Kunja gingerly and began again to do what he could to keep his own dragon from dying now. They might not have shown it from the way they fought in the end, but the lightweight had lost a prodigious amount of blood from his injuries, and some of his injuries were rather horrific. His right fore-leg had been nearly cut off, and with all of the action the wound had begun to leak again. The Victorian's face was a bloody mess with dried blood and scars running across his face from his injuries while two holes at the bottom of his jaw slowly dripped blood. A deep cut on his back, just behind the captain's seat, had mostly scabbed over in the intervening time, but the most recent cut that had torn deep into his tail nearly from base to tip was still bleeding badly. Kunja was not entirely certain of his surroundings, but refused to pass out. Jake meanwhile did his best to stop the bleeding, but there was little he could do and so he came back to Kunja and comforted his dragon as they waited.
They had done what many would have probably thought was impossible, but it had not been enough.
When the behemoth's labored breathing finally stopped, Jake patted Kunja gingerly and began again to do what he could to keep his own dragon from dying now. They might not have shown it from the way they fought in the end, but the lightweight had lost a prodigious amount of blood from his injuries, and some of his injuries were rather horrific. His right fore-leg had been nearly cut off, and with all of the action the wound had begun to leak again. The Victorian's face was a bloody mess with dried blood and scars running across his face from his injuries while two holes at the bottom of his jaw slowly dripped blood. A deep cut on his back, just behind the captain's seat, had mostly scabbed over in the intervening time, but the most recent cut that had torn deep into his tail nearly from base to tip was still bleeding badly. Kunja was not entirely certain of his surroundings, but refused to pass out. Jake meanwhile did his best to stop the bleeding, but there was little he could do and so he came back to Kunja and comforted his dragon as they waited.
They had done what many would have probably thought was impossible, but it had not been enough.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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LadyTevar
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#1018
Jebediah had quieted, both he and Judith watching the great Crimson Angel slowly wheeze away her last breaths. Judith's arm had slowly gone around Jebediah's neck, her eyes filling with tears as she shared the pain she knew the Grand Duchess had to be filling right now.
The breathing stopped, the Duchess and several of her retainers collapsing in sorrow, and Judith couldn't help sobbing as well over the loss as well.
"Our Father, who Art in Heaven... Hallowed be Thy Name...." the low bass rumble came from Jebediah, as he bowed his head in prayer. "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On Earth, as it is in Heaven...."
Judith joined in softly, repeating the words she'd learned nearly literally at Jebediah's feet. "Give us this day our Daily Bread, and Forgive us of our Debts, as we forgive our Debtors. Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from Evil...
For Thine is the Kingdom... and the Power, and The Glory, forever....
AMEN."
Even in English, the ancient words were recognizable, with both Jeb and Judith seeming to lose their accents as they recited the prayer, as many others had over the generations at the deaths of friends and family. But Jebediah added one more purely Appalachian custom.
"A--mazzzzzzzin' Grace ... How sweet th' sound
Tha-at sav'd a wretch like me!"
Judith's soprano counterpoint matched Jebediah's basso voice perfectly as she joined into the only tribute they felt they could give, the sad slow harmonics of the song filling the air.
"I once was lost, but now am found
Wa-as blind... but nooow Ah see."
"Thru many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come....
’Tis grace tha' brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home."
"When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shinin' as the sun...
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we first begun. "
The breathing stopped, the Duchess and several of her retainers collapsing in sorrow, and Judith couldn't help sobbing as well over the loss as well.
"Our Father, who Art in Heaven... Hallowed be Thy Name...." the low bass rumble came from Jebediah, as he bowed his head in prayer. "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On Earth, as it is in Heaven...."
Judith joined in softly, repeating the words she'd learned nearly literally at Jebediah's feet. "Give us this day our Daily Bread, and Forgive us of our Debts, as we forgive our Debtors. Lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from Evil...
For Thine is the Kingdom... and the Power, and The Glory, forever....
AMEN."
Even in English, the ancient words were recognizable, with both Jeb and Judith seeming to lose their accents as they recited the prayer, as many others had over the generations at the deaths of friends and family. But Jebediah added one more purely Appalachian custom.
"A--mazzzzzzzin' Grace ... How sweet th' sound
Tha-at sav'd a wretch like me!"
Judith's soprano counterpoint matched Jebediah's basso voice perfectly as she joined into the only tribute they felt they could give, the sad slow harmonics of the song filling the air.
"I once was lost, but now am found
Wa-as blind... but nooow Ah see."
"Thru many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come....
’Tis grace tha' brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home."
"When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shinin' as the sun...
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we first begun. "
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
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Cynical Cat
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#1019
"Shh," said Nathan as he stroked Frostfell's muzzle. "Everything will be alright. Just let them work."
"Why?" asked Frostfell. "We had routed them. Why did they come back?"
One of the dragonmen came close. "Sir," he said softly, "the shrapnel in his eyelid."
"Right," said Nathan. "Frostfell, I'm-"
"Going to need me to remain very still. He has to pull out a chunk of metal and check my eye for damage. I'm neither deaf nor an idiot. Go to work."
Nathan backed away from Frostfell as the dragonmen went to work. "Mackenzie."
"Captain," said his right hand man.
"Stay with Frostfell and reassure the dragonmen that they're not on his menu." Frostfell was fairly well behaved around medics who were treating him. As the big brute said, he wasn't stupid and he liked to fight.
"Where are you going?"
"To try to answer his question. He'll be cranky if he doesn't get an answer. Introducing the new boys to him wounded is bad enough."
"They'll probably be where the Russian dragon went down, seeing if there's any survivors."
"Right," said Nathan. He pointed at one of the new boys. "Can you drive?"
"Uh yes, yes sir."
"Good, you're coming with me."
"Why?" asked Frostfell. "We had routed them. Why did they come back?"
One of the dragonmen came close. "Sir," he said softly, "the shrapnel in his eyelid."
"Right," said Nathan. "Frostfell, I'm-"
"Going to need me to remain very still. He has to pull out a chunk of metal and check my eye for damage. I'm neither deaf nor an idiot. Go to work."
Nathan backed away from Frostfell as the dragonmen went to work. "Mackenzie."
"Captain," said his right hand man.
"Stay with Frostfell and reassure the dragonmen that they're not on his menu." Frostfell was fairly well behaved around medics who were treating him. As the big brute said, he wasn't stupid and he liked to fight.
"Where are you going?"
"To try to answer his question. He'll be cranky if he doesn't get an answer. Introducing the new boys to him wounded is bad enough."
"They'll probably be where the Russian dragon went down, seeing if there's any survivors."
"Right," said Nathan. He pointed at one of the new boys. "Can you drive?"
"Uh yes, yes sir."
"Good, you're coming with me."
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
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#1020
Draconarians swarmed over the empty field, racing towards the dragons on the ground, dragon transporters and ambulances disgorging teams of men who brought forth bandages and wingsplints the size of circus tents, and bottles of antiseptic large enough to fill bathtubs. Other, regular medics from the RAF and the St. John's Ambulance Brigade joined them to succor the humans who were injured. The medics and draconarians sprinted towards their charges, Russian and allied alike. It was plain enough that time was of the essence.
The reserve dragons had attempted to chase the Germans down, but faced with the threat of the Divine Wind employed en-mass, and the prospect of being unable to catch the Germans before they reached France, they had stopped, and returned, and as they did so, regular RAF units arrived, from Dorset, from Sussex, from City of London. Regal Coppers, some still flecked with blood, growling Parnassians, majestic Longwings, and other, smaller dragons circled overhead, ready to engage should the Germans have yet another surprise to spring, and to ferry the most badly wounded humans to the RAF hospital in Chichester.
But the time for fighting was finally at an end.
From the mass of British dragons descended a single Golden Anglewing, wings rippling in the late afternoon sunlight. The dragon landed in the middle of the field, and lowered her head to the ground, permitting several officers to disembark, including a small man whose bottle-green uniform was emblazoned with admiral's stars.
A single draconarian, a middle-aged Scott bearing the rank of Commander, excused himself from a mass of his fellows and jogged over to greet the Admiral. The exchange of pleasantries was brief.
"The Duchess?" asked Admiral Tolkien.
"She na' hurt," said Commander Dowd. "Better'n half her guard is dead'r woun'ed, and her Sindr'on's - "
"But the Grand Duchess is unharmed?"
"More'r less, Adm'ral. I donnae think she'll be in a hurry ta' fly, but the Tangmeres bought 'er Angel time ta' ground itself. Otherwise we'd be moppin' up what was left of 'er out of tha' soil."
The Admiral breathed a visible sigh of relief. "And Vinoslivijia?"
"Stone dead," said Commander Dowd. "I've ne'er seen the like before. Even worse than Tem'raire."
"The radios claimed there were multiple Stukas."
"I cannae say for sure, but even a C'lestial could nae've done that."
"What of ours?"
"Rankin's down, and so's 'is dragon, but they'll live. Looks to be that 'ermecritus caught 'em 'fore they crashed. 'is whole crew is dead or woun'ed, more o' tha' Wind."
"And the rest?"
"Most've 'em're in a bad way. Kunja'll need work at Chichester and convalescence. 'is tendon's severed. Jebediah lost a quarter've his blood, but we can treat it 'ere. Hermecritus's fine, but his Captain needs surgery. I'm having 'im taken south now. I think he'll make it. The Cossacks're all more're less all right. Few days and they'll be able ta fly again."
"And Frostfell?"
"All sorts o' damage, Admiral. Shrapnel in'n eye, blood in the other. Wings'll need stitches, lacerations to patch. All in all though, he'll be intact 'fore the others are. Wendigo're tough bastards..."
"So it would appear...."
The reserve dragons had attempted to chase the Germans down, but faced with the threat of the Divine Wind employed en-mass, and the prospect of being unable to catch the Germans before they reached France, they had stopped, and returned, and as they did so, regular RAF units arrived, from Dorset, from Sussex, from City of London. Regal Coppers, some still flecked with blood, growling Parnassians, majestic Longwings, and other, smaller dragons circled overhead, ready to engage should the Germans have yet another surprise to spring, and to ferry the most badly wounded humans to the RAF hospital in Chichester.
But the time for fighting was finally at an end.
From the mass of British dragons descended a single Golden Anglewing, wings rippling in the late afternoon sunlight. The dragon landed in the middle of the field, and lowered her head to the ground, permitting several officers to disembark, including a small man whose bottle-green uniform was emblazoned with admiral's stars.
A single draconarian, a middle-aged Scott bearing the rank of Commander, excused himself from a mass of his fellows and jogged over to greet the Admiral. The exchange of pleasantries was brief.
"The Duchess?" asked Admiral Tolkien.
"She na' hurt," said Commander Dowd. "Better'n half her guard is dead'r woun'ed, and her Sindr'on's - "
"But the Grand Duchess is unharmed?"
"More'r less, Adm'ral. I donnae think she'll be in a hurry ta' fly, but the Tangmeres bought 'er Angel time ta' ground itself. Otherwise we'd be moppin' up what was left of 'er out of tha' soil."
The Admiral breathed a visible sigh of relief. "And Vinoslivijia?"
"Stone dead," said Commander Dowd. "I've ne'er seen the like before. Even worse than Tem'raire."
"The radios claimed there were multiple Stukas."
"I cannae say for sure, but even a C'lestial could nae've done that."
"What of ours?"
"Rankin's down, and so's 'is dragon, but they'll live. Looks to be that 'ermecritus caught 'em 'fore they crashed. 'is whole crew is dead or woun'ed, more o' tha' Wind."
"And the rest?"
"Most've 'em're in a bad way. Kunja'll need work at Chichester and convalescence. 'is tendon's severed. Jebediah lost a quarter've his blood, but we can treat it 'ere. Hermecritus's fine, but his Captain needs surgery. I'm having 'im taken south now. I think he'll make it. The Cossacks're all more're less all right. Few days and they'll be able ta fly again."
"And Frostfell?"
"All sorts o' damage, Admiral. Shrapnel in'n eye, blood in the other. Wings'll need stitches, lacerations to patch. All in all though, he'll be intact 'fore the others are. Wendigo're tough bastards..."
"So it would appear...."
Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair...
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
Havoc: "So basically if you side against him, he summons Cthulu."
Hotfoot: "Yes, which is reasonable."
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LadyTevar
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#1021
Judith stroked Jebediah's head comfortingly as the draconarians stitched the lacerations on his rear flanks closed. The massive slice from Tottenkoph's metal claws needed the most attention, as it hit muscle. Judith's soft singing of old gospel songs was a oddly reassuring sound as the draconarians worked to stop the bleeding and sew the skin shit.
"Captain?" It took a moment for Judith to look over to the senior Draconarian. "We're going to have to give Jebediah a blood transfusion, since he's lost a lot of blood." The Draconarian respectfully looked up to Jebediah as he finished talking. "I'll be asking Hygieia to join us. Iaso and Aceso are going to be busy with that Victorian Reaper."
The names of the dragons meant nothing to Judith or Jebediah, but the Victorian Reaper did. "How's he doin', doc," Jebediah asked first.
"We'll be moving him to Chicester for surgery, but he'll be fine after we fix his leg," the Draconarian was quick with assurance. "Like you, he also needs a blood transfusion, which is why we have the Sisters."
By that time a large Parnasian had joined them, looking down on the much smaller Smoke Devil with professional concern. "Is this the patient, doctor?"
"Yes Hygieia. Are you ready?"
With a nod, the Parnassian gently picked Jebediah up and settled him gently in her crossed front arms, like a mother held a child. As she did, the dragonarians swarmed over the two of them, connecting a tube from a large vein in Hygieia's arm to Jebediah, starting the transfusion.
"Captain?" It took a moment for Judith to look over to the senior Draconarian. "We're going to have to give Jebediah a blood transfusion, since he's lost a lot of blood." The Draconarian respectfully looked up to Jebediah as he finished talking. "I'll be asking Hygieia to join us. Iaso and Aceso are going to be busy with that Victorian Reaper."
The names of the dragons meant nothing to Judith or Jebediah, but the Victorian Reaper did. "How's he doin', doc," Jebediah asked first.
"We'll be moving him to Chicester for surgery, but he'll be fine after we fix his leg," the Draconarian was quick with assurance. "Like you, he also needs a blood transfusion, which is why we have the Sisters."
By that time a large Parnasian had joined them, looking down on the much smaller Smoke Devil with professional concern. "Is this the patient, doctor?"
"Yes Hygieia. Are you ready?"
With a nod, the Parnassian gently picked Jebediah up and settled him gently in her crossed front arms, like a mother held a child. As she did, the dragonarians swarmed over the two of them, connecting a tube from a large vein in Hygieia's arm to Jebediah, starting the transfusion.
Dogs are Man's Best Friend
Cats are Man's Adorable Little Serial Killers
#1022
By the time the first aid was done, Kunja looked as though he were trying to imitate Fulminatus. The Victorian was covered in quickly reddened bandages and gauze, but it stymied the flow enough for transport. As they began preparing to move Kunja, the dragon growled low. Jake whacked him on the nose once and his glare turned to Jake.
"Quit you're belly aching. You move too much and you'll be spending more time in the hospital than they already think you will."
"Don' ned ha hosital," muttered the dragon through a mouth that had been bandaged shut. "E'll be fine on my own."
"You know, I hear that there are gonna be lots of other female Dragons there who will probably be mighty impressed when they hear about how you fought off Albatros and then saved the Russian Duchess."
Kunja smiled a little at this as he was boarded onto a truck, draconians and the blood transfusion dragons then moved in around Kunja, beginning to work at making him stable enough to be moved. Jake patted his dragons flank. "I'll be there shortly buddy, just need to take care of a few things."
Jake spared a glance to Judith and Jebediah. He nodded just a little to them, with a small smile before he turned and walked towards the Russian envoy. Jake was still covered in black dragon blood, but other than that he had been uninjured in the fighting. He stepped towards the Duchess, uncertain if he would be stopped or not. With her guard decimated and only one of the men still in any sort of fighting shape, no one moved to stop him. More important of course was that Jake's loyalties were now clear, for if they hadn't the guard would have moved to stop him regardless of how injured they were.
The Australian slowly came to a stop several feet behind the Grand Duchess of Russia. He didn't say anything for a long time. If she was anything like him, a large part of her life had just died. Words could not describe the grief she would be going through. Finally, soft spoken and nearly choked out, Jake Collington spoke.
"I'm sorry," he paused again, keeping his composure "I'm sorry that we weren't strong enough to stop them."
"Quit you're belly aching. You move too much and you'll be spending more time in the hospital than they already think you will."
"Don' ned ha hosital," muttered the dragon through a mouth that had been bandaged shut. "E'll be fine on my own."
"You know, I hear that there are gonna be lots of other female Dragons there who will probably be mighty impressed when they hear about how you fought off Albatros and then saved the Russian Duchess."
Kunja smiled a little at this as he was boarded onto a truck, draconians and the blood transfusion dragons then moved in around Kunja, beginning to work at making him stable enough to be moved. Jake patted his dragons flank. "I'll be there shortly buddy, just need to take care of a few things."
Jake spared a glance to Judith and Jebediah. He nodded just a little to them, with a small smile before he turned and walked towards the Russian envoy. Jake was still covered in black dragon blood, but other than that he had been uninjured in the fighting. He stepped towards the Duchess, uncertain if he would be stopped or not. With her guard decimated and only one of the men still in any sort of fighting shape, no one moved to stop him. More important of course was that Jake's loyalties were now clear, for if they hadn't the guard would have moved to stop him regardless of how injured they were.
The Australian slowly came to a stop several feet behind the Grand Duchess of Russia. He didn't say anything for a long time. If she was anything like him, a large part of her life had just died. Words could not describe the grief she would be going through. Finally, soft spoken and nearly choked out, Jake Collington spoke.
"I'm sorry," he paused again, keeping his composure "I'm sorry that we weren't strong enough to stop them."
Last edited by Charon on Sun May 10, 2009 10:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Moderator of Philosophy and Theology
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Cynical Cat
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#1023
"Oh Christ on a fucking crutch," said Nathan as they saw the shattered body of the Crimson Angel. "Divine Wind," he whispered. "Keep going," he said more loudly.
The area was swarming with people. Fliers, draconarians, medics, and now brass. The flash of golden dragonscale caught Nathan's attention. "There," he pointed to his driver.
The boy maneuvered around and found a parking spot not too far away. The dragon captain dismounted from the jeep and passed through the crowd. He saw the flash of green and pressed closer. "Admiral! Admiral Tolkien sir!"
The area was swarming with people. Fliers, draconarians, medics, and now brass. The flash of golden dragonscale caught Nathan's attention. "There," he pointed to his driver.
The boy maneuvered around and found a parking spot not too far away. The dragon captain dismounted from the jeep and passed through the crowd. He saw the flash of green and pressed closer. "Admiral! Admiral Tolkien sir!"
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.
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General Havoc
- Mr. Party-Killbot
- Posts: 5245
- Joined: Wed Aug 10, 2005 2:12 pm
- 19
- Location: The City that is not Frisco
- Contact:
#1024
The Grand Duchess was standing once again by the time that Jake managed to approach her. Her single remaining uninjured guard eyed him carefully, but his hand did not twitch towards the still-smoking PPD-40 Submachine gun slung over his shoulder. Nearby stood the elderly commander of the Duchess' decimated guard, his arm being bandaged by two medics as he watched the Grand Duchess without speaking a word.
Anastasia Romanov did not turn around immediately as Captain Collington approached her. She seemed to be frozen, staring at the lifeless body of Vinoslivijia, her back to the Australian Captain. The torrent of tears, quickly staunched, was still ready to burst, and she needed a moment to compose herself. For the Grand Duchess of Russia, it was an act as automatic as breathing.
Slowly she turned around, and her eyes were red and her faced lined and streaked. She looked like she had aged eight years in as many minutes, but her expression was like chiseled stone, her every movement carefully and painstakingly controlled. Only the very slight tremble in her hands, the ramrod-straight posture of her spine, and the unblinking, razor-sharp gaze in her eyes, gave any indication of the infernos that could only be raging behind her veneer of royal stoicism.
"Thank you, Captain" she said in English, her voice whisper-quiet. Whether she was thanking him for his efforts on her behalf in the battle, or accepting his apology for having failed, or both, was left unclear, perhaps deliberately. There was a savage, wild-eyed rage dancing within the Grand Duchess' stone demeanor, but she made no indication that Jake was the object of it. The object was easy enough to discern.
"Will..." her voice trembled, and she stopped and started over with nary a gesture. "Will your dragons live?"
Some, it was plain to tell, would. Frostfel, Flinder, Jebediah and Hermecritus were all in plain sight and visibly alive, if beaten and bloodied. Others, Kunja among them, were not so clear. Yet plainly the Duchess would have asked this question even if they had all been standing before her unblemished. It was the proper question to ask, the question a royal dignitary should ask of the soldiers of another nation who had sacrificed much to assist her. Right now, she could be forgiven if she did not care what the answer was . Her own mind was occupied. Yet she asked it regardless, for the act of asking and of being answered, was more important than the information to be gained.
*--------------------------------------------------------------*
"Captain Reynolds!" called Admiral Tolkien as the Canadian approached. He nodded to Commander Dowd, who stepped aside to allow Reynolds to approach, and the Admiral quickly answered what he guessed would have to be the first question on the Captain's mind.
"Frostfell is quite all right Captain," said Admiral Tolkien. "A few lacerations and some temporary blinding, or so Commander Dowd here tells me, nothing a Heavyweight can't recover from. Though what he was doing launching by himself without Crew or Captain aboard is beyond me." The words were simple facts, not reproaches. Tolkien was not about to gainsay a fighting dragon who wanted to fight. "I'm sure he'll tell you about all of his exploits, but according to the sector controllers he took two midweights by himself, mauled a third, fought Ragnarok to a standstill, and somehow still had enough left in him to lead the charge against the Stukas. Two of their beasts won't be flying for weeks thanks to him. There'll be an MID for him at the least."
That matter settled, Tolkien then waited for the Canadian Captain to ask whatever follow up questions he might have had.
Anastasia Romanov did not turn around immediately as Captain Collington approached her. She seemed to be frozen, staring at the lifeless body of Vinoslivijia, her back to the Australian Captain. The torrent of tears, quickly staunched, was still ready to burst, and she needed a moment to compose herself. For the Grand Duchess of Russia, it was an act as automatic as breathing.
Slowly she turned around, and her eyes were red and her faced lined and streaked. She looked like she had aged eight years in as many minutes, but her expression was like chiseled stone, her every movement carefully and painstakingly controlled. Only the very slight tremble in her hands, the ramrod-straight posture of her spine, and the unblinking, razor-sharp gaze in her eyes, gave any indication of the infernos that could only be raging behind her veneer of royal stoicism.
"Thank you, Captain" she said in English, her voice whisper-quiet. Whether she was thanking him for his efforts on her behalf in the battle, or accepting his apology for having failed, or both, was left unclear, perhaps deliberately. There was a savage, wild-eyed rage dancing within the Grand Duchess' stone demeanor, but she made no indication that Jake was the object of it. The object was easy enough to discern.
"Will..." her voice trembled, and she stopped and started over with nary a gesture. "Will your dragons live?"
Some, it was plain to tell, would. Frostfel, Flinder, Jebediah and Hermecritus were all in plain sight and visibly alive, if beaten and bloodied. Others, Kunja among them, were not so clear. Yet plainly the Duchess would have asked this question even if they had all been standing before her unblemished. It was the proper question to ask, the question a royal dignitary should ask of the soldiers of another nation who had sacrificed much to assist her. Right now, she could be forgiven if she did not care what the answer was . Her own mind was occupied. Yet she asked it regardless, for the act of asking and of being answered, was more important than the information to be gained.
*--------------------------------------------------------------*
"Captain Reynolds!" called Admiral Tolkien as the Canadian approached. He nodded to Commander Dowd, who stepped aside to allow Reynolds to approach, and the Admiral quickly answered what he guessed would have to be the first question on the Captain's mind.
"Frostfell is quite all right Captain," said Admiral Tolkien. "A few lacerations and some temporary blinding, or so Commander Dowd here tells me, nothing a Heavyweight can't recover from. Though what he was doing launching by himself without Crew or Captain aboard is beyond me." The words were simple facts, not reproaches. Tolkien was not about to gainsay a fighting dragon who wanted to fight. "I'm sure he'll tell you about all of his exploits, but according to the sector controllers he took two midweights by himself, mauled a third, fought Ragnarok to a standstill, and somehow still had enough left in him to lead the charge against the Stukas. Two of their beasts won't be flying for weeks thanks to him. There'll be an MID for him at the least."
That matter settled, Tolkien then waited for the Canadian Captain to ask whatever follow up questions he might have had.
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:
#1025
"I'm aware of Frostfell's condition. I just left him," said Reynolds. "He launched solo because even solo he's a holy terror and he's very aware of that. He was concerned about what happened to the others and the Russians. He also had intelligence to pass on." Reynolds lowered his voice. "If you haven't heard already, the Stuka have the Divine Wind and yesterday I would have said that was bloody impossible."
It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.