His Majesty's Dragons: The Battle of Britain

[Charon]

Jake stepped up again. "It's actually pretty easy to break up some Jerry formations, since over half the dragons used by the Germans are either stupid, arrogant, or paranoid." Jake shrugged then. "The only catch is that most of their captains are damn good so it's kinda hard to properly spook them, especially with those damn Bavarians around to break up our attempts to break their formation."

Jake looked around. "And considering our weight problem, we might want to work on a whole new way to bring this fight to them, our formation would be broken far too easily if we simply try to resist it."

[LadyTevar]

"Ah gotta admit... Ah don'know half th' things ya'lls dragons kin do," Judith said, leaning back against Jebediah's blue-white skin. "Ah'm bettin' e'en those o' ya'll tha migh' know Jeb's a SmokeDevil don' know wha' he kin do either."

"Judith... no braggin'..." Jeb rumbled, looking down at her.
"Now, Jeb, you'n I both know you kin stop onna dime an' give back change... but how kin knowin' that help the white monster back there?" Judith asked, looking at Rankin and Nathan, the two she had pegged as the ones with the answers. "Ah'll be blunt... Jeb's got forty year o' out-runnin rev'nuers, but what they tried drillin' inta us as that 'boot camp' din' make a lick o' sense."

Didn't help that the Virginia Emeralds in the group were a buncha snotty uptight better-than-thous that got pissy when Jeb out-flew them, either.

[Cynical Cat]

"There's a lot of ways to break up a formation," said Reynolds. "Coordinated action is far more important that formations. We aren't fighting Napoleon. It's a different age, although too many of the brass haven't figured that out yet. The old rules became obsolete when we started putting machine guns on dragons. Now we have 20mm cannons and 37mm field pieces of dragon back.

"Used to be the thing that killed most dragons were dragons. Still is, but less and less so. A fifty cal can kill one, eventually. A twenty or thirty seven will do the job faster, but what they really do is kill crews and captains a lot more than it used to. And dragons that loose their captains don't tend to stay in formation."

[General Havoc]

"One would think," drawled Frostfell, "that there was some fighting going on. Where is your knife, Captain Renkin?"

Aequitas stepped around Rankin and walked towards the other dragons, his head held high as he faced down the Wendigo. Tempers were running hotter than they should have been, and he had been watching the heavyweight snap at the other dragons around him. Dominance was in question. The Wendigo might have been larger, but he was clearly younger, and Aequitas was flagdragon here.

"I am Michael's knife," said Aequitas, and he strode into the pen, letting the cows scatter before him and the other dragons to the other side, before selecting one, cutting it out of the herd quickly, and snapping it's neck with a single blow of his foreclaw.

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

Fulminatus meanwhile was watching in some interest as the two humans seemed about ready to eviscerate one another. Only after Captain Rankin put a story to the potential bloodletting, did Fulminatus himself move in to get something to eat as well. As he passed the german-sounding Captain, he whispered a word or two of advice.

"If I were you," said Fulminatus, "I'd make sure he never hits you again, if you get what I mean."

What he meant of course was perhaps best left to the imagination, but he showed no indication of following up his comment, selecting a cow and killing it with a blow to the head before devouring it. He stopped however when he heard the smaller Smoke Devil reciting a prayer.

When the Smoke Devil finished praying, not merely reciting grace but actually praying, it found the battered-looking American standing to the side, watching it, shaking its head and chuckling as it chewed and swallowed a mouthfull of freshly slaughtered beef.

"... well now I have seen everything," he said.

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

"Cows!"

Capricorn was... considerably less circumspect about his eating habits, at least in comparisson to some. A single nod from his Captain was enough to send him bounding towards the pen, leaping into it and racing towards the cows, who stampeded away from him as quickly as they could. With a single spit, Capricorn shot a glob of green venom towards the herd. One of the cows was struck in the flank by the sickly-green spittle, took one step, and fell down stone dead as if it had been shot. The dust-colored Dragon happily trotted over to its meal and began to tear into it like a lion, paying absolutely no mind to whatever precidence might be in play here, or whichever other dragons might decide to contest his right to feed when and where he would. Clearly this dragon was used to having everyone get out of his way.

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

"The mess tent is... I've been assured, ready to receive us. I assume everyone's dragon can shift for themselves as far as the cows are concerned?"

Captain Rankin gestured towards what looked like a bomb shelter made of corrugated iron, which was perhaps optimistically being called the mess hall for the human members of the squadron. Everything was still being shipped in, supplies, ground personnel, equipment, but the construction crews that had been readying the place needed to be fed, and thus the captains and the dragon crews could to. The finest English Air Forces cuisine...

... which meant that it was ALMOST guaranteed to not actually kill you.

Captain Rankin provided his views as he walked along. As Squadron Commander it would be up to him to make the final call on the flight formations and squadron maneuvers, but he had no intention of letting any suggestion go unaired.

"The Germans will be coming here for one of three reasons. The first is to bomb London, the second to defeat us as a fighting force, and the third, which it is in our interests never to allow to develop, is to support an invasion of this country. In the first case, they will not need to break our formation as long as we cannot break theirs. In the second, the reverse is true. Either way, they will try to outmuscle us with their middle and heavyweights no doubt. We will need some method of preventing our dragons from being crushed by their heavier German counterparts, because it's quite likely that some of our lightweights may be called upon to face down a Bluejacket, or our middleweights a Kampfritter, before too long.

[Charon]

Kunja awoke at the stampede of cows coming his way, a short roar in their direction was enough to convince the cows that stampeding towards the dragon was a worse idea than running some other direction. The sleepy-eyed dragon turned and looked at the others that had now joined in eating. Kunja's eyes glanced towards the more battle-worn looking dragon that had just spoken about Jeb's prayer, what did Jake call them again? Oh yeah, an American Reaper. Kunja thought the dragon very interesting, but for now he did not bother the other dragons as they ate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake grinned at Rankin. "If you've read my file sir, you know Jack and I are more than eager to go toe to toe with a midder." Jake stepped up to the door of the mess hall, glancing around inside for only a few moments before he stepped inside to get some chow, not bothering to hold the door open for whomever was behind him.

[Cynical Cat]

"Nice," Frostfell snickered at Aequitas. "Very tough. A complete failure on all counts, but very tough. If you value your captain's life make sure he is carry a small sharp blade where he can get at it easily, even if tangled up in the lines. And remember that the Germans will be doing that as well. Which was the point of the demonstration." The great dragon stretched his wings. "Maybe its something to do with being civilized to long. Makes you too much like them." He flicked a claw at a cow.

[General Havoc]

"I don't doubt your or your dragon's courage, Captain," said Rankin, "nor that of any of you. If you were cowards, then you wouldn't be here in the first place. But no lightweight, no matter how courageous, can take on a Prussian Bluejacket head-on and expect to win unless they are extremely lucky, well supported, or have some other advantage. The same holds true of a middleweight facing down a Kampfritter, or God help us, something worse."

Rankin nodded to the other Australian Captain as Nick Kelly jogged over to join the others. "Captain Kelly's Venomspitter can help us even the odds a bit, as can the Spitfire of course, but the Germans are likely to deploy Aufsehers of their own, and a single spray from them is almost invariably fatal, as I'm sure you all know. The Germans have had three years to practice positioning their beasts so as to get such kills, as the Polish, the Norwegians, and the French have all found out to their dismay."

"What we will need," he said as he opened the door to what passed for a mess hall, "is a frank understanding of each of your dragon's capacities. I know many of you are veterans and many are not, but I need real hard fact, not bragging or wishful thinking. We must be realistic about what we are capable of handling, rather than just assuming we can all crush dragons a full weight class above ourselves. I need some understanding of what you are all capable of, and one that will stand up to the heat of battle, or else the Germans may well just sweep us into Wales like garbage in the gutter."

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

Aequitas snarled at the challenge as he rounded on Frostfell. "You think you know better than I how to safeguard a captain?" he snapped at the snow-white dragon. "Michael keeps a sawn-off shotgun strapped to my neck in battle, not some tom-fool sword that can slip in the wind or be entangled by a net. A shotgun and a trench spike, but I never intend to force him to use either. I saw Michael's father through three years of the Great War, and I will see Michael through this one be it another three or longer. I was at Second Ypres, at Passhendaele, at Thiepval Ridge, and at Cambrai. Where were you? Chasing walrus and polar bears through the arctic? Or had you yet been hatched?"

"Mind your own Captain," said Aequitas, "and I'll mind mine. A braggart like you is not in any position to - "

"Not a braggart."

Fulminatus had decided to chime in, and Aequitas turned his head towards the scarred and battered-looking American Reaper.

"What are you talking about?"

"He's not a braggart," said Fulminatus, not even bothering to glance at Aequitas, his eyes fixed on the Wendigo with an even, penetrating gaze. "Are you? You were talking earlier about the taste of men. A salty taste, like pork?" Fulminatus flicked his tongue in and out like a serpent. "It's the iron. All that iron in their blood. It's what makes it red."

There was a disconcerting tone to Fulminatus' voice that made Aequitas fall silent and withdraw a pace or two as the American Reaper approached Frostfell, his tail twitching back and forth.

"A Wendigo..." he said slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Terror of the Canadas, isn't that right? They call you the ice demons. Ghosts from campfire stories. And I can see that you believe them. You're not bragging about the taste of men... you've fed on them, haven't you? Felt them squirm as you crushed them in your teeth? You know, in India, they say a tiger that tastes men will forever be a man-eater, and that you can tell a man-eater by the way he looks at you. But they also say that some tigers are just born bad, born to be man-eaters. Born demons."

The American was now standing right in front of Frostfell, his manner relaxed, but his muscles tensed like a coiled spring, staring up at the dragon that outmassed him nearly two to one.

"You think we're cows?" he asked, not a trace of offense to his voice, almost like a taunt. "Civilized? Domesticated? I can see it in your eyes, Wendigo, you're thinking you could take me right now. Quick bite to the back of the neck maybe? Or a pounce-and-pin and go for the throat? Take that Malachite there too? And the Spitfire? I think you're even willing to try a Venomspitter if the occasion presents itself. I think you actually might be that stupid, because you're a monster, and you know it, and you're scared to death, but you don't know what you're scared of yet. Because you've seen war and fought and maybe even killed a dragon or two?"

Fulminatus raised his head a bit, as though he could discern the answer from the Wendigo's scales. "Lightweights? Middleweights even? I think you have, and you think that means you know what war is but secretly you're terrified. You're terrified because you're not supposed to be here at all. You're supposed to be roaming the arctic kidnapping Inuit children for your dinner, not out here, not in a war. You're supposed to be a monster, but you've found something to lose now, and you don't know how to keep from losing it. You're supposed to be feral but you're as domesticated as all the rest of us, just like those cows, and you're terrified of what that makes you. But you've eaten men and killed dragons and seen your share of fighting, and you know most of the little ones here haven't, so you think they don't know the difference, and maybe you're right."

"But you know what I think? I think you're a monstrosity who doesn't know what he's doing over here, and you're scared to death right now that I might know something you don't. So since you know so much about war and fighting, why don't you tell me what you plan to do to keep your captain safe, something that isn't going to be a complete failure and all on all counts, because a bowie knife sure isn't gonna cut it for very long, and neither is a shotgun or a trench spike. What are you gonna do to make sure your Captain lives through this, because I don't think you have the first goddamn idea of how to get yourself through this alive, let alone him."

Fulminatus smiled, a predatory smile that screamed challenge. "And I think you're as scared of the fact that you actually care what the answer to that is, than of the fact that you don't know it."

[Charon]

Jake shrugged at Rankin. "Never said I'd fight one fair like..." Jake didn't say much more yet, just listening as he picked up a tray and cycled through the line, grabbing what looked to be edible. The Australian pilot then started heading for one of the smaller tables on instinct. Coming to a slow stop, the pilot softly sighed then moved to one of the bigger tables.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kunja could tell he was out of his league now, sure he'd seen some combat, and he wasn't about to take any shit that came his way, but Fulminatus was out of his league. There was a dragon that knew he was the best, and Kunja was not up to challenging him. The young dragon perked up it's head, wishing maybe for a moment that it had been bred to be as big as it's fellows.

[Cynical Cat]

"Fool," rasped Frostfell. "Do I fear? Yes, I do. It is murder up there and no power I possess can stop a stray piece of lead from ending my captain's life. We are power made flesh but flesh yields before machines and steel. No arrow will pierce our hides but have you seen what a fifty cal will do? Or worse yet a twenty or a thirty-seven? Our time is almost over. This will be the last great war fought from dragon back. Like cavalry we are becoming obsolete. Soon enough man will ride through the air on metal wings to vomit cannon fire and rockets at other men. Those who still ride dragons will be butchered like Polish Cavalry when the Wehrmacht came.

"But that is at the other end of this war. Those unblooded clowns dancing around so sure of themselves will have to live through it. Old one you may have seen far more of combat that I, but I was raised in this world why you have seen the old one that is dust. My captain had slain four dragons and had a fifth die under him during the Great War.

"Dragons will die in greater numbers than they ever have because man has better weapons to kill us with. Those killing tools will also kill our captains in greater numbers and we will go blood mad and even more of us will die. This is not the Age of Napoleon and his columns, but of Hitler and steel.

"You wish to make pompous attempts at psychoanalysis or throw around your wisdom, go talk to the Americans and Australian clowns. They are not ready for what will engulf them. Since they are not ready, for all our sakes, for all our captains' sakes they must be made ready before they taste battle. I care nothing for their feelings and what the Boche will do to them will be far worse than my words.

"And one last thing, oh great and wise elder. When this war ends, the Wendigo at least will have a place in this world because men have no desire to live in the Artic. What place for you, when they no longer need you for war?"

[Agent Fisher]

Godfrey trotted over to the dragons, hearing the arguing. He snorted, a bit of smoke emerging from his nostrils. "Enough!" He said, his voice gruff.

He looked around. "The enemy is across the channel, not hear in this camp. Learn to work together, or we will all die. My last squadron was tighter than this motley group and the Nazi beasts still tore us apart. They tore into my captain's leg before I managed to escape. If we don't learn to work together before they get here, I will take my captain and we will leave, go to another squadron, for I have no desire to watch another group get tore apart around me." Godfrey said.

[General Havoc]

"There's only one dragon in this covert who's dancing around sure of himself, whelp, and if I wanted to know what kind of combat experience your captain had I'd go ask him." Fulminatus did not move, even if Æquitas did, backing up so as not to get in the way if the two dragons suddenly lunged at one another.

"So you think you're ready for what's about to engulf you, and the rest of us aren't? Typical heavyweight. But don't lie to me, Wendigo, because I know your type. You don't give a damn about any of them any more than you do about me. They could all become aces or die tomorrow and you wouldn't care one whit. You're just trying to build your own courage up, to make it sound like you know what you're doing. Well you don't. It's plain as day on your face that you don't, so if you're going to lecture them about how to stay alive, give some thought to your own situation first, or the first Kampfritter to cross the channel's going to send you and your captain into the waves. Trust me, I'm not going to be their primary target. You're the one who stands out with those scales of yours."

Fulminatus turned his head sharply as Godfrey spoke up, trying to defuse the argument. He snorted derisively as the Spitfire spoke.

"If your master plan involves working together with a Wendigo, then I'm afraid we're all going to have a very short lifespan. The Canadians called them demons for a reason. You all may be about to find out."

Fulminatus stalked off towards the other side of the pen, but before he got there, Æquitas interrupted his walk.

"And what about you?" said the Malachite Reaper. "Are you about to lecture us on how to keep our Captains safe when you don't even HAVE..."

Æquitas stopped as the American Reaper shot him a look so fierce that the Great War combat veteran actually stepped back a pace.

"You do not, said the Reaper, "want to have that conversation with me, limey."

And with that, Fulminatus walked away from the Wendigo, Spitfire, and Malachite, leaving them to think what they would in a dead, tense silence, which was broken only after some time when slowly Capricorn, the Tasmanian venomspitter, walked up to all three. With wide, uncomprehending eyes, the little Special weapons dragon looked around, then turned to Frostfell, and spoke with as much dignity and pathos as he could muster.

"Wow! You're big!"

[Cynical Cat]

Frostfell said to the"If you think race and breed determines everything about a creature, why aren't you flying for the Nazis? That is there belief, after all. I have killed man and dragon and I glory in it. I am smart enough to be afraid and yet I go up again and again. Unlike you, I have no reason to doubt my intelligence or my courage. As for puffing myself up in front of others, I'm not the one playing the big tough dragon standing up to the nasty mean Wendigo.

"As for who is the primary target, it certainly isn't me. I'm the one who blends into clouds and I'm not a fire or venom spitting primary target. My captain is good hand with a cannon, something that means a lot these days. Kampfritters don't scare me. Big, dumb, and clumsy. I've sent more than enough back to German lines with torn wings and bloodied hides."

He turned his head down to Capricorn. "They will come for you, striking from the sides and above by choice, or with guns. Down you and our squadron will be much easier to wound and kill. You, above all, are under threat. You will not see me up there. I will be hiding, waiting to strike at those who would strike at you. Do you have faith little Capricon, that I will shed the blood of your enemies before they get to you?"

[SirNitram]

Semmemnon had been silent and observant through it all. The old dragon had quietly stalked and pounced his meal without flight; a skill he had honed ages ago, and never saw a reason to let dull. With perhaps the typical detachment and aloofness of his kind, he shook his head as the yelling match came towards crescendo.

"And perhaps our Canadian friend is right, and it is the end of our time as riding into war. And perhaps that means we will no longer be welcomed, though perhaps we will have our place." The Malachite gave a noncomittal shrug.

"After all the war I've seen, I welcome an end to it. A rest. Perhaps it will be the rest of death, but perhaps instead just the rest of retirement and the long journey into obscurity writing my memoirs." A harsh laugh. "As if anyone would read such. But that is tomorrow's concern. We have foes to best. Egos will not assist in that."

[General Havoc]

... Capricorn was not perhaps the best dragon to ask such a question to.

The Venomspitter blinked up at the Wendigo mutely, showing no signs of having understood what he'd just said. It was several moments of quiet before the Venomspitter sat down and asked, with all the goodwill in the world:

"D'you want a cow?"

As though there weren't fifty cows for the taking huddled away from the dragons.

"You're a liar, Wendigo, and a bad one at that," said Fulminatus from the other side of the pen, turning back as he heard the larger beast's last words. "Nothing but idle talk and blather about your supposed skill. I've met a hundred like you in my day, and I'm not impressed."

"That is enough Fulminatus!" shouted Æquitas. This could go nowhere helpful.

The American rounded on the Malachite. "If he were smart enough to be afraid, he'd be smart enough to be afraid of Kampfritters. He thinks himself invulnerable and makes up stories for it. I've been in and out of wars for a century and you can damn well bet I'm afraid of them."

"Yes, and we'll all get a chance to find out who is and isn't speaking rubbish, now won't we?" responded the Malachite, "So until then, you will curb your damned tongue, is that clear?"

"I have seen what happens to those who rely on the good faith of heavyweights to keep themselves alive, Malachite. The first sign of an unreliable dragon, is one that wants to make certain everyone recognizes him as the toughest and nastiest in the squadron. Torn wings and bloodied hides. Bah!" The dragon spat on the ground. "More likely you saw one from a distance jumped by a swarm of middleweights and claimed it for yourself. Stupid or not, a Kampfritter will kill anyone idiotic enough to not fear them in a heartbeat, and anyone who claims they aren't afraid of them has never met one in his life."

"The first sign of an unreliable dragon, Fuminatus," retaliated Æquitas, who was now becoming angry, "is one who will not obey his flagdragon's orders. Now are you going to be silent or am I going to have to make you?"

There was a second's hesitation, a moment of doubt between the two beasts, but before it could come to blows or more violent argument, Fulminatus growled and backed down.

"As you wish..." he said with venom in his voice, and spreading his wings, he leapt out of the pen and flew a hundred yards over to the other side of the covert, where he settled down once more. Æquitas growled softly and shook his head, casting a nasty glance at Frostfell, as Capricorn turned back to the massive Wendigo.

"D'you think 'e wants a cow?" he asked in perfect seriousness.

[Cynical Cat]

"No," said the Wendigo, "I don't think he wants a cow. He wants to shame the big nasty Wendigo, which is to say me. I would say he's overcompensating for a whole bunch of things if I was interested enough in how other people enough to take an interest in psychology. As if I would waste my fear on big stupid Kampfritters when there are Jotunmeisters in the air. Now those are some scary bastards. They can actually fly better than a drunken chicken, unlike some big German dragons I could name, and real live brain cells. They're worth worrying about."

[SirNitram]

"Would that we face a hundred Jotunmeisters before a Stuka." That was Semmemnon once more. "To fight and die, tooth and claw, with a Jotunmeister is no thing to fear or shame. They are powerful, yes, enough to rend me asunder.. But they have been known to comprehend honour and mercy and respect and display them to opponents. No, I fear not the Heavyweights. The worst they offer is death-of-the-body."

"I fear the Stuka, for in them I can see death-of-the-mind. And I fear what will become of us, should they become more numerous and spread their tainted breed."

[Cynical Cat]

"I can understand that," said Frostfell. "While I respect a polar bear, I would not members of my race reduced to its level of intellect. More reasons to fight." He yawned, showing fang. "Of course, we'll be dead by the time that happens. More reason to go down fighting. Or not lose."

[General Havoc]

Æquitas had lost all patience with this discussion. "And if you wish to last long enough in this squadron to MEET a Jotunmeister or a Kampfritter, you will STOP THIS NONSENSE!" He growled and smacked his tail against the ground as he shook his head.

"He is a one hundred year combat veteran of two dozen different wars, and thus I doubt he needs to prove a damn thing to you. And seeing as you are the largest dragon in the entire squadron, I fail to see what you feel the need to prove to him?! You want Capricorn to trust that you'll keep his tail free from Bluejackets? Go up there and do it. Don't tell me and the whole world about how amazing you are. Go prove it. And until then, stop this infantile nonsense before I have Michael transfer you and that damned American both to a squadron in Bermuda."

He turned away and shook his head as he walked away from them all, tired of listening to preposterous shouting from all concerned. As he passed Semmemnon he glanced up at the older Malachite and shook his head.

"I swear," he said, with a wry smirk. "These colonials will be the death of us..."

[SirNitram]

"I am quite certain the reasons for fighting are diverse here." Semmemnon's gaze tracked over the collection of dragons. "Aces, civilians, and a broken old wreck of a Malachite. We truly are in dire straits."

A glance was sent to the little Capricorn. "Yet always, some hope. Perhaps not the most informed hope, but we can only treasure what little blessings we have."

"I would have a dozen colonials before any more with your mouth." Semmemnon said mildly to his counterpart. "I've seen enough combat action in the colonies to know well they are a worthy group to fly with." Though how he desperately wished they had more experience.

[Agent Fisher]

Godfrey chuckled and followed Æquitas. "Well, it could be worse." He said, looking back at the other dragons. "Could be that we had only Americans, or Australians." The Spitfire said.

[General Havoc]

"If they can be kept from rending one another limb from limb, perhaps," said Æquitas, "but at this rate the Germans won't have to kill us..."

[Cynical Cat]

"Yes, us dratted colonials coming over here and helping you fight," said Frostfell. "I'm so impressed by the abundant wisdom spewing from your jaws. I abjectly apologize for failing to recognize the awesome lineage and skill that had you sent to this squadron full of Americans and colonials."

He turned to Semmemnon. "Now lets talk tactics. How would you engage a Bluejacket? You don't have the advantage of out massing them like I do."

[Comrade Tortoise]

Both Richard and Waldwanderer watched the group of exchanges and hoped that such bullshit was not normal and just a matter of establishing dominance. When Rankin left in the direction of the mess hall, Richard patted Walwanderer on the side of the neck, to be returned by a nuzzle. Then he rejoined the group in the direction of the mess.

"Well" Richard started "Walwanderer is fast and highly maneuverable both in the air and on the ground, and that tail of his can help compensate a bit for his size. The two of us can survive in about any terrain with little or no support, and we are both highly observant and know how to hide ourselves. In combat, that would probably translate to a skill in scouting and ambush, though that is just my assessment"

(OOC note: this was started when no one had addressed tactics so forgive it if it seems a bit odd in conversation)

[SirNitram]

"By preference, I would lure it to my accompanying Heavyweight allies whilst my rear gunner.. Wherever he's gotten to.. Introduces them to the Vicker's gun. Fascinating device." Semmemnon drawled. "Since no sane engagement will offer such providence as an unengaged Heavy, however, the way to engage a Bluejacket is to confuse it. Get above him then pounce on his back, grab his chest and rend with your rear claws, or whatever else might shake it for a moment. Once the weakness is exposed, go for the throat. Annoyingly tenacious breed."

[Cynical Cat]

"That's for damn sure," said Frostfell. "The bastards won't admit their beaten."