His Majesty's Dragons: World at War

[Comrade Tortoise]

Haakon was much displeased by this state of affairs. With two Nimbus the chances were good that rather than getting him in a grapple and bringing him down into the sea, that they would attempt to board. Not that engaging his troops in hand to hand combat was a good idea, but with two to one odds it was a risk. He could out-maneuver one, but he could not let them come at him from two sides, or expose himself to attack by two Tuscan Raiders. He kept going, making it look like he was going to charge the one on the inside of the pair, closer to the raiders.

What he actually did was make a tight turn just before contact. His men opened fire and he used the momentum of the turn and his own muscle power to lay a strike with his tail spikes into the other dragon--the one on the outside's--face, banking away to avoid a grapple in the process, using the one he had just attacked as a shield against the other and the Raiders.

He might injure the other dragon, but if nothing else, it should break their formation and force them into a battle of maneuver, which when compared to a brawl, he had a better chance of winning.

[frigidmagi]

There were good days and there were bad days. Whether or not this was a bad day remained to be seen but it certainly wasn't a good day. Italian dragons attacking the base and Spanish Dragons staring down his CO, this was like one of those unwinnable problems the academy came up with to see how he crashed and burned. Theodore got on the radio.

"Huh, Commander, I'm not sure leaving you alone right now is a good idea. Maybe the Typhon should stay?" He said. A stray line from some poem crossed his mind, dragons to the left of me, dragons to the right of me...

[rhoenix]

Captain Maximilian sighed to himself. Franklin lifted his head up, and turned his head to the side so his eye met that of his Captain's for a moment, and nodded once. "Franklin and I are willing to stay behind with you, Captain Rankin. As bad as the situation sounds back on base, leaving our CO alone in this situation would not be my first choice, sir."

Franklin knew that Captain Maximilian felt just as compelled to go as he did, but ... war made for uncertain times and situations.

[Cynical Cat]

What a cluster fuck, Nathan Reynolds thought. A problem when the fight starts when you're just getting off the ground. "Thundercracker, the Nemesis is your only concern. Everyone else, buy time dancing with the lights and mediums." The gun carriage swiveled to track the Nemesis. "Frostfell, the Nemesis first and then the rest."

The quad mount came to bear. He opened fire.

[dragnl0rd]

"Is this the new squadron we've been assigned to, Marcus? I don't recognize half the breeds here, and the ones I do know... bloody hell, that's a wendigo!" Alacritas pulled up hard, climbing at as close to a 90 degree angle as he could to clear the firing line for his new best friends.

Marcus turned to watch the initial engagement underneath them, and cringed as a razorback got a clean slice on one his would-be-saviors. "If it is our new assignment, then it's best we join it, I think. Got it in you to show these Italians exactly who they've been chasing?"

Rather than respond in words, the Winchester let himself stall, folded his wings, and swung his tail out to execute a 180 degree yaw turn. Alacritas spread his wings to pull himself into a powered dive aiming to intercept the lightweight who'd drawn first blood. Leaning forward to eliminate a minute amount of additional drag, Marcus took aim at the captain of the offending (and offensive) razorback, and started firing short bursts from is SMG.

[JimmyTheCannon]

The attack hadn't gone quite the way Faust and Jimmy had planned. The Bonetail keened in pain, dropping out of control with the Razorback diving after it. Captain Cannon turned, scattering shots from his Thompson around the pursuing Italian's captain in the hopes of causing it to break off.

"Faust! Bank left, now!" The rust-red dragon snapped its wings out in an attempt to arrest the fall, captain and dragon both leaning to the left. His wings beat raggedly as he tried to evade the bladed beast attacking them.

[Hawkwings]

Emily had certainly not expected to be thrown into combat, nor have combat fling itself at her and her crew. So when the call came out, she was caught flat-footed and the crew were in a similar state of distraction. Still without orders, or a greeting from the commanding officer, or any sort of official contact with the other captains present at all, Emily was on her own for the moment. Still, what had to be done was clear. She just wished that it could happen a bit faster.

As the crew all came streaming back and preparing for combat, Emily sat and waited, quite agitated and just a bit nervous. It didn't help that Luna was similarly agitated. Yet she was infinitely more eager to get into the fight, and Emily could almost feel her great muscles trembling under the thick scales. The others were already up in the air, engaging the enemy dragons, while Luna was crouched, waiting for her crew to finish preparations, not uttering a single word of frustration or haste. That would be improper, of course. Just like heading into battle not fully outfitted and crewed would be.

Finally, after an eternity of waiting and listening to the radio chatter, the crew chief gave the ready signal, and Luna leapt into the air, great wings beating hard as she worked to gain altitude. Emily had been paying attention to as much of the information over the radio as possible, and as the giant heavyweight approached the battle, she called out "That special is breaking from the formation! We're going after the mediums, priority to the Nimbuses."

With a series of metallic clacks and yelling, Emily knew her crew had received her instructions. Now Luna gave her input, saying to Emily "These little friends of ours seem to be in a mite of trouble. Our attack is hurried and disorganized. I believe I shall fly straight in and give the enemy a bit of the old shock and scatter."

With that, Luna beat her powerful wings again and climbed up, above the main body of the battle. At the peak, she arched over into a dive and aimed straight for the pair of sapphire-blue mediums. One of the friendly midweights made a quick darting attack towards them, turning away at the last second and hopefully providing just enough of a distraction. Luna bore in at dive speed, intending to ram one out out of the sky and bodily fling the other towards the pair of Raiders.

[LadyTevar]

But like Faustus, this dive placed Jebediah beneath his selected Razorback, albeit with better control of his positioning, and like his counterpart, the Razorback decided that a dragon in hand was better than one not yet acquired. Winchesters were a dime a dozen, but this strange-colored Courier-weight had not only attacked him, but tried to bash him in the head with its wing, for reasons unknown. Intrigued by the prospect of more interesting prey, the Razorback circled and dove towards Jebediah, its nimble wings pursuing the West Virginian as its claws opened and closed

"Jeb, he's divin'," Judith warned, as Jebediah had continued his screaming dive past the Razorback and had yet to slow. Her shots had been wild, she had no idea if she hit anything. The tommygun was really just a spray-n-pray weapon a-dragonback.

"Keep watchin'," was Jeb's only answer, as he turned his dive into a loop, his speed sling-shotting him upwards just as he had done showing off to the Cossacks months ago. Then, it had been a loop and reverse loop between two apple trees, just barely wider than Kunja's wings. Here, while he had much more room, the tighter loop meant less momentum lost as he arched skyward.

With luck, he'd once again surprise the Italian and gain enough height to be equal or higher than the Razorback.

[General Havoc]

Thundercracker dove upon his target like a moving, breathing rainbow, descending towards the Nemesis. The Nemesis was not impressed. Nemeses were not accustomed to giving way before anything, and certainly not before random dragons painted like clowns visibly smaller than themselves and painted like clowns. It approached the Xolotl fearlessly, deeming it a fool of a dragon from foreign shores who plainly did not know what he was dealing with.

That impression lasted right up until the point where the clown-painted midweight discharged a lightning bolt.

It was literally a bolt from the blue. The lightning traversed the space between the dragons in two billionths of a second, striking the Nemesis' topgun turret and exploding it like a grape. Current ripped through the dragon's harness, electrocuting men where they stood, and setting boxes of machine gun ammunition on fire. The dragon itself staggered in mid-air, gyrating as things began exploding on its back, twisting and convulsing as the current twisted its muscles into pretzels. And then, as the dragon and its stunned, electrified crew tried desperately to recover some kind of equilibrium, suddenly Frostfell took them under fire from a twenty millimeter.

The fire was at long range, and the target had just been electrocuted, but the benefits of hosepipe fire were that such things mattered less. Shots exploded all over the dragon's flank, sparking off the harness and drawing blood. Under such combined and chaotic assault, even the mighty Nemesis was overwhelmed, and unable to counterattack effectively, it winged over and dove, passing outside of Frostfell's firing arc and seeking some means of rectifying its position and returning to the attack.

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

The Nimbuses advanced in formation, side by side towards their designated target, Haakon, a Valdemarian from Norway, though whether they knew that was unknown. They did know that he was a midweight like themselves, and that they were two to his one. The arrival of the Regal Copper rendered matters more complicated of course, but the Copper was late to the fight, and they figured they had time for one good pass before they struck.

Unfortunately, Haakon seemed to have other ideas.

He turned at the last moment, cutting as tight of an angle as he could and crossing the T of the outside Nimbus, lashing out with a weapon that had no business even existing, a three hundred pound iron monstrosity of meter-long spikes, lashed to the Valdemarian's tail like some kind of dinosaur's tool. The outside Nimbus saw it coming with only seconds to spare and ducked instinctively, hunching its shoulders to protect its captain as it tried to apply the brakes, too late. The spikes slashed across its face and snout, drawing bloody stripes down one side of its face and neck, before the Valdemarian put on speed, easily evading the clumsy counterstroke by the Nimbus' foreclaws.

The Nimbuses were eager to exact retribution, but they were to be denied, for at that moment, things took a distinct turn for the worse, as a Regal Copper tried to dive upon them. That it was doing this was no surprise. A Regal Copper in a bright blue sky was about as subtle as the Tunguska Event, and only lookouts with their eyes nailed shut could have missed it. The Nimbus' lookouts were Italian, but they were not blind, and both Nimbuses dove as the Copper came barreling down after them, leaving the heavyweight to chase them down towards the waves or not at its discretion.

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

The Raiders, like everyone else within twenty miles, were watching the Regal Copper, but when the Copper committed to attacking the Nimbuses, they chose a different target. The Wendigo that was pasting the Nemesis with machine cannon fire was larger than either Raider, but not by so much as to make the problem insolvable. Moreover these Raiders were armed and armored in full combat gear, their crews ensconced behind gun turrets and their flanks protected by sheets of chain mail. With merely a glance at one another, they advanced to the attack, the turrets atop their backs and slung beneath their bellies spitting machine gun fire at Frostfell's topgun, aiming to suppress the 20mm and close to lethal range. The dragons gained altitude as they slowly divided, moving to sandwitch Frostfell between them and attack from both directions at once.

Of course Raiders, while less obvious than a Regal Copper, were still quite hard to miss, so it remained to be seen what Frostfell would do in response to such efforts.

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

Below the larger dragons, the lightweights were engaged in an intricate dance. One of the Razorbacks was chasing Faustus, while being chased in turn by Alacritas, all three captains filling the air with bullets and hitting nothing whatsoever. Faustus banked hard to one side to avoid the Razorback plunging down atop him, and managed barely to evade the strike. The Razorback plunged past him, followed moments later by a Winchester that had formerly been the Razorback's quarry. The Razorback immediately applied the brakes, but a five ton dragon could not arrest a dive instantly, and it wound up several hundred feet below Faustus, with the Winchester still plunging down towards it. If it saw the Winchester, it did not care, for if the British courier-weight wanted to crash headlong into the bladed spines of an Apennine Razorback, that was its own business. Coming about and struggling to regain altitude, it prepared to engage whatever target presented itself.

Jeb meanwhile had succeeded in confusing the hell out of the other Razorback, but little else. One moment the Razorback was angling over to chase the strange lighter dragon down towards the waves, and the next it was chasing nothing at all. Razorbacks were agile beasts, but the maneuver that this one's quarry did was something it had never before witnessed. Loops it understood, but this loop was so tight and natural that before the Razorback knew what was happening, it was facing empty air, and the dragon it had been chasing was above and behind it.

Still, the little courier could dance all it liked, Razorbacks were perfectly content to let the enemy come to them. It banked to the left, circling as it clawed for altitude, preparing to re-engage the strange lightweight, or if the lightweight continued to play with him, re-engage something more suitable.

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

Thinking the matter over quickly, Captain Rankin keyed the radio once again.

"Very well," he said. "Franklin will remain with us here. Captain Eisenhauer, please support Captain Collington and assist the rest of the squadron as quickly as possible."

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

But even as Rankin was speaking Captain Collington's name, something else was developing.

The fastest route to Estepona was across the neck of land that stretched north of Gibraltar, and it was this land that Kunja was traversing to get to the main fight. Yet as he traversed it, far off to his left, something else was going on.

At a distance, it was hard to tell what it was. Three dragons, all lightweights, were skirting along the nape of the earth, dodging trees and boulders as they raced after one another. The leader was the smallest, a courier-weight maybe, or a very small combat light, radiantly golden tapering to orange at its extremities. Its captain, a small, lithe figure, held a submachine gun, which he fired over his shoulder at his pursuers, to no obvious effect. What breed this was, and what it was doing here was uncertain. But the identity of the other two dragons were not. Smaller than Kunja, but full size combat lightweights themselves, their mottled brown hides identified them clearly enough for any veteran of the Battle of Britain's eyes. They were Speckled Bavarians, the backbone of the Luftwaffe's lightweights.

What two Speckled Bavarians were doing here of all places, in the middle of southern Spain, and why they were chasing a lone golden courier were questions that had no immediate answer. What was clear though was that these dragons were intent on their prey, their captains firing bursts from their submachine guns at the golden dragon before them, so intent on catching it that they did not seem to see the Heavy Lightweight flying alone and off to one side.

[frigidmagi]

"Aye Sir, moving out!" Captain Eisenhauer, Klater Sturm was moving quickly, angling upwards as he arrowed towards the fight at a steady but swift air eating pace.

[rhoenix]

Thinking the matter over quickly, Captain Rankin keyed the radio once again.

"Very well," he said. "Franklin will remain with us here. Captain Eisenhauer, please support Captain Collington and assist the rest of the squadron as quickly as possible."

Captain Maximilian nodded once. "Acknowledged, Captain."

He felt Franklin relax slightly, while still keeping a cold and clinical eye on all the dragons and crews that weren't, strictly speaking, staunch allies. One crazy heavyweight Spaniard was quite enough, but there were quite a few here.

[Cynical Cat]

Nathan ducked behind a gunshield as the Tuscans sent fire his way. "Climb!" he told Frostfell. "The Tuscans have been in the air for a while. Let's see how tired they are. Gain altitude and play keep away so we can buy time."

Frostfell replied with a wordless growl, turning south and beginning to climb. The Tuscans could persue, beginning a race against a fresh dragon, or they could turn away and let Frostfell gain the advantage of altitude. "We'll do some killing soon enough," Nathan reassured his dragon. "When I give the word, bank on three and everyone open up and suppress those middleweights. Lets remind them who has the big dragon and the big guns. The longer we can keep those Tuscans busy, the more time the rest of the squadron has to beat their friends bloody."

"Signal the rest of the squadron," he told his radioman. "This is Reynolds. Haakon, help out the lightweights. Lightweights, lead your dance partners into the Norwegian's jaws. Then help the Copper with the mediums. Thundercracker, finish off the Nemesis. We'll be keeping the Tuscans busy trying to catch us. Anyone who finishes with their dance partner, help someone else. If I have to choose just one kill, I don't want the Nemesis making it home. Improvise as needed."

"Frostfell, on three, bank." The big dragon continued to climb and then banked south-west, momentarily breaking the the Tuscan's line of fire on this own guns by grabbing air and twisting. The Canadians took advantage of the momentary break to unleash their own storm of fire. At this range getting a hit was three parts luck to one part skill and even a hit had a good chance of being deflected, but their was a lot of bullets being sent out and sometimes one got lucky.

"Keep climbing," said Nathan. "Keep climbing and keep our distance. We're about to find out how clever these Italians are."

[Dark Silver]

Thundercracker released a roar once the lighting bolt struck the now seizuring form of the Sicilian Nemesis, shifting wing and arcing upward to gain altitude on the larger Midweight poison spitter, when Frostfell's "hosepipe" spray was added to the insult of exploding ordinance. The Xolotl's roar was triumphant - he had seen the look on the lesser worm's features and read the disdain.

The Xolotl was swinging around for another pass, giving his lighting time to recharge, when the radio man relayed orders to Roberts, "Signal confirmation! Rifle-crew! Guns at the ready! Broadside and board!"

Thundercracker heard the orders and grunted, "I need a few more minutes for more lighting!" he called back to his Captain, as he completed his arc, remaining above the wounded Nemesis and coming behind it. Thundercracker was aware - as was Roberts - that the only truly "safe" zone on a Nemesis was the rear arc - the overgrown lizards were exceptionally accurate venom spitter, and were more than capable of attacking from below.

"You'll have it. Get us close enough to do what we need to." Robert's relayed back, patting the rainbow hued dragon's neck.


Thundercracker lined himself up once again, beating his wings to attempt to gain speed on the wounded and virtually limping Nemesis, his wings tucking in and pulling into a dive that would assist in the speed gain, then snapping out. The guncrews waited and a mixture of M1 Carbine and Machine gun fire once they were in range - waiting only for the oppurtunity to board the Nemesis.

If they could not force a capture on the beast - the boarding crew were under standing orders to put bullets into the Nemesis' head and hope their parachutes kept them alive during the long fall down.


(Edited with GM permission - removed the lighting bolt since Thundercracker would not be able to fire again so soon. Manuver's basically the same, come up behind, broadside and board the wounded Nemesis.)

[LadyTevar]

"Ah'm thinkin' he's a might confus'd, Jeb," Judith smirked, watching it make a slow turn and climb to follow them. A second thundercrack split the air. "Now wha'n tarnation's that noise?"

"One o' ours, Ah think," Jebediah answered, using his stolen speed to continue the climb upwards.

The order from Reynolds came in loud and clear, and Judith looked back at the slowly climbing Razorback. "T'aint in no hurry ta catch up, Ah'm thinkin he's waitin' fer us ta come ta him 'gain."

"Porc'pine's got soft bellies," Jeb drawled. "Coul' try ta hook 'em there onna pass."

"An' might ge' yer own belly slic'd open," Judith retorted. "Try ta sneak t'wards Haakon, an' iffen he don' follow then we'll try ta hook em."

[JimmyTheCannon]

Jimmy could feel the wind from the Razorback's dive as he and Faust barely avoided the plunging dragon, the captain letting out a sigh of relief as he leaned over to try to get a look at the slash the Bonetail had taken. "You okay, Faust? How bad is it?"

"I will be fine, Jimmy." The little dragon was peering down as he spoke, keeping an eye on the Razorback.

Captain Reynold's orders came in, and Captain Cannon nodded. "Alright... let's make sure he hasn't forgotten us. Stay in his line of sight, Faust, and start looping around towards Haakon."

The rust-red dragon dropped lower, ostensibly to keep the Razorback focused on him instead of the Winchester, before curving around at an oblique angle towards the Norwegian.

[Comrade Tortoise]

The was the wonderful thing about Regal Coppers, when they decided to enter a fray, you knew it. The entrance of the mammoth beast saved Haakon a lot of effort, something he was happy for after flying from Scotland to Gibraltar in the space of a week. The Nimbuses did exactly what he expected them to do when set upon by the platonic form of huge. They dove for the waves hoping they could lure the yon winged Leviathan to the waves, and she was no Jörmungandr. Swimming was not something Regal Coppers did well. If they managed it, they could strike back like Orca hunting an already-dismembered whale.

"Bjorn, you see her predicament?" he asked in Norwegian, glancing back as looked around for a target of opportunity and being spoiled for choice.

"I do"

"Appraise her of it, if you will"

Bjorn got on the radio and switched to english

"Valdemarian to friendly Regal Copper, arrest your dive or they will drag you into the sea. You do not want to fight them there."

Just then, the order from Reynolds came in. The problem of course was in the Razorbacks seeing the trap.

"I have an idea" Bjorn said, as if reading Haakon's thoughts. "Make it look like you are going after the Nimbus, and then switch directions once level with the lightweights, dive spiraled, you can transfer some momentum from the dive into horizontal speed that way when you come out"

"Capital idea" Haakon responded, and then banked right and down into a corkscrew dive* letting gravity do much of the work for him.

[Charon]

Kunja spotted the two german dragons with ease, obviously chasing another dragon. And really that was all Kunja needed. He glanced up at Jake. "Six o'clock low. We've got Jerries chasing something. What'd ya think?"

Jake blinked and looked, getting out his binoculars. "Damn. I'm not sure what they're chasing but it doesn't look like a German or Italian breed. Be on lookout for a second, find the sun. I'm gonna radio this in."

That in itself was a shock. The younger Jake and Kunja would have simply turned and chased the errant Germans to the ends of the world leaving everyone to wonder where the hell they'd disappeared to.

"Command, this is Collington and Kunja. We have spotted two germans chasing an unidentified dragon. We are moving to intercept. Coordinates to follow." While Jake was giving out coordinates for the fight, Kunja had quietly winged over, turning towards the racing dragons and keeping his commanding height advantage. He glanced around to make certain the area was clear of other dragons and glanced up at the sun to consider it's positioning.

Jake set the radio back down. "Alright Jack. Let's go play hero."

Kunja took another few minutes to line himself up so his descent would be hidden by the sun blazing behind him, covering his descent from the germans that certainly didn't seem to expect another figure to join the fray. Who would, after all, expect to be blindsided by an Australian Heavy Lightweight in the middle of Spain? Except maybe Albatros himself.

Kunja's quiet dive was as silent as he could manage, pulling his wings in to get the best speed he could, pulling his wings out slightly only occasionally to correct his flight. The duo dived with a set purpose and a knowledge of their enemy. They dived with speed, ferocity, and skill borne of several years of flying together. Jake lay flat against his dragon, reducing drag by milliseconds even as the scarf around his neck fluttered madly in the breeze behind him. Aiming for the Rightward dragon, Kunja dialed in his aim in the last few seconds and then furled his wings outward. The sudden expansion of his frame slowed him down drastically just before potential impact, but it did give him two considerable advantages, he would be slightly more maneuverable, in case his target managed a last minute weave out of the way, and it also slowed him down. With how low they were to the ground, Kunja figured that hit or miss he was hitting the ground, he'd prefer the impact didn't break his legs.

[dragnl0rd]

As soon as Alacritas passed the American dragon, he spread his wings to arrest his dive and pulled to the left, trying to keep in the Razorback's blind spot. Alacritas spoke between heavy breaths, "I'm not sure I have any more of those in me Marcus, not right now."

"That's alright, I don't think we're needed overmuch at the moment..." Marcus took in the situation around them, internally cheering as the Regal Copper scattering the nimbuses, gazing in wonder at the Antichrist diving away from the Multicolored spawn of Zeus, and very much appreciating the two lightweights who'd risked severe injury to pull the Razorback's off his tail. The sightseeing was short lived however, as the orders came in over the radio.

"Just try and catch what breath you can, we'll try to stay in this bugger's blind spot and let him chase the club-tailed fellow towards the Norwegian." Marcus checked the ammo remaining in his current clip. "And lets hope these Italians are more fatigued from chasing us halfway across the Mediterranean than we are from evading them."

[Hawkwings]

"Valdemarian to friendly Regal Copper, arrest your dive or they will drag you into the sea. You do not want to fight them there."

Emily heard the advice from the radio, as did Luna. Though the Nimbuses were still in the air and undamaged, the diving attack had done its job of breaking the formation apart and putting the Italian attackers on the defensive. As the continued towards the surface of the sea, Luna said to Emily "Yes, these are aquatic dragons. I do not fancy getting dragged into the sea, where they will have the advantage."

"Alright, enough of this then. Let's go after those Tuscan Raiders, they look like the meanest dragons here and it will benefit us most to go after them."

"I completely agree," Luna said. "Come, let us show them a special delivery courtesy of the RAF."

Using the great speed from the dive, Luna arced back upwards and extended her wings, catching the air and gaining altitude quickly. She identified the Tuscans and turned to approach them. As the Wendigo climbed to engage them from above, Luna stayed below and made her presence known, daring them to attack and commit themselves to one side. Machinegun and autocannon fire from the crew raked up towards the raiders, not necessarily doing much damage but getting the attention of the Italian crews at least, and breaking their focus. Two heavyweights vs two mediums wasa clear mismatch, and the only thing that remianed to be seen was how many pieces the Tuscan's would be torn into, or how fast they would run away,

[General Havoc]

Shocked and brutalized as it was, the Nemesis could not outrun a fresh Xolotl, not with half the Mediterranean between itself and Italy. Its muscles disrupted by the bathing of current it had received, its crew stunned, electrocuted, or at the very least badly disrupted, its guns in ruin and ammunition burning, the Nemesis had apparently lost its appetite for victory, and gained one for discretion, moving away from the Xolotl as fast as it could. It was not fast enough. Though there was nothing to choose between a Xolotl and a Nemesis for speed, neither one were terribly fast or slow relative to their fellows, but this Nemesis had flown a long way to come here, and been confronted with electrical death on the way. Neither attribute applied to the fulguric, technicolor nightmare that it had found itself confronted with, and the Xolotl was able to gain distance on the Nemesis as it retreated, slowly but surely gaining on the much larger Sicilian dragon. This was a bad enough position for anyone, but whether or not the Nemesis knew it, Xolotl's charged their lightning strikes with the beating of their wings, and every second that the dragon spent in chase was another second closer to a repeat strike of its terrible electric weapon. As the dragons slowly pulled into gun range of one another, Thundercracker would have the chance to fire another shot, prior to actually attempting to board.

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

Perhaps they saw the trap, and perhaps they did not, but both Razorbacks seemed willing to dance, even with a Valdemarian added to the list of their enemies. As Jeb and Faustus both bore off towards the Norwegian midweight, the Razorbacks followed at a remove, outside gunshot range, but close enough to engage at will. Carefully they paced the diving Norwegian down, keeping their distance but placing themselves between Haakon and the Nimbuses, letting the larger Norwegian and his American and British escorts move down, down, down, towards the action nearer the surface, ready to strike ahead or fade back should the occasion call for it. In either case, if Haakon wanted to go after the Nimbuses, he would have to get past the Razorbacks.

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

The Nimbuses in question however were not presently concerned with what the Valdemarian was doing, or how he might attempt to impose his will. They had bigger prey in mind, and while the Regal Copper had a mind to break off the engagement, they had other ideas.

Regal Coppers did not arrest their dives on a dime, and as the Copper began to pull out of her scream dive, the Nimbuses did the same, breaking off in two directions before looping around and making straight for the Copper's flanks. By the time Luna had arrested her dive, and was beginning her attempt to climb out of it, the Nimbuses were streaking towards her, and, as a single unit, they flew through a hail of withering fire, and crashed right into her.

Grappling with a Regal Copper was an exercise in insanity. Coppers had the physical strength to simply crush a midweight dragon if left to their own devices, but the Nimbuses, contrary to appearances, actually did know what they were doing. One ducked at the last minute, aiming its foreclaws at Luna's, slamming its shoulder into her chest as hard as it could, not hard enough to do more than shake a Regal Copper, but hard enough to throw everyone aboard her off their feet. And as the first Nimbus fastened its claws onto the Copper, the other one pulsed his own wings, flew up and over Luna's head, and dove upon her wings, seizing the leading edge of one and wrenching it down, grabbing the Copper's harness with all four feet and doing its damnedest to pin the wing against the massive heavyweight's flank.

And then, having done this, both Nimbuses folded their wings and hung on, adding forty tons of dead weight to a dragon whose wings were suddenly being impeded, causing Luna's ascent to end before it had begun, and sending all three dragons spinning down towards the blue Mediterranean below.

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

The Tuscan Raiders could not individually match Frostfell's terrible armament, but together they could easily do so. Frostfell's guns thundered and split the air with streams of fire, but the heavy machine guns of the Raiders answered every shot with one and a half of their own, less potent perhaps than the half-inch slugs of Frostfells 4x20, but more than capable of laying a man dead where he stood, and the Raiders themselves, scarcely smaller than Frostfell, were not the sort to blanch before such fire as he could project, flying into it with heads down and wings pulsing. As the gyrations of the dragons brought guns in and out of firing arc, there were periods of calm where men could reload their personal weapons, bandage comrades, and seek fresh cover, but the Raiders had no fear of Frostfell, and they pressed on even as he fell back, all three dragons climbing.

Perhaps the Raiders could have caught Frostfell and perhaps they could not, for Frostfell was fresh and hale and had not spent the better part of three hours chasing a Lightweight across the Mediterranean. The Raiders sought only to maintain distant contact with Frostfell, the edge of firing range for their own guns, such that they could respond to his fire with their own and keep their crews behind the cover of their bodies and bullet shields. They climbed, as he did, but either did not or could not catch up with him, preferring to let him lead them on where he would. The cries of the Nemesis off behind them, accosted as it was by a screaming Xolotl, concerned them not at all, and they made no effort to aid their fellow special weapons dragon. This was their fight, and the Nemesis would take care of itself.

As the Raiders climbed, they began to separate, a gap opening between them, as they moved right and left to position themselves on Frostfell's flanks, should they succeed at catching the elusive Canadian Heavyweight. Frostfell was plainly not making full speed, but neither were they, and they seemed happy for the moment to simply keep him at arm's length, away from the rest of the battle, and move in whenever he chose to commit to an attack.

At least, that seemed to be their plan. Who could really tell?

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

The Speckled Bavarian quite literally did not know what hit him.

His Captain did, not that this was much use. Spotting a shadow an instant too late, the captain turned to see a seven-ton dragon where there simply should not have been one, and tugged, hard, on his reins, his dragon reacting without looking by banking to the left. Too late. Kunja hit him like a thunderbolt out of clear blue skies, slamming the dragon flank-first into a field of freshly-sewn winter wheat. Half a second later, Kunja crashed into the same field, his jaws slamming shut as the ground uppercutted him, and slid a hundred yards headfirst through what was fortunately reasonably soft earth, leaving him with little more than a splitting headache and a momentary attack of very severe disorientation. When Kunja raised his eyes however, all he saw of the German lightweight was a dragon-sized hole smashed through the wooden wall of a nearby barn, and the screams of outraged poultry and farm animals inside, who had just become unwilling hosts to a four-ton dragon presently attempting to remember where he was.

The Bavarian's partner could not help but notice this state of affairs, and glancing back towards Kunja, her eyes went wide as she saw a dragon twice the size of the one she had been chasing. But if the female Bavarian was intimidated by what she saw, she gave no sign. Without hesitation she banked, her altitude so low that her wingtip grazed the ground, and moments later she knuckled her wing under herself and dug the edge of her wingblade into the dirt, carving a furrow through a fallow field and using it as a pivot for an emergency alteration in speed and direction. Coming about in a four-footed slide, the Bavarian ground to a halt standing, staring at her mystery foe with an air that became less apprehensive and more predatory with each second. And then, without a word edgewise, the combat Lightweight took off like a racehorse towards Kunja, her wings pumping once, twice, before she leaped into the air and burst towards him at full speed, her claws skimming the top of the crops over which she flew, the afternoon sunlight glinting off of her razor-sharp wingblades.

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

"Goddamnit!" shouted Rankin over the radio, a statement that was followed by several seconds of dead air as presumably other choice epithets were recited.

"All right, this is no longer a suggestion. Franklin, Klatur, proceed to Kunja's position and support him against whatever Bloody Germans he's found. If you manage to deal with that, you will all proceed to the main engagement and support Captain Reynolds. I will deal with the Spanish myself."

[rhoenix]

"Goddamnit!" shouted Rankin over the radio, a statement that was followed by several seconds of dead air as presumably other choice epithets were recited.

"All right, this is no longer a suggestion. Franklin, Klatur, proceed to Kunja's position and support him against whatever Bloody Germans he's found. If you manage to deal with that, you will all proceed to the main engagement and support Captain Reynolds. I will deal with the Spanish myself."

Captain Maximilian took a deep breath, looked at his new commanding officer, and nodded once. "Yes sir."

With that, Franklin's wings unfurled, and the dark grey dragon seemed to leap into the sky, his massive wings gaining him altitude as he went. The Typhon's wings were more designed for flying calmly through a storm than outrunning one, but he would get there. Each strong wingbeat gained them altitude, even as the crew aboard the midweight Typhon prepared for battle.

There were no clouds threatening storms in the sky, something that disappointed both Captain Maximilian and Franklin - but on the other hand, it meant that they wouldn't have to deal with the amusement of anticipating getting hit by lightning in combat either - something the gun crews and radio crew deeply appreciated.

[Comrade Tortoise]

Haakon watched the Regal Copper arrest her screaming dive as per instructions. Everything was going well. By arresting her dive and keeping a holding pattern, her massive bulk would block the Nimbi--the proper latin plural-- from climbing and making Haakon's life hell. Unless the leviathan proved the stereotype that big and dumb tend to correlate.

Then she went and provided exhibit A.

She started to climb, exposing her back to the Nimbi, which can climb much faster than her. Before she could react, they were dragging her down into the sea, and Haakon had obstacles in the way of rescuing her. Him. Rescuing. Her. This should have been the other way around. Middleweights are the draconic equivalent of heavy infantry armed with polearms of the dragonic world. They do all the work and get none of the glory. Heavyweights are the heavy cavalry. Used for devastating hammer blows to break a line or lending their shock to turn a flank and thus aid the proverbial infantry who had pinned the enemy in place. This is not the way things are supposed to be, and even though he would have to charge through hell in order to save her, he would probably STILL not have songs written about him by the other dragons. He would just have to write them himself because as usual, he had to do all the work himself like he had for one and a half centuries.

Then again, he might bitch, just like line infantry down on the ground... but he really did love this shit. The lightweights on the other hand, they did their jobs, and they lead the razorbacks right into his waiting jaws. He banked out of his spiral in line with his own angular momentum so as not to waste much energy. The italians were side by side, about 50 meters apart. He aimed for the one on his left, taking a tack to the outside to restrict their ability to flank him and set himself up for a pass. He would go for the smaller dragon's wing in order to swing it belly first into his rear claws. Belly first was more likely anyway. Back first would likely lead to wing dislocation. From there, the dragon's wing would be wrenched into injury by pulling it away from his body while his talons pushed and shredded flesh.

The little italian beast could dodge in a number of ways. It to the side or below, he might still be in thagomizer range. If above... that is what barrel rolls were for. Any strike was likely to hurt Haakon, but he could handle it if it hurt the smaller dragon more. There was the problem of the other one... but his allies in this case were both highly skilled, and he could trust them to keep the other sheep-fucking yokel off of him.

[Charon]

Kunja and Jake couldn't help but recognize a move like that from the other Bavarian, and the pair laughed uproariously at their good fortune. "A student of Albatros! Oh but Spain is kind to me!" The Australian dragon roared out before crouching, supposedly preparing to jump into the air to meet the other lightweight in sky. His wings were hidden underneath the long grains of wheat, impossible to see most likely from the vantage point of the Bavarian who now closed on him. But he did not leap into the air to meet her. Disconcerting for most who were used to traditional dragon battles.

Australians were anything but traditional however, and the Greyling heritage of Kunja's ancestry showed true. Barroom savagery is an often misunderstood thing. Most assume it to be nothing more than a screaming madman drunk on enough whiskey to drown a horse flinging himself about at anything that is near him. In some respects this may be true, but there has always been a savage, brutal, and outright cheating brilliance to many a barroom brawl. And mastering such tactics is paramount to keeping a person, or a dragon, from picking their teeth out of the mud once all is said and done.

Kunja had not taken to flight, in fact he had no notion of taking to flight. But that did not mean he did not have a use for his wings. As the Bavarian got close enough, she realized what he had been busy doing as the air in front of her was suddenly filled with dirt and wheat. Kunja had dug his wings into the soft earth around him, and once the Bavarian had closed the distance for him, he'd shot them up into the air, sending the thick layer of dirt, roots, and wheat stalks flying into the face of the Bavarian dragon and her captain. Leaving the other dragon and her captain hopefully blinded, Kunja brought his wings back down with a hard shove, propelling him up into the air a few feet, aiming himself towards where he was at least fairly certain the german's center of mass was. He could only get a rough idea of where his own quarry was with all the dust in the air, but he could judge how fast she'd been moving, and as low as she had been, she would have little opportunity for maneuvering. Another wing beat propelled him up another foot, and helped him to zero in on his position. Then he stopped beating his wings, crashing to the ground once more, hopefully atop a very surprised Bavarian.

[Cynical Cat]

"They've taken the bait," said Nathan. "Keep moving us away from the fight and grabbing altitude. Pour on the speed. Let's make those Tuscans really work to keep up with us."

"We should be fighting," snarled Frostfell as he beat his wings, increasing his speed and altitude.

"The Nemesis is hurt and Thundercracker can keep his distance and finish the job," said Nathan. "The others are three lightweights, one medium, and a heavy against two lights and two mediums. Keeping the Tuscans out of the fight robs them of their main strength and loads the dice in favor of our side."

"Only if they do the job right," said Frostfell. "I've seen too much Latin and not enough mean from the Norwegian and all the English are too bloody tame to fight right."

"Climb, young wyrm and hope you're wrong. Otherwise you're going to have to fight them all."

"I can use the exercise. And the Smoke Devil, at least, will make a kill."

[frigidmagi]

Kalter Sturm, stooped into a dive aiming at the Bavarian. He stayed in control, the Bavarian was simply to fast and to close to the ground to commit to an full out drop.