His Majesty's Dragons: World at War

[Comrade Tortoise]

Well, this is going about as well as I could have hoped for. Haakon thought to himself as the much larger dragon slammed him to the ground.

Soulless minions of orthodoxy? What in the hell is "orthodoxy"? Does he mean greek orthodoxy, jewish orthodoxy, or some other form of orthodoxy entirely? Well, I suppose there is only one answer possible.

"No. I most certainly was not, am not, and will not ever be in league with those soulless fiends!" he rasped out, motioning with his claw for his crew Bjorn, and everyone else to stay the hell away.

[Charon]

"Ugh." Jake groaned. "I could certainly do without another piece of stale bread that they seem to think is a meal. The worst slop we ever got at Tangmere was better." Jake grinned.

Jake considered the Valdemarian for a moment. They were another breed he had read about but never seen before. One of the few "ruling" dragons in the world. A curious mix of Norse culture and dragonic pride. For now, he figured it was best to let Rankin deal with him.

Either way, he had a mad Tasmanian to deal with at the moment, though both Kunja and Jake were grinning as Cap and Kelly approached. Kunja made it look like he was paying rapt attention to Cap as he spoke, while he paid attention to Kelly.

"Captain Kelly!' Jake offered the man a firm handshake. "Great to see you and Cap again. We missed having you about to keep the nastier dragons in line."

Speaking of nastier dragons, a massive Heavyweight had apparently decided to make itself known, he called them... something... but it certainly didn't sound pleasant. If the massive dragon had turned on him, it would have been one thing. But it turned on Jebediah, Judith, and Nathan. All three were known to the Australian duo. All three were liked by the Australian duo, some more than others.

Then the Valdemarian got involved and got tackled by the heavyweight. That was just about the last straw for them. A fight in the covert would be bad for more reasons than just the diplomatic nightmare involved.

Jake glanced at Kunja, and the pair nodded. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back at Kelly. "You might want to get back, and get cap back. And get him ready."

With that, Jake climbed aboard Kunja and proved that their time in the navy had made neither less crazy or suicidal. They took to the air and flew around in front of the pair and landed on the bunker right in the face of the Cauchador Real, shaking concrete as the heavy lightweight, dwarfed by both the other dragon's combined weights ten to one.

Kunja let out the loudest bellow he could muster. It was not the equal of a Heavyweight, far from it. But from point blank it would almost certainly get the massive dragon's attention.

"I contest your claim to this land and her people! This is our land! And we shall give it up to no one!" Kunja, meanwhile, prepared to get himself out of the way in case the heavyweight came flying at him next.

[rhoenix]

Upon seeing another lightweight not only stand up to the heavyweight, but try to get its attention - Franklin felt he could do no less. After looking around to make sure he wouldn't knock any being smaller than he to the ground with a sudden downdraft, he moved away from the humans just enough to leap mightily into the air, and arc into a dive.

He landed gracefully directly next to the to the brave lightweight, and growled in a deep, gravelly voice to the larger dragon. "This is not your land, wyrm."

[General Havoc]

Kunja definitely got the Cauchador's attention. Indeed it seemed to forget Haakon entirely, nor did it turn its head when Franklin landed beside the lightweight. Instead, the Cauchador seemed to be processing everything, before suddenly lifting one foreclaw off the ground and hitting Franklin in the snout with it.

It was no slash, not even a punch. It was a single, hard shove, so strong that it knocked the twenty-ton midweight over like a folding table. The Cauchador's other foreclaw still grasped Haakon, but the Spanish dragon seemed to have forgotten that Haakon was there at all. Instead it stared at Kunja like a confused animal, before speaking.

"Who are you?" asked the Cauchador.

[rhoenix]

Franklin didn't bother laying down for any length of time, and instead, sprang, cat-like, to his feet after being unceremoniously shoved away. Though his pride had suffered slightly from being almost ignored in favor of the other lightweight, Franklin saw that at the very least, the bullying heavyweight had its attention focused on other dragons, and not on humans.

However, the heavyweight was still focused on a lightweight, which Franklin found to be unacceptable. Franklin himself had been attacked before by a heavyweight, and though he wouldn't fare well in such a conflict, he'd do far better than a lightweight could.

Without wasting an instant, he moved with methodical steps to the same spot he had been sitting before, and sat back down, staring at the heavyweight as if he had never moved. "Puto," he growled. "You are useful only as food for scurrying rodents. A weak coward fit only to clean a true dragon's cloaca with his tongue, an overgrown tick-infested pack animal."

He paused a moment to glare at the heavyweight, before roaring right into its face. "You are a coward, cabron!"

[Comrade Tortoise]

Haakon noticed the grip slacken, one claw leave his throat, and saw the Typhon shoved to the ground effortlessly. He was helpless here, his throat open, his belly exposed. The lunatic's attention was elsewhere, and he seemed to have gone from deranged clarity of purpose to disorientation. Then Franklin spoke. The result was horrifying. If he did not take this chance to escape, he might not get another, as the mad-dragon may suddenly remember he was there and decide to rip his throat out. He looked around to make sure his path was clear. No one was in his path.

The action was instant. Haakon wrenched to the open side, freeing himself and rolling three times while twisting his body so he would come up behind the Cauchador. A seeming eternity later, he was on his feet out of the bigger dragon's immediate reach and positioned behind him in a fighting crouch, ready to pounce or reposition the moment the larger dragon committed its movements.

[JimmyTheCannon]

When the Spanish dragon announced its claim, Jimmy could only stare at first, assuming it was joking. The events that followed - quite rapidly - proved otherwise. He and Faustus exchanged a look, and the young captain vaulted back onto the Bonetail's back, the dragon launching immediately towards the rumble. It was clear to both that the Cauchador wouldn't be talked down, and they certainly couldn't defeat it... but perhaps they could deliver a surprise.

The pair gained a bit of altitude, circling and waiting for their moment... and when Franklin insulted the Spaniard and the Valdemarian freed itself, they dove, Faust's wings folding in as he dropped towards the heavyweight's head - and whipped the clublike tail up and over to deliver a smack that would, with any luck, stun him.

[Cynical Cat]

Twenty-three years ago Nathan Reynolds had been an cocky, outgoing young man with a cheerful disposition who made friends easily. Now he was a maimed man, sarcastic, angry, and frequently in pain but the man then and the man now both knew dragons. Nathan had been running through a line of bullshit to feed the big Spanish dragon and distract him when every other dragon started opening their mouths. And then the fighting started.

"Judith!" he shouted. "Have Jeb get us out of here!" The worst hadn't happened yet. The worst was dozing, not really asleep, just a little ways up the hillside and he would not miss the sound of dragons shouting at each other and fighting. And he would know that his captain was down there where the fighting was happening. Unprotected. Vulnerable. Endangered.

There was a loud crack, as if an enormously powerful being had shattered the trunk of a tree as it bolted into action. Any other sound that Frostfell made during his approach was drowned out by the sounds of the struggle and the fighting, but his arrival was unmistakable.

A shadow fell over the cover as Frostfell came between it and the sun. The beating of his wings stirred up dust and dirt and beat them into the air. He voice boomed like thunder. "WHO DARES?!" he roared.

[Dark Silver]

Roberts inclined his head in respect, and gave a salute to the Malachite Reaper, "Thank you sir, but Thundercracker and I are settled in just fine, we've been in covert for a couple days yet, and have managed to get the feel of the place...." It was Jacob's own salute and manners which brought Roberts out of his sense of ease. Even after two decades in the Air Force, Roberts let himself be to at ease when not on missions - a bad thing when you were here representing your country.

The American Aviator almost seemed to remember himself after the salute, and smiled sheepishly, "Forgive me for my sense of familiarity, I forget myself sometimes, Sir."

Thundercracker himself was simply listening, and acknowledging Æquitas' words, when the Spainish Heavyweight roared out, and things went to pot.

The 18-ton Mid-weight edged himself slightly closer to his Captain, red eyes staring at the 42 tonner, and contemplating. He could have thrown a lighting bolt to startle the heavyweight...with the risk that it could strike the big dragon if not gauged properly (or worse, the dragon who it had grappled to the ground...or one of the smaller dragons who would suffer far worse from the blast), when the roar of the Wendigo came from the air.

Thundercracker watched the great white beast issue forth, and said nothing - despite their mannerisms, Roberts and Thundercracker were both well trained, and knew better than to try to interfere in what was already becoming a small clusterfuck of dragons.

[Charon]

Kunja and Jake ignored all others as the Cauchador knocked the Typhon on his back with one contemptuous blow. They stared directly at the heavyweight, not smiling, and looking all the world like they were preparing to stand their ground. They were outweighed six to one, and they did not take so much as one step back.

"I am Jack Mangar-kunjer-kunja, Dragon of Jake Collington. Of the Royal Australian Air Force. One of the mighty Victorian Reapers. We have faced Albatros and fought him to a standstill. I have seen the depths of the oceans and the dragons who reside there. I have been brought here, and if need be I will defend it. Who are you?" The dragon narrowed his eyes while Jake continued to sit tall on his dragon's back, staring at the heavyweight, and his captain.

And then Frostfell arrived, and the promise of violence became suddenly even higher. Hopefully everyone else at least would have the sense to stay out of this until they knew if this was going to result in violence for certain.

[frigidmagi]

Kalter had been hanging back, not really much for socializing when the brawl started. When the screaming started, he had literally grabbed Theodore, who had been chatting to some dragon's XO and moved out of range. When the Wendigo started roaring, Klater sighed.

"Great party, we'll have to do it again... Assuming there are any Spanish Dragons left." He snarked.

"Who the hell invited them anyways?" Theodore grumbled.

[Comrade Tortoise]

Bjorn had watched the spectacle unfold with undisguised horror. When Haakon had been put to the ground, there was nothing to be done. The deranged heavyweight just out-classed him, particularly on the ground, and one dare not get into a ground fight with dragons weighing tens of tons, that was a recipe for becoming man-jelly. He dutifully obeyed when Haakon waved him back and protested his innocence. Then Franklin got involved and Haakon freed himself.

His first instinct was to jump on his dragon's back, but Haakon had been emasculated by a lunatic and unless said lunatic snapped to his senses immediately, Haakon's tolerance would break and nothing short of a sound beating or death of the offender would mollify him

Sure enough, Haakon was in a fighting crouch, biding his time, waiting for the bigger dragon to commit his mass then jump in to attack, then withdraw before the other dragon could recover and counter-strike. The sort of wolf-pack tactics one used against a Wendigo or Jotunmeister.

Then a huge white beast loomed up over the nearby hillside like a flying avalanche. A harnessed Wendigo. He looked around and saw the only captain who could possibly belong to it. Captain Reynolds, currently standing by Jeb and Judith. Currently threatened, unprotected, vulnerable. They were on the Cauchador's left rear, Haakon on the right rear, and Franklin in front.

This is going to be bad

He had retreated back to the ground crew not twenty yards away to the insane dragon's front facing.

"Prep the surgical equipment, this could get nasty." he said in Norwegian to the rest of the Huskarls, who immediately began unpacking medical supplies and helping the surgeon get scrubbed in.

[LadyTevar]

"Judith!" he shouted. "Have Jeb get us out of here!"

Jebediah needed no further urging, his front claws wrapping around both Judith and Nathan before springing upwards on his back legs along, wings straining for altitude to escape the brawl. He drew in his forearms to give the two captains a chance to climb up his harness. Jebediah could fly with two on his back, as long as they didn't mind being as close.

It wasn't quite fast enough, as Frostfell joined the fray. Time to try to calm the White Bastard down. "Frostfell! AH got Nathan, he's fine!" Absently Jebediah hoped that Frostfell wouldn't be too upset over another dragon touching his captain. "Won't be th' first tim' he tries ta eat me...." Jeb muttered.

Judith, still in flight suit, clippin in and swarmed up Jebediah's harness like a snake, reaching for Nathan's arm to pull him up behind her. "IS tha' a Cauch'dor Real?" she exclaimed. Jane's Dragons was a good reference, but seeing something that big (and that insane) in person was always far different than pictures on a page.

[General Havoc]

Nobody saw this one coming.

Certainly not the Cauchador, who, barraged from all sides by the roaring challenges of angry dragons, was visibly becoming confused by the proceedings. The oversized Lightweight atop the ammunition bunker was reciting his pedigree, while to one side, the sorcerer he had leaped upon had squirmed free, and on the other, a dark grey dragon was issuing challenges and insults for which there was no remedy but terrible, endless war. Above him, a monstrous white devil had materialized, no doubt summoned by the sorcerer. Smaller than the Cauchador, larger than the other dragons here, it flew overhead demanding to know who had summoned it from the lower pits. And all this time, two other dragons, one the Andalusian Whirlwind with which the Cauchador was familiar, and the other a green dragon it had seen before but did not know, were flying towards it. The green one was saying nothing, while the Whirlwind was screaming near-incoherently in Spanish, warning of death and mutilations to come. The Cauchador did not listen. He would not have been a Cauchador if he had listened. But the accumulated effect was enough to blunt the great Spaniard's reactions, as he tried to decide to which challenge he would respond first.

And while he was deciding, unseen and unexpected by largely everyone, one of the smallest dragons present smashed an eight hundred pound weight into the Cauchador's head as hard as it physically could.

There was a deafening crack, like two granite rocks being clashed together by giants. A crack so loud it generated an echo across the bay, and instantly silenced everyone else present. So unexpected, so out-of-nowhere was this action that even Capricorn, watching the proceedings far off to one side, gaped at it in disbelief. The Andalusian Whirlwind blinked in disbelief, mouth hanging open at the sheer mind-boggling insanity of what he had just witnessed. What the Spanish midweight was thinking right now was anyone's guess, though an assumption that he was cursing the God who had created him to suffer in circumstances like this was probably not far from the mark.

The Cauchador gave no sign at first of what the blow's results might be, its mouth closing, and its form becoming still. Slowly it blinked, first one eye, then the other, then both in unison, like a comatose patient waking up after a dozen years. It did not seem to immediately notice the Northwestern Bonetail immediately before it, for the momentum of the diving strike had carried the Canadian lightweight and its captain down to the ground immediately before the enormous Cauchador. Carefully, the Cauchador lowered its head, staring down at the rust-red dragon, its expression inscrutable, a thin trickle of black blood running from the crown of its head down one side of its face, unremarked by the dragon itself.

And then, before the Cauchador's eyes, the rust-red dragon that had struck it with its tail simply disappeared into a puff of dust.

The Bonetail had as much chance of avoiding the strike as the Cauchador had been, for it came from an entirely unexpected quarter. Had the Cauchador itself attacked, perhaps the Bonetail would have had a chance, but it was another dragon, a dragon nobody had been watching, no Cauchador Real, but still twenty tons of mass and panic that hit the Bonetail from the side with a swooping dive and literally tackled it. Æquitas, unburdened by crew or Captain, and perceiving as everyone else must what the likely reply from the insane Spanish heavyweight was to be, had dove as fast as he could towards the scene of the crime. Unable to stop the Bonetail, he could at least drag the lightweight out of sight before the stunned Cauchador recovered what faculties it normally possessed, hopefully to conclude that a thunderbolt from Jupiter had just landed upon it, or perhaps more of Haakon's "sorcery", anything but the conclusion that a Commonwealth dragon one-fourteenth it's size had decided to attack it with every ounce of force it could muster.

Æquitas was not gentle. This situation was already a first-rate cock-up and he was in no mood to leave matters to a hot-blooded Canadian lunatic at this point. But he knew how to avoid crushing a recalcitrant dragon's captain and still keep it restrained. Both foreclaws fastened securely to the smaller dragon's flanks like steel anchors, Æquitas physically dragged the Bonetail aside and shoved it into the dirt, interposing his own green bulk between the Cauchador's eyes and the red scales of its assailant. A withering glare of anger and frustration was all Æquitas spared for the Northwestern Bonetail as he motioned for the smaller dragon to remain silent, as though its life depended on it, which it most certainly did. If the Canadian chose this moment to make a fuss, Æquitas was more than willing to knock him unconscious if he had to. This was the sort of incident from which wars sprung. Ask the Serbians.

For his part, the Cauchador swayed visibly on its feet, shaking its head as though trying to clear it. As the Whirlwind overhead held its breath, the great Spanish beast seemed to have temporarily forgotten what it had been in the process of doing, and looked back up at Kunja with an expression of patent confusion.

"Are you a Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy?" it asked. This time the question sounded less like a threat, and more like an earnest request for information.

[Charon]

Kunja blinked in stunned awe as the Bonetail assaulted the Spanish dragon. Something even Kunja had not considered honestly doing. Staring down a heavyweight, the dragon had been certain of what it was doing. After that though, Kunja took a step back. Obviously uncertain as to what exactly he should be doing, Kunja wasted the several seconds he had to get the hell out of the way.

Then the Real asked him a very strange question. Kunja paused for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell Orthodoxy was, and what a minion of it might look like. Jake was a little quicker on the uptake of the fact that it didn't matter right now. Considering the mad beast's response to thinking the Valdemarian was a sorceror, and presumably a soulless minion of Orthodoxy, there was only one obvious answer.

"Of course not!" He bellowed out.

[rhoenix]

Franklin had been steeling himself for the avalanche of attacks that were sure to come - but he could not have expected what did happen, to actually happen.

His insults at the heavyweight had given the trapped midweight time to escape, and Franklin moved subtly to keep himself more in the heavyweight's line of sight than the other midweight's, while he recovered.

A massive, white heavyweight, flying sinuously and angrily through the air, roared his anger at his captain having been threatened. Franklin saw out of the corner of his eye that one of the humans the Spanish heavyweight had been threatening earlier was now escaping with the other human, on the lightweight. Franklin tried to not let his relief show, and due to the reactions, he had a guess that one of them was the captain of the massive Wendigo in the air above, demanding answers as to who had dared threaten his captain.

A lightweight swooped out of the air, and struck the heavyweight in the head with its heavy bone tail hard enough to make an echoing crack across the entire encampment. Æquitas had swooped in immediately afterward, and tackled the other lightweight out of the way, keeping it hidden for the moment.

And now... now the Spanish heavyweight, who Franklin had decided was not just a weak-willed coward but also quite probably crazier than a houseful of brain-damaged lunatics, had decided to calmly ask the other lightweight if he were 'one of the soulless minions of orthodoxy.'

Franklin blinked at this. Yes, the Spanish heavyweight was very probably crazier than a houseful of brain-damaged lunatics, he assessed. But more importantly, all three lightweights that had become involved and the humans, were all now clear from the Spanish heavyweight's immediate area.

For now, he silently leapt into the air, blocking the escaping lightweight carrying the two humans from view of the Spanish heavyweight, with his much larger wingspan. Once they had escaped, then this would only be a matter between dragons - until then, he had to ensure that there would be as little collateral damage as possible.

The smaller lightweight carrying the two humans was slower than normal, but still faster than Franklin himself, and that was fine - he only had to keep the lightweight blocked from view for a short time longer.

[Comrade Tortoise]

Franklin's departure to run interference for the retreating humans left Haakon in a somewhat vulnerable position. He set his feet to sidestep, tensing all the muscles necessary to make a titanic leap out of the way of a charge and bring his spiked tail crashing in on the much larger dragon's face. Not to wound. Not to stun. But to Kill. The lunatic Cauchador Real was twice his size, but if you give a child a flail, he can kill a man if the man is foolish. Insane is definitely foolish.

Still, he backed away sideways and gave the larger disoriented dragon some space, as much to give him as much reaction time as possible, as to make himself less threatening. Haakon would not stand to be assaulted again. If the spaniard was insane enough to do so again, he was a danger to himself and others and would have to be put down. Treated like a rabid dog and taken out back behind the proverbial shed full of farming implements and shot.

[JimmyTheCannon]

The blow had the desired effect - or most of it, anyhow... and it was only as the pair landed hard in front of the Cauchador, and were fixed with that stare, that Jimmy decided that perhaps - just perhaps - it wasn't the brightest move they'd ever made. Before the heavyweight could obliterate them, however, Æquitas bowled them from his sight, the breath whooshing out of Faustus as he was hit. The glare from the Malachite Reaper, once they were pinned, kept the Northwestern silent and still. Even Captain Cannon had the presence of mind to utter not a single word, instead simply listening and hoping that the stunned Spaniard wouldn't resume the fight.

[Cynical Cat]

Aequitas had made a terrible error in judgement. He had chosen to focus on the wrong Canadian. Frostfell was a bloody minded dragon at the best of times and seeing a foreign dragon brawling with his squadronmates wasn't a sight that was going to calm him down. Seeing Jedediah get Nathan's out of harm's way did moderate his response.

The Wendigo dropped on the Cauchador like a dropped anvil. Wendigo didn't fight fair, not if at all possible, and enlisting the aid of gravity and taking the high ground, such as it was, were tricks they learned at a very early age. First, Frostfell pushed of the ground, sending the two dragons down the covert in the general direction of the water. As he did so, he wrapped his limbs and tail around the other dragon, essentially grappling and holding the other dragon as his mouth sought the other's throat. T Not to bleed, but to choke.

One of the way cats kill is to choke their prey unconscious by putting pressure on the windpipe. Dragons were substantially harder than most creatures to suffocate, but Frostfell was willing to invest the time. It wasn't like he was trying to kill the Spanish dragon. He was going to choke and or drown the lunatic until he wasn't in shape to continue fighting anymore. Start a fight with Frostfell's squadron and Frostfell would finish it. The Cauchador was just fortunate that the Wendigo didn't intend to finish him as well.

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah winced at the *CRACK*, unconsciously shaking his head in time with Judith as they watched AEquitus make a fast save as the Cauchador caught his wits. Then Frostfell landed on the Spanish beast like a cougar on a deer's back.

"Welp, din't think he'd stay outta th' fightin' once he knew you were safe, Cap'n Reynolds," Jebediah said, moving out of the way as Frostfell tried to wrestle the other heavyweight into the air. "Wha' bout th' black one tha' came wit' him?"

Judith, however, had actually read the briefing and knew WhiteHall's orders. "Leave 'em be, Jeb. This is Pol'Tics. Don't want any on us."

[Charon]

As Frostfell came down, Kunja, who was not more than 20 feet away from the Spanish heavyweight, decided that discretion was the better part of valor and took one great leap backwards as the heavyweights collided. It wasn't easy moving six tons of dragon, but it was enough to put a bunker between his captain and the wrestling heavyweights.

"Go Jack, go." Jake muttered as he leaned down low on his dragon to make his profile smaller as the lightweight did his best to get the hell out of the range of the fight.

[rhoenix]

Once the gigantic, white, serpentine heavyweight had dropped like a furious avalanche on the Spanish heavyweight, Franklin began to breathe easier - though he did now keep an eye on the other Spanish dragon, the dark-colored midweight that was close to Franklin's own size.

Nimbly catching a thermal in the breeze, Franklin spread his wings further, now that screening the small lightweight helping the humans to escape from the Spanish heavyweight's view was no longer necessary. He seemed to float up a few meters, and gracefully glide back down to the ground, near to where Jacob had been waiting.

His captain was not pleased by the current course of events. "What a clusterfuck," Jacob sighed, and then smirked up at Franklin. "A shame you had to show them some Midwestern hospitality so soon. Are you alright?"

Franklin snorted, and then settled down on his chest. "Annoyed. Confused why a heavyweight crazier than an outhouse rat is here at all."

However, Franklin caught the look in Jacob's face, and snorted again. "I'm alright. Nothing broken."

"Yeah, a shame we can't say the same about that Spanish heavy," Jacob said with a chuckle, even as he watched the Spanish heavyweight and the sinuous, white heavyweight clash like tectonic plates. "That Wendigo looks like he wants to eat his face."

Franklin snorted again. "Eating crazy never ends well. He'd better spit the pieces back out when he's done."

[General Havoc]

Frostfell's 'plan', if it could be dignified with such a term, had points in its favor and points that were not. He had a perfect position of course, for the Cauchador Real was on the ground, and looking at everyone but himself. Moreover, as an American breed, Frostfell was longer and more serpentine than his size would indicate, putting him at nearly the same length as the Cauchador, despite a twelve-ton difference in their weight.

The points against? The twelve-ton difference in question. And the fact that one of the few things guaranteed to galvanize a Cauchador Real's famously volatile attention was to attack it.

Frostfell seized the Cauchador from above and behind and attempted to flip the entire dragon towards the water by pushing off the ground. It wasn't that easy. The Cauchador was large enough that Frostfell couldn't simultaneously grab it from above and push off the ground in any meaningful sense, nor were Frostfell's wings capable of hoisting a combined seventy-two tons of dead weight into the air. It was entirely possible that no dragon in existence possessed wings that were. That said, Frostfell himself weighed a respectable thirty tons, and enough mass shifting in one direction was certain to have an effect.

As terrified crew members spilled off the Cauchador Real, both dragons reared up and crashed down onto the ground once more, rolling over one another and simply pulverizing everything in their path, Frostfell hanging on with every ounce of his considerable strength, even as the Cauchador sought to throw him off with every ounce of his own. Two of the Spanish crew, unable to free their carabiners in time, were simply crushed into a mass of jelly as the dragons rolled about like wrestling gods, the Cauchador roaring incoherently even as Frostfell tried his best to close off the heavyweight's windpipe. Though the Cauchador was stronger than Frostfell by a significant margin, Frostfell's position made him damn near impossible to throw off, particularly when the Cauchador was still reeling from the blow he had taken from the Northwestern Bonetail moments before. Thrashing and gyrating like an epileptic, the Cauchador could not tear Frostfell free, but neither could Frostfell, despite the immense pressure of his bite, manage to choke the Cauchador, at least not immediately, for the larger dragon's motions were incomprehensibly violent, and impossible to fully subdue. Lashing out with his claws, the Cauchador sought to tear Frostfell off, but could not find purchase on the Wendigo's scales, restrained by the Canadian's own limbs and hampered by having been leaped upon.

The Captain of the Cauchador, who through ignorance, stupidity, or simple incompetence had permitted this situation to develop, hung onto his dragon for dear life and tried not to die, not the easiest proposition in the world given the situation at hand. If he had any orders to give to his mount, nobody heard them, for the bellowing of the Cauchador was enough to drown out a chorus of the damned. As to the Cauchador's escort, the Andalusian Whirlwind watched the proceedings with an expression of purest horror, his own Captain screaming into a radio in Spanish, no doubt informing someone at Algeciras of the fact that the two largest dragons in Southern Spain had just decided to kill one another. Left without orders, the Whirlwind moved towards the brawlers, though what he intended to do in full view of every other dragon present was a complete mystery.

Frostfell was aiming at the water, of course, never far away where Gibraltar was concerned. But steering an angry Cauchador Real was not a trivial task, particularly not when said Cauchador showed no inclination for a swim. As such, rather than moving straight towards the water, the dragons canted to the left, overturning two small cars before crashing into and through the wall of a (fortunately empty) football stadium, hurling motorcycle-sized chunks of concrete and masonry in every direction as they rolled and scraped over the pitch and towards a bank of bleachers.

Even as this was happening however, on the opposite side of the covert, a man in a bottle-green uniform was running away from the fight, which hardly made him unique, but unlike all of the other refugees, he was running towards several other dragons. Thundercracker and Kalter Sturm, a Xolotl and a Weyekin respectively, who had both made themselves scarce when the combat started. Captain Rankin was running at full speed, waving his arms to attract attention, and shouting orders as soon as he was within earshot.

"Those two'll wreck half the bloody base!" shouted Rankin to the two American volunteers. "Can either of you knock that damned Spaniard out before he sinks a bloody Battleship?"

[Dark Silver]

Thundercracker and Roberts watched the fighting from their vantage, and saw Captain Rankin rushing towards them.

"Those two'll wreck half the bloody base!" shouted Rankin to the two American volunteers. "Can either of you knock that damned Spaniard out before he sinks a bloody Battleship?"

"He makes a excellent point Roberts," Thundercracker spoke in a bemused voice. George nodded, frowning as he thought about it. He had no idea how the bolt would affect two dragons - though if there was any crew on them they'd certainly take a hurting.

"Too risky for Thundercracker and I sir," Roberts called back, calculating the prospects, "It's not like a Xolotl can control the intensity of his lighting, and if they have any crew, or heaven forbid captains on the beasts..." Roberts left that bit hang in the air.

"Perhaps my compatriot might have more luck?" George spoke, looking to the Weyekin and it's Captain.

[rhoenix]

In watching all the goings-on, Franklin's eyes narrowed. This was rapidly turning into a real incident, and now the Captain of the camp was involved. Franklin snorted, and looked once at Jacob.

Jacob looked into his draconic friend's eyes, and saw what he intended to do. "Get it done," Jacob nodded once to Franklin. "End this as efficiently as possible."

Franklin nodded back, trotted nimbly several paces away to avoid affecting anyone smaller than he with the sudden downdraft of him lifting off, and became airborne. His eyes tracked the Spanish midweight, now on route toward the two heavyweights, which was Franklin's target. He flew, fast and true, directly at the Spanish Heavyweight.

He had spotted the captain of the Spanish heavyweight dragon, still foolishly on his charge's back - he would be within reach of a dive. Franklin ascended a bit more, and then dropped into a fast dive, forearms extended out, ready to snag the Captain of the Spanish heavyweight right off his back.