His Majesty's Dragons: World at War

[Comrade Tortoise]

Haakon saw the danger for what it was and decided that trying to assist Luna and Crew was probably a species of insanity tantamount to suicide. He accelerated to flank speed and began to climb, hoping to gain altitude and cause the Nimbus to come at him backwards after it breached out of the water. He tensed his tail, storing energy in its muscles ready to swing down and slam into the Nimbus like a spiked wrecking ball should it look like he would make contact. He did the same with his claws.

From there, he would go and ruin the day of the remaining razorback, and simply wait for Frostfell to engage the Nimbus (as he is the only one who can effectively do so). Where was the Nimbus going to go with the Regal Copper anyway if and when the captain was captured? Were they going to swim to Gibraltar? Of course, if the Nimbus decided to chase him, it would give Luna a chance to help his crew. He would have to outmaneuver the other dragon in that case, and avoid grapple like the plague.

[dragnl0rd]

Watching the sky suddenly empty itself of most of the enemy combatants triggered a small sense of relief in both Alacritas and Marcus. Small, because there was still a psychotic Sicilian within visual range. Just because it wasn't aiming at them now didn't mean it wouldn't remember who it had originally been chasing across half the Med, bloodrage or no.

Alacritas, out of immediate danger, began to accutely feel the various injuries both minor and severe, as well as the muscle fatigue from being chased for so long. "Well, I'm hoping that's over for us, yeah?"

"I hope so." Marcus looked about, taking in the situations the larger dragons found himself in, and trying to convince himself that he and alacritas had been worth the risks these pilots had taken. Marcus hit the switch on his radio. "This is Captain Wainwright, my dragon and I are exhausted, but still airworthy. If you need our assistance, we're game. If not, requesting permission to land at gibraltar."

[Dark Silver]

Thundercracker was flying as fast and as hard as he could - sincere fear for his crew had permeated his entire being as the Sicilian Nemesis came for them - but even the Dragon's great strength could only do so much. Had this beast been even a Copacati - one of those dread Ican Venomspitters of ages past, Thundercracker could have done something - for those beasts were Heavyweights and he was more manuverable and agile in the air than they.

But the Sicilian? it was only slightly larger than Thundercracker himself, maybe not as agile and lacked the ability to hover the Xolotl did, but it was just as fast, and it's rage gave it fresh wings.

Men screamed on his back, as the Nemesis spat it's poison. Rage made it only slightly less accurate, and the technicolored beast danced in the air with every bit of grace in it's long coiled body. If he could get the Nemesis to misjudge...even for a brief moment, the great race from the beast had more than re-energized the Xolotl's primary offense - the lightning breath.

"Word from Frostfell," the radioman screamed to Roberts, and Thundercracker listened as he jinked to port to avoid another glob of paralytic venom, "Try to head towards them, he's coming to help intercept the Nemesis."

"Roberts, we have another inbound. I think it's Capricorn. Five points to starboard." Robert's brought out his binoculars and focused on the area. He saw the spec in the distance, and figured the dragon wouldn't make it in time.

A glob of poison narrowly missed Thundercracker, as the rainbow-colored dragon jukked right, the listed hard in the same direction, turning as only a Xolotl could. The change in direction would take them from Capricorn, but back more towards Frostfell and the bulk of the fighting.

"Radio Frostfell, Tell Captain Reynolds to make ready. Thundercracker! Let Frostfell get close, then light it up!"

The Xolotl knew it's business, pouring everything it had into beating it's wings, applying every trick he knew to throw off the Nemesis' aim. Enraged as it was, there was no way the Nemesis wouldn't make a mistake, or eventually run out of that damned venom of his own. Robert's only hoped that they would be able to survive for Frostfell to get there.

[Charon]

Kunja lay on the ground, heaving and shaking, trying desperately to bring air back into his lungs, a matter made even more troublesome by the fact that the impact had likely broken a rib, or a half dozen. He couldn't tell anymore. Nearly panicked, Kunja listened to his captain, focusing only on the act of breathing.

Still shaken from the impact, Jake cursed himself for underestimating his opponent. He looked up quick, catching sight of the monster once again as it made its slow approach. Jake scrambled and grabbed his radio. "To any British forces currently unengaged. This is Jake Collington. We are currently outnumbered by our German opponents. Two Bavarians, two Swabians. Any able to reinforce, please come to these coordinates."

Once he finished, he leaned down to Kunja. "Can you fly?"

The lightweight shook his head, expanding his wings once again. Finally, he managed to take a short breath. "I don't know."

"Well we need to get out of here. Make for the hills, keep low enough to drag your feet on the ground, lower even. We need to get something between us and them."

Growling in pain, Kunja made himself go into the air once more, turning away from the Swabian and making his best speed towards the vague safety of the shallow hillock. Jake kept one eye on the closing Swabian, hoping to keep low enough to avoid an attack from the horn of the beast, though her claws and the machine guns on her would still be a big problem. It was time to take a different sort of gambit.

Jake got back on the radio. "To any Spanish forces unengaged. You've got Fascists and demons of Orthodoxy flying around in your own damn land. You gonna sit back and let the English fight for your motherland? You might as well hand your country over to Hitler now!" He repeated his message as the pair flew, filling the radio waves with his message.

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah was level with the Winchester now, and heard his captain make the request for orders. "AH'll give ya orders," Jebediah called out, close enough to not need a radio. "Get yer tailbone ta base afore ya pull 'nother damn fool stunt like tha'. Wha'd ya think y'all were, a MidWeight?!"

Had the Winchester known Jebediah better, he'd realize Jebediah really didn't have the rank to chew him out, despite Jebediah's obvious maturity and battlescars. But Jebediah was sore and cranky because this was yet ANOTHER stupid Winchester who didn't know when to run and just caused trouble for others.

Judith just shook her head and let Jebediah rant, but Jake's voice on the radio had her straighten up fast. "JEB! Kunja's callin fer help!"

Jebediah's head jerked back in shocked surprise, and he listened to the radio closely. "Aww Hellfires..." Again, those who knew Jebediah would realize how strong a curse that was for the pious dragon. "Faustus, on me. Winchester.... GO REST." Last thing they needed was an exhausted Winchester trying to keep up as Jebediah started flying full speed in the direction of Spanish Mainland.

Judith let Jebediah do the flying once again, she herself was wishing JJake would shut up long enough to give some details. His exact location would be a Big Help. "Jebediah ta Kunja. Shuttup an' give me a course headin' dammit!"

[dragnl0rd]

Marcus and Alacritas didn't need to be told twice. "Aye, and thanks for the assist." The dragon resumed his course to the coast of spain. Marcus knew... KNEW mind you, that his new squadron wouldn't let him forget his stupid maneuver... but that couldn't be helped. He hoped that he and alacritas be more useful in the future than just generating a target rich environment and a spectacle of idiocy. They flew off in silence, gliding as much as possible to conserve what strength remained in Alacritas' wings.

[JimmyTheCannon]

Faustus was flying in slow circles, waiting for the orders from Nathan and Frostfell, when Jake's plea for help came in over the radio. The wound he'd taken earlier in the fight was beginning to tell as the battle died down, but the Bonetail refused to let it stop him from following Jeb towards Spanish territory. "We're with you, Jebediah."

Jimmy leaned to the side to take a quick look at the cut, frowning, before settling back into position as Faust began to pick up speed. "Hang in there, Faust, we've got work to do." He patted the neck of the rust-red dragon, hoping the pain wasn't too bad.

[Hawkwings]

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of swimming, Emily and the few crewmembers with her reached the still-afloat Luna. The great Regal was injured and stuck, but not yet defeated, and that was the important part. As the handful of crew scrambled around the harness looking for any undamaged equipment, Emily went up to her regular place and said to her dragon, "Luna! Luna, are you alright? Anything broken? That Nimbus is gone for the moment..."

Slowly, Luna raised her head from the water and bit and shook it, indicating that she was definitely alive and intact, but not doing that well. A waterlogged heavy was not a happy dragon even in the best of conditions, and this current situation was far from ideal. Luna rumbled and said "I will be fine after some rest and recovery. Right now, we need to get out of this predicament. How is the situation in the air?"

Emily glanced up and around, spotting the Norwegian dragon skimming the surface and, high above, something going on. She said back "One of the friendly mediums drew off the Nimbus. Other than that, I can't tell. Looks like the radio is damaged as well."

Someone had found a still-intact rifle in the equipment webbing, the sharp cracks of gunfire started filling the air. Another one joined it a few seconds later, and the sound acted like a rallying signal. All around the water, the crew of the Regal Copper started heading back, or redoubled their efforts in order to reach the dragon faster.

Luna laid her head back down on the water and said "Keep a good lookout, if that Nimbus comes back, I must have warning to be ready for it." She closed her eyes and seemed to be listening and gathering her strength.

Emily replied "Yes, of course! I'll let you know as soon as we spot it." She headed back to gather with the rest of her crew, and a pair of binoculars were placed into her hands. She scanned the waves, seeing a dark shadow under the water chasing after the friendly medium. Without a radio, there wasn't any way to warn them about it, and she hoped that they noticed and took care not to get caught in the same predicament she was currently in.

[Cynical Cat]

"So, they're going to drag the Antichrist here," said Nathan. "Well, that'll make catching it easier. Remember the plan. Wide berth. He eats twenty millimeter shells but that monster doesn't even get close to spitting range."

"Yes mother," said Frostfell. "Besides, I bet it tastes like shit."

[rhoenix]

Though damn few dragons could out-climb a Swabian Lightning Bolt, Typhons were certainly among the elect. Franklin's reaction to the Swabian approaching him at high speeds was to simply ascend more quickly than even the famous Wurtemburg speed demons could match. Yet if this development disturbed the Swabian in question, he betrayed no sign of it whatsoever. Rather than try, and fail, to outclimb the Caribbean storm drake, the Swabian instead bore away, sweeping past the Typhon in a wide sweep, circling him in a long, broad turn as he climbed after Franklin, never approaching close enough to be dove upon, letting Franklin lead him upwards if he wanted to.

As Franklin had climbed upwards, the Swabian Lightning Bolt climbed in a spiral after him, apparently wary of tricks, trying to ensure that Franklin was cut off from the others, and fighting alone. This tactic had succeeded, but in both directions - there was one less Swabian Lightning Bolt to harass the others, leaving them both cut off from immediate reinforcements.

The dark grey and black Typhon leveled off, and descended into a slow dive. He began to descend in a spiral in such a fashion to be directly opposite in direction and speed as the Swabian, ensuring that if the Swabian did not alter his upwards spiraling path, the two would meet in the center of their now-mutual path.

Once his flight path had been set, Captain Maximilian had the crews engage the belly and top guns at the Swabian, aiming to inundate the Lightning Bolt with heavy shells.

[General Havoc]

The Bavarian twisted and turned as best she could, but this low to the ground, her options were sorely limited as the Weyekin bore down on her. At the last possible moment, she braked as hard as she could, attempting to slide to a stop and cause the special weapons dragon to overshoot her. Had Kaltur been attempting to strafe with his breath weapon, such a maneuver might even have worked. But as he was attempting use not his breath, but his body, the Bavarian simply had no chance.

Kaltur Sturm smashed down atop the Bavarian like the twelve ton weight that he was, and simply avalanched her straight into the dirt. The Bavarian collapsed, bouncing into the ground and rolling like a piece of debris, over and over and over again, into and through several small trees and a stone wall before finally sliding to a halt in the middle of an unplowed field. She lay there on her side, motionless as was her captain, only the occasional twitch showing that the Bavarian was merely battered and stunned, not dead.

If the other Bavarian was put out by the fate that had overtaken his fellow-dragon, however, he showed no sign of it. As soon as he saw that he was not going to be able to stop Kaltur from doing whatever he wished, he had chosen to gain altitude, and now flew several hundred feet above Kaltur. As Kaltur turned to face where the red-painted dragon should have been, he found only a' shadow, as the Bavarian winged over and entered a dive, aiming himself seemingly straight at Kaltur Sturm's head. What he proposed to do once he arrived there was unclear, but it was blindingly unlikely to be pleasant conversation.

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

What effect Kunja's broadcast had on the situation was unclear. Certainly no Spaniards answered him, nor did their dragons, though that did not necessarily mean anything. Neither did the Swabian fall back at the sheer insanity of it. She had her sights on a quarry. That was all that mattered.

Still, Kunja was too low to stab, and though nothing close to as fast as a Swabian, maneuverable enough to make catching him with claws a bit tricky. As such, the Swabian contented himself with pacing Kunja for a few moments, as her captain communicated with the rest of her crew, and with the dragon herself. And then finally the Swabian put on speed, overtaking Kunja from above and just behind him, moments before her bellygun opened fire.

The Swabian bellygunner was armed with an MG-131 13mm machine gun, a Rheinmetall weapon functionally similar to the famous American M2 .50 cal. The gunner fired two short bursts from his weapon, one of which flew over Kunja's head and kicked up dust in front of him, the other of which zinged past his tail and embedded into the ground. The point was clear. The Swabian was pacing Kunja with ease, and while even this powerful machine gun could not shoot Kunja out of the air, it could certainly cut his captain to ribbons, if only the bellygunner chose to do so.

"Surrender, Australier!" called the dragon down from above. "Surrender or we shoot your captain!"

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

The problem with Franklin's plan was that the Swabian Lightning Bolt was one of the fastest dragons in the world. And the Typhon was one of the slowest.

As Franklin attempted to match the Swabian's spiral, the Swabian drew off, just outside of gunnery range, pacing Franklin as though it were the easiest thing in the world, which it probably was. He continued to claw for altitude, continued to bear off west, biding its time as they spun round and round in a mutual dance, but always moving towards the east. This path would draw them further away from the engagement, but the Swabian seemed unconcerned with this, wishing to draw Franklin out to a position where he could engage him all by himself. Obviously one did not fly with the red-painted Bavarian if one lacked for confidence, and clearly the Swabian discounted Franklin's climbing speed as unimportant next to his own straightaway.

And then, suddenly, the Swabian turned its wings and tightened its turn, aiming itself directly at Franklin, who was by now not appreciably higher than he was. Accelerating now to a full ramming speed, the Swabian flew directly towards Franklin, lowering its head and projecting its horns forward, top and bellyguns beginning to spit fire at the American midweight. It was clear that neither dragons' guns would have time to find the range, for the Swabian was closing at a blistering speed.

It was not clear what Franklin intended to do about it.

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

The Nimbus could see Haakon just as well as he could see it, and perceiving that it had been spotted, and that Haakon was moving at flank speed to force it into a very ungainly flying leap, the Nimbus instead turned a complete loop underwater without breaching the surface, rolled over, and extending one wing, clobbered one of Luna's Royal Marines with it, exploding the man like a fish dropped from a skyscraper. It then dove down once more, only to prepare to come up again. Haakon would not engage it in the water, and Luna, injured and ungainly as she was, could not. It would therefore slaughter the British troops in the water with impunity and seize the Copper's captain to boot.

Such crew as could return to the Copper were doing so as quickly as they could, for there was a twenty-ton shark in the water with Italian colors still flying. Several men were literally bitten in half or clawed apart from below from a monster against whom bullets were as useless as thrown toffees. Barely half of Luna's savaged crew made it back to their dragon, and of those, some were wounded.

The Carabinieri did not attempt to approach Luna too closely, not while she was awake and covered with armed and angry British. Two who dared too closely were shot down in the water, though not before one managed to fire a harpoon and spear a Red Devil in the back just as he was clambering aboard the heavyweight. Still, harpoon guns were of limited utility against a British force even partly armed with guns, and most of the Italians kept their distance. Indeed they soon seemed to be congregating at a particular point in the water, outside of the britishers' weapons range, massing together before, all at once, every one of the Italian air-sea commandos dove underwater.

Moments later, a dark shadow appeared roughly where the Italians had all disappeared, one that began to swell even as it approached Luna obliquely at what was, for something underwater, an uncomfortably high speed.

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

There was a burst of static over Alacritas' radio even as he turned away from the battle, followed moments later by a sharp, barked order.

"Belay that, Alacritas."

Another static burst, shorter this time, and then the radio was broadcasting again, a man's voice nearly drowned out by many other voices, mostly draconic, all shouting in some other language that could have been Italian or Spanish.

"Part of the squadron is under attack by German forces northeast of Gibraltar near Casares. Any un-engaged units, proceed there immediately at flank speed and assist on the spot. This is a direct order."

The voice was drowned out by more roars, and then went off the air entirely before it could relay precisely whose direct order it was.

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

The best laid plans of mice and men went directly to shit as soon as Thundercracker made his turn.

The Nemesis was nowhere near running out of venom, not this quickly, and its second volley was hurled at a large dragon caught in the very act of turning towards the ephemeral safety of Frostfell. Had the Nemesis fired another globule of venom, Thundercracker might still have evaded, but the Nemesis did not. What he fired instead was a solid stream of venom, a pressure hose which sliced across the air and cut right across Thundercracker's flank. The effect was nearly instantaneous. The spray hit Thundercracker high on his flank, catching one unfortunate crewman directly with a hosepipe of the noxious stuff, paralyzing his entire body and leaving him to suffocate in a heap on his dragon's back. It splashed over two more men, one of whom fell back in convulsions as he clung to the harness with his unaffected arm, the other of whom managed to discard his thick flight suit before it soaked all the way through. The topgunner's turret was splattered with gallons of the stuff, though fortunately the perspex dome protected the terrified crewman within. And then the spray washed downward, over Thundercracker's flank and into his right wing before falling away below him.

The affected wing went numb almost instantly, and when Thundercracker tried to pump it again, it locked up instead, refusing to obey his commands, twisting at an odd angle as his entire body crumpled around his right flank. In half-a-heartbeat, Thundercracker lost lift and began tumbling out of the air, barely able to work one wing, desperately trying to keep himself aloft with the other, and failing. This might well have been a mercy, for it caused the Nemesis, still advancing at top speed, to overshoot him above and fly past without doing more than grazing Thundercracker's back with his claws, only to scramble as hard as he could to turn around and get after the Xolotl once more.

Thundercracker could no longer fly, though he could still glide of sorts, but with the Nemesis bearing down at him as quickly as possible, there was perhaps some attraction to the idea of diving for the deck as fast as possible. What Frostfell and Capricorn would do was unknown, but now that one dragon was plummeting towards the water, and the other preparing to follow, all plans were off.

[LadyTevar]

"Part of the squadron is under attack by German forces northeast of Gibraltar near Casares. Any un-engaged units, proceed there immediately at flank speed and assist on the spot. This is a direct order."

"This is Jebediah, we copy," Judith sent out in answer. Pulling out a map, she quickly found the place in question, and gave course corrections to Jebediah.

Jebediah himself looked over to Faustus and grinned. "Hope y'all kin keep up," he drawled, stretching his wings to their fullest to catch as much air as possible. While a diving Smoke Devil could rival a Swabian's speed, turn on a dime and give back change, in a flat race their speed was no better than any other lightweight. Keeping up with Jebediah would never be a problem for any Winchester.

That was one reason the RAF had such problems fitting Jebediah in with other courier-weights. They had heard of Jebediah's speed, and were expecting good speed over long distances, such as the Winchesters delivered. Smoke Devils never evolved that way, They needed only short bursts of high speed and far more maneuverability. What they did evolve, however, made Jebediah damn effective in Air Combat, something bred out of European Courier-weights.

That lack of high speed meant several minutes of flight to reach a combat already in action. A combat that Judith knew might already be wrapping up, and not in Kunja's favor. "Don' make me com' rescue you," she whispered, and prayed that the Austrailian duo could come up with yet another daring escape.

[JimmyTheCannon]

Faust grinned back to Jebediah. "Let's find out, shall we?" The Bonetail pumped his wings hard, the injured dragon pushing himself to keep up with the Smoke-Devil. Jimmy hunched down on the dragon's back, settling in for the flight. He glanced over at Judith as they drew level. "What the hell are the Germans doing in Spain, anyhow, and where are the damned Spanish?!"

[LadyTevar]

"Invadin', what else?" Judith replied. "From th' sounds o' it, th' Spanish are throwin' hissies a' Rankin."

[Cynical Cat]

"Overcivilized dummkopf," Frostfell cursed as Thundercracker slid from the sky. "If you want someone killed, sometimes you have to do it yourself."

"Easy," said Nathan, his hands rigid against the controls. God have mercy, it was like '17 all over again. He remembered falling from the sky, screaming and not hearing because the cries of his dragon were deafening. "Drop, but don't get close. Just in range."

"I know mother," replied Frostfell, "not close enough for him to breath on us but close enough to shoot. Height doesn't hurt either." The Wendigo descended on a parallel path to the Nemesis, keeping good distance on the horizontal and vertical axis. The dragons were closing, but even at the closest point of approach Frostfell would be out of the Sicilian's range. The monstrous dragon banked slightly, opening a line of fire.

Nathan brought the quad twenty millimeter to bear and opened up on the Nemesis.

[dragnl0rd]

Marcus let out a sigh, inaudible compared to the rushing wind. "Guess it's not time to rest just yet."

Alacritas snorted and banked, gliding into formation with the two Americans. "At least I'll have something to look at besides endless water." He flexed his muscles where he'd gotten spiked. They hurt, but not enough to prevent him from keeping up with the other lightweights by any means.

[Dark Silver]

Thundercracker roared in pain as the Nemesis' claws raked his back, the armor protecting him from the worst of it - the talons might have gouged him more without the chainmail mesh.

But During that time, Thundercracker had managed to set himself into a glide, and with the Nemesis ahead of him, it offered the perfect shot - possibly the last one he'd get.

The Xolotl opened it's maw, and released his lighting breath at the Nemesis - the full force of the energy he built up in the attempt to flee came out in one powerful streak of whitish-blue electricity that split the air - and then Thundercracker and crew were diving.

The Xolotl couldn't work his wing beyond a very limited motion, but it was enough to let him control his descent some. And as the Nemesis would be wracked by the electricity coursing through it's body, Thundercracker tried to put as much distance between himself and the convulsing Nemesis as possible...


He just hoped Frostfell was close enough to take advantage of the lightning

[Comrade Tortoise]

"This is Bjorn" the Norwegian said over the radio. "Will join as soon as possible, we want to give Luna a chance, will break off once we have evened her odds and join you. Luna and Emily, the Nimbus is re-embarking troops. I think he intends to breach upon you and disgorge his host to capture you. When he breaches, try to roll and catch him in your claws."

With that, he turned to the crew.

"Men, prepare grenades and drop them into the water when we start to pull up. Belly gunner, you know what to do."

With that, the belly gunner began firing a steady stream of high velocity death (useless at more than a few meters of depth, but it is the thought that counts right?) into the water where the shadow happened to be, while Haakon brought himself ninety feet from the surface--far enough for the grenades to hit the water in two seconds, giving them five seconds to sink, which should put them in the depth range of where the Nimbus and his crew happened to be. Concussion grenades would be better, but sound propagates much better in water than it does through air.

Haakon turned in a tight loop, and each of his men threw their three sticky grenades into the water over the shadow of the Nimbus, then Haakon began to climb. It was the best they could do.

"Grenades away" said Bjorn over the radio as Haakon began to pull up and out of the Nimbus' strike range. There was a chance that the italian dragon might become very very angry.

[LadyTevar]

Jebediah was pushing air for all he was worth, so Alacritas was going to be in a bit more pain by the time they reached Kunja and the others. "Faustus, close up, let th' Winchester ride our slipstream," Jebediah ordered, as Judith had leaned over as far as she could on his neck. Air resistance was everything in this race. Like geese, the dragons could use their formation to cut through the air as ease passage.

It wouldn't be long... just a little more... "I think I see 'em!" Jebediah shouted, as two dragons would be faintly seen spiraling in the sky, although the distance was still too far to identify who was whom as yet.

[JimmyTheCannon]

Never one to turn down orders from a more experienced flier, Faustus closed up with Jebediah, the pair moving to reduce the wind resistance for the exhausted and injured Alacritas. Jimmy was already flattened out as much as possible on the red dragon's neck, making sure he wasn't slowing his friend down.

When the dragons were visible in the distance, Faust squinted, trying to get a better look. "Can anyone tell what we're fighting?"

[Charon]

Jake and Kunja both looked up at Swabian overhead and grimaced in unison. This was a bad situation to be in. A very bad situation to be in. Reinforcements were not even certain, and he was stuck solo versus a much larger and faster dragon that was not only fresh, but above him with guns trained on him. It was a situation that only the very best could even hope to get out of. Either fortunately, or unfortunately, Kunja and Jake believed themselves to be among the very best, and they were, on most days, right. It was time to see if they were still right.

The two looked at each other. Silent in word, with their eyes telling all. Coming to a stop, as the Swabian had demanded, would be easy. Kunja was only a few feet off the ground. All he would have to do is put his feet down and he would come to a nice and steady stop. So what Kunja did instead was push himself towards the ground, making a hard stop as quickly as he could, closing his eyes and throwing his tail up and raising his head in an attempt to at least give his captain a modicum of cover from the burst of fire that would no doubt be coming their way. Simultaneously, the dragon turned, ostensibly to go a different direction, but there was another reason for his sharp turn on the ground.

Jake was busy himself, he had quietly unhooked himself from his seat and hooked himself onto one of his many lines during the few seconds of preparation, and as Kunja landed hard, he used momentum to his advantage, instead of being thrown hard into his seat, the Australian captain flew sideways on his line. The pressure on his legs made them feel as though they were about to snap off, and the G's very nearly made him pass out as his descent from his dragon turned into a quick circle as he rolled under his dragon's belly. The young Australian crashed bodily into his dragon's chest at high velocity, driving the air from his lungs and likely crushing one of his arms. But with any luck, he would be alive.

Kunja waited only a second after he had recovered from his stop, dirt and grass from his collision with the ground still in the air, he pounced into the air once again, moving perpendicular to the trajectory of the Swabian. If Jake was still alive, he would keep low, he would keep mobile, and he would pray that reinforcements were on their way.

If Jake were dead. Neither Albatros, nor the German Luftwaffe, nor God himself would save that Swabian from the wrath of Mangar-kunjer-kunja, the Lizard God of Australia.

[frigidmagi]

If the other Bavarian was put out by the fate that had overtaken his fellow-dragon, however, he showed no sign of it. As soon as he saw that he was not going to be able to stop Kaltur from doing whatever he wished, he had chosen to gain altitude, and now flew several hundred feet above Kaltur. As Kaltur turned to face where the red-painted dragon should have been, he found only a' shadow, as the Bavarian winged over and entered a dive, aiming himself seemingly straight at Kaltur Sturm's head. What he proposed to do once he arrived there was unclear, but it was blindingly unlikely to be pleasant conversation.

Kalter was an experienced dragon. He had low speed and was practically dragging his tail on the ground. He knew he couldn't outrun the dive, nor was he likely to dodge it. Instead he twisted, dragging himself to met the dive head on. He took a deep breath, if the Red wanted to dive on Kalter Sturm, he would have to go through a cloud of ice to do it. He reached out with his forearms in the off chance he could grab the smaller dragon into a grapple after blasting him.

Meanwhile his crew and captain opened up with every gun that could be brought to bear on the Bavarian.

[General Havoc]

It should have been a futile gesture. A last resort shot, useless against a beast this mad, with no time to charge beyond the barest minimum fired by a dragon whose own flight was collapsing into ruin. The bolt, when Thundercracker deployed it, was, judged by his own standards, feeble and weak.

The result, less so.

Of the three bolts fired, this was unquestionably the weakest, for it took time and proper wing movement to build up the charge for a proper lightning bolt and Thundercracker had been able to avail himself of neither. The thunderclap it produced was barely audible, the flash scarcely enough to be seen against the bright blue sky. And yet when the bolt arced in on the banking Nemesis, caught midway as it was between a dive and a turn, its position, the atmospheric conditions, the prevailing wind, God, the Devil, and Daniel Webster all combined to produce something that likely even Thundercracker had never seen. In the billionths of a second that the bolt spent in the air, it curved round, zigzagging madly as lightning was wont to, and struck the Nemesis right between the eyes.

Next to nothing in the world could get through to a berserk dragon, not pain or sound or grotesque injury, but a blast of lightning into the bridge of its snout could, and did. Whatever plans the Nemesis had held before were instantly undone as current coursed from its head down its back, arcing between its horns and from the slugs of 20mm shells embedded in its hide. It convulsed, jackknifing in mid-air, the burst of poison it had stored up for further use errupting from its mouth and nose in a flood, dribbling all over itself and the air around it. Chocked, gargling gasps were all it could manage, and as it hung in midair, trying to regain control of its limbs, the gunners aboard Frostfell found their range, and opened fire.

Machine guns and automatic weapons were used from dragonback for a reason. High-ROF weapons counteracted the natural tendencies of guns fired from moving platforms at other moving platforms to miss. Despite trained dragons, trained crews, tracer ammunition, and ever-improving optics and range finders, even multi-barrelled monsters like Frostfell's 4x20 Oerlikon were largely hosepipes, their gunners ripping bursts off in barrage-style across an imaginary cross-section of sky in the hopes of drawing the trail of bullets or shells across their targets. Given the realities of aerial warfare, with dragons gyrating in three dimensions on both sides of the equation, it was no surprise that even the best gunners could only hit with one out of every ten or twelve or hundred rounds fired. It was expected.

But war was fickle, and circumstances varied, and once in a while things did not work out the way they had been planned. And so it was that this time, with a dragon to fire from engaged in a careful, steady bank, and a target who had spontaneously been paralyzed in mid-air as though turned to stone by a Gorgon, Frostfell's gunners found themselves, all of a sudden, in position to do something most air-gunners never got to do.

Frostfell's main guns burst to life and did not stop, a landslide of fire at more than thirty rounds per second, and unlike almost every other burst of fire, these ones were locked in and did not waver. The entire flank of the Nemesis exploded into ruin and flames, armor shattering like crockery and hide ripped apart by successive high explosive shots. THe dragon roared and twisted and clearly tried to evade the fire being hurled at it, but the lightning had frozen its wings at just the wrong moment, and Frostfell's gunner patiently painted the entire side of the dragon from shoulder to tail with their high-powered cannons. Hundreds and hundreds of rounds slammed home before the Nemesis managed to do the one thing it could, and fall out of the air.

Whether the dive was voluntary or not, once started, it could not be stopped, and trailing a stream of blood, scales, and mangled steel behind it, the Nemesis plumetted like a shot duck towards the unforgiving ocean, leaving the archetects of its ruin to do as they would.

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

Grenades showered down into the water around the Nimbus-shaped shadow, detonating one after the next underwater, leaving bubbles of air to rise to the surface. Mere moments after the grenades went off, the dragon exploded from the water.

Clearly there had been an effect. Several men dangled from the caribineers unconscious or dead, and others were missing entirely, their straps ending with severed cords with no sign of their wearers. Still there were a number of men strapped to the dragon, Carabinieri and crew alike, and the Nimbus' captain was still in place, directing his dragon with pre-aranged hand signals. The Nimbus needed no more commands this time however, as it breached the surface only long enough to hurl itself at the floating Regal Copper, descending towards it like a whale trying to beach itself, intending on disgorging its crew and slaughtering any in its path.

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

As soon as Kunja made his move, the machine guns on the bottom of the Swabian Lightning Bolt exploded to life. At this range they could scarcely miss, and bullets slammed into Kunja's head and wings and back and tail like a cloud of insects hitting the windshield of a car. The smaller dragon dug itself into the ground, grinding to a halt as dirt and grass flew in every direction, even as the Swabian above it tried to snatch the dragon up with her claws. She was unsuccessful, overshooting Kunja even as the dragon shot away in another direction. Yet despite the dozens and hundreds of rounds fired, when the dust settled and the smoke cleared, not one shot had struck Jake, nor hit Kunja in a place calculated to do damage, and the pitter patter of raining slugs as they fell from Kunja's hide was the only company they had as they shot off obliquely, leaving the Lightning Bolt behind to struggle as it would to play catch-up.

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

Kaltur storm turned on his own axis, his gunners tracking as fast as they could towards the red blur diving towards them. Machine guns barked to life one by one as the Bavarian dove, yet if any of them hit, they did so to no effect. Kunja was not the only lightweight capable of shielding his captain from the stings of the waspish projectiles. He twisted as he dove, preparing his wings for a strike, until his target opened its mouth and spewed forth a cloud of frozen condensation. What it was, how effective it might be, Albatros did not sit around to discover. He pulled in his wing and turned his dive into a loop, pulling out and away from Kaltur Sturm with nothing to show for the burst of cold but a light dusting of ice on the leather straps that held his wingblades in place.

Coming around again, keeping himself at arm's length from any more frost-related insanities, Albatros took a moment to consider his options, and then accelerated once more, aiming, so it appeared, for Kaltur Sturm's head.

If Albatros saw the other dragons rapidly approaching from the sea however, he gave no sign at all.

[Charon]

Kunja finally let go of the breath he had been holding, refusing to admit that for a moment he had not been certain this would work. Jake needed several seconds before he could breath again, he was pretty certain his left arm had been popped out of place, and one of his legs felt like he pulled something, but he was alive. Careful to keep mostly in cover, Jake peeked around the broad chest of Kunja to keep an eye on the Swabian. Kunja meanwhile, had noticed three dragons approaching from the sea. They looked to be lightweights, at this distance and altitude it was difficult to confirm if they were friendly or not, but he was pretty sure they were Allies. Even if he was wrong he probably had better chances against three lightweights than he did one middleweight. The Miniature Victorian turned and made his best speed, which was far from his usual best, towards the new dragons and hoped for a bit of luck to finish this fight out, keeping low out of the grasp of the enemy Swabian.

[LadyTevar]

"I don' see Kunja," Judith said, looking at the dragons in the sky. As the Allied Lightweights had closed, the aerial battles had slowly resolved into identifible dragons. One stood out starkly, as the Red Baron wished. Kunja should have been nearby, Judith can't imagine Jake missing out on tangling with him. However, it was Kalter Sturm facing off against him.

"Ah see who Ah want," Jebediah growled, eyeing the red-coated German. He looked to the Winchester and to Faustus, still hanging off his wingtips. "Pug yer ears, boys... I'm callin' him out." Then the Smoke Devil breathed air in like a pyro-dragon readying to breathe, filling his lungs to bursting.

"ALBATROS!!!"

The challenge roar filled the air, born from the chest of a church-hymn-signing dragon using the full power of his singing voice to fill the air between. No other dragon would, or perhaps could, make a roar vibrate musically like the bass pipes of a church organ ringing across the land. As the echo faded away Judith rubbed her ear. "Ah think th' whole county heard that...."

"Good. Lets Kunja know we're comin." Jebediah replied. "Boys? Let's Get 'EM!" Tired from one fight and a long flight to reach here, Jebediah none-the-less pulled extra strength from somewhere to start a charge towards Albatros and Kalter Sturm. Two wingbeats into the charge, his voice rose again, hitting notes in time with his own wingbeats. As it did for the soldiers and dragons of the American Civil War, the rousting hymnal march tugged at the heart and pulled dragons into formation.
"~Mine eyes ha' seen th' Glory o' th' COMING o' the LORD! He is tramplin' out His 'Vengence where th' Grapes o' Wrath are Stored!
He hath loos'd th' Fateful Lightnin' o' His Terrible Swift Sword! His TRUTH is Marchin' ON!!!!"