[ WP ] Tell me a story about goddamn DRAGONS .

October 27th, 1943. Dover, England. 
 
 Captain Benjamin Carter strode out into the dark morning air, his fur lined leather jacket pulled tight against the autumn chill. His flying helmet was fitted over his head, the goggles raised above the narrow brim. Thick pants covering his legs were tucked stout boots, a parachute strapped firmly to his back. His flying harness trailed behind him, the series of double canvas straps and metal carabiners a muffled jingle in his covered ears. A Colt M1911 has holstered in its case at his belt where also hung a series of maps, navigation tools and other needed equipment. Behind him, similarly dressed men followed, bundled tight in the flying leathers. 
 
 The beasts were just waking up to the smell of fresh blood, of prime cattle being butchered in the slaughter pens just a few hundred yards over. Even in the cold morning air Carter could taste the iron tang of the dying animals on his tongue so thick it was. The dragons certainly could as well. 
 
 Handlers raced from between the pens and the slaughter fields while others worked tirelessly at the ammunition depots preparing for the upcoming mission. Some carried leviathan sections of flak armor that required the assistants of Jeeps to shift from one section of the airfield to another. 
 
 The various beasts called out to their captains as they caught sight of them, a chorus of shouted cries. It was well known by now dragons' keen intellect, on par for most humans actually. Capable of learning tongues in the shell, they could easily speak with their crews and the groundspeople. One of them perked its massive head, smiling with its bayonet long fangs. 
 
 `` Good morning, Carter! Are you ready? Are we going to fight today?'' 
 
 Dragons. Bloodthirsty creatures. 
 
 The army captain nodded under his thick clothing. 
 
 `` Yep, Kearsage. We're green lit for today. Escort run, we take the heavies in, they drop their bombs, and we all high tail it out before the Krauts can even touch us.'' 
 
 The middle weight beast nodded its head. 
 
 `` Good, good. Do you think I can have a little extra cow today? It's particularly fresh smelling this morning.'' 
 
 Kearsage was a Razorback, one of the newer breeds raised in the interwar period. Substituting speed for thicker armored scales, the Razorbacks could take a hell lot more abuse from enemy jaws and talons than other similar sized dragons. His hide was a mottled brown and grey while lethal looking fangs studding its jaws. Two of them lent the breed its moniker, wicked looking things reminiscent to a boar's tusks. Once a Razorback had its jaw on its foe, few escaped to tell the tale. 
 
 It was to be a big armada, with over two hundred heavies of various types. The massive Longhorns and Grave Dealers mostly, their bellies covered with stowed bombs. A few Morgans were mixed in for good measure, the steady natures of the beasts lending them to be excellent gun platforms as well as a truly titanic Ax-Head, custom bred to act as a carrier for smaller beasts. 
 
 The medium weight dragons, the workhorses were in good numbers, some forty in all. Razorbacks and Kentucky Flyers for the most part, one or two rarer Harlan's as well. They're job was to keep the enemy's dragons occupied until their own bombed the assigned target. 
 
 The smallest of the combat weights, the Pinto's and Redtails chattered eagerly amongst themselves. Breed purely for dedication and loyalty, the latter breed was a popular one amongst the heavy dragon crews, who counted on the lighter beast not to stray far from the armada. 
 
 Carter checked his watch. 4:28. In thirty minutes time, three hundred dragons would take flight and journey across the English channel, over the Netherlands to bomb manufactoring plants in Ruhr region. An estimated two hundred enemy dragons were expected to be stationed within flight distance of the attack's path, dragons who had seen and fought in some the most vicious battles of the war. El Alamein, The Blitz, Stalingrad, Leningrad. They and their crews were well breed, well trained and battle hardened. They would fight savagely. But he was confident in their own skill, and in the righteousness of their cause. He'd fight the Germans in the sky, one dragon at a time.
