[ IP ] Fight or Flight

January 7th 1943, Thirteen miles outside the English Channel, 0600 hours 
 
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 `` Raven lead to HMS Dover... Raven lead to HMS Dover. Wallace you prick... respond damnit.'' Rain lashed the canopy of Leftenant Liam Johnsons Spitfire as he angrily switched frequencies to the rest of his squad. 
 
 `` Dirty rotter's fallen asleep on us lads.'' He said. 
 
 `` I ca n't seem to pick up the Dover on radar sir.'' His wingman, a quiet Scotsman named Ryn said anxiously. 
 
 `` How much fuel does everyone have? Sound off.'' Johnson was getting worried as well. 
 
 `` About an hour sir.'' 
 
 `` Closer to forty minutes for me sir. That Kraut patrol required more effort than I'd like to admit to evade.'' 
 
 As the remaining pilots checked their fuel gauges, Johnson's outlook got bleaker and bleaker. He took a deep breath and opened up the squads frequency again. 
 
 `` Alright gentlemen, we're a bit buggered unless we break for the French coastline. Regardless we might be in for a swim. I ca n't seem to raise the Dover.'' He said calmly. 
 
 `` Slight electrical storm we might have to get through first sir.'' Ryn warned. 
 
 `` Bloody hell...'' Johnson muttered upon seeing the storm. A dark black storm front loomed in front of the fighter squadron looking like it extended on forever. Bright flashes of lightning illuminated it from within. 
 
 `` Alright Ravens, gun it and slice through. We're gon na get smacked around if we go cautious and we do n't have the fuel to spare.'' He barked. 
 
 `` Once more into the breach dear friends...'' Basil Westford crowed. The squadron formed into a wedge and dove horizontally into the storm front. The clouds wash over them and the world is reduced to a narrow tunnel of banshee-esque howling and devastating cross breezes punctuated by the occasional lightning strike like artillery fire. 
 
 After what feels like an eternity, twelve battered Spitfires emerged into shockingly bright daylight on the other side. 
 
 `` What the fuck?'' One of his mens shock betrayed his composure. 
 
 `` There's the Dover sir!'' Ryn said excitedly. Johnson wasted no time hailing the aircraft carrier. 
 
 `` HMS Dover, this is Raven Squadron.'' 
 
 `` Jesus, Liam?'' A startled voice came back. 
 
 `` Wally my lad! You gave us quite a fright.'' The officer jovially greeted the Dovers communications officer. 
 
 `` Where the hell have you guys been?'' Wallace's voice was tight, frightened. 
 
 `` We got caught in that damn storm. Must have knocked out your radar transponder. Thought we were going to have to swim home.'' Johnson chuckled. 
 
 `` You do n't understand. Look... land and we'll explain.'' The Dovers commo officer signed off abruptly. 
 
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 Jan ~~7th~~ 30th 1943, Time unknown, location unknown 
 
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 `` That's impossible.'' Liam was pacing the width of the bridge, stopping to stare at the captain every few seconds. 
 
 `` We left to fly our mission this morning. How the hell can that have been twenty three days ago?'' He asked incredulously. The rest of his squad was equally flabbergasted. 
 
 `` We spent a lot of time waiting on orders that never came.'' The captain continued telling his bizarre story. `` We've burned up a lot of food but we're steaming for what we think is a landmass. Coastline does n't match anything on our maps.'' He said grimly. 
 
 `` You guys are the only fighter squadron that's made it back.'' An ensign added. `` Fair bit of luck that is right?'' 
 
 An alarm klaxon cut off the Leftenants biting response. A sailor toting a light machine gun ran panting onto the bridge. 
 
 `` Sir there's uh..well it's a...'' 
 
 `` Spit it out man!'' The captain prompted. 
 
 `` You just... you need to see this.'' He waved them out to the deck. A dark shape passed overhead. 
 
 `` Well shit...'' Basil said quietly. A large reptilian creature was circling, vulture like over the ship. 
 
 `` That's a...'' 
 
 `` That's a bloody dragon!'' A sailor yelled. The captain silenced him with a glare. 
 
 `` Kill that damn alarm.'' He told an ensign nearby. The fresh faced young man ran to do that. He turned to the sailor who shouted. 
 
 `` Battle stations... quietly.'' He hissed `` We do n't want to piss off the big nasty thing overhead now would we?'' 
 
 The sailor shook his head, white faced, and ran to go relay the captains orders. 
 
 `` We can draw it off sir.'' Johnson said. 
 
 `` Like fuckin hell we can sir.'' Thomas, another Raven said loudly. 
 
 `` Nothing on this bloody earth can outfly a Spitfire piloted by the RAF.'' Johnson said. 
 
 `` Christ. Alright lads, mount up!'' Basil called exhaustedly. The dragons flight path changed sharply at the sound of a dozen aircraft engines starting up. The last fighter up barely dodging an exploratory nudge from the dragons snout. The squad climbed rapidly, the dragon speeding after them. 
 
 Johnson glanced behind him and saw the wall of purple scales getting closer. 
 
 `` Not friendly boys! Not friendly!'' He jerked up on the yoke as the dragons teeth closed on air where the Spitfires tail was a second ago. He flipped his plane over, completing the Immelman. Basil's machine guns rake the beasts left side, spurring it to chase him. 
 
 `` What do the Americans say?'' Ryn asked. 
 
 `` We're not in Kansas anymore.'' Johnson said, grinning fiercely. 
 
 -I'm sorry for writing the most british british people who ever britished. Planning on continuing this one soon. 
 

