Every Thorn Has Its Rose Chapter 21
Rose looked over her shoulder in horror. A line of four Spanish dragons was diving into attack position behind them; they had the height advantage, and also the speed advantage because Spina had slowed down to spray her last target. One of them was utterly huge, even bigger than Sua had been; that one must be one of Spain's infamous Cauchadores Reales. One was a middleweight, a Leon de Guerre, a Spanish variation on the French Pecheur-Raye and an even match for Spina in terms of size. The other two were lightweights of the type that the Spanish called Moscas de Muerte, "Flies of Death." Their goal was obviously to overtake and board Spina. They slowed slightly because of the two lightweights flying just behind her; the unfamiliar formation gave them pause, and that gave Spina a very short grace period.
"Spina, we're about to have company!" Rose said urgently. "Speed up so they can't overtake us!"
"I will not flee; I shall fight them!" Spina retorted. "That is why I am here. That is the entire reason why I exist."
"But we're outnumbered, outclassed, and out of position!" Rose nearly shouted. "We can't win! You've got to save yourself to lay eggs for the next generation! Spina, speed up and keep away from them! That's an order!"
The Longwing reluctantly forced herself through the air faster, going into a shallow dive to gain speed. She couldn't dive very far because she was barely three hundred feet above the water when the enemy dragons were sighted. St. Hubbins shouted to Mercurius and Rapide-flèche, "Get out of there! Save yourselves! There's nothing you can do against that brute!"
Rapide-flèche shook his head firmly. "I came here to protect my friend. I surrendered without a fight once; do not ask me to do it again!" From his flanking position, he suddenly flipped upward and flew straight at the Cauchador Real's face, upside-down. The bigger dragon flinched reflexively, which threw him off his attack path and slowed him down slightly. The tiny Pou-de-Ciel rolled right-side-up and passed just over the heavyweight's head; then they shot past each other, far too fast for the Spanish musketmen to take aim.
Mercurius tried to duplicate the Pou-de-Ciel's maneuver against the Leon de Guerre. He wasn't quite as nimble in the air as his French counterpart, but he didn't have to be, because the Spanish middleweight was more skittish. At the sight of a lightweight flying straight at him, he turned away and dove to wavetop height, which took him out of the battle completely; he barely avoided hitting the masts of one of his own ships with his wings. Now it was three against three, but the advantages of size and position still lay with the Spanish.
Rapide-flèche did a quick downward half-loop with a twist (a maneuver that future aviators would call a split-S) and labored to overtake the Spanish heavyweight. Coming up from behind and below, he was in the crewmen's blind spot; no one could shoot at him or throw anything at him. He tenaciously worked his way forward until his front claws could get a grip on the Cauchador Real's belly netting. He rolled upside-down again and, holding onto the net with his front feet, he began raking the much bigger dragon's underside with his hind claws. His total length was less than that of the Cauchador Real's forelegs, and dragon belly scales are tough. But even a Pou-de-Ciel's claws are fearsome weapons, and he began to inflict some pain and injury on his much bigger foe. The Cauchador Real roared and tried to claw at him, but he was in just the right place where the huge forelegs could not reach him, and use of the hind-legs would have ruined the bigger dragon's flight posture. His clawing motions threw him further off his interception course; the Spanish lightweights stayed with him, rather than trying to close with Spina.
The men in the belly-netting were more concerned with dodging the Pou-de-Ciel's foreclaws than with fighting back. At last, one of them drew a pistol and fired, inflicting a minor but painful wound in Rapide-flèche's shoulder. He could no longer hold on, so he dropped like a stone, barely dodging a swipe from a paw that was as big as his torso, and resumed flying just above the water. His role in the battle was over, but he had bought Spina five precious minutes.
Spina had used those minutes to accelerate to her full speed, which she turned into a slight gain in altitude. That speed was almost enough to pull away from the Spanish dragons. But the momentum that those Spanish dragons had gained in their initial dive was still telling in their favor. The musketmen on the heavyweight's back were now close enough to try shooting. Their gunshots sounded like harmless pops, but one of them put a tiny hole in Spina's right wing. She flinched for a moment, then resumed flapping for her life and the lives of her crew.
"They'll shoot again, as soon as they've reloaded," St. Hubbins called. "Spina, if you can weave from side to side without giving up any speed, you should do it. You'll be a more difficult target." The Longwing began a series of sinuous curves from left to right and back. Her movements were slow and predictable, but anything beyond flying straight and level was an improvement. St. Hubbins fired his pistol at one of the enemy musketmen, and missed. Rose passed him her pistol; he fired that and missed again.
Unnoticed amidst the rush of battle and the sound of gunfire, Mercurius had been working up underneath the Cauchador Real, just as Rapide-flèche had done. He grabbed the belly netting and began raking the bigger dragon's underside. But his position was slightly further aft than Rapide-flèche's had been, and the heavyweight's foreclaws were just able to reach him. Mercurius screamed as he fell, bleeding from a row of deep wounds in his side.
Without orders, Spina spun in mid-air and dove. Just for once, she was able to make a tight turn. Her maneuver was too fast for the heavyweight dragon to match; he passed just above her. The shocked Spanish belly-men recovered sufficiently to lob some gunpowder mines, and one of them struck Spina's right flank and exploded. Rose grunted and tried not to scream in pain from the shrapnel wounds to her leg; she knew that, if Spina thought her rider was in danger, she would take them out of the battle completely. Spina flinched from her own shrapnel injuries, but still managed to get underneath Mercurius and catch him as he landed limply across her back, barely missing St. Hubbins.
"It hurts!" Mercurius sobbed. "It hurts!"
"I will get you some help," Spina promised. "Rose, where should I take him?"
"You should drop him off on a ship," St. Hubbins answered. "We don't have time to get him back to the mainland. Ships have doctors on board, so they can do something for him."
"Those ships are in the middle of battle," Rose said through clenched teeth. "Their crews won't have time to stitch up an injured dragon."
"I will take him to my own ship," Spina decided. "They will not have joined the battle yet; they can help my friend." She wheeled about and searched to the west for a solitary ship. There were several such ships, as battle-damaged English warships dropped out of the fighting to repair their masts and rigging. It took her a few minutes to locate HMS Firedrake. By that time, the two Spanish lightweights had gotten on Spina's tail and were closing in fast, with the heavyweight behind them but laboring to catch up. Both lightweights carried a boarder in addition to their captains. The boarders' swords were drawn and ready; their free hands were on the releases for their harness carabiniers.
"We're out of escorts," St. Hubbins said grimly. "They're going to board us. Rose, you'll have to – ROSE! You're hurt!"
"It's not that bad," she tried to explain. "I'm just –"
"Rose is hurt?" Spina whipped her head around to see her rider. She looked left first and saw no injury. Then she turned to her right and saw the blood on Rose's shrapnel-torn pants.
Rose had seen Spina angry before, when the ground-crewman had tried to steal her gold ring. But that rage was nothing compared to the fury in the dragon's eyes now. Rose would later swear that the Longwing's eyes actually turned red. She roared, pulled up into a quick climb, and aimed back over her shoulder at the first Spaniards she saw, who were riding one of the two Spanish lightweights. That climb enabled her to put her head down slightly, and to shoot over Mercurius and St. Hubbins without endangering either of them.
The jet of venom passed just beside the Mosca de Muerte's neck and struck both rider and boarder full in the chest. They screamed, but the sheer amount of acid that hit them meant that their end was mercifully quick. The Spanish dragon spun and took her rider out of the battle, unaware that it was far too late to do anything for him. The other Mosca de Muerte had a quick discussion with his rider and followed his squadron-mate toward the nearest shore. Now it was down to the Longwing and the Cauchador Real.
"Whatever you do, don't let them get close enough to board us!" Rose begged.
"They will not get that close," Spina promised. "I will protect you." The problem was that the huge Spanish dragon was still higher than they were, and Spina could only shoot her venom downward. Climbing would be nearly impossible now because she had the weight of Mercurius on her back. But climbing was exactly what she had to do if she wanted to avoid being boarded, or if she wanted to shoot back at her attacker.
"Spina, turn left!" Rose suddenly exclaimed. The dragon obeyed without questioning her. They were heading back into the battle zone, but toward the north instead of the middle of it like they'd done before. After a few seconds, Spina exclaimed, "Rose, I see what you have in mind." She somehow found a bit more speed, and adjusted her course slightly further to the left.
"St. Hubbins!" Rose forced herself to shout. "Signal 'Engage the enemy more closely!'" St. Hubbins, who was still facing backwards, had no idea what was happening ahead of them. But he reached into the flag bag and bent on the standard two-flag signal.
"Rose, tell me what's going on," he called. "Who are we signaling to?"
"There's no time," Rose called. "David, put your head down... now!" She pulled her own head down, Spina flattened her neck, and a moment later, a superheated blast of fire scorched the air just above them. They had closed the distance to Conflagratia's battle line, and the Flamme-de-Gloire had forcibly persuaded the Spanish dragon to give up the pursuit. The bigger dragon wasn't seriously hurt, but half of his crew were desperately trying to extinguish each other's flaming clothing, and the leather parts of his harness were badly burned and smoldering as well. He broke off and headed for shore. Spina descended and turned back; she was alone in the sky as she approached HMS Firedrake.
"David, I think I'm done giving orders," Rose said softly. "Spina... do what David says." She hugged the dragon's neck to hold herself up.
"Rose, are you all right?" St. Hubbins worried.
"I'll be okay. Look after Mercurius; he's hurt a lot worse than me."
They glided next to their patron ship. "Ahoy, the Firedrake! I'm glad to see that you got your rudder working," St. Hubbins called. "Can you help an injured lightweight dragon?"
"We have a doctor for humans," Lt. Paisley shouted back. "But dragons are our friends. We'll do what we can for him."
"Mercurius, can you glide down and land on that ship so they can help you?" St. Hubbins asked.
"I think so," the little dragon whimpered.
"Spina, slow down and fly next to the ship so Mercurius can glide from here to there." The Longwing did so. The mauled Greyling managed to slide off Spina's back, glide over to the ship, and make a rough landing on her deck, shaking the ship considerably. The lieutenant in command took one look at him and ordered, "Get the doctor. And the sailmaker; he's accustomed to stitching up large gashes in things. Maybe, together, they can put that dragon back together."
"It hurts," Mercurius whimpered.
Rodgers, the seaman who had been curious about Spina when the Firedrake had adopted her, stepped timidly over to the dragon. He'd seen a dragon up close only once before, but this one was smaller than Spina had been, and it was obviously in pain. The wounds looked ghastly; the sailor was amazed that the dragon was still conscious. "They're going to make you better," he said compassionately.
"Please help me," the Greyling gasped.
The rough sailor crouched down and stroked the dragon's neck. "They're going to help," he reassured him. "The doctor is coming now. He'll help you." He continued stroking and reassuring the dragon as the ship's sawbones checked out the injuries and reached for some opium to deaden the Greyling's pain.
Spina saw that her little friend was getting the best care he could get, and turned back to her captain. "Rose, how bad is it?" she asked anxiously.
"It won't be the death of me," she said tightly. "We came here because you have a battle to fight. Go fight it! I'll be all right."
"I do not believe you," Spina answered.
"Spina, your captain has given you an order!" St. Hubbins retorted. "I know you're worried about her; I'm worried about her too; but this is war and we have to fight while we can."
"What good is it to do my duty if my captain suffers?" the dragon demanded.
"Spina, please..." Rose was fighting for the strength to keep talking. "Take out another Spanish ship. Do it for me."
The dragon looked grim. "I will do that for you, and a great deal more!" She turned on a wingtip and raced back toward the battle. Some of the English ships were breaking off combat; they had run out of powder for their guns. The Armada had been outfought, but were they on the verge of escaping?
For the next fifteen minutes, Spina raced back and forth at masthead height, snapping out quick bursts of venom at the ships below her. Each burst severed the standing rigging on one or two masts, not enough to sink them, but certainly enough to cripple them. The few remaining Spanish dragons did not dare get too close and risk becoming the target of her venom attack, and she shrugged off the occasional musket ball from the ships. Her maneuvers were unpredictable, and they had the added benefit of taking pressure off of Conflagratia and her few remaining escorts. The fire-breather made good use of the space she was given, and added to the havoc that the acid-spitter was causing.
Spina sank no more ships that day. But, of all the warships she attacked, not one of them ever returned to Spain. All of them fell victim to the storms and the rocks of the Irish coast as they made their way home, too weakened by the Longwing's battle damage to survive the wrath of the Atlantic. Between Spina's acid damage, Conflagratia's fire damage, and the pounding that the Armada had received from the guns of the Royal Navy, it added up to a calamitous defeat for Spain.
As the battle petered out, Spina turned for home. They passed over HMS Firedrake again and waved; the crew waved back, except for the doctor and the sailmaker who were hard at work stitching up Mercurius. The unfortunate ship had never gotten into the fighting, but she had earned the appreciation of the Corps by aiding an injured dragon. They met up with Rapide-flèche about halfway home. He asked if he could ride on Spina, and permission was given. St. Hubbins did some simple first aid on the Pou-de-Ciel's shoulder wound as they flew.
"That was very bravely done," he said to the little dragon. "Your rider will be proud of you when he hears of this."
"Did it help Spina?" he asked.
"Yes, it helped me very much," Spina said over her shoulder. "You may have saved my life, and my riders' lives as well. You were as brave as any of the larger dragons."
Rapide-flèche didn't reply. He just lay his head down on Spina's back and sighed happily. Spina echoed his contented sigh, St. Hubbins grinned, and even Rose managed a wan smile. They had won.