AN: Since the last chapter was an interlude only, I figured it was only fair to upload this one at once--especially since it involves a character focused on in the previous chapter. Have fun! - Marquis

Skies of Harrisburg

Thought the main Armada was still a ways off from the actual city, the Death Eaters had wisely deployed their dragon forces in advance, in order to cause as much chaos as possible, which would ideally allow for a smoother landing of troops.

Separated into squadrons of four, the multitude of Death Eater dragons swooped all over the city, blasting jets of fire into random buildings, sometimes getting lucky and causing one to explode.

Unfortunately for the Death Eaters, they had chosen one of the pre-evacuated islands for their attack, so their actions were merely structural in destruction. Still, the scene was a pitiful one. Left and right, the old-fashioned, Edwardian housing complexes were torched by the dragon's fiery breath, and the flames rose skyward like angry serpentine tongues of death and chaos.

Had the scene been painted dot for dot, it would have likely been considered beautiful, but the reality was much more traumatizing. As the buildings of Harrisburg burned under the fiery might of the Death Eater's dragons, with it went most of the hope the Queen herself felt from the palace window. Her plan had failed. The four ships she had sent to their deaths had not stopped the incursion, for why else would the dragons be here, then?

She couldn't understand it, though. How could the plan not have worked? The Invincible-class airships had more armour coating than any other airship ever engineered. A single airship of its kind could take on ten airships of the Vengeance type. Given four, all equally armoured, then there was no reason that the Invincible and its four sister ships, the Implacable, Empire, and Relentless could not complete their mission.

That left nothing. Nothing at all.

The ships of the Imperial Navy could not take down the dragons this far in. Beyond that, they also faced the responsibility of forging a last stand to stop the advancing Death Eater armada that she was sure was coming. The entire airfleet was out of range, due to various immediate emergencies that were reported throughout the Empire.

In the north, the American territories they had held since the incursion were now under heavy attack, and Nova Scotia and British Columbia were under heavy fire from the besieging forces of the Death Eaters and Americans.

In the immediate west, the outlaw faction of O'Connor was launching a violent and heavy campaign against Imperial shipping, and the Death Eaters had launched an offensive against the Caribbean territories of Jamaica, St. Kitts & Nevis, Grenada, and the rest of the British islands.

Then, in the south, the Falklands, for the twentieth time since the start of the war, had fallen under siege by Death Eater sympathetic forces in Argentina.

Then, to the east, the African territories were in peril due to a significant increase in Death Eater troops in Egypt, and India was rapidly losing its own ground against the Death Eaters, all the while refusing British help. It was idiotic of them, and somewhat petty, but short of their approval, she could do naught to help them.

Then, in Australia and the surrounding region, the Death Eaters had attempted a flanking manoeuvre, and as such, most of their forces down their were tied up.

That left no one to save New Britannia. It was a foolish mistake on their part, but in their sense of complacency, nurtured by years of successful hiding, they had fallen for the Death Eaters' trap.

The result was before the young Queen's eyes. Dragons laid waste to a neighbourhood with jets of flame, and while the casualties of this particular attack would border on nil, the emotional damage, as well as the structural, would be massive. Not to mention that when the Death Eaters finally invaded, they would find too little a garrison to put up an effective fight.

That was when a sight caught the attention of the most distraught Queen. Suddenly pushing the gothic windows wide open, much to the consternation of her ladies in waiting, Elizabeth's eyes widened as she saw black spots rapidly fall from the sky. Immediately, her heart fell as she thought them to be more dragons from the invading fleet, but her despair quickly turned into jubilation as she saw the spots engage and shoot down several of the Death Eater dragons.

And yet…Elizabeth squinted to strain her sight. There was no doubting it—the saviours of Harrisburg were dragons, too!

In amazement, she watched as the newcomer dragons suddenly and violently tore through the formations of Death Eater dragons. Tears of joy trailed down the young Queen's pale cheeks as the welcome sight was furthered by the recently arrived news that the garrison in Harrisburg had been reinforced by an unknown force.

Falling to her knees, the Queen wept freely in happiness as she realized the situation had completely changed to their advantage. No longer would Harrisburg burn.

Help had arrived.

Above Harrisburg…

The scene of carnage that the Death Eaters had wrought upon one of Harrisburg's islands was terrifying to behold, despite the lack of human casualties. Buildings collapsed under the weight of the increasingly heavy and concentrated rubble, and houses burned, with pillars of ashen smoke rising into the air like heralds of death and destruction.

To the newly arrived reinforcements, it was a horrid scene to behold—one that put a fiery rage into the very hearts of the dragon riders, at whose lead was a Norwegian Ridgeback, mounted by a redheaded man, in whose free hand lay a lance. From that lance, right underneath the blade, dangled a chain, onto which was attached several open-faced lockets, each of which seemed to have a picture of a redheaded person. Only two of them were female. His golden armour shined brightly in the daylight, the silver cross on his chest plate glittering.

The scene before him enraged the young dragon rider, who had lost so much in the past few years. His family, his freedom, his friends—all gone! His memories were burned with recollections of imprisonment and torture that had lasted years, and it had only been his release one year ago that had kept him from completely losing his mind. But now, right now, right before him lay the opportunity to wreck havoc upon those men and women who had deprived him of everything, and he swore to make them pay every offence with death.

Raising his lance in the air, the dragon rider closed his eyes in focus for a moment before muttering something, causing a large Union Jack flag to appear, hooked to his lance.

"Dragon Lancers!" he roared through the wind, his voice magically enhanced. "FLY NOW! FLY! Fly to battle, and the Darkness' ending!"

With a mighty cheer, the dragon riders behind him quickly urged their dragons into a steep descent, following the lead of their redheaded leader. All of them held their lances close to their bodies, in order to ensure that they would not lose them.

Except for the redheaded man.

His arms muscles bulging from the strain, he kept his grip tight on his upheld lance, looking like a scorpion ready to strike at its prey as he and his dragon dove at brake neck speeds towards the enemy. Flapping in the wind, the Union Jack billowed proudly in the descent, announcing to all the arrival of the Dragon Lancers.

The Death Eaters barely had a chance to react to the impending descent of over fifty of the Lancers before they were in their midst. Almost immediately, the first of the Death Eater dragons was struck down by the leader's Ridgeback, while another had its rider killed by a lance thrust from the redheaded man.

Following closely behind, the rest of the Dragon Lancers plunged into the enemy formation, taking down two-three dragons in the process. It was bloody, and violent, and it drove the Lancers nearly wild with euphoria as they took down the murderers who had deprived them of their homes and families.

Eventually, the Death Eaters broke off their attack, having sustained horrific casualties at the hand of the better trained, and far more ferocious Dragon Lancers, and flew away in hasty retreat.

His dragons still quite able to fight, the redheaded man merely gave the retreating enemy a condescending glare as one of his subordinates flew her dragon close to his.

"The enemy retreats!" she cried jubilantly. "What now?"

The redheaded man gave the retreating dragons a calculating look before coming to a decision. "Foster, take your team and Brooks' and give chase. If you near the Armada, break off and retreat back here."

The pretty blonde nodded before raising her lance and twirling it in the air, announcing her team to regroup to her. She then pointed to the mentioned Brooks and signalled him as well, making the brunette man nod and lead his group to the rallying point as well.

For his part, the redheaded man was left with forty able bodied dragons and their respective Lancers. Raising his own spear in the air, the Union Jack still flapping in the wind quite noticeably, he gave his order.

"Lancers! Make safe the city!"

The man looked down towards the ground, where he could see some of the British garrison barely holding back oncoming swathes of Death Eaters. Raising his lance in a rallying gesture, the man looked back at his squad and cried out with a shout.

"Follow me!"

Foster was almost flat on her chest as her dragon flew after its prey at full speed. Behind her, the others in her squad were in a similar position as their prey, the defeated and retreating Death Eater dragon riders, sped away from their pursuers.

Unfortunately for the Death Eaters, their dragons were beginning to suffer from fatigue, as they had been forced to bypass the Invincible's blockade, the fighter screen, fly all the way to Harrisburg on their own power, and then fight other dragons. As such, it was not long before Foster, who was at the head of the Imperial squad, caught up.

At Foster's prodding, her dragon snapped shut its jaws on the rear-most dragon's right wing, causing the victimized beast to roar in pain, while its handler tried to regain control desperately. His efforts were cut short, however, by the timely intervention of Foster's spear, which lodged itself in his chest with one swift stroke.

Foster just as quickly pulled out her spear and pulled her dragon away from the hurt enemy dragon, resuming their chase of the enemy squad. Some of her people had already passed by her, following Brooks' lead.

"Let's go, Ruby," whispered Foster into her dragon's ear, making the beast roar in anticipation. Flapping its mighty red wings, the dragon lurched forward, making Foster let out an unexpected giggle as she enjoyed the ride.

Thankfully for Foster, Ruby was one of the faster dragons in the squad, making up for its lack of combat ability with its split-second agility and superior speed. Soon enough, they had caught up to Brooks, who was about to lead the squad into the midst of the enemy dragons. He waved over to her and grinned.

"Glad you could make it!" he spoke cheekily through their communication spell. "Thought you decided to dump us!"

Foster grinned. "As if I'd let you have all the fun, Brooks!"

A joint chuckle went through the communication spell, indicating the group's amusement with their leaders' banter.

"You lads ready?" asked Foster as they neared their foe. A series of acknowledgements returned through the spell, and Foster nodded, before turning her attention to Brooks. "Brooks?"

"All yours, Foster. Ladies first."

Foster grinned before giving the order. "Alright. Everyone, pull up! Diving tactic fourteen!"

Almost immediately, all of the dragon riders pulled on their reins, nudging the dragons upwards. Foster could see the Death Eaters look up at them in confusion, and some joy. She assumed they thought that she and her people were pulling out. How wrong they were.

Foster's squad flew right into the cloud cover several dozen feet above them, effectively removing themselves from the Death Eaters' view. The wizards were looking around wildly now, having grown suspicious of Foster's squad's movements. Even their retreat had halted altogether as they tried to regroup, shouts emerging from all sides as they tried to make sense of the situation.

Then, out of the blue, one of the Death Eaters who had looked up cried out in alarm as Foster's squad dove from the cloud cover right above them, all in a spiral conical formation, with Foster at the very tip and leading the charge.

"Charge!" cried out Foster as she led the way. Ruby roared in a similar vein, causing the other dragons in the charge to emulate it.

Grabbing her reins with her teeth, Foster forced herself onto her feet as Ruby swooped down towards the enemy group. Foster barely heard the questioning warning from Books through her spell as she let the adrenaline make her focus go into tunnel mode. She had her eye on the central enemy dragon—a big, vicious looking Hungarian Horntail.

Just as Ruby was about to pass by it, Foster threw herself off her dragon and onto the enemy Horntail, spear in hand (completely ignoring the worried and frantic cries of her comrades). On the dragon, she noticed that two people were occupying it, one which Foster assumed was a rear guard fighter. She quickly dispatched him with a vicious grin and an overhead diagonal slash of her spear, causing the man's comrade to turn around urgently.

The man drew his wand, ready to fight, and both fighters lost all notice of the raging battle around them. Even the Horntail seemed to be unaffected by all the war, and Foster realized that it had been bred to be a sort of airborne command centre, and that the man she'd just killed hadn't been a rear guard, but rather the man coordinating the enemy dragons.

Foster grinned as she realized the coup de grace she had just unwittingly delivered to the enemy group. The Death Eater before her, however, seemed bent on avenging his colleague, and threw a spell at her. It was vicious looking, so Foster wasted no time in dodging it, though it was a close thing, since she couldn't move very much due to the narrowness of the dragon's back.

Foster did a front flip as another spell came at her, also vicious looking, and crouched down as yet another flew above her head. This sort of acrobatic ability was nothing to her—Foster had been a ballet dancing student in Denver when the war had broken out. She had joined the student protests against the government, but had never believed Washington D.C. to fall so low as to employ dictatorial methods of silencing the opposition. In one evening, that illusion had fallen to pieces. The crowd she was with had been assaulted by American wizards and collaborative policemen armed with assault rifles they had looted from the local arms shops. After more than thirty protestors lay dead, the crowd had dispersed, but the wizards and policemen had chased them down and caught a few, killed some more, and taunted those who had managed to flee with their lives. Foster had been wounded as she tried to escape, having gotten shot in the shoulder. The pain had been excruciating then—now, it seemed nothing.

Foster danced around the spells coming at her with ease, her comrades still performing fly-by's against their own opponents. Brooks managed to take down two, she saw, given the number of masks he had dangling from his spear shaft.

Everyone had their own way of counting kills. Foster herself had notches on her spear shaft detailing the amount of Death Eaters and collaborators she'd killed. Even before Harrisburg, she had already accumulated twenty. Two of those happened while she was interned.

The internment camp she had been assigned to was horrible. Though, impartially, it was nothing like the Nazi camps, she felt as though it was. The sanitation was horrible, and though they weren't forced to work, they were forced to hear American government officials explain to them why Washington had needed to do what they did. The first such person was booed away, but by the second year, Foster had heard enough, and had led a riot against the authorities by rushing the speaker. She had strangled him to death, but was not killed herself—the authorities were worried that her death would rile up the prisoners into another riot. Almost overnight, she had become, unintentionally, a symbol of resistance in her camp. As punishment for her murder of the official, she was put in solitary confinement for six months, in the hopes that her acts would fade from memories if she was cut off from her audience.

It was not to be, however, and after six months, she was welcomed back to the group with open arms from her fellow inmates. She was treated as a hero, and asked for advice on resisting their captors. Foster was caught unawares by the hero worship they had for her, since she had committed the murder out of spontaneous instinct, rather than as part of a bigger plan towards freedom.

Foster grew into her role gradually, however, and soon was plotting with several other inmates how to break out of the lightly-defended camp (since the American government had no worries about a break out, this being the beginning of the war). In the end, the plan fell through, but Foster's current leader had come to the rescue.

While the camp resistance movement had tried to take over the camp, they had been unaware of a nearby passing Airship carrying reinforcements. The Salem camp had been broken out of a few weeks ago, and the government had sent reinforcements to all camps. It was such that it was the resistance's bad luck that the day they chose to rebel was also the day the garrison was being reinforced. In short, the resistance was all but crushed when the reinforcements were stopped by another force.

Using stolen Air transports, the American Resistance, led by a redheaded man with a grim face, came to their rescue, using the transports' weapons against their former owners. The leader, who had kicked off one of the wizards who had attempted to rape her, rescued Foster herself. Quickly getting to her feet, the near-traumatized Foster had taken the wizard's wand and plunged it into his chest, killing it. Tears had streamed down her soot-covered cheeks, as her emotions just broke free after the near-rape. Only the redheaded man's gentle hand had gotten her back on her feet and into the Air transport.

By now, Foster had managed to get within slashing distance of the second wizard on the Horntail. She delivered a slash and was surprised to see that the man had dodged it, letting loose another of his spells in return. It missed her barely, but still managed to leave a thin cut on her cheek. She didn't mind. The days of her superficial beauty mattering had been left well behind. Instead, she retaliated with coolness and brought up the blade of her spear in an upper slash, which managed to cut the man's chest a bit, though not fatally. The wizard still stumbled a bit as he dealt with the pain of the slash, but Foster paid little attention to his plight, instead following up with a thrust that the wizard barely dodged.

Another spell came at her. Turning on her heel, she let it fly by, before lashing out again with her weapon. It was probably the lengthiest fight she had ever had with a wizard, who were, for the most part, incredibly dumb on their feet. She quickly followed up her thrust with a horizontal slash, this one managing to incapacitate the wizard's left arm—not his wand arm.

The wizard was now gasping for air as the pain wracked his brain. Foster decided to put him out of his misery, slamming down the blade of her spear into his left shoulder and cutting down into his heart. The wizard gave a final gasp before falling to one side, slipping off his dragon, and down into the sky below. Foster was now left with an empty dragon, which she could not, in good conscience, leave alive, in case the Death Eaters ever used it again, and she wasn't sure that any of her people could be used to drive it back, and using dragons to corral it was right out.

She could hear cheers coming through the spell, which she took to assume that her squad had won. Satisfied with the results, Foster put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly, and upon hearing a familiar roar, she smiled. Ruby was on her way. Of course, she had no way of knowing the sex of her dragon, but she liked to think that Ruby was a she.

Foster started to twirl her spear above her head with increasing speed. When she had enough of a momentum going, she brought down her spear into the back of the Horntail's head. The tempered steel, reinforced with magical spells to ensure endurance and sharpness of the blade, sliced through the hardened skin like a hot knife through butter, ending the creature's life quickly as the blade dug into the brain.

Foster paid little attention to herself as the dragon thrashed and fell beneath her feet. She was not strapped on, and so let herself fall slightly above it, until she saw Ruby fly towards her. Snapping her arms to her side, she pointed herself in another direction, separating from the enemy Horntail, and let grinned as Ruby put herself under her. As she had not fallen too far, the slide into the saddle of Ruby did not hurt her, especially as the dragon had taken care to drop a little slower than she did, for a smoother transition.

Back in her saddle, she slipped her feet back into their straps and took a hold of the reins once again, only to be met by one of her subordinates, who flew his dragon next to hers.

"Where's Brooks?" asked Foster through the spell. The man shook his head sadly.

"Marigold," Brooks' dragon, "took a hit. Went down just before you took down the Horntail."

"His chute?" another shake of head. "Damn. Charlie won't be pleased."

Still, there was nothing to be done about it. She regretted the loss of a fellow rider, true, but there was a battle to be won still. The skirmish they had just fought was but a theatre of something larger, and losing sight of that would do no one any good.

Reins in and leaning her spear against her leg, Foster nodded to her subordinate. "Alright. We're done here. Signal the others to retreat to the city—Charlie will be needing our help."

"Sir!"

Harry didn't bother to divert his attention from the battle raging outside his window. Instead, McNamara took over.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked, turning his head towards the communication officer.

"Transmission from the capital!" most officers now turned their heads towards their colleague. Any news from the capital was bound to be critical. "A Charles Weasley is reporting that…yes…yes…yes, that all Death Eater dragon squads have been eliminated!"

Even as a cheer went up in the bridge, McNamara turned his eyes to the Duke, waiting for orders, and perhaps waiting for a change in expression. A glimmer of happiness, perhaps, or even of hope. But it was not to be. With supernatural calm, the Duke nodded to McNamara before speaking.

"The twenty-third step is complete. Initiate step twenty-four."

"Aye, aye!" replied McNamara, before turning to the crew. "Send the order on channel five! Initiate step twenty-four!"