Chapter 2
Halifax, Nova Scotia
December 1811
"Corporal James keep the pressure on the wound, private Roberts if you would be so kind as to hold his legs still…" Paterson's voice was calm as he ordered the marines to assist him. Quite how he could remain so stoic whilst trying to staunch the rapid flow of blood from Goss' leg whilst being buffeted by the wind several hundred feet up in the air on a dragon's back was a mystery to James. Goss' white breeches and the grey scales of the dragon beneath him were covered in blood already and his face was as pale as a sheet. To further complicate matters the Petit-Chevalier was flying rather erratically now, dropping altitude slowly and weaving from side to side occasionally. James braced himself against the motion and concentrated on pushing a wad of bandages above the wound attempting to keep the pressure constant as Paterson laboured on the wound. Thankfully as the medic worked Goss' legs began to stop thrashing and the blood flow from the gash in his leg seemed to slow noticeably, his breathing was still laboured and his eyes darted from his leg to each of their faces wide with terror though.
"Hold fast there Goss, we can't be far from the covert now" James tried to reassure him as Goss' eyes met his own.
"Roberts take over from the Corporal" Paterson looked up at James "I can finish sewing this up now he's calmed, please could you move forward and see what's causing this beast to lurch about so much" worryingly the medic's voice had a tinge of worry to it despite the apparent improvement in his patient so James stood up as soon Roberts' hands replaced his own. Slowly he made his way forward, he was careful not to move more than a few feet at a time before relatching his carabiner, one unexpected lurch from the dragon could quite easily have sent to his death below. As he moved forward the reason for the poor flying became clear, Lieutenant Davies was still stood behind the french captain with his pistol held ready but another frenchman who evidently must have been the surgeon on board was busy at the dragon's shoulder attempting to examine its ribcage. James could see from the way the dragon was breathing that something was dangerously wrong, the great chest was heaving like the bellows of a forge. The Chevalier hadn't been fully engaged in combat before being boarded and the flight back towards Halifax hadn't been made at any great pace which could have explained it's struggle for breath. Abruptly the surgeon pulled himself up and spoke to the captain in french making a hammering motion with his fist. The captain translated the speech for Davies benefit in heavily accented english.
"Sir, it is my surgeon's belief that the great blow your own beast delivered to Imperalus' flank has fractured several of his ribs and he will struggle to fly a long distance carrying such an injury". The captain's voice carried a strong tone of resentment but his face was wracked with worry and it seemed to James that Davies was sympathetic in his reply.
"It grieves me to see him struggle so Sir, but the covert isn't far. Do you think it likely he can make it or will we need to set down?". Davies hadn't bothered to describe where the covert was or how far away it remained, the course of the french formation when Achilles and his own formation had intercepted made it clear that the former had likely been on their way to raid the British settlement.
"He will make it sir, I have faith in him" the captain replied solemnly and Imperalus though rendered incapable of speech by the mix of pain and exhaustion seemed to give a great appreciative huff not unlike a horse at his captain's confidence. James was less confident but kept his opinion to himself, he didn't much fancy crash landing on an eighteen tonne dragon that was already distressed at its capture. The massive bulk of Achilles who was flying slightly above and behind the french dragon was reassuring though. Now he was closer James could see that he carried some minor injuries to his hide, from the shallowness the scratches must have been caused by the french lightweights darting attacks and thankfully didn't seem to be bothering the british dragon in the least. James turned his view back forwards, the town of Halifax could be seen faintly in the distance now and much closer he could now make out the covert that was their destination. The covert bore little resemblance to the ones he'd known in Britain, it had been chosen as a suitable site due to the large lake which steamed faintly in the cold air. The water was fed by hot springs and though dragon's weren't greatly affected by a bit of cold they didn't enjoy it either so the water provided some comfort to them. A large ridge ran for several miles along the northern boundary of the lake and it was on the land between lake and ridge that the buildings of the covert were located. Most of the landscape nearby was forested but a swathe had been cleared in this area. A large horseshoe shaped building fashioned from timber made up the bulk of the site containing barracks for both the marines and aviators, a few other log cabins and sheds were scattered around the fringes of the clearing as well containing the forges and armouries essential for outfitting a formation of dragons. There were no huge feeding pens full of cattle though which would have made up a large part of a european covert, food for the dragons was provided by the local Mi'kmaq tribe who used a pair of native lightweights to hunt from the vast herds of shaggy coated bison on the open plains. Each day they would deliver enough carcasses to satisfy the covert's dragons in return for money or occasionally weapons, ammunition and other goods. The dragons were now beginning their descent towards the covert though the captured Chevalier seemed to be sinking slowly more through exhaustion than design, James silently willed the dragon on casting his eyes once more over the rapidly closing distance between the covert and themselves.
Captain Barclay stood on his own outside the large timber barracks of his covert, though his hair had greyed he stood straight backed with his feet planted and hands clasped behind his back. The iron in his blue eyes was still evident as he watched the sky calmly for the return of his formation. Queerly he felt more at home with the formation out on manoeuvres, a captain without a dragon in a covert similarly shorn of its beasts. His position was a strange one, he'd been offered the chance to try for another egg back in Britain but he was no more willing to harness another dragon than he was to leave the Americas. Barclay had watched painfully and helplessly as Serratus, the mighty flagdragon of the Canadian based formations had passed away from the terrible dragon plague six years earlier. He would never captain another dragon and couldn't bring himself to leave the land that he'd made his home for over a decade with the brawny Parnassian. Equally the admiralty could ill afford to lose an officer with such an affinity for the land and whom had built the relationship with the local tribes that kept British dragons fed. The fact that no promising officers would desire to be posted to what was still an out the way colony with no real chance of battle and therefore promotion was also conveniently avoided by his staying. Barclay frowned at that thought, his early years on the continent with Serratus had been spent keeping fractious natives in line and providing a deterrent to any French warships that might otherwise have seen the British merchantmen trading from Halifax as ripe targets. Lately though he had come to believe that the fledgling United States would be a greater threat to British Canada, the turncoats grew increasingly belligerent and intelligence suggested growing diplomatic concourse with the French across the Atlantic. Such concerns had seen the posting of Achilles to the covert, Barclay hoped that Achilles status as the only heavyweight North of the Incan Empire would be a sufficient deterrent but he dreaded the news everyday that the big Chequered Nettle would be recalled to Britain as Napoleon seemed to increasingly strengthen his position in Europe. The native tribesman that had floundered into the covert earlier that morning upon his own small brown and red dappled dragon with the news that a group of dragons had crossed the border had evoked mixed feelings in Barclay. First fury, it was possible that the Americans had declared war, such was the distance to the covert in Upper Canada such a message might yet not have reached Halifax but clearly to strike before news had spread would be decidedly underhanded. Secondly suspicion, he could see no reason why the Americans would seek to test British aerial defences nearer to the coast when they knew full well they could not match Achilles bulk and prowess.
It was with some relief then that he cited the formation in the distance, although this quickly changed to concern as he noted the haphazard flying of the beast at the front, from it's size it could only be Achilles and clearly he had been wounded to fly so.
"Ground crews attend!". Barclay had spent years making his thickly accented Scottish voice heard from dragonback and his shout shattered the silence at the covert, almost immediately the ground crews and surgeons began to spill from the barracks and as they noted the formation's staggered approach shouts for bandages and other medical supplies began to be banded about. Satisfied that preparations at the covert were underway Barclay returned his gaze to the approaching dragons quickly counting to be certain no beast had been lost. It was with no little confusion that he reached the number seven, one too many at the same time he noted that Achilles was not wounded at all and if he wasn't mistaken the struggling dragon was a French Petit-Chevalier. It was clearly a great prize but what was it doing here in the first place?!
Considering it's distress the French dragon was able to land surprisingly gently, though it collapsed to lie on it's belly not long afterwards even as British surgeons arrived bandages in hand to assist. The French captain was already on the ground beside his dragon's head offering what comfort he could. The surgeons had quickly realised that bandages would be no use to the internal injury suffered and moved to assist the British dragons as they landed and were quickly swamped by the attentions of their ground crew, a single surgeon remained quietly at the French dragon's side pressing his ear to the beast's ribs. James and the other marines dismounted and after seeing Goss carried into the infirmary arranged themselves to one side with muskets in hand as the French crew, some score of men were escorted by more red coated marines to one side of the landing ground. The landing ground itself was a flurry of action, men everywhere as the aviators seeked to get into the barracks whilst their ground crew stripped the dragons of harness and attended to their mostly minor injuries. One by one the British dragons were left alone by their ground crews once suitably attended, several long piers formed from thick logs extended into the lake and it was on these that the dragons settled themselves, their captains staying long enough to ensure several bison carcasses had been delivered before heading inside themselves. The snow on the ground was but the first snowfall of the impending winter and the cold air only mildly uncomfortable compared to what was to come but still not pleasant for man or dragon to stay in without cause. James drew his greatcoat more tightly around him, along with some others he'd stayed outside to see how the Petit-Chevalier faired and had seen the British surgeon give what looked to be some promising news to the French captain.
"How does he fare?" the marines straightened as Captain Barclay approached.
"Dawson believes he will make it sir, though it will be some time before he is capable of flight" Achilles' Captain Way responded. James felt his heart soar faintly at this piece of good fortune, though not long ago their enemy the beast had laboured bravely to make it to the covert. The French captain was now leading his dragon to the lake where he was slowly settled on the shore and after offering a great deal of assurance to his dragon he was then himself led towards the officers mess by Davies and a pair of midwingmen looking back over his shoulder every few steps. His crew had already been moved inside, Barclay was an honourable officer so no doubt they'd not lack for comfort having offered no trouble in their capture. James began to move away himself, something warm to eat in the mess wouldn't go amiss, the last thing he heard from the two British captains as he walked away was Barclay's voicing of the question they all had in their heads.
"I think it about time we tried to ascertain exactly what a French heavyweight is doing flying this side of the border Captain Way". The two captains moved towards the officers mess, with the dragons now either eating or sleeping and the vast majority of the men gone to do the same inside the landing ground was now quiet again though both James and Barclay both privately thought that the skies above them would not long stay the same.