Dragon Squadron (An RAF Dragon Corps story) - 15. Endurance

In an alternate 1939 where dragons are Britain's aerial defenders, an admiral's son defies his naval heritage to join the RAF Dragon Corps...

Dawn painted the eastern sky with streaks of pale gold as Jim and the other recruits assembled on the flight line. There was a different energy in the air this morning—a tension that went beyond their usual pre-flight nerves.

The remaining recruits had developed the lean look of men who spent their days in the open air and their nights exhausted from exertion. Their bodies had adapted to the physical demands of dragon riding—muscles strengthened, reflexes sharpened, minds trained to process multiple threats while maintaining spatial awareness.

Those who couldn’t adapt had already washed out.

Jim checked his flight gear, the routine now as familiar as breathing. Aether waited nearby, the midnight-blue dragon’s golden eyes tracking Jim’s movements with intelligent interest.

Across the field, Marcus performed his own pre-flight checks, his movements precise and economical. The air commodore’s son had become more focused, more driven since the emergency dismount exercise where Jim had outperformed him.

Sergeant Redfern strode onto the field, Flight Instructor Briggs at his side. Behind them, handlers led a row of dragons towards the assembly area, scales gleaming in the early light.

“Circle up,” Redfern said.

The recruits formed a loose semicircle before the instructors.

Redfern surveyed them with his usual stern assessment, arms crossed over his chest. “Speed is meaningless if you can’t maintain it. A dragon pilot who can’t pace himself is a liability.”

Briggs stepped forward, gesturing towards the horizon. “Today, you’ll be completing a hundred-mile endurance flight. You’ll navigate using landmarks while managing your dragon’s stamina.” His scarred face remained impassive. “The course follows the river south to the coastline, then west along the shore before turning inland to return to base.”

He pointed to the map board where the route was marked in red grease pencil—a rough rectangle with the base at its eastern corner. Prominent landmarks were highlighted along the way—a distinctive hill, a coastal lighthouse, a small town at the halfway point.

“You’ll maintain formation except when otherwise instructed. Standard communication protocols. Check in at designated waypoints.”

Redfern’s eyes narrowed. “Push too hard, you’ll be limping home, assuming you make it at all. A dragon’s endurance isn’t unlimited, and an exhausted dragon is vulnerable to attack.”

The recruits exchanged glances. Most of their training flights had been under twenty miles, focusing on manoeuvres rather than distance. A hundred miles would test not just their dragons’ physical stamina but the riders’ ability to manage resources effectively.

“Questions?” Redfern asked, his tone suggesting there shouldn’t be any.

Silence answered him. After weeks of training, they knew better than to ask for clarifications that would be viewed as signs of weakness or inattention.

“Mount up,” Redfern said. “Launch in standard sequence at five-second intervals. Wilson, you’re lead. Ashford, second position. Canning, third.”

The placement wasn’t lost on Jim. By positioning him ahead of Marcus, Redfern had created a situation where Marcus would be constantly watching Jim’s back—a subtle challenge to the air commodore’s son’s pride.

As the recruits moved towards their dragons, Marcus fell into step beside Jim. “Try not to good too slow, Ashford. Some of us are born for this.”

Jim kept his expression neutral, not rising to the bait. After the mess hall fight, he’d learned to moderate his responses to Marcus’s provocations.

Wilson shook his head. “It’s a bloody endurance test, not a sprint,” he muttered as Marcus moved ahead.

Ronnie adjusted Brutus’s saddle straps, his usual nervous chatter replaced by focused concentration. “Reckon Marcus has ever heard of the word ‘pacing’?”

“Doubt it,” Jim said. “He treats everything like a race.”

Jim approached Aether, running his hand along the dragon’s sleek neck in greeting. “Long flight today, big fellow. We need to pace ourselves.”

Aether rumbled deep in his chest, the vibration carrying through Jim’s palm. They’d been working on endurance exercises in their individual training sessions, and Jim had confidence in the dragon’s natural stamina. Aether’s breed was known for efficiency rather than raw speed—an advantage in today’s test.

He mounted with practiced ease, settling into the saddle and connecting his safety harness. Around him, the other recruits were doing the same, each rider and dragon preparing in their own way for the challenge ahead.

The pre-flight atmosphere held a mix of anticipation and apprehension, everyone aware that endurance flights tested mental fortitude as much as physical capability.

Redfern raised a signal flag. “Prepare for launch!”

The dragons shifted into take-off positions, muscles tensing beneath scaled hides.

Jim felt Aether’s coiled energy, the controlled power ready to be unleashed.

“Begin!”

Wilson and his grey dragon launched first, wings snapping wide as they drove upward in a powerful surge.

Five seconds later, Jim gave Aether the signal. The dragon launched them skyward with smooth acceleration.

Jim felt the familiar rush of take-off—the momentary pressure as gravity fought to hold them, then the liberation as they broke free into open air.

Behind them, at precisely timed intervals, the remaining dragons launched.

Jim glanced back to see Marcus and Shadow climbing, their signature style focused on maximum performance rather than efficiency. Shadow’s wings beat faster than necessary, driving them upward at a rate that looked impressive but would drain energy reserves if maintained.

Within minutes, all dragons were airborne, forming into the designated flight pattern as they climbed to cruising altitude.