Dragon Squadron (An RAF Dragon Corps story) - 13. Into the Dark

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...

Jim stood at the edge of the airfield as the last light faded from the western horizon. Around him, the remaining recruits assembled in silence.

Aether waited nearby, the dragon’s scales blending into the gathering twilight until only his golden eyes remained visible. Their bond had deepened over the weeks, evolving from cautious assessment to something approaching true partnership. Jim could read Aether’s moods now, could anticipate his movements, could communicate with subtle signals that required no words.

But night flying would test that bond like nothing before.

Ronnie fidgeted beside him, shooting nervous glances at Brutus. “I can barely fly straight in daylight. How am I supposed to navigate in the dark?”

“Trust Brutus,” Jim said. “Dragons see better at night than we do.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. He might decide to go for a midnight snack instead of following the course.”

Sergeant Redfern strode towards them. Unlike the recruits, who looked exhausted after a full day of drills and training exercises, Redfern appeared as fresh and imposing as he had at dawn. “Inside.” He jerked his head towards the briefing hangar. “Now.”

The recruits filed into the dimly lit structure, taking seats on the wooden benches arranged before a large tactical map of the surrounding countryside. Jim noticed additional maps pinned to the walls—the English Channel, the coastline, flight paths marked in red grease pencil.

Redfern took position at the front, hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart. His expression was grimmer than usual, which was saying something. “Daylight flying is easy. You can see where you’re going. You can see where you’re landing. You can spot danger before it spots you.” He paused, eyes sweeping across the gathered recruits. “At night, you have none of that. It’s just you, your dragon, and your instincts.”

He gestured to a blacked-out map of the English Channel mounted on an easel. The familiar coastlines were barely visible, reduced to faint outlines against a sea of darkness.

“This is what the world looks like when you’re flying in the dark. No landmarks. No safety nets. Just open air and the vague sense that the ground is somewhere below you.” Redfern’s voice hardened. “And somewhere in that darkness, enemy aircraft could be hunting you. Or worse, enemy dragons.”

Jim felt the atmosphere in the room tighten. These weren’t academic exercises. They were preparing for combat patrols over hostile territory, possibly within months.

“Tonight’s objective is simple. You will fly a designated circuit using only natural cues—the stars, wind patterns, and your dragon’s instincts. Upon completion, you will perform a controlled landing with minimal light sources.” He paused. “Panic, and you’ll stall. Stall, and you’ll drop like a rock. No flares. No torches. If you can’t land in the dark, you’re no use in a war zone.”

Ronnie shifted in his seat.

“Radios will be operational,” Redfern said, “but use them only for emergencies. In combat conditions, radio silence is often necessary to avoid detection. Learn to communicate with your squad mates without technology.” He checked his watch. “Mount up in five minutes. Flight path briefing materials are on the table. Memorise them.”

The recruits surged forward to study the maps and diagrams laid out on the table. Jim quickly committed the route to memory—north from the base over farmland, then west across the river, followed by a loop south over the moor before returning from the east. The route formed a rough rectangle, with each leg presenting different navigation challenges.

“This is madness,” Ronnie whispered, staring at the map. “How are we supposed to see any of these landmarks in the dark?”

“We’re not,” Wilson said from behind them. “That’s the point. We need to learn other methods of navigation when visual cues are limited.”

Jim studied the final approach pattern for landing—a spiralling descent from the east, utilizing the base’s minimal perimeter lighting as reference points. The margin for error looked perilously slim.

Outside, twilight had given way to true darkness. Stars were appearing overhead, silver points against the deepening blue-black of the night sky. A half-moon provided some illumination, but clouds threatened to obscure even that limited light source.

The dragons seemed more alert in the darkness, eyes gleaming, nostrils flaring to capture night scents. Aether watched Jim approach, head tilted slightly, wings half-unfurled as if eager to take to the night sky.

“Ready for this, big fellow?” Jim stroked the dragon’s neck.

Aether rumbled deep in his chest—neither agreement nor disagreement, but acknowledgment of the challenge ahead.

Jim performed his pre-flight checks, paying particular attention to the saddle and harness fastenings. A loose strap in daylight was dangerous. At night, it could be fatal.

“Stay close to Aether’s neck,” Mitchell said as he made a final inspection of the dragon’s flight gear. “Your visibility will be severely limited, so feel his movements through body contact.”

Jim nodded, mentally preparing himself for the experience of flying without being able to see the ground. Everything they’d trained for had built towards this—the ultimate test of the bond between dragon and rider.

“Mount up!” Redfern’s voice carried across the field.

Jim swung himself into the saddle, securing his safety harness and checking the radio attachment on his helmet.

Aether shifted beneath him, muscles tensing in preparation for flight.

All around, the other recruits mounted their dragons, their movements slow.

Ronnie struggled with Brutus, who seemed unsettled by the darkness.

“Calm mind, calm dragon,” Wilson called to him from atop his mount. “He feels your anxiety.”

Marcus sat atop Shadow with his usual poise, the black dragon nearly invisible against the night sky save for the gleam of its eyes. They made an impressive sight—predatory, confident, dangerous.

Redfern paced the line, checking each rider and dragon one final time. When he reached Jim, he nodded once.

“Launch in sequence.” Redfern took position at the field’s edge. “Maintain five-second intervals. Climb to two hundred feet, then hold for formation assembly.”

Jim watched as the first dragon—Wilson and his grey mount—launched into the darkness, wings spreading wide before driving downward in powerful strokes that lifted them into the night sky.

Five seconds later, the next pair followed, then the next.

“Ashford, ready,” Redfern said.

Jim took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Up!”

Aether’s powerful legs coiled beneath them, then released in an explosive thrust that sent them airborne.

His wings snapped outward, catching the night air as they climbed away from the safety of the ground.

Colours vanished, replaced by shades of grey and black. Details blurred into vague shapes. The horizon disappeared, sky and ground merging into a unified darkness broken only by occasional lights from distant farms and villages.

Jim’s heart hammered against his ribs as he struggled to process the sudden sensory deprivation. Instinct screamed that he should be able to see where they were going, that flight without clear visual reference was madness.

Beneath him, Aether seemed unbothered by the conditions, wings beating steadily as they climbed towards the designated altitude. The dragon’s confidence helped Jim regain his focus.

They’d trained for this. Not all of it in darkness, but the principles remained the same—trust your mount, feel the air currents, maintain awareness of your body position.

“Two hundred feet,” Jim murmured, sensing they’d reached the appropriate altitude. Aether levelled out, wings shifting to a maintaining pattern rather than climbing.

Around them, other dragons materialised as dim shapes against the night sky, each holding position as they waited for the formation to complete.

Jim caught a glimpse of Ronnie and Brutus off to his left, their silhouette recognizable by the brown dragon’s stockier build.

Marcus and Shadow took position at the front of the formation, the air commodore’s son naturally assuming the lead position.

“Formation complete,” Redfern’s voice crackled through the radio. “Begin first leg. Northern heading, maintain altitude.”

Jim guided Aether into the turn, aligning with the others as they established their course. The first leg would take them over farmland—fields and hedgerows that would be clearly visible in daylight but now presented only as slightly darker or lighter patches against the general gloom.

“Use what little light you have,” Redfern said. “The river ahead—note how the moon hits it. That’s your guide.”

Jim squinted into the darkness. He could just make out a faint silver ribbon cutting across the landscape—moonlight reflecting off the river that marked their first waypoint.

This was manageable. Different, challenging, but not impossible.

Aether’s wings maintained their steady rhythm, the dragon at ease in the night sky.

Jim found himself relying more on feel than sight—the subtle shifts in Aether’s muscles, the way air currents affected their flight path, the almost imperceptible adjustments the dragon made to maintain course.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Ronnie’s voice came through the radio.

“Use your head, Blake,” Marcus said, his tone dismissive. “Or are you just blind?”

Jim gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to respond. Marcus never missed an opportunity to undermine others, especially when they were already struggling.

Instead, Jim focused on maintaining his position in the formation, using Aether’s subtle wing adjustments to stay on course.

The river approached, a silver line cutting through the darkness. As they passed over it, Jim adjusted their heading to follow the western leg of the patrol route.

“Beginning second leg,” Marcus said. “Western heading, maintaining altitude.”

The landscape below changed, open farmland giving way to more rugged terrain. Without daylight, the details were lost, reduced to variations in shadow and texture.

“You lose the ground? Look up,” Redfern said through the radio. “The stars don’t move.”

Jim located Polaris, using the North Star to confirm their heading. Aether seemed to be maintaining course instinctively, but Jim made a small adjustment to ensure they remained on the planned route.

Ahead, Marcus and Shadow set a brisk pace, flying with the aggressive confidence that characterized their style. They were pulling ahead of the formation, increasing the gap between themselves and the following dragons.

“Maintain formation spacing,” Redfern said. “This isn’t a race, Canning.”

Marcus didn’t respond, but Shadow’s pace slowed, allowing the others to close the distance.

The second leg of their patrol took them over increasingly rough country—moorland that stretched dark and featureless below, broken only by the occasional outcropping or solitary tree.

Jim felt his connection to Aether deepening through the shared challenge—communication happening through subtle shifts in weight and pressure rather than explicit commands.

“Approaching third leg,” Marcus said. “Turning south.”

The formation banked, following Shadow’s lead as they began the southern portion of their patrol route. This section presented the greatest navigational challenge—open moorland with few distinguishing features, even in daylight. At night, it was a sea of darkness.

“This is the simulation portion,” Redfern said. “Consider this open water—the Channel crossing. No landmarks, no reference points but the stars and your compass.”

This was the heart of the exercise—preparing them for the reality of flying over open water at night, possibly under combat conditions. A navigation error here could be fatal in actual operations.

Aether maintained a steady pace, neither rushing ahead nor falling behind. Jim trusted the dragon’s instincts, making only minor adjustments when necessary.

Ahead, Marcus pushed Shadow to increase speed again, the black dragon’s wings beating more aggressively as they pulled away from the formation. Jim could practically feel Marcus’s impatience—his need to prove superiority, to complete the exercise faster than anyone else.

“Pace yourself,” Redfern said. “A tired dragon is a dead dragon.”

Marcus gave no indication he’d heard, Shadow continuing to widen the gap between himself and the rest of the formation.

Jim shook his head. Marcus’s competitive drive was overriding common sense again—pushing too hard, too fast in conditions that called for measured discipline.

The southern leg stretched on, the darkness below unbroken save for the occasional gleam of water in small pools or streams.

Jim found himself losing track of time, the monotony of flight combining with limited visual input to create a dreamlike state.

Aether broke the spell with a slight adjustment, banking eastward before Jim had consciously registered the need to turn. The dragon had sensed the correct moment to begin the final leg of their patrol, perhaps picking up scents or landmarks invisible to human senses.

“Beginning final leg,” Jim said, noticing he’d beaten Marcus to the call. “Eastern heading towards base.”

“Confirmed,” Redfern said. “Maintain altitude until approach pattern.”

The homeward leg brought new challenges. They were flying directly towards the base now, but in the darkness, its lights were minimal—just a few dim perimeter markers and the occasional glow from buildings with blackout curtains not quite closing every gap. Finding it would require more than visual navigation.

Jim relaxed his grip on the reins, allowing Aether more freedom to follow his instincts.

“I think I’m off course,” Ronnie said. “I can’t see the base lights.”

“What’s your position relative to Polaris?” Wilson asked.

“I…I’m not sure. I think I’m drifting eastward.”

Jim glanced around, eventually spotting a darker shape against the night sky that had to be Brutus. Ronnie had indeed veered off course, heading too far to the east.

“Blake, correct fifteen degrees westward,” Redfern said. “Use your compass if you must.”

Jim watched as Brutus adjusted, returning towards the correct course.

Marcus appeared to be relying entirely on calculations and dead reckoning, forcing Shadow to maintain an exact course. “Base perimeter in sight. Beginning approach pattern.”

“Wait for full formation,” Redfern said. “Standard landing sequence.”

The approach pattern was the most critical part of the exercise—a spiralling descent from two hundred feet to landing, with minimal visual guidance.

Each dragon would need to land in sequence, timing their approach to avoid collisions in the darkness.

“Sequence is Canning, Wilson, Ashford, Thomas, Blake, Cooper,” Redfern said. “Begin approach on my mark.”

Jim studied what little he could see of the landing area—just a few dim lights marking the perimeter, barely enough to define the target zone. Even with dragons’ superior night vision, landing would be challenging.

“Canning, begin approach,” Redfern said.

Marcus and Shadow broke from the holding pattern, beginning their descent towards the landing area.

Shadow’s silhouette moved against the sky, wings extended for the glide path.

“Let your dragon do the work,” Redfern said. “If you fight them, you’ll break your neck.”

But instead of allowing a natural glide path, Marcus forced an aggressive descent, controlling every aspect of the approach.

Shadow’s wings strained against Marcus’s commands. The black dragon was trying to adjust their angle of descent, sensing something Marcus couldn’t see or was ignoring.

“Canning, ease up,” Redfern said. “Too steep.”

Instead of correcting, Marcus seemed to double down, pulling up sharply as they approached the landing zone. The manoeuvre was something that might work in an aircraft but went against a dragon’s natural flight patterns.

Shadow’s wings flailed as the unexpected command disrupted his rhythm.

Caught between his instincts and Marcus’s commands, Shadow failed to extend his wings properly. One wing clipped something unseen in the darkness—perhaps a perimeter marker or small structure—sending dragon and rider into a dangerous tumble just feet above the ground.

Shadow twisted mid-fall, wings spreading at the last possible moment to break their momentum. They hit the ground hard but controlled, sliding several yards before coming to a stop well outside the designated landing zone.

“Wilson, hold position,” Redfern said. “All dragons maintain altitude.”

Redfern sprinted towards Marcus and Shadow, his torch beam cutting through the darkness.

Marcus dismounted, movements angry rather than injured, while Shadow seemed clearly distressed by the rough landing.

After a brief but intense conversation that Jim couldn’t hear, Redfern returned to the control position.

“Wilson, begin approach,” he said, voice tight. “Standard procedure.”

The landing sequence resumed, Wilson guiding his dragon through a textbook approach and touchdown. Thomas followed with similar success, though his landing was slightly rougher.

“Ashford, begin approach.”

Jim took a deep breath, then loosened his grip on the reins. “Down..”

Aether’s wings extended to their full span as they began a gentle, spiralling approach.

Jim kept his body relaxed, moving with Aether’s adjustments rather than trying to dictate them. He focused on feeling the dragon’s movements, trusting Aether’s superior night vision and instincts to guide them.

As they descended, Jim realised how differently Aether was approaching the landing compared to Shadow. Where Marcus had tried to force a steep, direct approach, Aether took a more gradual path, wings making minor adjustments based on air currents and spatial awareness.

The ground approached and Jim caught glimpses of the perimeter lights, using them as reference points but allowing Aether to determine the exact landing trajectory. The dragon slowed their descent with gentle wing movements, legs extending in preparation for touchdown.

When they landed, it was with surprising gentleness—Aether absorbing the impact as they touched down in the designated area. The dragon took two measured steps to arrest their forward momentum, then settled, wings folding against his sides.

Jim patted Aether’s neck, a surge of pride and gratitude warming his chest despite the cold night air. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

He dismounted, leading Aether clear of the landing zone to make room for the remaining dragons. As he passed Marcus, who stood with Shadow at the edge of the field, Jim kept his expression neutral.

Ronnie and Brutus made their approach next, their landing less elegant but successful, touching down near the edge of the designated area but within acceptable parameters. Ronnie’s relief was visible even in the darkness as he dismounted.

“Thank God that’s over,” he said as he joined Jim. “I thought we were done for when you lot disappeared ahead of us.”

“You made it,” Jim said. “That’s what matters.”

Cooper completed the landing sequence, his dragon touching down somewhat awkwardly but without incident.

As the rest of the recruits dismounted, Redfern called them to assemble. “Gather round, at ease. Assessment.”

The recruits formed a loose semicircle, dragons waiting behind them.

In the dim light, Redfern’s expression was difficult to read, but his posture communicated enough—shoulders square, back straight, head slightly forward.

“Canning. What the hell was that?”

Marcus stiffened, chin rising. “I miscalculated the approach angle, sir.”

“No. You overrode your dragon. And nearly paid for it.” He stepped closer, voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. “Shadow was trying to adjust your descent. I could see it from the ground. But you fought him every inch of the way, trying to fly him like a bloody Spitfire instead of a living creature with thousands of years of instinct.”

Marcus said nothing, though Jim could see his jaw working, teeth clenched against words that would only make his situation worse. At least he had the good sense to know when to keep quiet.

Redfern turned to Jim next. “Ashford, textbook landing. You trusted your dragon, let him work with you instead of forcing your will on him.” He nodded once, the gesture barely visible in the darkness. “That’s how it’s done.”

The sergeant moved on, offering brief assessments to each recruit—praise for Wilson’s experienced handling, acknowledgment of Ronnie’s recovery from navigational difficulties.

Ronnie leaned over as Redfern moved away. “Oh, Canning’s going to hate you even more now.”

Jim nodded. Marcus had been dressed down again while Jim received rare praise from Redfern. In the rigid hierarchy of military training, such moments carried weight beyond the immediate lesson.

“Secure your dragons, then report to the mess for hot rations,” Redfern said. “Debriefing at 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The recruits led their dragons towards the paddocks, the night’s exercise having drained both beasts and riders. Jim walked beside Aether, one hand resting on the dragon’s neck, feeling the warmth radiating through the scales.

Unlike the others, who headed immediately to the mess hall after securing their dragons, Jim lingered in the paddock.

Something about the night flight had shifted his perspective, deepened his connection with Aether in ways that went beyond technical training.

“You knew what to do all along, didn’t you?”

The dragon’s golden eyes regarded him in the darkness, reflecting what little light remained.

“I just needed to trust you.”

Aether rumbled deep in his chest, lowering his head to press gently against Jim’s shoulder.

Jim stood there, feeling the weight of the beast’s head, the shared warmth between them.

In that moment, he no longer felt like a recruit trying to prove himself—to his father, to Redfern, to Marcus. He felt like a dragon rider. Not just someone who sat atop a dragon and issued commands, but someone who had formed a genuine partnership with one of the most powerful creatures on earth.

Above them, the night sky stretched endless and vast, stars gleaming against the blackness. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the war everyone knew was coming. German aircraft, German dragons, danger and death waiting in the skies over Europe.

The thought should have terrified him. In some ways, it still did. But standing there with Aether, Jim felt a certainty he hadn’t experienced before. Whatever came, they would face it as a unit. Not as master and beast, but as partners who trusted each other’s strengths.