Dragon Squadron (An RAF Dragon Corps story) - 19. The Plunge

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...

Cold mist rose from the surface of the training pool, curling like ghostly fingers in the pale morning light. Jim stood with the other recruits along the concrete edge, his breath forming small clouds that joined the mist.

At the centre of the pool floated what the instructors casually called ‘the Dunker’—a steel-framed cage designed to mimic a dragon saddle. Pulley systems and mechanical arms surrounded the contraption, designed to flip it upside down before sending it beneath the water’s surface.

Jim’s mouth went dry as he studied the apparatus. Throughout their training, he had faced every challenge. But this—this touched something deeper, a fear he’d carried since childhood despite his naval family background. Or perhaps because of it.

Sergeant Redfern paced before them.

Beside him stood Flight Lieutenant Crawford.

“A dragon crash over land?” Redfern said. “Maybe you break some bones. Maybe you walk away.” He gestured towards the pool, where the Dunker waited. “A dragon crash over water? You have seconds before your mount drags you under. Panic, and you drown. Hesitate, and you drown. Get lucky?” He paused. “You drown slower.”

Beside Jim, Ronnie shifted his weight. “Great. Because flying wasn’t dangerous enough.”

Jim remained silent, his stomach tightening at Redfern’s words. He already knew this fear too well. It was why, despite growing up surrounded by naval tradition, he had chosen the air over the sea.

Admiral Ashford’s son, afraid of drowning—the irony had never been lost on him.

Even Marcus’s natural confidence seemed dampened by the prospect of what lay ahead.

Crawford stepped forward. “Water landings are rare, but they happen. The Channel, lakes, rivers—dragons operate over water regularly, and sometimes they go down.” He gestured to his missing left hand. “I crashed over the North Sea during the last war. My dragon tried to stay afloat. I stayed strapped in too long trying to help her.”

The implication was clear in his missing limb—he had barely escaped with his life.

Crawford nodded to the pool staff—two handlers who approached a simplified version of the Dunker set up at the pool’s edge. A wooden dummy had been strapped into the harness, positioned the way a rider would sit during flight.

“Watch carefully,” Crawford said. “This is what you’re up against.”

The handlers pushed the apparatus into the water. For a moment, the dummy remained visible, floating at the surface as the saddle frame settled.

The structure tipped, flipped, and vanished beneath the surface, dragging the dummy down with it.

“That’s what happens,” Crawford said into the silence that followed. “Your dragon fights to stay afloat. But its weight pulls you both down. The longer you stay strapped in, the harder it gets to escape.”

Jim clenched his jaw, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The demonstration was clinical, but he had heard stories—grim tales from his father’s navy crewmen about sailors trapped in sinking vessels, about men who couldn’t escape and the state of their bodies when recovered. He had seen what the sea could do to a man caught beneath it.

“Your dragon’s instinct will be to surface,” Crawford said. “But a wounded or exhausted beast might not be able to. You need to be prepared to save yourself even if it means leaving your mount.” He scanned their faces. “It’s a brutal calculation, but a necessary one.”

“Today’s training has three phases,” Redfern said. “First, basic underwater harness release in the shallow end. Then the Dunker—simulating an inverted crash. Finally, open-water evacuation with full gear.”

He pointed to the far end of the pool, where instructors had set up a series of benches just below the water’s surface. “We start with basics. Each of you will sit on the bench, secured in a standard flight harness. Submerge yourself and practice releasing the buckles in sequence.”

The recruits moved towards the shallow end, conversation muted.

Jim found himself walking alongside Wilson. “Done this before?”

Wilson nodded. “Last training cycle, before I washed out. It’s not as bad as they make it sound, if you keep your head.” He glanced at Jim. “Just remember—slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Don’t rush it.”

The advice was solid, but Jim wasn’t sure his instincts would allow such rationality once he was underwater. Fear, after all, followed its own logic.

At the shallow end, instructors had them practice the buckle release sequence on dry land first—primary chest buckle, then waist strap, finally leg restraints. The sequence was familiar from their flight training, but performing it while submerged would add a critical dimension of difficulty.

“Wilson, you’re first,” Redfern said. “Demonstrate proper technique.”

Wilson stepped into the water without hesitation, settling onto the underwater bench where an instructor secured him into the harness. He gave a thumbs-up, took a deep breath, and ducked beneath the surface.

From where Jim stood, he could see Wilson’s movements clearly—deliberate, unhurried, systematic.

He released each buckle in proper sequence, his hands never rushing despite being underwater. Within fifteen seconds, he had freed himself and surfaced.

“Clean execution,” Redfern said. “Blake, you’re next.”

Ronnie approached the water with visible apprehension. His performance underwater proved slower than Wilson’s—slight fumbling with the second buckle—but he managed to free himself and surface without intervention.

“Adequate,” Redfern said. “Work on your hand positioning. Canning, you’re up.”

Marcus stepped forward and entered the water. He settled onto the bench, secured the harness himself, and submerged with what appeared to be perfect composure.

He moved too quickly, yanking at the buckles rather than manipulating them with deliberate pressure. The primary chest buckle released, but he fumbled the waist strap, clearly rushing the procedure.

When he surfaced, his expression betrayed frustration, though he quickly masked it with his usual composure. “Buckle’s stiff.”

“The mechanism works perfectly,” Redfern said. “Your technique doesn’t. Less force, more precision.” His gaze shifted. “Ashford, your turn.”

Jim approached the water, forcing his body to move despite the anxiety building in his chest. Nothing so far in his training had produced the visceral dread he felt in this moment.

The water felt shockingly cold as he lowered himself onto the bench. An instructor secured the harness across his chest, waist, and legs, the familiar restraints now feeling more like a trap than protection.

“Ready?” the instructor asked.

Jim nodded, unwilling to reveal his apprehension. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs as completely as possible, then ducked beneath the surface.

The moment his head went under, something inside him tightened. The water muffled the world, pressed against him from all sides. His chest constricted—not from lack of air, but from memory.

Deep water.

The pull of the tide.

His father dragging him back onto the boat.

His hands moved to the primary chest buckle, but his fingers felt clumsy, disconnected from his brain’s commands.

The simple mechanism that he had released hundreds of times during flight training now seemed complex and unfamiliar.

He fumbled the first buckle, wasting precious seconds.

The second proved equally challenging, his movements growing increasingly frantic as his body demanded oxygen.

By the time he released the leg restraints, his lungs were burning, his mind clouding with the beginning of panic.

Jim broke the surface with a desperate gasp, hands gripping the pool’s edge with unnecessary force.

His performance had been poor—too slow, too disorganised, betraying a level of discomfort he had hoped to conceal.

“Ashford, you taking a bloody nap down there?” Redfern’s voice cut through his disorientation. “A dragon crash won’t wait for you to compose yourself.”

Jim nodded, unable to formulate a proper response as he focused on regulating his breathing.

“Everyone, gather at the deep end,” Redfern said after the remaining recruits had completed the basic exercise. “Time for the real training to begin.”

The Dunker looked even more ominous up close—a metal cage fitted with a replica saddle and the full complement of safety restraints used during actual flights.

The contraption was suspended above the water by a mechanical arm designed to lower it in, flip it over, and fully submerge it with the occupants secured inside.

“You’ll enter the Dunker in pairs,” Crawford said, pointing to the two seats positioned side by side. “Just like you might be flying in tandem during certain operations. Once submerged and inverted, you must release your harness and escape through the designated exit points.” He indicated openings in the cage structure. “Rescue divers will be present, but their job is to prevent drowning, not help you complete the exercise.”

Jim studied the apparatus with growing apprehension, calculating the sequence of actions required to escape. The added complications—inverted position, complete submersion, disorientation—would make the challenge exponentially more difficult than the shallow-water practice.

“Wilson and Ashford, you’re first,” Redfern said.

Ashford’s breath caught and he took a backwards step.

“Remember,” Wilson said steering him towards the Dunker. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Don’t rush, don’t panic.”

Jim nodded, grateful for the reminder even as he doubted his ability to follow it once the water closed over his head. They climbed into the apparatus, secured the full flight harnesses across their bodies, and signalled their readiness to the operators.

“Beginning submersion sequence,” Redfern said. “Three, two, one—execute.”

The mechanical arm activated, lowering the Dunker towards the water’s surface with deliberate slowness.

Jim focused on his breathing, trying to centre himself before the true challenge began.

Beside him, Wilson appeared completely calm, his breathing steady and controlled.

The Dunker hit the water.

Jim’s heart raced.

Water rushed in around his legs, rising to his waist, then chest.

Jim took a final deep breath just before the water reached his face.

Then came the flip—a disorienting rotation that left him hanging upside down in his harnesses, fully submerged.

The world inverted, water pressing in from all sides, muffling sound, and distorting vision.

The cold intensity shocked him.

He wanted to quit.

He wanted to leave and never come back.

He didn’t sign up for this.

This was too much.

Beside him, Wilson was already moving, his hands finding buckles despite the inverted position.

Jim tried to follow suit, directing his hands towards the primary chest buckle.

But cold panic clawed at his mind.

The harness seemed to tighten across his chest, constricting rather than securing. His lungs began to burn.

He needed air.

He needed to breathe.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

He was trapped beneath the weight of water, his body suspended upside down, his mind spiralling into primitive fear.

He was going to drown.

He was going to die.

His father was right…right about everything.

Wilson freed himself, his shadowy form moving towards the exit point.

Jim fought with the harness, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate.

The simple mechanisms that he could operate blindfolded on land now seemed impossibly complex.

His lungs screamed for air.

Darkness began to edge his vision.

He was going to drown.

His father was right.

He thrashed.

He screamed, gulping in water.

His arms and legs flailed.

He clawed at the straps trying to tear them off.

Dark spots peppered his vision.

A diver appeared beside him, the instructor’s face mask reflecting Jim’s own panicked expression.

Strong hands reached for his harness, releasing the buckles that Jim’s fumbling fingers had failed to manage.

The diver pulled him from the inverted saddle and guided him towards the surface.

Jim broke into the air with a desperate gasp, choking and coughing as his body fought to expel water and inhale oxygen.

The pool edge seemed miles away, though rationally he knew it was merely feet. He felt the diver supporting him, guiding him to safety.

“Jim?” Ronnie’s voice came from the platform. “You alright?”

Jim managed a weak nod as he gripped the pool’s edge, his entire body shaking from adrenaline and residual panic.

“Damn disgrace,” Redfern said. “Thought you’d have more sense, Ashford.”

The comment stung, but Jim couldn’t contest its accuracy. He had failed completely, requiring rescue for a simulation that he should have been able to handle.

Admiral Ashford’s son, afraid of water—the irony would have been almost laughable if it weren’t so humiliating.

“Blake, Thomas, you’re next,” Redfern said.

Jim pulled himself from the pool, water streaming from his flight suit.

He refused to make excuses, even internally—he had panicked, simple as that, falling victim to a fear he had never properly confronted despite growing up surrounded by naval tradition.

The remaining recruits took their turns in the Dunker, some performing adequately, others struggling but managing to escape without intervention.

Jim watched each attempt, searching for techniques he might employ to overcome his own failure.

Marcus entered the Dunker with Cooper, his face set with the determination of someone who had observed others’ difficulties and resolved not to repeat them..

The submersion sequence began, the Dunker disappearing beneath the water’s surface before flipping to the inverted position. For several long seconds, nothing visible occurred. Then sudden movement—Marcus was struggling.

Unlike Jim’s panic-induced immobility, Marcus’s difficulty stemmed from excess action rather than paralysis. His movements were too aggressive, yanking at the harness buckles rather than manipulating them with the necessary precision.

When the primary chest buckle finally released, his hasty movements caused him to twist, further complicating the escape sequence.

Cooper had already freed himself, emerging from the designated exit point with reasonable efficiency.

Marcus remained trapped, his movements becoming increasingly frantic as seconds ticked by.

As a rescue diver approached, Marcus managed to release the final restraint, pushing free from the inverted saddle with more force than necessary.

He surfaced with a scowl, water streaming from his face as he swam to the edge. As he pulled himself from the pool, his gaze locked with Jim’s for a moment.

Jim and Marcus stood side by side at the pool’s edge, both dripping wet, both humiliated by their respective failures. They had arrived at the same place—exposed as vulnerable in ways neither had anticipated.

“I expected better from you two,” Redfern said, shaking his head as he approached. “Maybe I was wrong.”

The statement hung in the air between them. Were they truly Dragon Corps material if they couldn’t handle this fundamental survival skill? The unspoken question seemed to demand an answer.

Marcus clenched his fists but said nothing, water dripping from his flight suit.

Jim felt a similar frustration building inside him—not at Redfern’s assessment, which was fair, but at his own inability to overcome a fear that now threatened his future as a dragon rider.

“Let me go again,” Jim said, surprising himself with the words.

Redfern raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You grow gills in the last thirty seconds?”

“No, sir.” Jim met the sergeant’s gaze directly. “But I’m not leaving here a coward.”

Redfern studied Jim’s face, searching for something beyond the words. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him. “Back in the Dunker, then. Solo this time.”

Jim approached the apparatus again, acutely aware of the watching recruits.

His flight suit clung to his body, cold and heavy with water from his previous attempt. But the physical discomfort paled against the idea of facing a fear that had paralysed him completely just minutes earlier.

As he settled into the saddle and secured the harness, Jim focused on controlling his breathing, establishing a rhythm that might sustain him through the coming ordeal.

This wasn’t about impressing Redfern or competing with Marcus. This was about proving to himself that he could overcome the primitive panic that had overwhelmed him.

“Beginning submersion sequence,” Redfern said. “Three, two, one—execute.”

The mechanical arm lowered Jim towards the water’s surface.

He tried to observe the process clinically, noting the sensations without allowing them to trigger panic. The water rose around him—ankles, knees, waist, chest.

He took a final deep breath and closed his eyes just before submersion was complete.

The flip came next, disorienting despite his preparation.

The world inverted, water pressing against him from all sides.

The moment he was fully submerged, panic clawed at him again—the pressure, the cold, the darkness.

He forced himself to stop.

To think.

To focus.

He counted his exhalations.

One. Two. Three.

He was in control.

He wasn’t drowning.

But he had to escape.

Five. Six. Seven.

His fingers moved slower this time.

Instead of flailing at the buckles, he directed his hands, feeling rather than seeing the mechanisms.

He’d done this hundreds of times.

Eight. Nine.

Buckle one—chest harness.

His fingers found the release, applying pressure in the right spot.

Free.

Buckle two—waist strap.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

Free.

Jim felt the restraints loosen, his body beginning to float away from the inverted saddle.

Seventeen.

The leg restraints released last, allowing him to kick away from the apparatus with controlled force.

He oriented himself towards the surface, pushing upward with deliberate strokes.

Twenty.

Then his head broke the surface, and he gasped for air—not in panic this time.

He had done it.

Not gracefully, not effortlessly, but successfully.

Silence followed as Jim swam to the edge and pulled himself from the water.

Redfern nodded. “Better.”

“Thank…you…”

“Canning. You’re next.”

Marcus approached the Dunker again.

As he secured himself in the apparatus, his movements were more measured than before.

The submersion sequence began again, the Dunker disappearing beneath the surface before inverting.

Nothing was visible for several long seconds.

Then Marcus surfaced with a controlled gasp, having freed himself without assistance.

As Marcus pulled himself from the pool, his gaze met Jim’s briefly.

No words passed between them, but something shifted in that silent exchange—a mutual recognition of vulnerability overcome, of challenge faced rather than avoided.

“Final phase,” Redfern said once all recruits had completed the Dunker exercise. “Open-water evacuation with full gear.”

He directed them to the far end of the training facility, where a high platform had been constructed above the deepest part of the pool..

“You’ll jump from the platform in full gear,” Redfern said. “Simulate the initial disorientation of impact, then remove your equipment and swim to the recovery raft.” He pointed to a small inflatable boat positioned some twenty yards from the impact zone. “In real conditions, this might be a dinghy deployed by rescue services or an improvised flotation device from your own emergency kit.”

The challenge seemed straightforward compared to the Dunker, but Jim recognized the compounding factors—fatigue from the previous exercises, the weight of waterlogged gear, the strain of repeated water immersion. This would test their endurance as much as their technique.

One by one, the recruits climbed the platform and jumped, experiencing the jarring transition from air to water that would accompany an actual crash. Most managed adequately, removing their gear with varying degrees of efficiency before swimming to the raft.

When Jim’s turn came, he climbed the platform without hesitation, determined to build on his earlier success rather than regressing to initial failure. The height gave him a clear view of the training facility—the pool below, the watching recruits, the instructors evaluating every performance.

“Execute when ready,” Redfern said.

Jim took a deep breath, stepped to the edge, and jumped without allowing himself time for hesitation.

The momentary freefall ended with a shocking plunge into the cold water, the impact driving air from his lungs despite his preparation.

Water closed over him, the familiar panic trying to rise in his chest—but this time, he was ready for it. Instead of fighting the initial disorientation, he allowed himself a moment to stabilise before beginning the sequence of equipment removal.

The bulky outer harness designed to connect to a dragon saddle came first, then his helmet and flight vest.

With each piece removed, his mobility increased.

When he had shed the essential gear, Jim oriented himself towards the raft and began swimming.

The distance wasn’t great, but fatigue made every yard a challenge. He focused on efficiency rather than speed, conserving energy while maintaining steady progress.

Reaching the raft, he grasped its edge with tired arms, allowing himself a moment of rest before attempting to board.

Marcus jumped last. He emerged, already shedding his equipment with practiced movements that suggested he had mentally rehearsed the sequence while watching others perform.

He swam towards the raft with powerful strokes, covering the distance more quickly than most had managed. When he reached the raft, he hesitated momentarily before grasping the edge.

Jim extended his hand towards Marcus. The gesture wasn’t planned or calculated—simply an instinctive offer of assistance to a fellow recruit who had faced the same challenges.

Marcus stared at the offered hand with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Jim thought he would ignore it, maintaining the distance their rivalry had established over weeks of training.

Then, Marcus clasped Jim’s wrist, allowing himself to be helped aboard the raft.

“Adequate performance overall,” Redfern said from the pool deck as the final recruits boarded the raft. “You lot might actually be salvageable.”

The recruits exchanged tired glances, a shared sense of accomplishment tempering their exhaustion.