Dragon Squadron (An RAF Dragon Corps story) - 17. Tandem

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...

The chalk squeaked against the blackboard as Sergeant Redfern drew a series of tactical formations—staggered attack patterns, defensive configurations, interceptor arrangements.

Jim studied the drawings from his position in the second row of seated recruits, committing the patterns to memory.

With graduation approaching, the lessons had shifted from basic skills to advanced combat tactics. Every day brought new techniques that would mean the difference between success and failure if they faced the Luftwaffe’s dragons in actual combat.

“Dragons are powerful,” Redfern said, turning to face the assembled recruits, “but alone they’re vulnerable. In combat, it’s your job to cover each other.” His face hardened as he emphasized the point. “A lone dragon is a dead dragon.”

Jim felt a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere—a collective recognition of the reality awaiting them beyond training. War was heading their way, and they would face it not as individuals but as units, their survival dependent on coordination as much as personal skill.

Redfern gestured to the board, indicating a pattern resembling interlocking figure-eights. “Classic tandem attack strategy. Two dragons coordinating their approaches from different angles, forcing the enemy to divide its attention.” His finger traced the overlapping paths. “When executed properly, this creates a no-escape scenario. The target can’t evade one attack without exposing itself to the other.”

Flight Instructor Briggs stepped forward, his scarred forearms crossed over his chest. “Some of you have dreams flying solo, of being the hero.” His gaze swept across the room. “Forget that. You’re a combat unit, not a bloody airshow.” His eyes lingered briefly on Marcus, seated in the front row.

Jim noticed Marcus’s subtle reaction—a slight stiffening of his shoulders, the faintest narrowing of his eyes.

“Today’s focus is coordinating tandem attacks against both airborne and ground targets,” Redfern said. “You’ll be working in assigned pairs, practicing the formations illustrated here.” He tapped another diagram showing how dragons could combine breath weapons for maximum effect. “These techniques multiply your effectiveness exponentially when executed properly.”

Jim absorbed the information with the focused attention he’d developed over weeks of intensive training. Each pattern made tactical sense, the advantages obvious when viewed from a strategic perspective. Two dragons working in concert could achieve what three or four operating individually might fail to accomplish.

“Questions before we assign teams?”

The recruits remained silent. At this stage in their training, questions were rarely asked publicly—too much risk of appearing unprepared or slow to comprehend.

“Right then,” Redfern said, consulting a clipboard. “Pairings are as follows: Wilson and Blake.”

Ronnie shot a relieved glance at Wilson. The two had worked well together on previous exercises, their complementary flying styles making for effective teamwork.

Redfern continued down the list, each pairing met with subtle reactions from the assembled recruits. Some nodded in satisfaction, others maintained careful neutrality despite obvious reservations about their assigned partners.

“Ashford and Canning.” Redfern paused following the names as if to let the pairing sink in.

Jim managed to keep his expression neutral despite the internal groan the assignment provoked. Of all possible partnerships, this promised to be the most challenging.

Their rivalry had evolved into something more complicated than simple antagonism after the mid-air refuelling exercise, but ‘complicated’ didn’t equate to ‘easy.’

“You two will lead the demonstration.” Redfern’s gaze shifted between Jim and Marcus. “Try not to kill each other before the real war starts.”

A ripple of nervous laughter moved through the room. Everyone was aware of the tension between Jim and Marcus.

“Report to the airfield in fifteen minutes,” Redfern said. “Full flight gear, dragons saddled and ready. Dismissed.”

The recruits filed out, conversation resuming as they left the confines of the classroom. Jim found himself walking beside Ronnie, Wilson a few paces ahead.

“You got the short straw, mate,” Ronnie said, nodding towards Marcus’s retreating back. “Rather you than me.”

“Could be worse. Could be paired with no one and facing the Luftwaffe alone.”

Wilson glanced back. “That’s almost philosophical, Ashford. Training’s making you wise.”

Jim sniffed. “Or resigned.”

Working with Marcus would require adjusting his usual approach, finding common ground with someone whose flying style and temperament differed fundamentally from his own.

Marcus favoured aggressive, technical perfection, while Jim relied more on adaptability and partnership with Aether. Merging these approaches would test them both.

Aether waited in his pen, the midnight-blue dragon watching Jim’s approach. Over their weeks together, their bond had deepened into something approaching true synchronization—not the mystical connection depicted in children’s stories, but a practical partnership built on mutual trust and countless hours of shared flight.

“Tandem attacks today,” Jim said as he began saddling Aether. “We’re paired with Marcus and Shadow.”

Across the dragon yard, Marcus prepared Shadow with characteristic efficiency, his movements precise as he secured the black dragon’s combat harness.

“Handlers report all dragons ready for combat exercise,” Briggs called across the yard. “Pilots to the briefing area.”

Jim completed Aether’s preparation and led him towards the assembly point where Redfern waited. The other recruits and their dragons gathered in a loose formation, paired according to the assignments.

“Today’s exercise consists of three phases,” Redfern said. “First, coordinated ground attack on stationary targets. Second, interception of moving aerial targets. Third, defensive coverage during simulated combat conditions.”

Briggs stepped forward, gesturing towards the training field where ground crews had arranged target arrays. “Red flags mark friendly positions—hitting them results in immediate failure. White flags are neutral. All other targets are fair game.”

Redfern’s gaze swept the assembled pairs. “This isn’t about individual glory. It’s about effective teamwork.” His eyes lingered on Jim and Marcus. “Ashford, Canning—you’re up first. Show us what tandem attack looks like.”

Jim exchanged a glance with Marcus, seeking some indication of how they would approach the demonstration. The air commodore’s son met his gaze with challenging intensity, revealing nothing beyond his usual competitive focus.

“Let’s at least plan something,” Jim said quietly as they led their dragons towards the launch area.

“Just follow my lead,” Marcus said. “Shadow and I have practiced these patterns for months.”

Jim bit back a response. Already Marcus was positioning himself as the dominant partner, dismissing any potential contribution Jim might offer. “That’s not how tandem attacks work. We need to coordinate, not just follow one leader.”

Marcus frowned. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

“Alternating lead positions. You take point on the first run, I’ll follow and provide coverage. Then we switch, with Aether leading and Shadow supporting.”

Marcus seemed to consider this for a long moment before nodding. “Acceptable. But don’t deviate from standard patterns once we’re airborne.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a start. Jim mounted Aether, settling into the saddle.

Beside him, Marcus did the same atop Shadow, the black dragon shifting eagerly beneath him, always ready for action.

“Launch when ready,” Redfern said through the radio. “Maintain holding pattern at one thousand feet until signal for attack run.”

Jim gave Aether the take-off command, feeling the familiar surge as Aether drove them skyward with impressive force.

Beside them, Shadow launched with equal power, wings snapping wide as he climbed.

Marcus edged ahead.

“Formation means together, Canning,” Jim said over the radio.

Marcus guided Shadow into a slight banking turn that allowed Aether to catch up, bringing them back into proper formation.

They reached the designated altitude and established a holding pattern, circling above the training field where their targets awaited—clusters of hay bales positioned to represent enemy encampments, interspersed with red-flagged areas marking friendly positions.

“On my signal, begin attack run,” Redfern said. “Standard tandem approach, focusing on the primary target area. Three, two, one, mark.”

Marcus banked Shadow into a steep dive, taking the lead position as they’d agreed.

Jim followed, guiding Aether into the tandem attack pattern.

As they descended towards the target area, Jim assessed the layout, quickly identifying the optimal attack vector. “I’ll drive them left,” he said. “You cut across and finish them.”

“Understood.”

The ground approached, targets growing larger.

Jim directed Aether to release a breath attack—a stream of superheated air that swept across the target area at an angle designed to funnel imaginary enemies into Marcus’s attack zone.

Marcus altered his approach angle at the last moment, apparently determined to demonstrate his independence from Jim’s setup.

Shadow compensated for the sudden change, the black dragon’s reflexes allowing him to adjust mid-dive.

Shadow’s breath hit some targets, but another blast grazed the edge of a red-flagged area.

“Canning!” Redfern’s voice carried clear disapproval. “If that was a friendly convoy, you’d have just incinerated half of it!”

Jim pulled Aether up into a climbing turn.

Beside them, Marcus guided Shadow through a similar manoeuvre..

“That wasn’t the pattern we discussed,” Jim said as they levelled out at altitude again.

“I don’t need you feeding me targets. I can hit them directly.”

“We’re supposed to work together. That’s the entire point of the exercise.”

“I don’t trust anyone else to hit the mark.”

“That’s your problem, then.”

Marcus didn’t respond verbally, but his glare spoke volumes. Whatever tenuous cooperation they’d established was already fraying.

“Second phase beginning,” Redfern said. “Moving target interception. Maintain current altitude until targets are deployed.”

Below, ground crews were preparing the next challenge—mechanical launchers designed to propel clay targets into the air, simulating enemy aircraft in flight. These would present a greater challenge than the stationary targets, requiring precise timing and coordination to intercept successfully.

“New approach,” Jim said.. “We need a better strategy for moving targets.”

“What do you propose?”

“One pilot forces the target into a predictable trajectory, the second finishes it off. It’s more efficient than both trying to hit the same target simultaneously.”

Marcus considered this. “Who takes which role?”

“You’ve got better raw power with Shadow’s breath weapon. Aether’s more manoeuvrable. I’ll drive, you finish.”

“Agreed.”

“Targets deploying,” Redfern said. “Begin interception on my mark.”

Below, the launchers activated, sending clay discs arcing through the air at varying speeds and trajectories. The challenge was considerable—hitting a moving target from dragonback required split-second timing and perfect coordination between rider and mount.

“Mark!”

Jim guided Aether into a diving turn, targeting the first clay disc as it reached the apex of its flight path.

Rather than attempting to destroy it, he directed Aether to release a controlled breath that would alter the target’s trajectory, driving it towards where Marcus and Shadow waited to deliver the finishing blow.

The manoeuvre began—Aether’s precisely aimed breath pushing the target into a predictable path that created an ideal shooting opportunity for Shadow. But instead of waiting for the setup to complete, Marcus rushed forward, apparently unwilling to play the secondary role.

“Wait!” Jim called. “It’s going to—”

Marcus moved in too fast, before the target’s new trajectory had stabilised.

As Shadow released his breath, the clay disc jerked sideways, evading the blast completely.

With no time to communicate, Jim signalled Aether with knee pressure and a subtle weight shift, directing him to a new intercept position.

A heartbeat later, Aether’s breath struck the target dead centre, shattering it into fragments.

“That’s teamwork,” Redfern’ said. “One corrects the other. Take notes, Canning.”

Marcus said nothing.

Two more targets launched in quick succession. This time, Marcus allowed the planned approach to unfold as discussed. Jim and Aether drove each target into predictable paths, and Marcus followed with precisely timed finishing shots that shattered the clay discs with impressive accuracy.

When executed properly, their complementary strengths created an effective team. Aether’s manoeuvrability and Jim’s tactical adaptability paired well with Shadow’s raw power and Marcus’s technical precision.

The combination, when they actually worked together, proved greater than the sum of its parts.

“Final phase,” Redfern said after they had successfully intercepted several targets. “Defensive coverage during simulated combat conditions.”

Real combat would rarely offer the luxury of focusing solely on attack; survival depended on effective defence as much as striking power.

“Ground units will simulate enemy fire using smoke rounds,” Briggs said over the radio. “Each pair must execute an attack run while defending against incoming fire. If you’re hit, you’re down.”

Jim studied the training field, noting the positions where handlers had established mock artillery emplacements. The smoke rounds they would fire represented everything from anti-aircraft guns to enemy dragon breath attacks—non-lethal but highly visible markers of successful enemy targeting.

“We need to coordinate our defensive coverage,” Jim said to Marcus. “Alternating shield positions while the other attacks.”

Marcus frowned. “I can evade without cover.”

“That’s not the point. This is about mutual protection. If this were real combat—”

“I know what real combat involves,” Marcus interrupted. “My father has been in it.”

“Mine too. But that means nothing for either of us. Let’s just try the standard coverage pattern. If it doesn’t work, we can adjust.”

Marcus didn’t explicitly agree, but he didn’t refuse either, which Jim took as tacit acceptance of the approach.

“Begin final phase,” Redfern said. “Attack the central target while maintaining defensive integrity.”

Jim guided Aether into the initial position of the coverage pattern, creating a protective angle that would allow Marcus to begin the attack run with reduced vulnerability. The formation called for alternating roles—one dragon attacking while the other provided cover, then switching as the engagement continued.

But as they descended towards the target area, it became clear that Marcus had no intention of following the pattern. Instead of accepting Jim’s defensive coverage, he pushed Shadow ahead aggressively, breaking formation to execute a solo attack.

“Canning, maintain formation,” Redfern’s voice came sharp over the radio.

But Marcus had already committed to his independent course, guiding Shadow into a steep dive towards the central target. The black dragon’s powerful wings folded close to his body as he accelerated, building momentum for the attack run.

Ground units launched smoke rounds towards the exposed dragon and rider. Without the defensive coverage the exercise called for, Marcus had made himself an easy target.

Instead of maintaining the assigned position, Jim directed Aether to follow Marcus, adjusting their trajectory to provide the coverage Marcus had rejected.

As the first smoke round arced towards Shadow, Jim guided Aether into the intercept path.

Aether released a breath attack that disrupted the smoke round mid-flight, dispersing it harmlessly before it could reach Marcus.

Two more smoke rounds followed in quick succession. Jim and Aether intercepted each one, maintaining protective coverage.

Marcus executed his attack run with characteristic precision. Shadow’s breath weapon struck the central, the powerful blast reducing it to scattered debris.

As they pulled up from the attack run, Jim noticed Marcus looking back at him, expression unreadable behind his flight goggles.

“Effective defensive coverage, Ashford,” Redfern said. “Good adaptation to changing conditions.”

The backhanded reprimand to Marcus was clear enough without being explicit.

“Not bad,” Marcus said over the private channel..

“You’re welcome,” Jim said, keeping his tone neutral.

“Last run,” Redfern said. “Comprehensive tandem attack on the fortified position. Full coordination expected.”

The target below represented a heavily defended enemy installation—multiple hay bale structures surrounded by simulated defensive positions, with ground units ready to fire smoke rounds representing counter-attacks.

“We should plan this properly,” Marcus said. “Shadow’s breath has better range, but Aether is more precise.”

The tactical assessment was accurate, and more importantly, acknowledged strengths in both dragons rather than simply asserting Shadow’s superiority.

“What if I lead with a fast, low pass to draw their fire,” Jim said, “then you follow with a precision strike while they’re reloading?”

Marcus considered this. “That could work. But you’d be exposed during the initial run.”

“Not if you provide high cover. Shadow can target any units that lock onto us during the approach.”

“A modified scissors pattern,” Marcus said. “With integrated defensive coverage.”

Jim nodded. “Exactly.”

For the first time, they were genuinely planning together, each contributing to a coordinated strategy rather than competing for dominance. The shift was subtle but unmistakable—professional respect temporarily overriding personal rivalry.

“Beginning final attack run,” Jim said.

“Proceed,” Redfern said.

Jim guided Aether into the initial approach, his dragon’s wings angling for maximum speed as they dived towards the target.

Marcus and Shadow maintained the higher position, providing overwatch as planned.

As they closed on the target, ground units began firing smoke rounds to simulate defensive fire.

Jim wove Aether through a series of evasive manoeuvres, keeping their approach unpredictable while maintaining the general course towards the target.

Each time a smoke round came too close for comfort, Shadow’s breath intercepted it.

The coordination between them seemed almost intuitive now, a rhythm established through shared purpose rather than forced compliance.

Aether swept low over the target area, his breath firing in a precise pattern that disrupted the simulated defensive positions without actually destroying the primary target.

This was exactly as planned—not an attempt to complete the mission alone, but a strategic softening that would create the optimal opening for Shadow’s attack.

As Aether pulled up from the low pass, Shadow was already diving, Marcus having timed their rotation perfectly.

Shadow’s breath struck the primary target with devastating accuracy, the blast so concentrated it left nothing but a charred husk.

The entire attack had taken less than twenty seconds from initiation to completion.

“That,” Redfern said as they completed the attack run, “is what I want to see.”

The sergeant’s tone carried more approval than Jim had heard in weeks of training.

“Textbook execution,” Briggs said. “Return to base for debriefing.”

As they banked towards the training field, Jim caught Marcus looking at him, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. For once, their success had been truly shared, neither able to claim it as individual achievement.

Jim followed Shadow down to land.

No words were spoken as they dismounted, but Marcus offered a small nod—barely perceptible, yet unmistakable in its intent.

Jim returned the gesture.

“Did I just witness a peace treaty?” Ronnie asked, having landed nearby with Wilson after completing their own exercise.

“More like a temporary ceasefire,” Wilson said.

Jim said nothing, leading Aether towards the cooling station. The moment didn’t need verbal dissection; whatever had shifted between him and Marcus was still too fragile, too undefined to withstand direct examination.

That evening in the barracks, Jim sat on his bunk writing a letter home—a weekly ritual that maintained his connection to a world beyond dragon training.

The barracks had settled into its usual evening rhythm—some recruits engaged in quiet conversation, others already asleep.

The approaching sound of footsteps drew Jim’s attention. He looked up to find Marcus standing beside his bunk.

“Your flying’s better than I expected,” Marcus said, the statement lacking its usual edge of condescension.

Jim studied him, searching for the hidden barb or veiled insult that typically accompanied any near-compliment from Marcus. Finding none, he allowed himself a small smile. “Same to you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Marcus said, but without real heat.

Jim chuckled, appreciating the return to more familiar territory.

Marcus turned to leave, having apparently fulfilled whatever impulse had brought him to Jim’s bunk. As he walked away, Jim noticed Ronnie staring open-mouthed from across the barracks.

“Did I imagine that?” Ronnie asked when Marcus was out of earshot. “Or did Marcus Canning just pay you a compliment?”

“More like a professional assessment,” Jim said, returning to his letter.

“Next thing you know, pigs will fly,” Wilson said from his bunk. “And then we’ll be joining the Oink Brigade on the front lines.”

Jim cocked an eyebrow. “The Oink Brigade?”

Wilson shrugged. “Alright, fine. Hog Squadron.”

“You’re such a boar,” Ronnie said.

“There you go,” Wilson said. “RAF Boar Corps.”

Jim laughed and shook his head.

As he completed his letter, Jim found himself reflecting on the day’s lessons—not just the tactical formations or attack patterns, but the deeper truth that had emerged from their exercise. No dragon rider, however skilled, could succeed entirely alone. The very nature of aerial combat demanded coordination, mutual support, shared purpose.

In war, personal rivalries would matter less than collective effectiveness. Individual glory would mean nothing if the squadron failed in its mission or the war was lost.

Today had offered a glimpse of that reality—a foretaste of the shared sky they would navigate when training gave way to combat.

Marcus had recognized it too, however reluctantly. That recognition, more than any personal warming between them, represented genuine progress.

Jim sealed his letter, setting aside the temporary bridge that connected him to home.

As Jim settled onto his bunk for the night, his last thought was of the final attack run—the moment when everything had clicked into place, when he and Marcus had briefly achieved the seamless coordination that characterised truly effective combat units.

In that moment, rivalry had given way to shared purpose, competition to cooperation. If they could find that harmony again when it truly mattered—when facing not hay bale targets but German dragons intent on their destruction—they might just survive the war that awaited them beyond graduation.