careful,’ Laurence could not help adding; the French dragon was an older one, judging by its scars, and he did not want Temeraire to be hurt through overconfidence.
The Fleur-de-Nuit arrowed towards them, trying once again to barrel between Temeraire and Nitidus: the goal was clearly to split apart the formation, injuring one or the other dragon in the process, which would leave Lily vulnerable to attack from behind on a subsequent pass. Sutton was already signalling a new manoeuvre which would bring them about and give Lily an angle of attack against the Fleur-de-Nuit, which was the largest of the French assailants, but before it could be accomplished this next run had to be deflected.
‘All hands at the ready; stand by on the powder,’ Laurence said, using the speaking trumpet to amplify his orders, as the massive blue-and-black creature came roaring towards them. The speed of the engagement was far beyond anything Laurence had ever before experienced. In the Navy, an exchange of fire might last five minutes; here a pass was over in less than one, and then a second came almost immediately. This time the French dragon was angling closer towards Nitidus, wanting nothing more to do with Temeraire’s claws; the smaller Pascal’s Blue would not be able to hold his position against the great bulk. ‘Hard to larboard; close with him!’ he shouted to Temeraire.
Temeraire answered at once; his great black wings abruptly swivelled and tilted them towards the Fleur-de-Nuit, and Temeraire closed more swiftly than a typical heavy-combat dragon would have been able to do. The enemy dragon jerked and looked at them in reflex, and Laurence shouted, ‘Light the powder,’ as he caught a glimpse of the pale white eyes.
He only just closed his own eyes in time; the brilliant flash was visible even through his eyelids, and the Fleur-de-Nuit bellowed in pain. Laurence opened his eyes again to find Temeraire slashing fiercely at the other dragon, carving deep strokes into its belly, and his riflemen strafing the bellmen on the other side. ‘Temeraire, hold your position,’ Laurence called; Temeraire was in danger of falling behind in his enthusiasm for fighting off the other dragon.
With a start, Temeraire beat his wings in a flurry and lunged back into his place in the formation; Sutton’s signal-ensign raised the green flag, and as a unit they all wheeled around in a tight loop, Lily already opening her jaws and hissing: the Fleur-de-Nuit was still flying blind, and streaming blood into the air as its crew tried to guide it away.
‘Enemy above! Enemy above!’ Maximus’s larboard lookout was pointing frantically upwards; even as the boy shrilled, a terrible thick roaring like thunder sounded in their ears and drowned him out: a Grand Chevalier came plummeting down towards them. The dragon’s pale belly had allowed it to blend into the heavy cloud cover undetected by the lookouts, and now it descended towards Lily, great claws opening wide; it was nearly twice her size, and outweighed even Maximus.
Laurence was shocked to see Messoria and Immortalis both suddenly drop: he realized belatedly it was the reflex which Celeritas had warned them of, so long ago; a reaction to being startled from above. Nitidus had given a startled jerk of his wings, but recovered, and Dulcia had kept her position, but Maximus had put on a burst of speed and overshot the others, and Lily herself was wheeling around in instinctive alarm. The formation had dissolved into chaos, and she was wholly exposed.
‘Ready all guns; straight at him!’ he roared, signalling frantically to Temeraire; it was unnecessary, for after a moment’s hovering, Temeraire had already launched himself to Lily’s defence. The Chevalier was too close to deflect him entirely, but if they could strike him before he was able to latch on to Lily, they could still save her from a fatal mauling, and give her time to strike back.
The four other French dragons were all coming about again. Temeraire put on a burst of sudden speed and just barely slid past the reaching claws of the Pêcheur Couronné, and collided with the great French beast with all his claws outstretched, even as the Chevalier slashed at Lily’s back.
She shrieked in pain and fury, thrashing; the three dragons were all entangled now, beating their wings furiously in opposite directions, clawing and slashing. Lily could not spit upwards; they had to somehow get her loose, but Temeraire was much smaller than the Chevalier, and Laurence could see the enormous dragon’s claws sinking deeper into Lily’s flesh, even though her crew were hacking at the iron-hard talons with axes.
‘Get a bomb up here,’ Laurence snapped to Granby; they would have to try and hurl one into the Chevalier’s belly rigging, despite the danger of missing and striking Temeraire or Lily.
Temeraire kept slashing away in a blind passion, his sides belling out for breath; he roared so tremendously that his body vibrated with the force and Laurence’s ears ached. The Chevalier shuddered with pain; somewhere on his other side, Maximus also roared, blocked from Laurence’s sight by the French dragon’s bulk. The attack had its effect: the Chevalier bellowed in his deep hoarse voice, and his claws sprang free.
‘Cut loose,’ Laurence shouted. ‘Temeraire, cut loose; get between him and Lily.’ In answer, Temeraire pulled himself free and dropped. Lily was moaning, streaming blood, and she was losing elevation rapidly. Having driven off the Chevalier was not enough: the other dragons were now as great a danger to her, until she could get back aloft into fighting position. Laurence heard Captain Harcourt calling orders whose words he could not make out; abruptly Lily’s belly-rigging fell away like a great net sinking down through the clouds, and bombs, supplies, baggage, all went tumbling down and vanished into the waters of the Channel below; her ground crew were all tying themselves to the main harness instead.
Thus lightened, Lily shuddered and made a great effort, beating back up into the sky; the wounds were being packed with white bandages, but even at a distance Laurence could see she would need stitching. Maximus had the Chevalier engaged, but the Pêcheur Couronné and the Fleur-de-Nuit were falling into a small wedge formation with the other French middleweight, preparing to take a dash at Lily again. Temeraire maintained position just above Lily and hissed threateningly, his bloody claws flexing; but she was climbing too slowly.
The battle had turned into a wild mêlée; though the other British dragons had now re covered from their initial fright, they were in no sort of order. Harcourt was wholly occupied with Lily’s difficulties, and the last French dragon, a Pêcheur-Rayé, was fighting Messoria far below. Clearly the French had identified Sutton as the commander, and were keeping him out of the way; a strategy Laurence could grimly admire. He had no authority to take command, he was the most junior captain in the party, but something had to be done.
‘Turner,’ he said, catching his signal-ensign’s attention; but before he gave any order, the other British dragons were already wheeling around and in motion.
‘Signal, sir, form up around leader,’ Turner said, pointing.
Laurence looked back and saw Praecursoris swinging into Maximus’s usual place with signal-flags waving: not being limited to the formation’s pace, Choiseul and the big dragon had gone on ahead of them, but his lookouts had evidently caught sight of the battle and he had now returned. Laurence tapped Temeraire’s shoulder to draw his attention to the signal. ‘I see it,’ Temeraire called back, and at once back-winged and settled into his proper position.
Another signal flashed out, and Laurence brought Temeraire up and in closer; Nitidus also pulled in more tightly, and together they closed the gap in the formation where Messoria would normally have been. Formation rise together, the next signal came, and with the other dragons around her, Lily took heart and was able to beat up more strongly: the bleeding had stopped at last. The trio of French dragons had separated; they could no longer hope to succeed with a collective charge, not straight into Lily’s jaws, and the formation would be up to the level of the Chevalier in a moment.
Maximus break away, the signal flashed: Maximus was still engaged in close quarters with the Chevalier, and rifles were cracking away on both sides. The great Regal Copper gave a final slash of his claws and pushed away: just a fraction too soon, for the formation was not yet high enough, and another few moments were necessary before Lily would be able to strike.
The Chevalier’s crew now saw his fresh danger and sent the big dragon back aloft, a great deal of shouting going on aboard in French. Though he was