“Permission granted.”
Sabine saluted and turned toward the bunker exit.
“Wing Commander.”
She stopped with one hand against the door.
The flight suit concealed the shoulder that had only recently healed, but I remembered the bruising beneath it and the restrictions Doctor Mercer had attached to her return-to-flight clearance.
“Come back,” I said.
Sabine glanced over her shoulder.
“Is that an operational order or a personal request?”
“Both.”
For half a second, the fighter commander disappeared and the woman who had kissed me inside the medical wing returned.
“Then I will treat it as mandatory.”
The door closed behind her.
I faced the tactical display as the Royal Dragon Host climbed above the mountains east of Rimegate.
Three hundred and twelve mounted contacts were now visible to radar, thermal cameras, atmospheric sensors, and mana detection. They had begun roughly ninety-six miles east of Founding Base One, deep inside Thalverin’s territory.
Until they crossed the frontier, they were not targets.
The mountains had hidden them below our radar line of sight. Perris’s storm covered the valleys with magical interference, while royal concealment mages reduced the heat and mana escaping through the clouds.
Once Perris lost control of the storm and the dragons climbed above the ridgeline, our sensor network found them immediately.
Nine enormous dragons held positions throughout the formation. The smaller mounts flew around them in wedge-shaped groups, each containing roughly thirty riders.
Mana moved between the nine elder dragons through crystal harnesses wrapped around their necks, chests, and wings.
Colonel Neris Talden isolated the pattern.
“The large contacts are carrying shared-barrier arrays,” he said. “Each elder dragon supports one wedge. Damage against a protected mount may be spread across the riders and creatures linked to the same network.”
“Can the nine wedges reinforce one another?”
“At reduced strength. Three elder dragons appear to be carrying a larger portion of the total barrier load.”
“Distance from the frontier?”
“Ninety-three miles. Estimated arrival at Rimegate in approximately thirty-four minutes.”
General Teren Holtane opened the air-readiness display.
“Thirty-two fighters have complete crews and ground support assigned. Sixteen can launch immediately with full interception loads. Eight more can join after final checks. The remaining eight are unavailable because of maintenance, pilot-rest rotation, or damage from earlier operations.”
The Founding Package had given me one hundred fighters.
It had not given me enough people to fly all of them while maintaining the runways, air defenses, fuel network, repairs, pilot rotations, and every other branch required to keep the base alive.
The aircraft inside the hardened reserve shelters would matter later, once we had more trained personnel.
Today, I had sixteen immediately.
“Launch the first sixteen,” I ordered. “Organize them as Groups Alpha and Bravo. Two four-aircraft flights in each group. Eight reserve aircraft remain on strip alert as Group Charlie.”
Air Combat acknowledged.
Across the airfield, hardened shelter doors opened. Ground crews disconnected external power, removed final safety pins, checked weapon stations, and cleared the taxi lanes.
Sabine’s fighter moved first.
She had not chosen the aircraft with the newest engine or the most impressive performance figures. She selected one whose maintenance history, handling limits, and weapon load were already familiar to her.
Doctor Mercer entered the flight channel before Sabine reached the runway.
“Wing Commander Korda, your clearance restricts unnecessary high-force maneuvers. Report pain, weakness, numbness, or reduced movement immediately.”
“I remember.”
“You also remembered before injuring it again.”
“I remember that too.”
“Medical Command is recording this channel.”
“So is Air Command.”
Mercer disconnected without sounding reassured.
The first four-aircraft flight entered the runway.
Engines rose together.
Sabine accelerated ahead of the formation and lifted into the morning sky. Three fighters followed her before the next flight began moving.
Group Bravo launched from the parallel runway less than a minute later.
Sixteen aircraft climbed north, divided into four flights of four. They turned east but remained entirely inside my airspace.
Friendly identification signals linked every fighter to the ground network. Surface-to-air batteries received the same flight map through buried cable.
Nobody would fire merely because something fast appeared on radar.
Every target required confirmation through several sensor systems.
Brigadier Maura Keene entered the command bunker carrying the latest fuel and missile inventory.
“We are sending sixteen fighters toward three hundred and twelve mounted dragons.”
“We are sending them with radar, ground batteries, counter-magic support, decoys, and prepared engagement corridors.”
“They will still consume fuel and missiles.”
“I know.”
Keene placed the report beside my hand.
“I am preventing victory from convincing anyone that guided weapons reproduce when officers feel confident.”
The four flights climbed above thirty thousand feet and approached the frontier from separate directions.
They did not cross into Thalverin.
They did not activate targeting radar against the dragons or release a single weapon.
Sabine positioned two flights north of Rimegate and two farther south. The fighters remained visible enough for the approaching riders to identify them.
A magical communication entered our receivers.
The Royal Sky Marshal was addressing his force through a crystal network powerful enough for our mana sensors to detect. Intelligence could not recover every word, but the meaning became clear.
The riders had been told that our aircraft were fast but fragile.
They believed the machines needed to approach within sight before attacking.
Their plan was to hold a dense formation, absorb the first strike through shared barriers, then overwhelm the fighters with dragons, rider magic, and superior numbers.
The Royal Sky Marshal ordered the wedges to remain compressed until the first metal aircraft died.
Sabine heard the translation.
“They are staying close.”
Talden responded from the bunker.
“That strengthens the shared barriers.”
“It also gives their dead less room to fall without hitting one another.”
Sabine’s flights moved parallel to the frontier.
The dragon riders saw them.
Several wedges began turning toward Group Alpha rather than continuing directly toward Founding Base One.
The Royal Sky Marshal changed the formation.
All nine wedges angled toward the fighters.
Sabine allowed the host to close far enough for the riders to believe the aircraft were retreating.
Then she turned northwest, deeper into the empty wasteland.
The Royal Dragon Host reached Rimegate’s western boundary.
The lead dragons crossed first.
Talden tracked every contact against the official frontier line established by my exile sentence.
“First wedge has entered protected territory.”
More dragons followed.
The rear formations remained over Thalverin for another forty seconds.
No weapon under my authority fired.
The final elder dragon crossed the boundary with its wedge.
“Entire hostile formation confirmed west of the frontier,” Talden reported. “All three hundred and twelve mounted contacts are inside protected territory.”
Sabine continued drawing them northwest.
The dragons followed because the Royal Sky Marshal believed destroying our fighters had to come before attacking the base.
The chosen engagement zone appeared on the map.
BOX MERIDIAN
It lay above empty wasteland far from Founding Base One, Tarnwick’s secured road, the prisoner camps, and every civilian shelter.
Remote sensors and expendable decoy stations were the only friendly assets beneath it.
Projected crash paths spread across the tactical display.
Sabine moved the fighters another three miles north until most falling bodies would miss the military road.
“Dragon host entering Box Meridian,” Talden said.
Sabine confirmed the geometry.
“Air Combat requests release authority.”
Every dragon had crossed the frontier willingly.
Every civilian area was behind them.
“Release authorized.”
The first missiles launched from beyond visual range.
Forty-eight weapons left sixteen fighters in a staggered sequence. Each aircraft fired three while retaining weapons for later phases.
Some missiles climbed before descending onto the wedges.
Others approached low through thinner mana coverage beneath the formations.
The Royal Sky Marshal’s crystal network erupted with warnings.
The riders could not see the weapons at first.
Their mounts sensed them.
Several dragons turned their heads toward objects still miles away. Barrier harnesses brightened around the nine elder dragons.
Red, gold, blue, and black mana spread between riders and mounts.
The nine wedges became glowing shields in the sky.
Dragonfire and lightning lances reached toward the incoming missiles. Several weapons exploded before reaching their targets.
Others altered course.
Their guidance compared radar movement, physical heat, air displacement, and mana distortion. Interfering with one method did not blind the weapon completely.
The first missile reached the northern wedge.
Its explosion spread across the shared barrier instead of killing the selected dragon. Mana carried the force through dozens of harnesses.
Several riders jerked backward in their saddles.
A second weapon struck from below.
The barrier flickered.
The third hit the leading mount’s wing.
Scales, blood, and torn flesh burst into the air. The dragon lost altitude but remained inside the formation.
The remaining missiles reached the other wedges.
The shared barriers absorbed far more damage than an individual dragon could have survived.
They paid for that protection through the riders feeding them power.
Mages collapsed across saddles. Harness crystals broke. Smaller mounts lost formation as barrier backlash passed through their bodies.
Fourteen dragons fell during the first salvo.
Several more turned away with damaged wings.
The Royal Dragon Host remained organized.
Keene examined the expenditure display.
“Forty-eight advanced air-to-air weapons. Fourteen confirmed kills.”
“The salvo mapped the barrier network,” Talden said.
New data filled the tactical display.
The nine elder dragons did not contribute equally. Three carried most of the shared protection. Each wore a larger harness and carried several barrier mages in addition to its primary rider.
Sabine had reached the same conclusion.
“Anchor contacts identified. Flights Three and Four target the northern and central anchors. Flights One and Two remain outside spell range and prepare to draw the southern wedges.”
The fighters separated again.
The dragons attempted to follow, but nine linked formations could not turn as quickly as individual aircraft.
The second attack focused on the three strongest barrier anchors.
Missiles approached each elder dragon from four directions.
The riders strengthened the barriers facing the first visible threats.
Two weapons changed course before impact and struck from behind.
The northern elder dragon lost part of its tail and one wing root. Its barrier network collapsed.
Thirty-three smaller mounts around it immediately lost the protection they had been feeding.
The central anchor survived the first impacts.
Another missile climbed beneath its head while the rider watched threats approaching the chest.
The explosion opened its throat and destroyed the harness controls.
Blood poured across the mounts below it.
The third elder dragon released a wave of black mana that distorted the incoming guidance.
Two missiles missed.
The remaining weapons struck the barrier and broke most of it without reaching the dragon’s body.
“Two wedge networks down,” Talden reported. “Southern anchor damaged but functional.”
The smaller dragons inside the collapsed formations scattered.
Ground batteries had waited for that moment.
Long-range surface-to-air missiles launched from concealed positions north and south of Founding Base One. They remained entirely inside my territory and attacked only the wedges that had crossed the frontier.
White trails rose toward Box Meridian.
The dragon riders attempted to rebuild protection around individual mounts.
Most could not generate a barrier strong enough to stop weapons designed to destroy military aircraft.
Missiles entered the scattered formations.
One dragon lost both wings and fell while its rider remained strapped to the saddle. Another exploded through the chest, throwing armor, flesh, and pieces of its harness across the sky.
A proximity warhead detonated within a cluster of six mounts. Fragments cut through wings, eyes, and riders. Three dragons collided before they began falling.
The Royal Sky Marshal ordered the surviving formations to descend behind terrain.
The riders had followed Sabine too far west.
The empty wasteland beneath Box Meridian offered no mountains tall enough to hide them.
Group Alpha attacked from altitude while Group Bravo moved to cut off the direct path toward Founding Base One.
The dragons released their own long-range weapons.
Fire lances crossed miles of sky. Lightning spread through clouds created by royal mages. One rider threw a spear that expanded into a burning line long enough to threaten a fighter turning away.
The pilot rolled beneath it.
The fire passed close enough to damage the coating on one wing.
Another dragon inhaled and released a concentrated beam rather than ordinary flame.
The attack crossed farther than any Thalverin record had suggested.
One fighter disappeared inside the red light.
Its right wing broke apart.
The aircraft spun toward the ground.
“Flight Four, Aircraft Three hit,” Sabine reported. “Pilot ejecting.”
The canopy separated.
A small figure emerged beneath a parachute while the fighter fell burning into the wasteland.
A dragon rider abandoned the main formation and descended toward the helpless pilot.
Sabine saw it.
“Flight One covers the parachute. Flight Four maintains standoff distance.”
Her fighter changed course.
Doctor Mercer’s restrictions prevented Sabine from attempting a violent close turn without risking the shoulder again. She did not ignore the limitation.
She guided another fighter into position.
The wingman released a short-range missile from several miles away.
The descending dragon raised a barrier.
Sabine launched from a second angle half a second later.
The first missile broke the protection.
The second entered the dragon’s chest.
The creature folded in the air and passed several hundred yards from the parachute before striking the ground.
“Pilot remains alive,” Sabine reported. “Recovery coordinates transmitted.”
A rescue helicopter could not enter until the surrounding airspace was secure.
“Ground patrol moving,” Holtane said. “Armored ambulance following behind it.”
The pilot would remain alone in the wasteland for several minutes.
He would not remain abandoned.
The Royal Sky Marshal changed tactics.
The surviving elder dragons pulled close together. Their riders linked the remaining barrier systems into one dense shell while smaller mounts moved beneath them.
The formation accelerated toward Founding Base One.
They had abandoned the attempt to destroy Sabine’s fighters first.
They intended to reach the airbase before losing the rest of their force.
If even a fraction reached the runways, fuel farms, aircraft shelters, radar sites, or missile batteries, they could cause damage that took months to repair.
“Group Charlie launches,” I ordered.
The eight reserve fighters had completed their final checks.
They entered the two runways as Flights Five and Six, four aircraft in each.
The first reserve flight took off while the original sixteen repositioned around the compressed dragon formation.
The second followed less than a minute later.
Twenty-four fighters were now participating in the battle.
The dragon host crossed into the outer counter-magic zone.
“Southern emitter group ready,” Talden reported.
“Hold until the next weapons enter terminal approach.”
The fighters spread across the sky.
Twenty-four aircraft became dozens of possible threats as physical harassment rockets and electronic decoys joined the attack.
Lysette was no longer present to identify probable danger.
Perris’s storm no longer concealed the air.
The riders relied on their own eyes, dragons, and magical senses.
Sabine’s fighters launched again.
Missiles approached from above, below, north, south, and directly behind the formation.
“Terminal approach in five seconds,” Talden said.
“Activate suppression.”
Mobile counter-magic emitters pulsed across the wasteland.
They did not erase every barrier.
They weakened the links between the dragons at the exact moment the riders needed them most.
The dense shield fractured into separate layers.
Missiles entered the gaps.
The sky filled with overlapping explosions.
One elder dragon lost its head.
Another broke through the formation’s center and fell with half its riders still attached to the harness. Smaller mounts vanished inside fire, fragments, and collapsing barriers.
The Royal Sky Marshal’s dragon survived.
It was the largest remaining contact, an ancient beast with dark bronze scales and a chest harness carrying six barrier mages. Two forward horns curved around its skull.
The dragon rolled beneath the first missile and released a fan of golden fire that destroyed a second.
A third weapon struck its side without penetrating the inner scales.
It continued toward Founding Base One.
Sabine’s fighter moved toward the front of the interception formation.
“Remaining barrier anchor assigned to Flight One.”
I opened a direct channel.
“Do not turn it into a duel.”
“I am assigning a target, not challenging it to personal combat.”
Her voice remained focused.
The ancient dragon released another long-range beam.
Sabine’s flight separated before the energy reached them.
The beam passed between two fighters.
A smaller dragon used the opening to accelerate through the formation. Its rider released a hooked chain covered in spatial runes.
The physical chain could not reach Sabine’s aircraft from that distance.
The runes folded the space around it.
The pursuing dragon appeared less than two miles behind her fighter.
“Spatial contact close behind Flight Lead,” Talden warned.
Sabine looked over one shoulder.
Her aircraft began a descending roll, but she avoided the sharpest turn because of the healing shoulder.
The dragon opened its jaws.
A fighter from Group Bravo attacked from above.
Cannon fire crossed the dragon’s back, tore through the rider, and broke one wing.
The creature released fire as it fell.
Part of the blast struck Sabine’s tail section.
Warnings appeared across her cockpit display.
“Flight Lead has lost pressure in the secondary hydraulic system,” Air Operations reported.
Sabine stabilized the fighter.
“Primary controls remain responsive. Continuing command.”
Doctor Mercer entered the emergency channel.
“Pain level?”
“Three.”
“Report immediately if it reaches five.”
“I know.”
The Royal Sky Marshal continued toward the base.
Forty-seven mounted riders remained around him. The shared barrier had failed, but the elder dragon’s individual protection remained powerful.
Sabine assigned four fighters.
“Attack pattern Crown Breaker. Two high and two low. Ground Battery Seven holds until my mark.”
The four aircraft spread around the ancient dragon.
The Royal Sky Marshal turned toward Sabine, assuming the leading fighter carried the greatest threat.
She launched one missile and descended.
The dragon strengthened its barrier toward her.
Two fighters attacked from above and behind.
Their missiles struck the wing roots.
The barrier absorbed the first.
The second broke through and damaged the left wing.
The dragon lost altitude but remained airborne.
It turned toward the northern pair.
Sabine climbed beneath it without entering breath range.
Her second missile struck the exposed harness along the lower chest.
The explosion killed one barrier mage and destroyed part of the crystal network.
Three more mages disappeared inside the secondary blast. The remaining riders lost their connection to the dragon.
“Battery Seven,” Sabine said. “Fire.”
Four ground missiles rose from separated positions.
The Royal Sky Marshal saw them and ordered the dragon upward.
Its damaged wings could not climb quickly enough.
The first weapon struck the chest.
The second destroyed the remaining wing root.
The third entered the opening left by Sabine’s missile.
The fourth detonated beside the Royal Sky Marshal.
Bronze scales, burning armor, and pieces of the harness spread across the sky.
The elder dragon continued forward through momentum.
Its wings stopped moving.
The enormous body fell into an empty area of wasteland more than twenty miles from Founding Base One.
The Royal Sky Marshal’s command signal vanished.
The remaining riders lost coordinated leadership.
Some continued toward the base.
Others turned east.
Several dragons panicked and ignored their riders completely.
I opened a surrender broadcast across every frequency and magical channel our systems could reach.
“Dragon riders inside my territory, lower your weapons and follow the marked flight corridor toward the northern landing basins. Riders who land, disarm, and control their mounts will receive medical treatment and prisoner protection.”
The first response was a fire lance aimed at Sabine’s formation.
Ground missiles destroyed the rider before the attack reached her.
Another rider continued diving toward the airfield.
Rapid-fire guns opened after the dragon crossed the final defensive boundary. Armor-piercing rounds broke the chest and both wing joints before it came within sight of the runways.
The riders behind it saw what happened.
One formation turned toward the surrender corridor.
The lead rider lowered a red lance across the saddle.
His dragon descended toward the first barren landing basin outside the northern wall.
Other riders followed.
Some mounts refused to obey.
One dragon threw its dead rider and turned south toward the mountains. Another landed hard inside the second basin and attempted to attack the military police waiting behind armored barriers.
A short counter-magic pulse weakened the creature’s breath.
Sedative launchers struck the softer tissue beneath its forelegs.
Captured handlers shouted commands from behind reinforced cover until the dragon stopped struggling.
The fighters remained above the landing basins while ground teams processed the surrender.
Riders dismounted individually.
Weapons went onto the ground.
Harness crystals were removed or suppressed.
The Royal Dragon Host continued breaking apart across the sky.
Surface-to-air batteries destroyed anything still approaching the base. Sabine’s flights attacked riders attempting to reorganize for another charge. Formations turning east without launching weapons were allowed to leave until they crossed back into Thalverin.
We did not pursue them beyond the frontier.
Twenty minutes after the first missile launch, the Royal Dragon Host had ceased to exist as an organized fighting force.
The final count took longer to confirm.
Sensor tracks, fighter cameras, ground patrols, and crash-site observations eventually accounted for every contact.
Two hundred and twenty-nine mounts had been destroyed in the air or died after crashing inside the wasteland.
Sixty-four dragons and their riders had landed or been forced down within our controlled territory.
Nineteen mounted pairs escaped across the eastern mountains.
The totals matched the original three hundred and twelve contacts.
All nine elder dragons had fallen.
Our fighters paid a much smaller price.
One aircraft was destroyed. The pilot ejected and survived until the armored patrol reached him.
Three fighters suffered significant damage from fire, fragments, or magical interference.
Sabine’s aircraft had lost part of its secondary hydraulic system and carried burns across the tail, but its primary controls remained functional.
No pilot had died.
That did not make the battle inexpensive.
Air Combat had consumed missiles, fuel, maintenance hours, spare components, and pilot endurance that could not be restored through celebration.
“Air Combat returns by assigned sequence,” I ordered. “Damaged aircraft receive landing priority. Ground batteries remain active until every hostile contact lands or crosses the frontier.”
Sabine acknowledged.
Her voice sounded steady.
The aircraft diagnostics showed how much work she was doing to keep it that way.
I left the command bunker only after Holtane confirmed that the royal ground army remained in retreat and the surrender basins were secure.
Reddan accompanied me with the adjusted protection team. My ribs still hurt beneath the repadded armor, and the stitches along my arm pulled whenever I moved too quickly.
Doctor Mercer had forbidden me from standing beside an active runway.
I waited inside the protected arrival building overlooking it instead.
Sabine’s fighter approached last among the damaged aircraft.
One landing-gear sensor failed to confirm full extension. Ground crews used optical systems to examine the wheels while she circled once above the base.
“Visual inspection shows all three gear assemblies down,” Air Traffic Control reported. “Right-side lock appears stable.”
“Flight Lead copies.”
She lowered the aircraft carefully.
The damaged hydraulic system made the final corrections slower than normal.
The wheels touched the runway.
The fighter drifted several feet left before Sabine corrected it. Brakes deployed. Emergency vehicles followed until she stopped inside the protected recovery area.
Only then did I release the breath I had been holding.
Ground crews placed safety blocks around the wheels and connected emergency power.
The canopy opened.
Sabine climbed down without assistance.
Her right hand remained on the ladder longer than usual.
Doctor Mercer noticed.
So did I.
Sabine reached the ground and saluted.
“Air Combat reports the hostile aerial formation destroyed.”
“You came back.”
“You ordered me to.”
Her professionalism lasted until Mercer stepped beside her.
“Shoulder pain?”
“Four.”
“You reported three during combat.”
“It increased during landing.”
“Medical wing.”
“I need to complete the battle report.”
“You can complete it while I examine you.”
Sabine looked toward me for support.
“I agree with Medical Command.”
“Of course you do.”
Mercer guided her toward the waiting vehicle.
Sabine stopped beside me before entering.
“You are staring at my aircraft.”
“I am checking the damage.”
“You are staring at me.”
“I can check two things.”
A tired smile appeared.
“Good answer.”
She touched the front of my command coat briefly, hidden from most of the crews by the medical vehicle.
Then she climbed inside.
The pilot from the destroyed fighter arrived twenty minutes later in an armored ambulance. He had suffered a broken ankle, exposure, and minor burns during ejection.
He remained conscious.
The recovery patrol had reached him before any ground monster found the parachute site.
Every pilot who launched returned alive.
The dragon riders scattered across the wasteland had not been as fortunate.
Medical and recovery teams began with the people and crash sites closest to military roads, defensive positions, and populated routes.
Parachute charms had saved many riders after their mounts died. Others reached the ground inside barrier spheres or used flight magic during the final descent.
Several survived only because our patrols found them before wasteland predators did.
They entered the temporary prisoner system under the same rules as the royal infantry.
Weapons were catalogued.
Harnesses were suppressed and separated from riders.
The wounded received treatment according to severity.
The sixty-four living dragons created an operation of their own.
They could not be placed inside one enclosure.
Engineering divided them among six hardened holding sectors according to size, species, aggression, injury, and whether the animal still responded to its handler.
Each sector received independent water storage, feeding areas, drainage, waste removal, fire suppression, counter-magic coverage, veterinary access, and emergency barriers.
The largest surviving mounts occupied separate pens built from heavy vehicle obstacles, quarry stone, and reinforced gates.
Captured riders were offered the opportunity to assist under guard. Nhalzareth healers sent biological records for several related species. Doctor Corren’s researchers collected blood and mana readings without interfering with emergency care.
Keene stood beside the third holding sector while engineering crews installed a second drainage trench.
A sedated dragon released enough smoke through its nostrils to activate three fire alarms.
“The living mounts will consume several tons of meat every day,” she said. “Their water requirements are manageable. Their waste is not.”
“Can it be used as fertilizer?”
“Only after testing for parasites, disease, toxins, and mana contamination.”
“At least tanks never required manure crews.”
“Tanks also do not attempt to eat mechanics.”
One dragon opened an eye toward us.
Keene stepped farther from the barrier.
“This pen requires another fifty yards of separation from the feed route.”
Engineering adjusted the plan.
The dead dragons were spread across a wide section of wasteland. Two hundred and twenty-nine carcasses could not be recovered, decontaminated, and transported in one afternoon.
Teams handled them in stages.
Bodies near roads, water sources, military positions, and civilian routes received priority. Remote crash sites were marked through fighter footage, radar tracks, and surveillance coordinates.
Ground patrols established quarantine perimeters around carcasses likely to attract monsters or release unstable mana.
Recovery would take days or weeks.
Any body too contaminated or dangerous to transport would be studied remotely and destroyed in place.
The closest carcasses already showed how carefully we needed to work.
Dragon scales, bones, blood, organs, harnesses, and cores could become valuable materials. They also carried unknown diseases, royal tracking magic, parasites, damaged weapons, and unstable enchantments.
No carcass entered the industrial district before decontamination.
Every recovered core remained inside an isolated shielded container.
One dragon’s chest continued producing heat several hours after death. Another released toxic gas when engineers cut through the damaged harness rather than the body.
Research stopped until stronger ventilation and protective systems arrived.
The system recognized the victory after the final hostile formation crossed the frontier.
ROYAL DRAGON HOST DEFEATED
LARGE-SCALE AERIAL SOVEREIGNTY DEMONSTRATED
DRAGON MATERIAL RESEARCH AVAILABLE
MAGICAL AVIATION THREAT DATABASE EXPANDED
ANTI-DRAGON DOCTRINE ADVANCED
REGIONAL REPUTATION INCREASED
Keene’s resource report arrived immediately afterward.
Air Combat had fired ninety-six air-to-air missiles.
The ground network launched sixty-seven long-range surface-to-air weapons and fourteen shorter-range interceptors.
Fighters and anti-aircraft guns expended thousands of cannon rounds.
Twenty-four fighters had participated after Group Charlie joined the second phase. One was destroyed. Three required major repairs.
The fighters, patrol aircraft, rescue helicopter, and recovery operations consumed approximately one and a half percent of our aviation-fuel reserve.
Tarnwick’s feedstock might eventually replace the fuel.
The guided weapons were a greater problem.
“Our combined long-range missile stock has fallen below the reserve level required to defeat another force of this size while protecting Founding Base One and Tarnwick simultaneously,” Keene said.
“Could we stop another Dragon Host?”
“Yes.”
Her answer carried a warning rather than confidence.
“Afterward, our margin against a Rift Calamity, another royal offensive, or a large demon air force would become unacceptable.”
“How soon can the workshops manufacture replacements?”
“We can produce casings, explosives, basic control surfaces, some motors, and simpler guidance components. Advanced seekers, high-performance electronics, specialized propellants, and several control systems remain beyond present capacity.”
“Magical substitutes?”
“Doctor Corren believes dragon materials, dusksteel, monster cores, and refined mana feedstock may replace several components. Belief does not place missiles inside launchers.”
The battle had shown the continent that dragons could be destroyed.
It had also consumed weapons we could not yet replace.
Talden entered with the communications recovered from the Royal Dragon Host.
“The riders were recording our missile launches.”
Keene looked toward him.
“They were counting them?”
“Their crystal network recorded every air-to-air and surface-to-air weapon they observed. The Royal Sky Marshal transmitted estimates toward Rimegate until his dragon was destroyed.”
Nineteen mounted pairs had escaped.
At least some of the data had probably reached Thalverin.
Intelligence recovered a damaged command crystal from one of the elder-dragon crash sites near the military road. The outer enchantments had broken, but the final royal order remained readable.
Talden placed the translation on the main display.
Primary objective: destroy the false commander’s aerial force and airbase.
Secondary objective: compel maximum expenditure of guided weapons and identify defensive launch regions.
If the Dragon Host cannot breach the fortress, maintain engagement until the northern reserve is depleted.
Mavren expected the Dragon Host to win.
He had also prepared to gain information from its destruction.
The riders were ordered to continue attacking after withdrawal became the only rational choice.
“He sent Cassan to measure the tanks,” I said. “The Hero Candidates revealed our counter-magic, command deception, and internal defenses. The dragons measured the air network.”
Holtane joined through the secure display.
“Mavren is building a picture of every limitation.”
“He will stop attacking our strongest weapons directly.”
Fuel.
Missiles.
Food.
Water.
Roads.
Pilots.
Engineers.
The workers, systems, and resources that allowed military power to exist.
A southern operations officer interrupted through the emergency channel.
“Supreme Commander, Tarnwick Logistics Convoy Seven has missed two scheduled check-ins.”
The southern map replaced the dragon battlefield.
The convoy had left Tarnwick during the height of the aerial engagement. It carried shielded feedstock samples, pressure-network components, and personnel required for the first refinery test.
“Tarnwick departure time?”
“Fifty-eight minutes ago.”
“Personnel?”
“Twelve refinery specialists, six pressure engineers, two Nhalzareth technical liaisons, security troops, drivers, and support crews. Forty-three people.”
“Distress signal?”
“None.”
Talden opened the southern sensor history.
A six-minute disturbance passed through the secured road network during the most intense phase of the dragon battle.
It had not affected only one camera.
Three route cameras went dark at the same moment.
A buried relay node stopped transmitting.
The next observation post lost its magical sensors and wired connection simultaneously.
Every convoy transponder disappeared inside the same six-minute window.
No emergency beacon activated.
When the network returned, the road appeared empty.
The disruption pattern carried the same shadow distortion recorded around Raukhar’s anchors.
“This was coordinated,” Reddan said.
The Dragon Host had filled the northern network with hundreds of contacts, missile tracks, decoys, and magical interference while someone struck the road connecting my base to Tarnwick.
A final encrypted line remained inside the recovered dragon order.
When the sky commits, sever the southern road.
The Royal Dragon Host had been more than an aerial assault.
It had been cover.
I opened the emergency command network.
“Lock down every fuel, water, ammunition, power, refinery, and communication facility. Tarnwick raises full route security. Observation posts switch to local control in case the network is compromised.”
Reddan was already moving.
“Recovery force composition?”
“Special Operations, armored reconnaissance, engineers, medics, counter-magic teams, and enough transport for forty-three survivors,” I said. “No aircraft lands near the blackout zone until the shadow threat is identified.”
The tactical displays still showed dragons falling from the sky.
Forty-three people had vanished while we watched them.
Mavren had finally stopped attacking my army.
He had begun attacking the nation keeping it alive.