War over Europe: The Battle of Britain
A 'Gargoyles' fanfic by Matt Little              (myrlynn@execpc.com)


Hello again! Just throwing a story in that popped into my brain
one night after seeing the episode: "M.I.A." This is a story that happens
after "Hunter's Moon I-III" and continuing of into my universe, which takes
elements from the Goliath Chronicles, but stays pretty much away from it.
The character of Bolt is my creation, with a special thanks going out to
Mary "Stormy" Pletsch, who so graciously let me borrow her character of
Wagner, while the rest are the property of  Buena Vista Productions. Totally
non-profit, just for fun! Constructive criticism is welcome! Also, for those
that don't remember, John MacDonnell is Bolt's human identity.
	Warning: Some violence, language and graphic content will be shown in
this story. Please keep that in mind while reading this. 

Prologue
New York City, 1996

	Bolt and Angela walked into the television room where Hudson and the
rest were watching tv. Goliath was reading one of the books that he had
gotten from the library. Bolt and Angela grabbed floor to watch the 
television. They saw that it was a documentary on the Battle of Britain.
Heinkel He111's bombed London, while Supermarine Spitfire 1as and 1bs 
mixed it up with Messerschmidt Bf 109Es.
	"Hey, Goliath, isn't this where you had to save Griff in 1940?" asked
Brooklyn. He was a great fan of war movies.
	Goliath looked up to see hundreds of planes criss-crossing the screen
in attempts to shoot each other down. "Yes, it is."
	Bolt looked at Goliath, startled. "You know Griff? The griffin 
gargoyle from London?"
	Goliath looked at his friend. "Yes, I do. We met on our quest that
Avalon sent us on. I had to go back to 1940 to save Griff from being killed,
and then brought him back to 1996. Why, do you know him?"
	Bolt wasn't paying attention. He was muttering to himself. Angela
leaned forward to catch what he was saying. "....no wonder I never saw him
after that! Gods, Una and Leo were going out of their minds with worry!"
	"Bolt? Are you ok?" Angela hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.
	"Huh...What?" Bolt jumped. He looked around to see the rest of the 
clan staring at him. He grinned sheepishly at the rest of them. "Sorry, I
was just reminiscing about old times. I knew Griff a long time ago, during
World War II. He was around when I flew with the Royal Air Force."
	That got their attention. "You flew with the RAF?" asked Lexington.
	"Yep, I joined up early on to help with the fight. I flew Spits."
	The Trio and Hudson started bombarding him with questions on what it
was like back then. Bolt held up his hands. "I've got allot of bad memories
about the war. What do you want me to tell you about?"
	Goliath and Angela spoke up, asking how he knew Griff, while the 
others asked him about the Battle of Britain.
	"Alright, alright. I can put both into one. I'll tell you about when 
I was transferred to the London Areodrome in early September, 1940. By then
I was a Captain, and had seventeen kills to my name, all fighters..."
**************************************************************************
Chapter One 
September 9th, 1940, London

	Captain John MacDonnell pulled back on the stick of his 
Spitfire 1b to avoid the attack of the Bf 109 on his tail. He cut the power,
causing the big Merlin powerplant to almost stall. The '109 shot past, dual
20mm cannon throwing rounds into were he would have been.
	Ah, an E-4 model. He slammed the throttle into overboost to catch up
to the smaller fighter. The German fighter winged over into a sharp left 
bank and turn. John cut inside his turn, moving slightly below and to the
left of the fighter. A short burst from the .303's sent the '109 rolling
violently to escape.
	Gotta end this quick and hit the Heinkel's, John thought. The '109
had pulled a quick immelman and was coming head on. Pretty gutsy, John 
thought. The '109 rolled into a turn as he came at him, hoping for a belly 
shot. John cut sharply inside and fired. He couldn't have timed it better;
the '109 staggered into the burst. Instantly the enemy pilot snapped over in
a left roll, but he was already too late. A burst from the Spit's 20mm's
and the fighter exploded in flames.
	John hauled back on the stick to get the altitude needed to attack the
Heinkel's. German defensive fire laced everywhere from the bombers. He
pulled up and commenced a run on one of the bombers. He weaved back and
forth, lacing the bigger plane with his .303's. He needed to save his cannon
ammo for close-in work. The bomber took his bullets without twitching.
	John felt the impact of German bullets on his Spit. He snapped out
a burst of his cannons, walking them up towards the cockpit. The upper 
turret of the Heinkel shattered, the gunner mangled as the heavy cannon
shells ripped into his body. Abruptly, the cannons jammed.
	Damn it! John stabbed the cannon button, but the guns stayed jammed.
He banked left, opening up with the .303's watching the bullets chew up the
metal skin as they headed toward the bomb bay.
	The world was blotted out in the next instant; a bolt of searing light
filled the sky. A great fist gripped the Spitfire and flipped it wildly
through the air. When his vision cleared, he saw the bomber was gone! His
bullets must have detonated the bomb load! He brought his fighter back
under control, and checked his systems.
	Cannons were still jammed;  Hydraulics were shot; his avionics panel
was shattered, and looking over the body he saw the wings had been stretched
backwards by the shock wave. The big Rolls-Royce was sputtering; he must of
caught some shrapnel in the intakes. He knew then the big Spit wouldn't make
it back to the aerodrome. He aimed the crippled fighter at the nearby river
and prepared to jump out.
	As he threw back the windscreen, the engine quit; at the abrupt drop,
he was throw back and cracked his head on the back. Struggling against the
wave of blackness, he almost succeeded. He managed to haul himself up and
out of the fighter, but then was thrown over the side. His last thought was
of the feeling of weightlessness before he passed out.
***************************************************************************
Chapter Two
	
	John opened his eyes, then shut them again as a wave of pain followed
with the light. He tried moving, only to stop as he felt pain lance across
the back of his head and his shoulders. His head flared, pain shooting
throughout it.
	A wet cloth was laid across his forehead, and his eyes. Sighing, he
reached out and felt a fine fur cloth of some sort. A hand batted his away.
	"Lay still. You've suffered a concussion and strained your shoulders
when you jumped." a feminine voice spoke softly. John grinned thankfully at
the obviously British accent.
	"Where...where am I?"
	"In London yet, a small shop by Parliament." she said.
	John struggled up, ignoring the sudden pain. "Bloody 'ell! I have'ta
get to the areodrome and tell them that I'm alright!" He placed a hand to
his forehead as the pain rendered further motor functions inoperable.
	"Don't bother, mate! We've taken care of that for you already. Sit
back and relax, Commander's orders." a masculine voice spoke.
	"Relax? With the bloody Nazis bombing us everyday?! Never!" With a 
supreme force of will, John stood up, swaying. The cloth fell off his face,
and his mouth dropped open at the sight: A female unicorn gargoyle and a
griffin gargoyle were looking at him. A sound behind him caused him to spin
around to stare a lion gargoyle in the face.
	"Gargoyles...in England? Who would've guessed?" he muttered, then fell
to the floor as he passed out.
	John was aware of being lifted and put back upon the table. His 
consciousness floated about him as he listened to the three gargoyles talk...
	"Did you hear that? He knows we're gargoyles!" That was the female.
	"How could he know about gargoyles? Unless..."
	"...Unless he met others before! Leo, Una, we have to get to know him
more! Hopefully he'll be able to talk more tomorrow night, after he rests
for awhile. He needs it after fighting the blasted Nazis!"
	"Griff's right, Una. He needs his rest. Let's let him be. Besides, the
sun's almost upon us."
	"Jolly good, then. I'll heal much better when the sun goes down." 
stated John. He rolled off the table again, landing on all fours. The three
gargoyles rushed over to help him, then backed away as John's body changed
into a tall midnight-blue gargoyle.
	"What sorcery is this?!" whispered Griff.
	"Ohh, my head..." The gargoyle slapped a hand on top of the table. He
hoisted himself up, wobbling the whole time. "Can we talk about this 
tonight? The sun's coming up." The others nodded in agreement, and all four
fell into different poses, turning into stone as the sun rose. 

	With four loud roars, the sleeping gargoyles broke free of their stone
hibernation. The England gargoyles crowded around the new arrival. They 
didn't seem to want to get too close to the newer arrival, for fear that
some magic was at work.
	Griff, the gargoyle in charge, brought himself up to his full height
in front of the gargoyle known as 'John'. "Listen up, mate. I want answers,
an' I want them now!" Reaching out, he grabbed hold of John's arm.
	The big midnight-blue gargoyle narrowed his eyes at the rough
treatment, then replied in a quiet voice, "Lay off, mate. I've no wish ta'
hurt ye."
	Leo came up next to Griff, and grabbed John's other arm. "And we have
no wish to hurt you, good sir. However, given the circumstances, if you
could help us out a bit..."
	John looked around, seeing the entire shop and those in it. Three
gargoyles, battle trained; close quarter fighting, with the initiative going
possibly to the three. Maybe they worked efficiently as a team, maybe not.
His 'sixth sense', that finely tuned ability all great warriors had, 
analyzed the situation instantly and told him in a nanosecond that Griff was
probably the only one that actually fought recently; the others, possibly
defended their home?...."
	His arms went limp in their grasp, and he relaxed. Grinning, he asked,
"What would you have of me? I am a warrior, just as you are! Ask away!"
	For the rest of the night, the four gargoyles talked. John told them
that he was a 'minor' sorcerer that had learned the spell of polymorphing,
and had used it to join the RAF to fight Nazi Germany. He also told them of
his clan, who were 'protecting the castle' back home. Of his kills, of
what he had seen in his travels.
	Griff, Una and Leo, meanwhile, told of life in London; food hard to
come by, the dangers in the street, the aerial bombardments every night.
Griff told of helping the people of London, sometimes taking Leo or Una 
along with him.
	It was obvious that Leo and Una preferred to stay home, while Griff
would much rather be out fighting with the Nazis. The griffin gargoyle was
very adamant about fighting, so much that John wondered if there wasn't a 
bit of Scotland in thoses veins!
	John groaned a bit, then stretched out. "Well," he said, rising to his
feet, "I'd best be returning to my unit."
	Una reached out and clasped his arm. "Not yet. Your commanding officer
told us to tell you that you have a few days of leave, considering what 
happened AND a history of not taking a break!" Griff and Leo nodded their
agreement.
	"I canna just....sit here, while the Nazis bomb the dickens out of us!
I don't feel right just sitting around, doing nothing!" John exclaimed, 
as he started pacing the room.
	Griff jumped up, a huge grin on his face. "Tell you what, mate! If you
cannot stand around, then how about... gliding around?"
	John stared at him for a second, then comprehension dawned on his 
face. He laughed, then clapped Griff on the shoulder. "I haven't done any
flying for months.... at least, not without an engine attached!" They all
laughed at that. Laughter was almost as rare a commodity these days as was
sugar.
	Griff lead the others up onto the roof of the bookstore. He paused at
the edge of the roof, looking into the night sky. "Beautiful night for 
flying, if I must say so!" Laughing, he jumped off into the twilight sky,
graceful wings swept up and out. John leaped out after him. Soon the two
were lost from view, blending in with darkened buildings of London.
	Una and Leo watched the two, different thoughts coming from both. Leo
wished that he had more of the famous lion-like courage, so he could join 
them in flight; Una simply wished for Griff to come back safely.

	"John! Stop acting like you are on patrol, chum, and just enjoy the
moment!" Griff said, laughing. He was flying lazily in the air above John.
	The midnight-blue gargoyle glanced up at his new friend. He had been
unconsciously scanning the sky around him, looking for any signs of German 
fighters or bombers. It was a clear night, with no moon out. The weather was
excellent for an attack from the hated Nazis.
	After one more quick scan, John relaxed his vigil. His wingmates were
more than amply prepared to handle a few days without him. After all, the
fighter pilots were some of the best that Great Britain had to offer!
	He extended his wings straight out, slowing his speed down, but 
gaining better air control. The humans had taught him a great deal 
inadvertently about flying over the years, incorporating various new
technological advances into their planes that he could use to help him
out-perform just about any gargoyle that he knew of (although, considering
that the rest of his clan was stone, and he just met these English 
gargoyles, didn't seem like many) without much of a problem.
	He did a few barrel rolls, laughing with pleasure. It had been so long
since he was able to enjoy himself like this! And who knew how long it would
be until he would be able to again!
	Griff smiled at the midnight-blue gargoyle. He was a strange one, to
be sure, but was a patriot and a comrade-in-arms. Grinning devilishly, he
tucked his wings in and crashed into John.
	John's combat sense warned him about the surprise attack, but he chose
to accept the blow in return for one from himself. Rolling with the blow, he
grabbed hold of Griff's jacket and pulled it up over his head.
	Cursing, Griff struggled to free himself of his jacket, trying to keep
his bearings enough to stay aloft. As he pulled at the top, a rough hand
grabbed ahold of him, pulling him down to the ground.
	As they landed on the roof of a nearby building, Griff managed to
pull his jacket down. Seeing John nearby, he was about to give him a good 
thrashing, when he noticed the blue gargoyle looking up into the sky.
	"What is it, chum?" Griff asked. He peered into the night sky along 
side of John.
	John didn't hear him. His enhanced senses had picked up a slight
droning sound... the sound of multiengine planes flying in formation. He 
switched his vision to full dragonsight, allowing him to see in the 
now-almost darkness, as the lights of the city went out. The air raid sirens
began going off, and people rushed to the nearest shelter.
	"Griff! The Nazis are attacking again!" he cried, leaping off the 
building. He quickly caught an updraft, and soared into the night sky.
	Griff took off almost immediately, pausing long enough to mutter,
"Blasted Nazis!" Then he too caught an updraft, soaring up to do battle
with the German Air Force.

	Captain Joseph Chase was also cursing the Germans at this point. His
squadron of Spitfires was outnumbered by the ME-109s that raced to engage
them. His group was flying Mark 1s, with the eight .303s in the wings,
instead of two of the troublesome 20mm cannons. 
	The two fighter groups clashed. In the opening seconds, three '109s
dropped towards the earth, blazing. However, four Spits crumpled under the
cannons of the Messerschmidts.
	Chase cut inside a '109, snapping out a burst. The '109 rolled left,
diving down into a power dive. He followed suit, the big Merlin screaming
in protest at the sudden g's.
	Then, he saw a sight that he proclaimed to his dying day. Two winged
figures latched onto the enemy fighter; one on a wing, the other onto the
cockpit. The hood was ripped off, and the pilot thrown off into space. The
figure by the cockpit leaped into the diving fighter, and it leveled off.
The other figure waved at the plane, and then jumped off.
	Realizing he was streaking towards the ground at about 400+ knots, he
pulled back on the stick and the throttle. The sudden climb, combined with 
the loss of power, caused his Spit to stall.
	"Damn it!" He edged the throttle forward, giving the powerplant the
avgas it needed. The big motor caught again, and he raced over the ground,
perhaps feet off the buildings. Looking around, he saw his mates still
mixing it up with the Germans. Slamming the throttle to overboost, the 
fighter raced off to engage.

	John's hands ached. The big Daimler-Benz was sputtering extremely 
badly, and from somewhere under the cowl, an oil line had ruptured. It was
spraying a thin line over the windscreen, making it almost impossible to 
see.
	All he was trying to do was guide the fighter towards the channel,
in an effort to ditch it in unpopulated territory. Just as he reached it,
the oil warning light (or so he thought) blinked on, and the engine seized.
Devoid of power, the fighter nosed down.
	John immediately jumped up and out, spreading his wings and watching
the German plane nose into the channel. Well, he thought, one down, the rest
of the German Airforce to go.
	A movement on his left caused him to veer sharply away. It turned out
to be Griff, holding his lower leg in pain. John immediately flew over and
supported him. He dived quickly, as a Me-109 flashed by. The pain must have
been too much, as Griff passed out. 
	The two gargoyles dropped to a nearby roof, and John spread Griff out
in order to examine the wound. A good section of his thigh was blasted away,
probably from a MG-131 (13mm) shell. John looked around quickly and returned
with a blanket he had scavenged. He tied it up around Griff's leg, then 
carried the wounded gargoyle back to the shop.

	Una and Leo anxiously watched outside, waiting for the arrival of
Griff and John. When the bells jingled, they rushed to the door, just in 
time to see John carry an unconscious Griff through the door.
	"Oh my god! GRIFF!!" Una screamed. She tried running over, but Leo
held her back. Even though she fought like a hellcat, he managed to hold 
onto her. Finally, after John placed him on a nearby couch, did he let her
go.
	As Una cried over Griff, John pulled Leo off to the side. "He was
muttering about seeing 'a gargoyle over a full moon', as I was bringing him
here. Any ideas what that means?"
	Leo though for a few moments. "No, I can't think of anything that 
would fit that description." He looked over at Griff, who was moaning.
"Maybe tomorrow night, when Griff recovers, he can tell us what happened."
	John placed his hand on Leo's shoulder.  "I won't be here tomorrow.
I'm heading back to my squadron, tonight. There's only one way to defeat the
Nazis, and that's to fight back, which I fully intend to do!"
	"Aye, and you would be a bloody fool, too! Look what happened to 
Griff! He's badly wounded, maybe crippled! But noooo, you have to go and 
prove what a BIG gargoyle you are! Go then, and get yourself killed!" This
from Una, whose tear-streaked face blazed with anger. She had turned at
John's words to reply, her anger at not being to help Griff pouring out onto
John.
	"Gargoyles Protect. It is our nature. I will stop back later on, to
check on Griff, tomorrow night. Until then, take care." John clasped 
forearms with Leo, then walked over and took Una into his embrace.
	"Why... why can't they just leave us alone...." she murmured, tears
spilling out onto his chest. John held her for a few more seconds, trying
to give her the strength to get through the conflict, then released her.
	Una stepped back, wiping away the tears. She grasped John's forearm,
then went back to change Griff's bandage. John walked toward the door, 
stopping after he opened it.
	He turned back towards Leo, who stood mutely facing him. John's eyes
blazed white as he spoke, "I will find who hurt Griff.... and I will make
him pay!"
	With that, he was gone.
***************************************************************************
Chapter Three
Two weeks later...

	John chopped power to the engine; the ploy worked as the Me-109 shot
past. Slamming the throttle forward again, he fired a long burst into the
German fighter's wing root, shearing it off. He immediately pulled back
on the stick to get altitude as the Nazi bailed out.
	Number thirty-four. As he climbed, he flipped the gun switch to arm
all eight .303's. With the intense firefight going on, he figured he'd be 
able to sneak in a couple of quick bursts into the belly of a Heinkel, then
flash by before they realized what happened.
	John held his fire, watching as one of Germany's finest medium bombers
filled his gun sight. With the overcast and city-wide blackout, his fighter
wouldn't be seen as he rose up from underneath. 
	C'mon, quicker! he thought, trying to will the Spitfire faster. The
engine and radiator temperature gauges were creeping extremely close to the
red. Finally, John felt he was close enough and fired.
	
	Oberleutnat Hans Kreiger lurched under the impact. Damn British! He
jinked a bit so the gunners could get a clear shot at the British Spitfire
that hammered his Heinkel He111. He looked at the readings he was getting
off his instrument panel, not liking it one bit. Oil pressure in No.2 engine
was dropping rapidly, so he feathered it; at the same time, he increased
speed in No.1 to full military in an attempt to keep with the formation. If
he was forced to drop out, he'd be easy pickings for the Spits.
	"Damage report!" he yelled through his throat mike.
	"Wick, Schroer and Steinhoff are dead! We're losing hydraulics back
here, and the circuit-breakers keep tripping! The only way we can make it
back is if we jettison the bomb load and make a run for it!" yelled out
Haptmann Hermann Graf, the bombardier/nose gunner.
	Hans checked his controls; they were extremely sluggish and 
unresponsive. "Agreed. Drop the bomb load while I radio to the squadron
leader that we are dropping out." A brief conversation, and as he swung
the bomber around and low to escape, he felt the weight of four 1800kg
high-explosive bombs drop away. Looking at his indicators, he noticed that
the engine temperature on No.1 was creeping towards the red. He hoped that
they would make it home.

	After seriously damaging the Heinkel, John rolled his fighter away
from the formation as the other bombers opened fire. He felt the tremors
as the bullets bit into his Spit. He threw his fighter into a split-S to
throw off the gunner's aim, and broke away. 
	He sighted a '109 firing furiously on the tail of a Hurricane, and
dove down to get the jump on him. He weaved back and forth, trying to keep
the fighter in view, and also making sure that the German didn't have a 
wingman that would 'bounce' him when he made a firing run.
	He glanced around quickly, but didn't spot anyone. As the two fighters
continued maneuvering, John kept cutting inside the '109's turns, in order
to close the distance. 
	As the Hurricane went low to the deck, John quickly pulled his 
binoculars from their holding place and looked over the German fighter.
Nope, no emblem. He dropped the binocs back, and as he prepared to fire,
thought back to the night after Griff had gotten shot....
******************************** Flashback *******************************

	Growling fiercely, three stone figures shattered, revealing the
gargoyles that had been nestled inside.
	Una and Leo walked over towards Griff, as the griffin-gargoyle peeled
off the bandage wrapped around his leg. The wound was still visible, but
had closed up to show a nasty scar; that would disappear the following 
night. The three embraced, and started some small talk when the door opened.
	They immediately cloaked their wings, in order to keep up the
facade that they were "eccentric". A lone individual walked into the 
darkened area, and hung up his coat on the coat rack. Then the figure stood
silently.
	"May I help you?" inquired Una. Leo walked over with his hand extended
toward the figure.
	"Yes. I'm looking for a foolhardy gargoyle that goes by the name of
Griff, so I can beat him for running off in the middle of a fight and 
getting shot!"
	"John! You're ok! Thank goodness! Last I saw of you was climbing into
the Messerschmidt!" Griff said. He walked over, slightly limping, and
clasped forearms with John.
	John shifted into his gargoyle form, to have the others feel more at
home, as he clasped forearms. "How are you, Griff?"
	Griff kneaded his scarred leg gently. "I've been better. I guess I'll
need to watch my six more often."
	"That reminds me; What do you remember about last night? You were
mumbling something about "a gargoyle over a full moon". Do you remember
that?" Leo asked.
	Griff stumbled over and flopped down in the chair. He cocked his
head and rubbed his chin, thinking. His eyes went wide, then he snapped his
claws together. "I remember! I got jumped by a Me-109, and it had an emblem
of a gargoyle against a full moon on it's side. He had me in his sights, but
only fired a small burst at my legs. I was just unlucky enough to catch a
round in the leg. But..."
	"But what?" asked John. He sat in a chair nearby Griff, while Una and
Leo plopped down in the couch.
	"The pilot didn't seem to really want to kill me; it seemed like he 
just threw a burst at me... well, because, I guess." Griff replied.
	John leaned back in the chair, thinking back to the following night.
Yes, a Messerschmidt had passed by, and could have easily shot them both out
of the sky, if so inclined. Maybe the pilot wasn't sure what Griff and he
had been, and had held his fire. But whatever the case, the next time that
he met the Nazi in combat, he wouldn't be in such a helpless situation!
****************************************************************************

	John flicked the gun switch back so only the outer four .303's would
fire. The Me-109 flashed by in front of John, paying attention only to the
pursued Spitfire in front of it. The Spit zoomed upward in a desperate 
climb, trying to outrun the German fighter. The '109 ran directly into 
John's fire, and he poured 200 rounds of machine-gun bullets into the nose.
The fighter snapped into an envading roll, and John fired a second burst
into the belly. Still it would not fall, until a third burst caught the 
still-rolling in the cockpit. The glass erupted and John saw the pilot slam
forward. The Me-109 fell off into a spin, then dove at great speed to
explode in the city below.
	John pulled up next to the Hurricane and wagged his wings, then 
pulled ahead. The other plane dropped into the wingman's slot, and the two
flew back into the fight.
**************************************************************************
Chapter Four
Four hours later...
Berlin

	Wagner von Schloss stood quietly, going over his fighter with loving
care. It was easy, and he wasn't disturbed, considering that he never
socialized with the other fighter pilots in his unit, Jagdstaffel 200,
the specialized night-fighter unit that was an offbranch of Jagdgruppe 26.
	As he watched the armorers feed in the ammo belts for his 13mm machine
guns, a private walked over. After the customary praise to Hitler from the
both of them, the private handed over enclosed orders to him. Then he left.
	Wagner opened the sealed envelope. It read:
***************************************************************************
	From: German Air Ministry
	CC:  General Hermann Goering
	To:  Captain Wagner von Schloss

	Operational orders:

	I am assigning Jagdstaffel 200 to France, because the unit
is the highly trained in night escort. You will join up with existing escort
units and provide assistance.
	It has come to my attention, from numerous sources, that an extremely
talented British ace has been wiping out numerous Messerschmidt 109s and
Heinkel He111s. I am assigning you personally to find and shoot down the 
British ace. He goes by the name of Captain John MacDonnell, and he flies
a British Spitfire, with the emblem of a dragon in flight on both sides of
the hood. I wish to crush the morale of the British by seeking out and 
destroying one of their more prominent aces.
	Do not fail me in this endeavor, Captain von Schloss. Good hunting.

							Hermann Goering
***************************************************************************
	Wagner read it over a few more times, then crumpled it up in his fist.
He longed for the day when he wouldn't be von Sturm's hatchetman anymore.
Soon, very soon, it would change.
	With that in mind, he started yelling orders to the other pilots to
get their planes prepped for a long flight.

	At night, after patrol, John would go over and see the London clan.
he filled them in on all the action that went on. Griff continued to fly
his own patrols, even managed to drop three more German fighters. He stayed
away from the bombers; since he wasn't nearly as fast as the British
Spitfires and Hurricanes, he'd be an easy target for the concentrated
defensive fire from the bombers.
	John even started taking days off, now and again. He spent the nights
with the British gargoyles, going over his adventures he had had over the
decades of life. He confessed later that he was a dragon; even dragged Leo,
Una and Griff out into the country and polymorphed back into his true form.
Leo and Una stood amazed, while Griff just laughed.
	"If we had more like you in this blasted war, the Nazis wouldn't 
stand a chance!"
	"If we had more like me in this war, Great Britain wouldn't even be a
target at this point." John answered. Although his armored scales could take
a great punishment, he didn't want to see if they would stand up against
twenty-millimeter cannon shells, or eighty-eight millimeter flak shells.
	The four would sit around at night, and play chess, while they talked
about how well it was when there wasn't a war; either that, or they talked
how the war was going.
	John used his ration cards to try and give them as much luxury as he
could. Then, one day, new orders came through, and he went to tell the clan.

	"Why did they cut new orders, chap? I thought you were doing a bang-up
job protecting the Queen Mum." Leo said. None of the London clan liked what
had happened; they had grown rather close in the past couple of weeks.
	"So did I, but I'm being rotated after this tour to go and train new
fighter pilots, in Southampton. I don't know when I'll be back. I've
already put in a request to be transferred back." John set down his drink,
coffee, black; he hated tea.
	"When do you leave?" Griff asked.
	"In two days." John answered. He was clearly upset. He didn't want to
leave, not after he had finally found new gargoyles.
	At that instant, the air raid sirens went off. Una leapt over and 
extinguished the lights. Griff and John leapt for the nearby window and
jumped out into the night.
	"Griff! GRIFF!!" Una yelled. She and Leo ran over to the window, and
saw the receding shapes of the two gargoyles. "Please be safe..." Una 
whispered.
	
	Griff and John raced across the city; John needed to get to the 
airbase as quick as possible. At the prearranged site, the two split up.
John landed right outside the field, changing back into his human form,
complete with flying uniform. He raced over to his fighter. 
	It was the new Spitfire II, with a higher output Rolls-Royce 
Merlin XII powerplant. After he tinkered with it, it pushed out a maximum
1515 horsepower. The wings were 'universal'. In layman's terms, it could
mount either eight Browning .303s, four .303s and two Hispano-Suiza
twenty-millimeter cannons, or four 20mm cannons. Right now, it had his
special armament; four .50 caliber Browning machine guns, and two
Hispano cannons.
	As he wound up the big powerplant, one of the ground crew ran over and
handed him a sheaf of documents. Saluting, he ran off.
	John quickly scanned over the report. It told him where the Germans
were coming from, and at what coordinates his squadron was at. Tucking the
documents under the seat, he brought the powerplant to take-off power and
thundered down the runway.
	As he rose up to the required altitude, he gave his guns a test fire,
then called his squadron over the air. "This is Dragon Leader to Dragon
Flight. Status report."
	"Hey, Captain! Glad you could make it to the war!" replied Lieutenant
Ian "Wedge" Caldwell, his second-in-command.
	"Yea, well, I had business to attend to in town. What's the scoop?"
he answered. Ian quickly filled him in, telling him just about everything
that he already saw on the mission orders. Except for one thing....
	"Hey Cap, I heard that Wagner von Schloss and his Jagdstaffel 200 is
flying escort now! You know, that specialized night-fighter unit, from
Berlin? I heard that no one has gotten close enough to him to even DAMAGE
his aircraft!" Ian sounded excited and worried at the same time.
	John had managed to catch up with the rest of the squadron, and now
they flew at 30,000 ft. Once again, it was a moonless night, so they hoped 
for a unexpected 'bounce' onto the Germans.
***************************************************************************
Chapter Five
Twenty minutes later....

	The squadron had been circling for about twenty minutes, and there
had been no sign of the Germans. John was about to tell the others to head
back to base when one of the other pilots radioed:
	"Bombers: 2 o'clock low. With Me-109 escorts."
	"Alright, people! You heard the man, and you know the drill! DRAGONS
ATTACK!!" John sang out. 
	The squadron dropped out of the sky, slashing through the German 
formation. Without any warning, the bombers were helpless against the first
attack; six of the Heinkel He111s plummeted from the sky.
	But the Germans were not caught completely unaware. The escorts, 
bearing the emblem of the infamous Jagdstaffel 200, immediately followed
the Spits down. A grand melee followed, with fighters being shot down in
great numbers on both sides.
	
	Wagner caught a Spitfire in his sight, and put a well-placed burst
into the engine. The British pilot threw back his hood and jumped away,
his chute deploying as he cleared the stricken fighter.
	Wagner was trying his utmost not to place a killing shot into the 
fighters he shot down; he was, after all, a gargoyle, even though he had
been reshaped to serve as a spy.
	Although he was shooting down British Spits, he was constantly on the
lookout for the Spitfire with the dragon emblem on the hood. Finally, after
a few minutes, he found him.

	John was having a good day; he had shot down a Heinkel on the first 
pass they had made, sweeping his cannon burst over one engine, then the 
other, bypassing the cockpit. A stray cannon round might have hit it, but
all the crew seemed to have bailed out.
	As he swept over the formation, his fifties caught a '109 in the
engine, causing it to freeze up; the result of a blown oil line. The pilot
bailed out and drifted to the blacked-out city below. As he climbed after 
the attack, another short burst sheared a wing off another '109. The stricken
fighter immediately dropped into a flat spin, and disappeared from sight.
	John constantly scanned the surrounding fighters, looking for the
target that was rumored to be in the escorting group, a target worthy of his
skill: Wagner von Schloss.
	All of a sudden, that innate ability, that one thing that true 
warriors have, something only known as "sixth sense", flashed on. John had
learned centuries ago to trust his instincts, so he never even hesitated.
He slammed the throttle to the firewall, and tossed the stick hard to the 
side.
	He was lucky he did that; a murderous wall of fire leaped by, the
burst from a dark Me-109. It flashed by, locking onto the tail of a Spitfire
that happened to be close by.
	John looked around quickly; neither he nor the other plane had a 
wingman, nor the dark German fighter. The '109 was clinging grimly to the 
tail of the Spit, its tracers chewing up the wings and the tail. In 
desperation, John snapped out a burst. At once, the Messerschmidt snapped 
away in a roll to the right, clawing around in a tight turn, and ending up
in a climb straight at John's plane. Never had John seen an enemy plane
move so quickly or so gracefully before; and every second his guns were
moving closer to the belly of his fighter. John snap-rolled in an effort to
throw him off. He would not be shaken. He was using one of John's favorite
tactics, coming up from below.
	John chopped the throttle back, and the big Spit shuddered as its
speed fell. It worked; his timing off, the enemy pilot pulled back in a 
turn. John slammed the throttle forward again, rolling to the left. Five 
times he rolled the Spit, then dropped in a spin, and came out in a left
vertical spiral. The '109 matched him turn for turn. The left wings of
both planes pointed at a right angle to the city below them, the right wings
at the sky. 
	Wagner couldn't believe the skill that the other pilot showed. It was
as if he, too, was born to the night sky. Suddenly, he broke away, both
planes heading off in opposite directions. As if by magic, they both flipped 
around and closed to firing distance. Wagner opened up with both his cannon
and his machine guns; the Spitfire returned fire with all six wing-mounted
guns. 
	Weaving back and forth, both fighters scored hits on each other. 
Wagner's burst walked over the Spit's left wing, silencing the two smaller
guns, then marched down the side. The port tailplane received heavy damage,
along with the rudder. A stray cannon round smashed into the engine, causing
it to smoke terribly.
	John's long burst also had telling blows. The fifty-calibers walked
up the side of the engine, most of them missing because of the gun
placements, but causing enough havoc to knock out two of the cylinders and
destroy the upper machine guns on their way up towards the cockpit.
	They flew by each other, cockpit to cockpit, then shot passed. Both
fighters were smoking heavily as the wheeled around for another pass at
each other. 
	Wagner took stock of his situation. The engine was knocking badly, and
both machine guns had been destroyed. The windscreen was smashed apart, and
the wind was beating violently against Wagner's face. He knew he was low on
cannon ammo, but he had no choice. He would die facing forward, into the 
maw of the enemy.
	John was almost in the same boat as Wagner. A bullet had caught his
shoulder; he had managed to reach down to the mission orders and stuff them
in his shoulder wound. Then he turned his attention to his plane.
	The instrument panel was shot away; the big Merlin shook terribly,
and could stop at any moment. The smoke luckily was coming out the side, so
it didn't obstruct his view at all. His left wing was chewed to hell, and
he could see the mangled wreckage of his port fifties. The twenty-mike-mike
seemed alright, but he wouldn't know until he fired. He tried moving his
controls around. They seemed extremely sluggish, and he had to fight to keep
from yawing to the left.
	The two planes came at each other again. Wagner's 20mm was answered
by John's. The planes shuddered under the impact as the shells hit home.
Once again, they flew by each other.
	Smoking heavily, planes riddled by shells, the two aces flipped back
around towards each other. The front of both planes looked like swiss 
cheese, and both were damaged extremely badly. Neither one had the 
advantage, and had to use every trick they knew to keep their damaged 
fighters flying straight.
	Wagner checked his situation. It was hopeless; his fighter was a 
flying wreck, barely able to stay in the air.
	John looked over his crippled fighter. He knew it wouldn't stay in the
air much longer.
	Spitfire weapons check: Empty.
	Messerschmidt weapons check: Empty.
	The two planes, going at minimal speeds, flipped on their sides, 
cockpit to cockpit. As they passed by, a remarkable thing happened:
	The two pilots saluted each other, then veered away.

	Wagner joined up with the remnants of his flight. They all looked
haggard and battle-worn. One of the pilots made a move to follow the
damaged Spitfire, sensing an easy kill, but Wagner raised a hand, and the
fighter dropped back in formation. He flew back, lost in his thoughts.

	John wagged his wings at two approaching Spitfires. They immediately
joined up, protecting his flanks. Surprisingly, John's radio crackled to 
life.
	"Dragon Leader, this is Dragon One. Hey, John, you ok mate?" Ian
asked, worriedly.
	"I'm fine, Dragon One. Let's get these boys back to base." John
answered. His shoulder throbbed dully.
	"Dragon Leader, this is Dragon Five. Want me to shoot down that Kraut?
It would be an easy shoot to blow that bloody German outta the sky!" one of
the other pilots said.
	"No. Leave him be. There's been enough killing for one day. Besides,
he was a superb opponent; he should live." John replied. "Dragon Leader, 
out."
**************************************************************************
Chapter Six
Two weeks later.....

	John tried the door latch. It was locked, for some reason. Blinking,
John hammered on the door a couple of times. No one answered. He ducked into 
a nearby alley, polymorphed into his gargoyle form, and climbed up the wall.
	The upper balcony window was open; that's strange, John thought. The
London gargoyles NEVER left their window open when they weren't around. As
he walked into the room, he quietly said, "Griff? Una? Leo?"
	As he neared the back, someone crying caught his enhanced hearing. It
was a woman crying, that he was sure. He approached the back.
	Una was lying on the couch, stone chips all around her. It looked
like she hadn't left the couch for a few days. She was crying, her voice
hitching, like she had been crying a long time.
	Leo was staring remorsefully at a candle that was burning low in front
of him.
	"Una? Leo? What's wrong? Where's Griff?" John asked quietly.
	Una started crying again. Leo looked up startled, his face a mask of
hope; then it fell, seeing who it was. "Oh, John, it's you."
	"Leo? What's wrong? What happened?" he asked anxiously.
	Leo pulled John up, and led him into the other room. They sat down
at the other table. "Griff disappeared about a week ago. Another Scottish
gargoyle showed up, and that night they both disappeared. We think he was
working for the Nazis!" Leo said, slamming his fist down on the table. "If
only I hadn't been so afraid...."
	John reached over and placed his hands on Leo's. "My friend, I'm sure
that there was nothing you could do. Tell me what happened."
	Leo recited the whole night, starting with Griff bringing back the new
gargoyle, and then the two leaving for patrol. After that, they never saw
them again.
	Jon thought to himself; it sounded like Goliath, but he was still
frozen in stone back at Castle Wyvern. Or so he thought. Maybe....
He shook his head. Goliath and the clan would have tried to find him by now.
He had left notes telling them where he was, just in case something happened
and they woke up.
	He turned back to Leo. "Leo... listen. I'm getting transferred, back to
Southampton. To train the pilots. I don't know when I'll get back, or if
I ever will. But I'll try to stay in contact, as long as possible."
	Leo sighed. "And now you're leaving us too? Bloody 'ell...."
	"I've got to go, my friend. Say goodbye to Una for me, ok?"
	Leo jerked back up. "Of course! Try to stay in touch my friend!"
	"I will! Goodbye!" The midnight-blue gargoyle leaped out the window,
never to be seen in London again.......
****************************************************************************
Epilogue

	"... so you see, Leo and Una thought you were a Nazi at first. But
because of the stories from one of my squadron mates, they thought the two
of you were heros. Hence, the monument. By the way, who do you think paid
for the statues? Yours truly!" Bolt said.
	"Hmmm... Now I know why they disliked me so much. They thought I got
Griff killed in action. Well, At least now they know the truth." Goliath
said. He looked around at the clan. All of them, including Hudson, had tuned
into the story. Angela was snuggled up close, resting her head on Bolt's
chest. The Trio were curled up close by Bolt's feet, and Hudson and Bronx
were in their usual spots.
	"How many planes did you end up shooting down, total?" Broadway asked.
He was always interested in war movies, along with his favorite detective
shows.
	"Ummm....... I think the final score was....134 kills." Bolt answered.
	"Did you ever meet Wagner again?" Brooklyn asked.
	"Oh, a couple of times. Neither one of us could ever get the better
hand; every battle was a stalemate. However, I did get to sit down with him
after the war, once. Did you know that Wagner von Schloss is a gargoyle?"
	"A gargoyle? But, I've seen footage of him, and he's a human!" Lex
blurted out. "And why would he sit down with you? Weren't you two sworn
enemies?"
	"Ah, Lexington, good questions. First: he was chiseled down to be a
gargoyle spy a long time ago. However, he was still able to keep his wings.
Actually, he can fly quite well. And him being my enemy? That was war. We
threw grudges aside and talked the night away in this little pub I knew in
Scotland...." Bolt answered. His eyes got a dreamy expression as he thought
back to the old days.
	"But how...." Hudson started, before Goliath cut him off.
	"It is nearly dawn. We must assume our places. These stories can wait
until another time." the lavender leader said. The clan got up, joints
crackling all around. They shuffled up to the parapets.
	"Hey, Bolt? Can you tell us another story, sometime?" Broadway asked.
	"Well, my friend, time will tell....." Bolt said. 
	The sun rose, and a new day began...
***************************************************************************
	This was a story idea I got from watching old WWII movies on TNT
one night. I thought I'd break away from my storyline for a bit, and throw
this out! Once again, special thanks goes to Mary "Stormy" Pletsch, for
letting me borrow her characters!
	Well, another story has been finished! Next I'll start on the 
conclusion to DevilSpawn, so all of my fans out there, you'll have to wait
just a little bit longer! 

Matt "Mer" Little
myrlynn@execpc.com (my e-mail addy)
			
				We Are Defenders Of The Night!
				    We Are Gargoyle Fans!