How to Train Your Dragon meets the modern day

I have recently become enamoured with the movie How to Train Your Dragon. What a movie I must say. However, call me retarded or whatever, but my leaning to of World War 2 war machines has interfered. World of Tanks and the Spitfire are at the forefront of this. However, after much schizophrenic debate, I have decided a single Spitfire would be more appropriate than an army of of tanks against a bunch of Vikings. ENJOYS!

HICCUP

This is Berk. It's a rather unforgiving looking island with a rather unforgiving sounding name. The large majority of the Viking population are also rather dull. A few short months ago, they would've been rather vicious aswell, had I, Hiccup Horrendous the Third, not made sure the entire village was rather, well, eaten. Sounds strange, huh? Yeah I bet it does seeing as I didn't make sense on that last sentence and I seem to have momentarily forgotten punctuation... oh wait, we speak Norse. Norse doesn't have punctuation, save for underlining. But, at least pretty much everything is shipshape, because the war is over, it's a New Year (AD1013) and Astrid and I have decided this 'thing between us' should become a proper relationship. No sharing beds though, heheh, bit too young for that.

And Toothless? Well, he's Toothless. We still go flying and even Astrid will come along for a ride. It does mean I have to ride Stormfly so she doesn't get jealous. Sadly though, we still haven't found another Night Fury like him. It has become apparent that when we were at war, he was the only Fury during my lifetime to ever attack us. Could he be the last one of his kind? If only we could go far enough to find one...

ANDERS

This is Berk. It's a small island off the coast of Iceland and right now... the stage for the largest air battle of the War. My name is Anders Lanquist. My aircraft is a Spitfire Mark XXI with contra-props, two M2 Browning machine guns and two 20mm Hispano autocannon. I am a Norwegian pilot of No.332 Squadron RAF. And I hate Germans.

They were getting away. The Ju187 ducked and weaved. But it was still a big target. I lined him up and scowled at the rear gunner. Then I pushed the fire button. My two 0.50 cals roared and the 20mm Hispanos thundered. The Super-Stuka disintegrated under 2 seconds of bullets. I heard a BANG!

'Damn!' I thought, 'Friendly flak is too close.'

"Attention all fighters," came the voice of Air Commodore Stockard, "The German fleet has launched another wave of fighter-bombers from the Graf Zeppelin. Intercept at close range." 190's! Finally a REAL challenge. I crashed the throttle into full power. The Rolls-Royce Griffon 65 screamed and the contra-rotating props whined. I pulled the joystick about and pulled into the enemy. A FW190D was quickly in my sights. I pushed the trigger again and the quad heavy weapons cracked. The 190 shed a wing, rolled and dove uncontrollable below me. BANG! My eyes darted ahead, too late to notice the ball of flak ahead of me. I had no choice but to fly through the flames!

I survived but I saw the leading edges of my wings were burning. My props were also engulfed in flame. I gazed in horror as the fires grew and engulfed my plane. I opened my mouth to scream as the flames entered the cockpit, but nothing ever came out.