Agent Stephens blinked. "We're posing as Greeks."
Cruz shrugged. "At a distance, maybe." Greeks with hidden rifles, . 50 caliber IDF Desert Eagles, abseil gear, night-vision goggles, laser sights, heat-seeking RPGs…
And not a clue. Some of that gear could be useful, maybe. Depending on what it turned into.
"Anyway, to be frank with you, Sergeant, they're not up to our level of training," said Bott, practicing assembling his rifle. He might be faster at that than a bastard like Odysseus would be at dismantling him before he was finished, but Cruz wouldn't bet on it.
Eric Flint Dave Freer
Pyramid Power
Chapter 4
Even if the dragons flew to a remote part of the wildlife reserve, to have a break from pesky tourists they weren't even allowed to eat, there were inevitably eager dragon watchers with binoculars somewhere in the park, tracking their upward flight.
Up, up, up… into the clouds.
"So, where to from here?" asked Bitar.
"Dunno. Thought you did."
"It's north."
"So which way is that?"
Bitar thought about it for a moment. "Let's ask someone."
Dragons have keen eyesight. It's useful for spotting prey from a great height. Good for spotting a really well camouflaged greenhouse in the woods, too.
Carl Frederick, cultivator of the fine green product known variously as purple haze, ganja, weed and, lately, thanks to his new English girlfriend, by the charming epithet "skunk," owed his skill in camouflage to time spent in the 101st, prior to his not-entirely-honorable discharge. He owed his survival over the next few minutes to being too stoned to care. He just sat there and smiled vacantly.
There was no other reasonable way to treat a seventy-five-foot dragon landing on your greenhouse. Especially when his brother dragon is investigating your ear with his tongue.