AN: Silly youtube videos, always giving me inspiration, yet distracting from War of the Oranges! This story will eventually cover all six of the ducks, but you get Wildwing for now. I'm using this to explore hockey rules and culture, writing game scenes, and figuring out team interactions early on in the series. This takes place during First Face Off Part 2, before the team is accepted into the NHL.


The Aerowing slowly came in to land in the parking lot of Throne Arena, home of the Los Angeles Crowns. One man stood near the entrance of the arena, waiting to greet the new team. Several camera crews from local stations and sports channels were corralled behind metal barriers.

Camera flashes and calls from the reporters greeted the ducks as the ramp in the front of the Aerowing lowered and the team walked out with their manager in the lead. All of the ducks were in their new jerseys and each carried a large duffle bag with their equipment. Wildwing held his goalie pads over one shoulder, opting to don cumbersome protection once inside. Despite urging from the team, he refused to wear the Mask.

Phil walked up to a tall, thin man in his fifties. The head coach in charge of the training camp was average weight and height; his huge cheeks were his most defining feature. They bunched up into almost Santa-like apples when he smiled and his blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

The noisy reporters became even more raucous as the team neared them. Phil put his hands out in a quieting motion and they listened for a change. He decided to leave the newscasters be for now and introduce the team. After all, putting on a good show could bring a lot more publicity than straight up engaging the media.

"Guys, this is Coach Roy Sommer. Roy, I present to you, The Mighty Ducks," he introduced with a flourish.

Coach Sommer extended his hand in welcome and Wildwing shook it.

"Great to have you with us. So, you're from a planet where hockey is a main sport?"

"It's the sport," Duke replied.

Wildwing smiled. "Yes. We appreciate you allowing us to participate in your camp. If you'll just explain how things are handled here a little, we'll try to adjust our playing styles to yours."

The human laughed. "No way! I don't want you guys adjusting anything. Play like you would at home. I'm interested to see how hockey is played on another planet."

"Well, technically, another universe," Tanya corrected.

"I still have problems wrapping my head around the fact that aliens are real," the coach said with a shake of his head. "So, where're your coaches and the rest of the team? This can't be all of you."

"Hey, you're looking at the full roster, Boobie."

"We each play multiple positions," Mallory added. "I'm an excellent forward and can handle right wing and center."

"We don't really have a coach." Wildwing looked a little concerned. He knew teams always played better with coaches, but he wasn't sure who he could trust to coach them.

"Who needs 'em?" Duke was quite casual about the unintended insult. "We can coach each other. Sides, I don't take too kindly to strangers tellin' me what to do."

"Okay then," Coach Sommer brushed off the rudeness. Ten years of coaching professional athletes had taught him to ignore the prima donna attitude many of them developed. "Let's head inside. I'll show you the locker rooms. Wildwing, is it?" He looked to the goalie for confirmation and continued when he received a nod. "You'll be training with the other goalies. They're doing off ice drills first, so you might want to change before joining them. The rest of you should join the others on the ice. We'll be getting started in about twenty minutes, so you should have some time to familiarize yourselves with the layout and other players."

0000

Wildwing had changed back into his green exercise pants and a white t-shirt before joining the other goalies in the weight room. Several were stretching, some were just standing around, waiting for the coach to show up.

"Hey," a man only slightly shorter than Wildwing greeted. "I'm Pat. Guess you're trying to join the league?"

"Something like that. I'm Wildwing."

"Interesting name," the bearded guy next to him said. "That what your parents named you?"

"Yes." Wildwing raised an eyebrow in confusion.

It didn't take very long for everyone to notice the duck in the room. The three goalies who had been stretching got up and walked over to join the others in a circle around the alien.

"So, what's your GAA?" The man asking didn't look much older than Nosedive. A small, black goatee nestled under his lower lip. His face was thin with an angular nose. Shaggy, black hair fell to about his ears. "Oh, I'm Jonas, by the way."

Wildwing thought about the question for a moment. He'd never played here on Earth, so he technically didn't have a goals against average rating here. He decided to respond with his average from Puckworld.

"About one point nine; but, it has been almost a year since I was in a league, so it might have gone up. My save percentage was point nine two one."

Pat whistled in amazement at the numbers. "You're pulling our legs."

A very tall, blond youth looked down slightly at Wildwing. The duck stood six foot one; this human was closer to six foot five. Despite his height, he had a much thinner build.

"Pekka," he introduced himself in a heavy accent Wildwing didn't recognize. "I think you are..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Making fun."

"All right! Pay attention, you lot," a harsh, loud voice broke in. The goalie coach was a middle aged woman, shorter than Mallory, but clearly with the same level of spunk. Her brown hair was close cropped. Black, knee length shorts showed off very muscular legs. She wore a long sleeved, black jacket and green tennis shoes. Cute, circular framed glasses perched on her small nose. "I'm Coach McKichan and I'll be evaluating your performances on and off the ice. Coach Sommer will be watching once we hit the ice. For now, I need you to all line up and start going through the ladder station." She pointed to two rope ladders on the floor and walked to the end of one. "You can use either ladder; it doesn't make any difference. What you're going to do is a pivot. Think glove hand," she crouched in the typical goalie ready position and held up her right hand as if she were wearing a catching glove. "Stick hand," her left hand moved a little out to the side, pretending to hold a stick. "And you're going to pivot through," she instructed as she took small steps from side to side, pivoting to the right through the first step of the ladder and back towards the left for the second step. "You're not going to come up and down, you're going to stay in a nice reactive position. Stay low, nice and level, keeping your head up. Now, line up and get started. I want you to wait for the guy in front of you to reach the third pivot, then you go."

Wildwing fell into position and followed the instructions perfectly. Coach McKichan took notes on her clipboard, watching each player with a keen eye. She would occasionally stop someone, give them advice or further instruction, and scribble something in her notes.

After the general run through a metabolic circuit, strength training, and working with resistance bands, they had a small stretching cool down. It amazed the alien duck how similar drills and exercises were between the two worlds.

"Good. Next up, we have the balance and coordination; then, we'll have lunch, change, and hit the ice." The petite coach waved her assistants over. The two children pushed giant wheeled bins with large, brightly colored balls inside. They started pulling the balls out and rolling one towards each player.

Wildwing stared at the large, orange ball in front of him in confusion. What the feathers did this thing have to do with hockey? He looked to his side to see what the others were doing with them.

Pat and Pekka easily stepped up on the balls and balanced perfectly. Jonas had trouble getting the ball to stay put and Coach McKichan offered him a steadying hand while he got on.

Shaking his head in befuddlement, Wildwing put one foot on the orange balance ball and shifted his weight forward a little, expecting it to roll out from under him. When it seemed steady, he thrust his weight upwards, trying to get a small jump up so he could put his other foot on the ball. His momentum sent the ball rolling out from under him and the duck landed flat on his back, the orange monstrosity merrily bouncing to the other side of the room as laughter filled the gym.

"Ow," he groaned as he sat up.

"Here ya go!" One of the assistant boys brought the ball back. The young boy was about nine. He was wearing a blue and silver jersey with a picture of a crown on the front and a matching baseball cap.

"Thanks." Wildwing rubbed his sore backside as he stood. He was thankful for the hand offered by the youth as he once again tried to stand on the ball. Once both feet were firmly in place on the orb, he let go of the supporting hand and stood upright, finding his center of gravity.

"Never done this exercise before?" The corners of Coach McKichans mouth turned upwards in a suppressed smile. "Don't worry. It takes while for most players to get comfortable on the balance balls. Now," she held up three rubber balls the size of plums, "We're going to be working on balance and hand eye coordination." She easily stepped up on a purple balance ball and started juggling three of the rubber balls. "I want each of you to see how long you can go with this. You don't have to juggle if you don't want to; you can just toss them up and down. I want you to do this in the ready position, heals down, back straight, head up."

The two young boys walked down the line of players, handing them each as many of the rubber balls as they wanted.

Sighing, Wildwing took two. Juggling was one of his hidden talents, but he didn't feel like trying to stay upright and juggle at the same time. He tossed both up in the air at the same time and caught them easily. Despite being able to do the exercise, he felt completely ridiculous. Was he getting in shape for hockey or training for a circus?

0000

Lunch time went quickly. Wildwing had hoped all of the players would have lunch together and he would be able to see the other ducks, but it appeared that the goalies were to remain separated from the others until the end of the day.

Everyone bantered crazily in the locker room as they changed into their hockey gear and goalie pads.

"Get a new mask?" Pikka asked Pat.

"Yeah," Pat proudly held out the highly detailed silver mask. It was painted to resemble a knights helm with a crown set in base relief in the center of the brow. 'Quick' was embossed in bright silver, metallic paint on the chin.

"Looks nice," Pikka complimented as he removed his mask from his duffle bag. "But, mine is better." Pikkas birdcage mask was black with blue flames reaching from the face to the back. On the lower left was the Finnish flag, honoring his home country.

"How bout you?" Pat turned to Wildwing. "You have your mask painted up or anything special about it?"

"Yeah," Pikka added in his thick accent. "What your mask like, anyway?" He tapped his nose. "Hard to cover?"

Wildwing stared down at the purple and teal duffle bag at his feet. It was unzipped and he could easily see the two masks sitting in it. One was a basic burgundy helmet with a blue plexiglas visor he had sanded down to fit the contours of his beak; the other was the Mask of Drake DuCaine. His team wanted him to wear the white mask that was intended for a ducks face, but he didn't feel right using the sacred object. Besides, it wasn't his. He was just keeping it safe until they found Canard.

Pat watched the motionless duck stare into his duffle bag, Pikkas question remaining unanswered.

"Look, man, I'm sorry if this oaf offended you," Pat elbowed Pikka.

Wildwing tore his gaze from the duffle as he smiled at the two.

"No offense taken. My old mask is back on Puckworld. Masks there usually cover our beaks, but I haven't found anything here that works quite right." He pulled the burgundy mask from the duffle and started to zip it closed. "This one isn't anything special."

Pat caught a glimpse of a pearly white mask in the shape of the team logo in the bag as it was being closed. Why wouldn't the duck use that one? It looked like it was better suited to his face. If the team was using it as their logo, wouldn't it make sense for that one to be used in the game?

"Hope you had a good lunch," Coach Sommers greeted. "Cause I'm gonna work it out of you. Now, let's head out to the ice and start some drills. Some of you will join the other players and goal tend for their drills. At the end of the day, one of you will be up against the Mighty Ducks in a practice period. So you'd better perform at your best!"

Now this was what the goalie duck had been looking forward to. He placed the helmet on his head and followed the others out onto the ice. Time to show these guys some serious hockey.