Chapter 8: New Tail
Aircraft Maintenance Hangar 04, 0030hrs
LCP Jack Haddock
I managed to find an empty hangar normally used to store our aircraft. Currently, the A-10 Thunderbolt II that would have been here was on standby at the runway, armed and ready. It was late, and there was minimal possibility that anybody would come in here for the next 24 hours, allowing me to work in peace, and access to all the tools and equipment I would need.
I examined the objects laid out on the floor of the hangar. In the past three hours, I had rushed to the aircraft boneyard behind the base to try and find materials for this little 'project' of mine. Some scrap metal, military-grade polymer tubing, heavy-duty Kevlar strips and most importantly, the left tail fin of a condemned 1990s-era F-16 jet fighter. After we had revamped our flight squadron last year with the F-22 Raptors and F-15E Strike Eagles bought from air forces making way for the latest F-35 Lightning II jet fighters, we had decommissioned all our F-16s, leaving them to rust in the boneyard. Fortunately, I found one which had not rusted through yet, and I had detached the fin for my own use.
Satisfied at the results of my treasure hunt, I begin working further into the night.
For the next four hours, I draft, design and construct. The diamond-tipped circular saw cuts through reinforced metal with loud screeches. The heat from the brazing flame as I fuse steel with steel causes me to sweat, despite the cold night desert air. Once in a while, I refer to my designs to ensure that I'm going the right way, leaving on blueprints black fingerprints from the dirt on my hands. Sparks fly as I grind metal plates against the abrasive grinder, smoothening out rough edges and forming aerodynamic shapes. Carefully, I staple and stamp on Kevlar strips to metal alloy frames, fastening them and reinforcing with steel bolts.
My arms turn sore from the intensive action, but I press on; I had to finish this as quickly as possible.
0500hrs
I step back and take a look at my handiwork, safety goggles resting on my forehead. By now, my hands and arms are glistening with a mix of sweat and lubricating oil. My gloves are soaked through, but I take no time to rest. The F-16 tail fin had now been modified to simulate a Night Fury's tail fin, not too different from that of a fish. It could be fully extended to allow for steering and maneuverability, or collapsed to reduce surface area and increase aerodynamic properties for maximum speed, in theory at least. The steel frame was bolted to Kevlar cloth straps that would be buckled together in order to attach the fin to the dragon's tail.
Smiling in satisfaction, I collapse the modified tail fin, and pack it into a heavy-duty aluminum case usually used to carry our Stinger personal portable surface-to-air missiles. I quickly clear the workbench of waste scrap, and lug the case out of the hangar on a handcart.
It's a Sunday, and there wouldn't be training due to company policy, meaning I would be free for most of the day.
Time to test this out.
Ruins/Oasis, 0800hrs
It wasn't easy sneaking into the freezer room back at base, and I hope the trouble is going to be worth it. My backpack is filled with all the frozen rations that I could get my hands on, with a couple of freshly-killed desert critters I found on the way here, as backup. Getting here wasn't simple either, given that I was lugging a modified fighter jet tail fin in a heavy aluminum case along with the abovementioned 20kg backpack straining against my shoulders.
"Hey Toothless… I brought breakfast, I hope you're hungry." I call out to the Night Fury, which is currently lazing in the early morning sun next to the oasis. Having caught its attention, I empty my pack in front of it, letting the now-thawed meat spill out onto the ground. Realising the mess it left behind in my bag, I mutter, "Ugh… that's disgusting…"
Coming closer, Toothless examines the food, circling it as if something were to jump out. Once every few seconds it pokes the tip of its nose into the pile, as if smelling it and testing for freshness. "Well, I've got you pork from Australia, mutton from New Zealand, freshly flown-in fish from Iceland, and a whole desert cobra, if you're into that sort of thing…"
Just as I complete that last statement Toothless' eyes widen. It withdraws its head from the pile, and growls. Wondering what is going on, I reach in and take the cobra out. As I do so, Toothless nearly goes berserk, screeching and cowering away. "No! No, no… okay! No snakes…"
I toss the python carcass away, "Yeah… I don't really like snakes either…"
Having calmed down, Toothless digs into its meal. Slowly, I make my way around it to its rear, taking this chance while the dragon was distracted. I open the aluminum case, take out the collapsed fin, and set the contraption next to the injured black tail. I try to adjust its position, but the movements of the tail keeps offsetting what I do. Frustrated, I climb onto the tail in a desperate attempt to immobilize it. I finally manage to attach the fin, buckling it tightly with the Kevlar straps, and fixing it securely with military-grade Velcro. I tighten the straps a bit more, such that the steel frame fitted nicely onto the tail. Extending the mechanical fin, I smile in satisfaction.
"Not bad, I think it might just work…. WHOA!"
A sudden jerk forces me backwards and up into the air, as I scream my lungs out in the shock of seeing the ground fall away from me. I look back, and realise that the damn dragon must have thought that its fin had grown back, having felt the weight on its tail, and I curse under my breath while desperately holding onto the tail for dear life. I never liked roller coasters.
Wait, was the fin working? Looking up, I notice that the wind blowing the tail back into its collapsed state. This must have some effect on flight, as Toothless was now losing balance and barreling towards the ground again. I reach out and grab the fin, manually extending it to full size. As I do so, Toothless regains its balance and aerodynamics, banking upwards and ascending towards the bright morning sky. I succumb to joy and excitement at the proper functioning of my device. "Oh my God! It's working! It's actually working! Yes, yes, I did it!"
Suddenly, the tail flicks, and I am thrown off. Damn dragon. I land, yelling, back in the oasis, with a splash. Not too far away, Toothless loses his balance again as the fin collapses due to the lack of support, and crashes into the water as well.
Trial One: Partial success. Good enough for me! I leap out of the water and punch my fist in the air, exclaiming in joy.
Dragon Combat Training Area, 1600hrs
"Today's lesson is all about teamwork. A wet dragon head is unable to light its fire, and thus you are armed today with a bucket of water, a useful tactic should you find yourself cornered, out of ammo, and out of options. The Hideous Zippleback is extremely tricky in this sense; one head breathes a composition of flammable hydrocarbon gases, while the other one lights it with a flint spark, resulting in a deadly explosion. This is also the reason why you don't use guns against the Zippleback, especially in an enclosed area like this. Sparks and heat from guns can set off the gases, if you are close enough. Your job today as two-man fireteams, is to find out which head is which, and disable the dragon."
For this session, we are paired up, with each of us carrying a bucketful of water. A bit primitive, but apparently useful. I am standing back-to-back with Fishlegs, two of us moving around in a circle, watching each other's back in the smoky arena. Sgt. Gobber had thrown in a smoke grenade to add to the element of surprise for this session.
"Razor-sharp serrated teeth, injects venom for predigestion; for its ambush attack, crushes its victims…"
"WILL YOU PLEASE STOP THAT?" Irritated, I whisper across the intercom. His vast knowledge of dragons, while impressive, did not help much in easing the tension of this situation.
I hear Snotlout trying to act brave, but his edginess and fear is given away by his voice, as he gives instructions to his teammate Tuffnut, "If… if that dragon shows any … of its heads… THERE!"
I hear two splashes of water, and high-pitched yells of surprise. "Fireteam Bravo, this is Alpha team, friendly fire! What the hell are you doing?"
Sergeant Astrid and Ruffnut, now soaked, are now visible to me through the clearing smoke. Tuffnut retorts at his sister, "Bravo 2 to Alpha 2, your butts are getting bigger. We thought you were a dragon."
"Bravo 1 here, not that there's anything wrong with a dragon-esque figure…Ow!" Two thwacks are heard, and I cringe as I see Alpha 1 deliver a sound beating to Bravo team. Suddenly, before Tuffnut can get up, something grabs him from behind, dragging him yelling into the smokescreen. Alpha team holds their buckets at the ready, but before anything can happen, a long, thin tail sweeps across the ground, tripping them up and causing them to lose the water in their buckets. Tuffnut is released, as he runs by us yelping in pain.
"Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits now…" Thanks, Fishlegs, like I needed a reminder.
A round horned head on a long, thin neck snakes out of the smoke. Those razor-sharp serrated teeth are poised to strike, as the dragon's eyes focus on Fishlegs. Panicking, he steps back as the head draws closer. Finally, he musters the courage and empties his bucket on the head. Annoyed, the dragon opens its mouth… and releases brown, noxious fumes. "Oh, wrong head."
OH F---
"Fishlegs!" I panic and quickly search around for the other head as my teammate runs away screaming like a little girl. I turn to face another head exactly like the one earlier, but this time it was emitting sparks from its mouth, like a living, reptilian Zippo. Sgt. Gobber's command rings through my headset, "Now, Hiccup!"
I toss the water at the right dragon head… and the stream falls just short of it. I look at the empty bucket in exasperation. "AW COME ON!"
The dragon charges forward, knocking me back. Through the intercom, I hear Sgt. Gobber calling for the dragon helpers to get into the ring. He probably thought this was going to get out of control.
He thought wrong.
Getting up, I advance towards the dragon. As I planned, the dragon draws back, retreating slowly as I move towards it, its heads in expressions of fear, eyes opened wide. It gives shrieks and screeches, and cowers away from me. "Back! Get back! Don't let me tell you again!"
It attempts to come close, but I manage to drive it back, its heads repelled every time it reaches me. Finally, I corner it back into its enclosure. With a grin, I take out a dead desert cobra from under my vest and toss it into the cage. "Now think about what you've done."
Closing the door, I notice everyone staring at me as if I had grown another head, eyes wide open and jaws on the floor. I wipe my hands on my pants and stutter, "Uh… okay, so are we done? I've got… uh… something… Yup, I'll, uh… See you tomorrow!"
I slip away as their stares follow me out.
