AN: To anyone wondering where I came up with the leadership ideas discussed in the last chapter, I'd recommend that you read Extreme Ownership and Dichotomy of Leadership by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin, and About Face by David H. Hackworth. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this next chapter.
V1C4 - High Noon
Beacon Academy, present day
The alarm woke Covacs more or less instantly, along with everyone else in the dorm. Waking up at 5:00 AM had been a thoroughly unpleasant experience the first time they'd all done it together, however the team had grown used to it over the past year. Lapis was the last out of bed.
"What's the plan for today?"
Sam grabbed a logbook from his nightstand, "Workout, then weapons practice. We've got 2-v-1s against the first years today, so I want everyone sharp. Anything to add?"
They all shook their heads.
"Alright, let's get after it."
Beacon Academy Physical Training facility, East wing
Beacon's gym stood in a squat, one-story building adjacent to the Combatives facility, which housed the dueling arena. The interior was fairly spartan, with few mirrors and mostly bare walls. The equipment was well stocked and maintained, however, and weights went far above the level typically found in a normal gym. Kettlebells and free weights were segregated by class, with normal weights made out of cast iron, and "advanced" equipment made out of tungsten, giving them over twice the mass for the same size. After warming up, Team CBLT started a brutal workout consisting of movements from all three of the major patterns: push, pull, and squat. The three sets of 15 dead-hang pullups, 3 sets of 10 handstand pushups, a 3-set descending rep bench press, 10 kettlebell getups, and 3 sets of 15 front kettlebell squats took them well over the 2-hour mark. The team pushed themselves hard, going for maximum reps during the last set of each movement. It was during the last two, that Team JNPR walked in.
Given Pyrrha's reputation, Sam was slightly disappointed that JNPR elected to watch his team work out, rather than getting on with whatever training they had planned. You guys do know what's planned for today, right? Stop wasting your time and train. Needless to say, his silent admonition went unheeded. His legs burned as he finished his 26th rep of squats.
"If it doesn't hurt, you're not doin' it right. Right?"
He turned to see Nora Valkyrie watching his form.
"Guess you could say that. You guys really should get on with whatever you have planned."
"Come on, guys like you should at least be able to give us some tips, right? Uh, not that we need any."
Lie Ren stepped in as if to translate, "She's asking if you can tell us what program you guys are following."
Covacs pulled up the appropriate spreadsheet on his scroll, as Valkyrie produced a notepad and began copying select movement sets, all with a sadistic glint in her eye. "Thanks!" She trotted over to Jaune and Pyrrha, Ren in tow.
"Boy, have I got some awful things for us to do!"
Blauer appeared at his leader's side, "We should get to the practice fields now, the matches are expected to start at noon."
Beacon practice fields, West wing
The outdoor practice grounds were one of the largest parts of the campus by surface area. Four separate astroturf fields where students could set up training dummies, tatami mats, and various steel and paper targets made it easy for teams or individuals to practice maneuvering through a mob of enemies. Of course, training dummies and targets didn't last long at Beacon, and inventory had to be carefully monitored and restocked at the end of every week. A 1,000-meter rifle and pistol range dominated the other half of the grounds. After the torture session in the gym, Team CBLT had showered and donned their combat gear. Like many second-year students, they had eschewed stylish outfits like the "combat skirts" that some students wore in favor of protective armor and minimalist load-bearing equipment. Blauer had been the only exception, choosing instead a blue ensemble that "matched his eyes," his only protection coming from his aura and a hardened leather cuirass over his shirt. The rest of his teammates wore similar styles of armor to each other, lightweight harnesses that emphasized flexibility and ease of movement. Blauer's sense of style and minimalism extended to his choice of armament, his sole weapon being the exquisitely crafted hand and-a-half longsword he had dubbed "Spatzfeder," or "Sparrowfeather." Lack of versatility aside, Covacs knew there was no denying his partner's skill with the blade, how it was practically an extension of his arm. He took inventory of his own equipment, recalling how he had gotten more than a little ribbing from his teammates for carrying what seemed to some like an arsenal. His primary weapon, Saker, looked for all the world like an unassuming recurve-edged shortsword when sheathed on his back. But, with a flick of a switch, it snapped out into its secondary form: a proper fighting bow, with an 85-pound draw. With a broadhead, it could punch straight through a Beowolf and into the one next to it at 25 meters. On the shoulder strap of his quiver, he wore one of his two knives, a handmade Corvid Hunter with a clipped point at the end of its 5-inch blade. The second, worn on the left side of his belt, was a double-edged karambit. Just forward of the karambit, he wore a small holster filled with a dozen heavy, steel throwing spikes. On the opposite side of his belt buckle, he had a small trauma kit with a pressure dressing, chest seals, and hemostatic gauze, with a windlass tourniquet strapped to the pouch's exterior. He had gone to great pains to ensure that his teammates had identical kits mounted in a similar place on their gear.
The team spent another two hours on the fields, conducting movement drills, testing reaction times, and getting individual practice with their personal weapons. Lapis, with her lever-action ko-naginata, Jastreb, was able to make consistent hits out to 800 meters with the weapon's iron sights. Turq, after more than a year of consistent practice, was pushing Okichitaw, his 7-shot axe-head revolver, out to 100 meters, ringing the steel targets with devastating .30-30 magnum loads. Covacs focused on moving targets at distance, something he often had difficulty with, given the nature of the bow. Without any sighting system, he shot instinctively, focusing on the target and where it was going to be. Starting at 100 meters and switching to closer targets, he practiced his speed shooting technique, holding spare arrows in his draw hand. He'd been shooting bows since he was six, and over the years, had reached the point where he could turn and put three arrows on a torso-sized target at 25 meters in under 2 seconds. At 10AM, he gathered his team and made a beeline for the dining hall for a recovery meal, before heading to the combatives facility to prepare for the day's matches.
Combatives Facility, Arena
Glynda Goodwitch first addressed the first-year teams sitting in the stands to her left.
"While Huntsman traditionally operate in teams of four, there are often occasions where teams are separated, whether by chance or necessity. This is a test to see how well you can work in pairs against a more skilled opponent. Pairs and opponents will be randomly selected from the rolls, similar to the system used in the Vytal Festival Tournament. Which reminds me…"
She turned to address the second-years, "Second-years, your registration deadline is fast approaching. If you wish to compete in the tournament, you must submit your signed rosters by Friday of next week! Now, without further adieu..." She pressed a command on her scroll, and the projector screen behind her flashed to life, as the slot machine style software ran through the class rosters for several seconds before settling on three names:
COVACS, SAMUEL V. NIKOS, PYRRHA / ARC, JAUNE
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd of students. Across the stands, Sam saw Pyrrha stand and wave at him, smiling. He nodded back. Just my fucking luck. Oh well, should be interesting, at least.
"Alright, you three. You have 15 minutes to get ready. Get a move on."
He and Jaune both made a beeline for the men's locker room. Neither spoke. Covacs opened his locker and began donning his armor, the titanium composite making it quite a bit heavier than the ones used by his teammates at over 30 pounds. He took stock of his loadout, opening the quiver before strapping it on. 20 broadheads, 3 high-explosive, 3 incendiary. He swapped out the thermite-tipped incendiaries for three flashbangs. Your objective is to break their auras, not set them on fire. He spent the rest of his allotted time running through what he knew about Nikos and Arc. Nikos: real fighting savant, versatile weapons, solid hand-to-hand skills. Semblance unknown. Arc: simple sword and shield, fighting skills are decent at best, no known Semblance. He reconsidered. He's got a set of nuts, though. Got Cardin and his pals to run away with their tails between their legs, from what I hear. Don't count him out. By the time he arrived at the arena floor,he'd formed a loose plan of action. Given the opportunity, he would take out Jaune first, eliminating him as a variable so he could focus on Pyrrha. She was the most dangerous of the two, and demanded his full attention. Prioritize and execute.
They stood at opposite ends of the arena, the projector screen indicating that all three had fully charged Auras. As many had pointed out, the display had a similar appearance to that of a generic "health bar" in a video game. The combatants sized each other up, the look on Covacs' face confirming what his teammates already knew: Mr. Nice Guy has left the building. As if on cue, he stepped forward, raised his right fist, and brought it down, pointing his finger directly at the middle of the arena, staring at his opponents with what his friends called his "war face." At Goodwitch's signal, the match started. Immediately, Pyrrha switched her primary weapon, Miló, to its rifle function, using her shield as a brace and firing from a kneeling position, as Jaune closed the distance, shield raised. Only just fast enough to dodge at this distance, those shields are going to be a problem, too. He evaded most of the incoming fire, one round grazing him as he nocked an explosive arrow. It landed a direct hit on Pyrrha's shield, knocking her back into the wall. As Jaune turned to see what had happened to his partner, he was struck between the shoulder blades with a broadhead, driving him forward onto his knees. Covacs knew his broadheads wouldn't be very effective against Aura, he would have to use his two remaining explosive tips along with either his sword or empty hands to do the real damage. He rushed Arc, knowing he had, at most, 1 or 2 seconds before Pyrrha was back in the fight. He feigned high and struck a hard forehand blow, batting the shield aside and exposing his opponent's unarmored lower back, which he seized on with a powerful roundhouse kick. In response, Jaune made a thrust with the point of Crocea Mors, which narrowly missed Covacs' head. He seized the outstretched arm, wrapping it up and rendering the sword useless, just as Nikos rushed in to assist her partner. Tightening his grip on the arm, he manhandled Jaune to place him in between himself and Pyrrha. Releasing the hold, he all but threw the novice directly into his partner. Flashbang next time, keep her out of the fight longer so you can demolish him. The protege recovered quickly, retaliating with a swing of Miló, which he parried before stowing Saker on his back, pulling out a flashbang arrow with the same hand. He held it tip-down as she swung with the backhand, the blow skidding off his shoulder protection as he spun, ducking the backswing and slamming the impact-fuzed tip directly into the bronze circlet over her forehead.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head down just before the detonation, knowing from experience that the ear-splitting "bang" and blinding flash would leave his opponent nearly incapacitated for the better part of a minute. His ears were ringing, his Aura's passive hearing protection only going so far. Sounds like my tinnitus is back. Worry about that later, win the fight. Jaune had not been looking directly at the flash when he'd gotten to his feet, but even so, his vision was obscured by a massive blue and green afterimage, a result of the 126 million photoreceptor cells in his eyes going into overdrive. He attempted to bash his opponent with the edge of his shield, but the move was clumsy, and the more experienced fighter saw it coming. Sam crashed into him, hooking his right arm under Jaune's left. As he saw Arc raise his sword, he himself off with his foot, ripping the shield from his grasp. He retaliated with a thrust, but overcommitted, as Covacs stepped off-line and over-hooked with his right arm, delivering an elbow strike with his left. His opponent dazed, he pressed on the pommel of his sword, forcing it out of his hand and disarming him further. But he still wasn't done. Maintaining a grip on the wrist, he closed in yet again, advancing to an underhook with his left arm, and a clinch with his right. Now, in what was an extremely secure and dominant position, he took a moment to look at his other threat. She was only just now getting to her feet. Glancing at the monitor, he saw that his Aura was still more than half full, with Pyrrha's at less than half, and Jaune's nearly at the cutoff mark. Finish it. Without hesitating, he fired off a devastating right knee into Arc's face, followed up by a left into his stomach, before stepping to the right, and, using his underhook, slammed his face directly into the concrete. His Aura broke, and he heard the distinctive "pop" of what could only be a broken nose. He laid there, groaning, the fight completely taken out of him.
The shockingly vicious nature of the knockout was actually enough to give Pyrrha Nikos pause. Fighting through the daze of the flashbang and the shock of seeing her friend and teammate huddled on the floor nursing a broken nose and a probable concussion, she formed a game plan. Your odds are better in melee, close the distance, use your Semblance. He has no real way of knowing what it is. She rushed in, deflecting a pair of arrows sent at her from his primary weapon. He probably has more explosive arrows than the two he used against me. I need to disarm him and keep him from getting any distance. Leaping into the air, she crashed down on Covacs like a thunderbolt, alternating between blows from Miló and Akouó, attempting to overwhelm his defense, looking for an opening. There. As he parried a slash from Miló, he drew back, preparing to deliver a thrust or forehand slash. Changing levels, she fired off a quick jab with the edge of Akouó, striking him in the wrist and sending the weapon flying out of his hand. Making quick use of her Semblance, she pushed it further, all the way to the wall, removing it from the equation, for the time being.
He'd activated his Semblance just before Saker was knocked from his grasp. It was odd, the things one noticed in situations like this. His weapon didn't skid to a stop when he'd expected it to. In fact, after it first bounced off the floor, it seemed to fly in a straight line, right to the wall. It was then, that he noticed what was really happening. For a fraction of a second, Pyrrha's eyes seemed to be locked, intensely focused, on the wayward sword. He glanced down at her right hand, and saw the black shimmer emanating from it, her index and middle finger outstretched, in the direction his weapon was flying. Magnetism. That must be her semblance! Guess there's no use going for my other weapons, then. They're all steel, magnetic. The two combatants locked eyes. His left hand went to hers, blocking her from using the shield. He threw a straight punch with his right, connecting with her cheekbone. Bringing his right hand back and under her left wrist, he brought the arm up and behind him, using his head to leverage the shield out of her hand. Changing levels, he shot in for a takedown, grabbing her left leg. She managed to keep her balance, blocking his attempts to sweep her right ankle and complete the takedown. Need to end this. When his attempt to grab a fistful of the sash around her waist was foiled as well, he used both hands to choke up on the leg, pulling it up and over his shoulder. As Sam went to his knees, she was forced down with him. She worked furiously to free her leg, but he used the top edge of her left greave as a handle, securing her foot back under his armpit. Bracing his forearm just under her Achilles tendon, he leaned back and pulled up, both hands clasped together as the straight ankle-lock put more and more pressure on the vital joint.
Pyrrha knew that Miló was next to useless in this position. She looked for an escape, and found none. His legs were locked securely around hers, and he'd posted his left foot on her midsection, preventing her from leaning forward. I should have taken more time to help Jaune get ready, I should have warned him. I courted this defeat, nobody else. She raised her hand, and tapped the floor once, then twice.