Chapter 7: Dragon saddle making
The man led Steve over to a small part of the shop. Long strips of leather were on the worn oaken tables. Hammers and the tools of a cobbler were laid about. An lit oil lamp was in one corner, casting a warm, amber glow across the workshop. He sat down and placed the saddle on a saddle stand. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, he took a pair of tongs and lifted up one of the flaps.
"Everything on this saddle is worn beyond repair and it doesn't fit your dragon at all!" he cried, his moss green eyes glowing with anger. Steve shrunk back, ashamed that he couldn't take better care of his dragon. The man's expression softened up once he saw Steve's honest blue eyes.
"The only way to fix this mess is to make a new saddle for your dragon,"
"Okay," Steve responded, his voice still sounding like a scolded child.
The pair walked over to a stand and the man ordered Steve to walk up on it. He gave him a piece of rope and some worn army green cloth. Steve took the piece of rope and measured Liberty's girth. He gingerly placed the piece of cloth on her back. He took the rope off and put it back on. The old man nodded his approval and placed a supple piece of leather on one of the work benches.
Steve watched in awe as the old man made a saddle, the leather shining in the dim light. The straps and buckles gleamed like distant stars. A thick piece of cloth was sewn on the inside of the saddle. The stirrups were made out of iron and had a leather strap that went over his boot. Mounting Liberty, he could feel her scales underneath the leather saddle, and he slid his feet into the stirrups. He gripped the thick handlebar with his hands.
Liberty let out a pleased rumbling purr as the saddle was slid across her back, it was way more comfortable than that awkward thing before. She spread out her wings, the pale yellow membrane stretching between her bony fingers. She was aware of Steve nervously gripping the saddle. Rearing on her hind legs, and letting out a fierce, bellowing roar, she galloped through the small field, her wings taking air.
Steve let out a nervous breath of air, once he found himself hovering in the cold, midnight air. He reached out with his right hand, his left hand still on the saddle. He felt the air currents swirl around his palm, the cool night air swirling in his blond hair. Liberty did a nose dive and coasted down to him. The small, old man took out a pencil and paper.
"Her body structure and her head is more like the wild horses in the american west, yet she has the powerful arched neck and the wide shoulders of a Irish Draft. Aye, Laddie, I remember your father's dragon,Cú Chulainn. Yes, that was his name. He was a big, o' brute, much like the shires and clydesdales, but smart and fiercely loyal, as well. It's a shame what happened to the pair of them," the man whispered, his eyes looking down, then he continued; "Anyways, I say that your dragon is built for flying at high speeds and for running long distances, look at her wing span! Like an eagle that one!" he cried out.
Liberty landed beside Steve and looked at him, while Steve's honest blue eyes looked at the old man. The man sat down on a wooden bench, pulling out a pipe and began to smoke it, chewing the end in thought. His sad, moss green eyes looked at Liberty and Steve. He walked up and stroked her side, his eyes lighting up once more.
"I bid you and your Rider luck, from the Saints above," he cried out. Liberty arched her graceful swan-like neck, purring loudly.
"Wait! What about my saddle? Do I have to pay for that?" Steve hollered back.
"No, consider it as a gift,"
"Thank you,"
With that, Steve left, Liberty trailing behind. Monty dipped his head in respect. Steve had a hard time trying to ignore the saddle in the ebony wooden box with a golden clasp, sealing it inside. The tack box was surprisingly light-weight, not as heavy as he expected it to be. He played the clasp, his fingers tracing the elegant design. The trek back to the base was relatively easy, but they had to avoid the wrath of Colonel Phillips, who was known for his short fuse.
Walking into the base, Steve led Liberty to the stables. Dragon stables were like horse stables, but larger. Liberty stood completely still, only her tail was moving, the two arodymainic twin tail fins moving the straw on the floor below. She tilted her head like an owl, studying the ebon wood box with her cat-like eyes.
Steve undid the beautifully crafted box and took out the sable colored saddle. Its shiny, polished leather surface reflected his face. It was embroidered with delicate silver dragons, and golden vines with leaves and flowers. The splashes of silver and gold highlighted the perfectly made saddle. The leather-wrapped handles were made out of vibranium, like his shield, immune to rust. The rest of the shiny metal was used to sculpt the stirrups, which had a solid thin sheet of adamantium welded to it. A tiny loop of vibranium crowned the heel of the stirrups.
The harness was made out of a darker brown leather, but no less shiny. Polished brass loops and buckles held the leather straps to the saddle. The leather straps fitted perfectly across her massive chest and well-muscled forearms and wing-joints.
Steve waited until Liberty reached downwards with her muscular forearm outstretched. He clambered up the saddle, adjusting the stirrups to his feet, clad in thick army boots. He gripped the leather wrapped bar, mentanialy calling to Liberty.
Want to fly? He asked, through the mental link.
Oh, yes, she responded, with a cat-like purr in her throat.
Steve watched in awe as his dragon spread her wings and began to gallop off, flying high. Letting out a loud whoop of joy, Steve letted go of the handlebars, his free hands swirling through the air currents. He felt the air being pushed through his blond hair by Liberty's massive wings. A loud, bellowing roar escaped Liberty's mouth as Steve laughed and hollered with joy.
The two soon landed in the base, Liberty trotting lightly along a worn path. Steve had to admire the art-work of the saddle, the way it fitted across her back. He didn't feel a rocking motion as she moved about. It was perfect for her. Dismounting, he took the beautifully crafted saddle and tack. He then gingerly placed it in its box made of ebony colored wood, and closed the golden clasp shut, sealing it inside. Yawning, he curled up in his bunk, falling asleep to the soft breathing of his dragon.
Deep in the base, hidden in the Swiss mountain range, Schmidt was preparing for world domination. Dr. Zola was trailing behind him, with Hektate snarling behind the short and portly doctor. Her white fangs flashed against her crindsome scales. Her cold, icy blue eyes glinted with fire. Her twisting, bramble-like horns were like jagged spikes of hardened lava.
Her pitch-black talons scrapped against the cold, iron floor. Tiny red sparks flew as she snarled her displeasure. Like her rider, Hektate was cunning, smart and ruthless in her ambition. She was a cruel dragon that enjoyed the pain of others. Schmidt was walking with a quickened pace, his blue eyes focused on the future, looking ahead. With a hand clothed in a black glove he beckoned one of his soldiers over, who dipped his head in a polite greeting.
"Herr Schmidt, reports of allied troop movements are coming through Italy, what should we do?" he asked, nervous about being eaten by a dragon.
Hektate let out a low, rumbling hissing snarl, her pure white fangs flashing in the pale orange light of the base. The soldier flinched and moved back to Dr. Zola, who looked disgusted but hid it in an emotionless mask. The massive blood red scaled dragon flicked her tail, like a lioness on a hunt.
Schmidt moved his jaw, his blue eyes taking in the information as this soldier spoke, then as if he was one of the Norse gods themselves, he spoke in a low and solem voice, "Lay out a base as bait, put some blueprints in it, seed it. I want to see what they'll do,"
"Yes, sir," the soldier spoke, bowing his head and briskly walked out.
Dawn had broken over the allied camp that housed the 107th and the newly dubbed Howling Commandos. The sounds of soldiers getting up, and walking to the mess tents, grabbing freshly made food, or as fresh as it could get out here. Steve walked in his army uniform, with his Medal of Valor pinned to it. Some of the soldiers who he rescued from Azzano nodded their thanks and raised their tin mugs of god awful coffee in a salute. He spotted his team sitting together, as a group of unified men. He walked up to them, smiling.
"Okay, Rodgers, bub, what on earth are you're smirking about?" Logan asked, after shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.
"It's somewhat weird when I say it outloud," Steve chuckled, still giggling.
"Spit it out, we're all mature grown men here," Monty prompted.
"We're in, as a commando unit!" Rodgers shouted, which prompted cheers from the table, and a stray tin mug being chucked at his face.
Logan laughed and lightly punched his brother in the arm. Bucky smiled and chuckled, shoving Steve with his arm. Jones and Denirir laughed, their faces smiling. Dugan let out a loud cheer, holding Mortia in a choke-hold. Monty chuckled to himself, trying to stomach the overly strong coffee. Victor smirked, his heavily booted feet set on the wooden table, his thick, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark, gray-blue eyes darted to Steve's earnest sky-blue eyes, a pleased twinkle in them.
The Howling Commandos ate their breakfast in a fevered rush, like children on Christmas day, eager to open presents under the tree. After handing their metal trays to the chef, and the washers, all of them practically thundered down to Stark's lab to see their new toys. The poor man would not know what had hit him.
Steve took in the wonder that was Stark's lab/workshop. A motorcycle, decked out with every spy gadget known to man-kind, sat on a workbench, holistered up by two large canvas straps. He was found beside Peggy Carter, testing out a round shield. The sounds of bullets hitting metal rang out through the lab. Both Victor and Logan reached for their weapons, it was engraved into their very being.
"Victor, Logan, chill! It was just a test!" Howard shouted, his eyes wide in shock.
Peggy arched one of her eyebrows, as she placed her service weapon on the table. Logan looked like a scolded child, his eyes downcasted on the floor. Victor looked indifferent, his face in a confused expression. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, his blue eyes thanking Peggy.
"Did it work, your little test?" Steve asked Howard once Peggy left.
"Yeah, Pal, it did," The billionaire responded, looking at the spent copper bullets that were on the cold, concrete floor. Steve studied the shield in his hands, there wasn't even a scorch mark from the heat of the bullets on its smooth reflective surface.
It was so round and shiny, so he had to ask, "What is it made out of?"
"Vibraimum, its three times stronger than steel, but a third of its weight,"
"How come it's not standard issued?"
"What you have there, it's all we have. It's the rarest metal on earth, right after adamantium,"
Steve looked at the ultra rare shield in his hand, completely dumbfounded that its essentially one of a kind. Like Dragon riders, nowadays. Dragons were almost extinct in some places. Sighing, he pulled out a sheet of notebook paper. He had sketched out some ideas for a uniform. He wanted to keep the red, white and blue, but make it more practical for warfare.
A few hours later, the Howling Commandos had their uniforms and weapons. The uniforms marked them as a unit, but there was a hint of who they were as a person. For none of them was willing to get a standard uniform. They were representing all walks of life on the planet. Dugan was wearing his former unit's uniform, but with a kevlar vest and his signature bowler's hat. Both Jones and Mortia kept theirs as well. Mortia was the team's communications technician and radio guy. Denirir was wearing a plain clothes uniform, while Monty was wearing his SOE uniform. Creed and Howlett still had their Candian special forces uniforms, but Howlett had an army knife made out of adamantium, sheathed in its scabbard. Bucky was wearing a blue kevlar vest with his service rifle slung over his side. They were the Howling Commandos.