The months passed evenly. Time neither slowed or sped for Jet's Fighters; it moved constantly at rate influenced only by the rising and setting of the sun. There were no quarrels among them now; no uprising against the absolute authority of Jet. He was a god among them, a sage descended from on high to rescue them from the bleak emptiness of what their lives would have been. Each progressed at his own pace, each child with his own certain strength and skill; this Jet recognized, and worked long nights in training with each of them, determined for a flawless army.
His old Earth Kingdom village was now a thriving Fire Nation town. The soldiers dug deeper and deeper into the valley to build homes for the rising population; trees were harvested and earth was torn up; pillars of Fire Nation Temples rose into the sky. Markets, almost identical to the one's of Jet's long-forgotten town, teemed with merchants and vendors. Carts loaded with Fire Nation spices pushed down lanes with bells tinkling on them; produce stands with red peppers, squash, tomatoes, and cabbage littered roadsides; metal-workers and blacksmiths were high at work producing weapons, horseshoes, and armor; children ran through soldiers legs in efforts to reach the square, where women sold Fire-Drop candies for a copper piece each. Nearing Jet's fourteenth birthday (though such things as birthdays were long forgotten among them) a team of engineers began work on a large dam to hold off the flow of a river to the North of the valley. Obviously, they feared a flood; so, in an attempts to stem the river's flow, they dumped mounds of earth and rock into the river beds, leaving a bare creek between two banks of solid ground. Steam vents rose from beneath the covered water, but the river was no longer a threat. Finally, a heavy wodden wall was erected at the base of the river, and all hopes of a flood were dashed.
Jet knew this very well, as did the other children. They stayed up long hours spying on the actions of the Fire Nation, determined to be its ruin. Soldiers were positioned around the village, as well as inside, where they were raising families of their own. Supply lines from the Fire Nation were mapped out by Jet and SmellerBee, who went on long journey's together through unmarked territories. Longshot, whose eyes saw farther than the others, studied the actions of Fire Nation troops from among the trees. Sometimes, Jet would send young children into the town to collect information; but mostly, with his twin hooked swords at the ready, he studied the town masters from the shadows.
He hardly slept. He stole scrolls from soldier's tents containing fighting moves and stances that he had never heard of before. When an Earth Kingdom soldier was captured and held in jail, Jet studied his fighting tactics as he dueled with other prisoners. A practice of the soldiers was to watch outsiders - namely their prisoners - duel for their freedom. Each was given a weapon of choice, and when the gong was struck the tournament began. The winner would receive a free pass to outside lands and pardon from the soldiers. The loser wouldn't receive anything, because no one gives gifts to a dead man.
At the first rumors of a prisoner's duel, Jet threw on a ragged cloak and sped immediately to the soldier's camp. From the shadows he studied both winner and loser, each kick and punch and flash of blade; and when it was all over he crept back to his hideout and practiced and practiced until he could duplicate the moves perfectly.
As Jet progressed, so did the other children. Taking from his example they labored painfully for long hours over their fighting styles and weapons, ultimately becoming consumed with their own private skills as they grew into young warriors.
Pipsqueak, when he had first joined the Fighters, had been slightly younger than Jet and hardly half his height; but he soon sought, vigilantly, to live up to his father's stature. During autumn a group of three girls joined the Jet's gang and brought with them a more efficient way of fishing; using animal hair and spare string they sewed a net, both larger and stronger than Jet's own, and caught multitudes of various-sized fish, which they cooked over dim fires made from brush and stolen flint. This source of protein was most effective on Pipsqueak, especially since he devoured a vast majority of what was caught. He was captured in a sudden growth spurt that lasted into mid-winter, where he finally ceased growing after towering a full foot over Jet. His newly-acquired height grew more complete as he developed a boulder-like body, compliments of laboring incessantly in the trees to help build the Fighter's hideout. At night he amused himself by lifting heavy stones and logs, as well as wrestling with Sneers - the only other Fighter who could match him in strength.
As his muscles turned to iron, Jet offered to raid a nearby supply line and find him a good bashing club; but Pipsqueak refused. He preferred, he stated, to fight with natural strength and weapons. His father had never used blade or club, and neither would he. He chose heavy logs and stones, as well as his own physical strength - something Jet respected, but never copied.
Longshot's silent tongue and perfect gaze was, from the beginning, a herald to his abilities. After strengthening his muscles with Jet and Pipsqueak, he was finally able to comfortably lift his father's bow, which now remained light in his hand. He carved his own shafts for arrows and sharpened rocks for their points. Sometimes, Jet would steal a few steel arrowheads from a Fire Nation tent and give them to him as a present. These arrows Longshot saved for important fights and ambushes, for they struck with more deadly force and sank deeper into flesh. Day in and day out Longshot trained himself, obsessed with matching the great YuuYan archers of legend. He painted targets on trees a hundred meters away, clouded by branches and leaves, and did not stop firing until he had hit a hundred bulls-eyes. He used strong string that took more effort to pull back, but fire with such precision that the extra effort was worth it. He polished the wood and shined his arrows, never ending a day without seeing his face reflected in their surface. When he had mastered archery in a standing position, Jet suggested other positions.
Longshot soon found himself running parallel to Jet through dense trees trying to pierce an apple on his head; when he had mastered that, Jet jumped up and down through trees holding a wooden shield with a target upon it; and after Longshot could hit the mark then, he zigzagged among the oaks as Longshot hung upside down from a tree branch and cut a sword from his hand without hitting the flesh itself. After five months, the pale-faced archer could hit a fly, buzzing in zig-zags through tangled trees, while dangling by his knees on a limb. Jet took up archery for awhile, but knowing Longshot's unsurpassed skill he never saw it as more than an idle pastime.
SmellerBee developed with such rapid and unrivaled success that even Jet was amazed. He never chose a single weapon, besides the dagger which he always carried with him, but instead chose an endless variety of knives, swords, clubs, blades, hooks, daggers, throwing stars, logs, and even certain explosives. He tutored himself in the use of any weapon he could lay hands on. Broadswords were heavy, but he could manage them well enough; daggers were easy, and he never faltered with one in his grip; straight swords he found challenging, but he learned to cut and stab and kill with them quiet quickly. Arrows and throwing stars he could fire, but never quite so well as Longshot, and his strength did not match Pipsqueak's with logs and clubs. Blasting jellies he soon specialized in after several experiments with a stolen batch. He knew how much to use for which jobs, how much fire and barrels would be needed, and how big the blast would be. His input was always welcome to Jet, but it was Jet whom received the most respect.
Jet, choosing no other weapon than his tiger-hook swords, trained nearly every day with SmellerBee. The young warrior, through skilled in many arts of weaponry, could never measure up to his leader. Months of watching duels and fights had taught Jet much about the rules of combat, as well as fatal mistakes he should avoid. At the end of each session, SmellerBee was always the one on the ground with his weapon tossed away. But this only increased his reverence of Jet, and the dark-haired boy grew to be a tall and powerful leader.
It was one late night, as SmellerBee, Pipsqueak, and himself were returning from a training session, they discovered something burrowing its way into a barrel of jellied candies. Stray children (not of Fire Nation, of course) had often joined their group over the course of the years, though they were all still too young to be learning how to fight. This child, however, did not simply stumble onto their hideout as so many had done. He was digging fiercely into their food stores and Jet, half-amused and half-curious, grabbed his ankle and pulled him out upside down.
"Hey SmellerBee, I caught a possum," he said jokingly as the child dangled in the air, too surprised to scream. SmellerBee pulled the dagger from his side and wavered it casually.
"Should we kill him and eat him, Jet?"
"No. Possums are bony."
"Lemme go!"
The child had finally found voice and Jet shrugged, dropping the young child. To his surprise he flipped and landed delicately on his feet like some sort of untamed cat. Pipsqueak seemed enamored by him and bent down.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Why're you stealing our food, kid?" Jet added, pointing to the empty barrels. The small boy trembled beneath the massive Pipsqueak and stuttered.
"I - I was h-hungry..."
"Ok, now answer my question," said Pipsqueak quickly, still taken with the quivering kid. "What's your name?"
The child stared at the smiling kids and slowly relaxed. He had sensed something strange about them but immediately ignored it, seeing the amused glint in the older's children's eyes.
"I'm the Duke! I'm quick and I can ride better than anyone!" he declared loudly. SmellerBee rolled his eyes and Pipsqueak laughed. Jet, all business, bent down and stared at him.
"Where you from, Duke?"
The Duke's ego faded almost instantly. He looked down at the ground shamefully, and Jet sensed his answer.
"Nevermind, Duke. How'd you like to stop stealing our food and stay with us? We're a pretty big family now, and if you can ride as well as you say, you could help us out."
With his team full and assembled, the major disruptions of the Fire Nation began when Jet was around fifteen. Hungry for revenge, yet softened by the company of others, he sought to increase the Fire Nation's misery with all his might.
With the help of his Freedom Fighters he began cutting their supply lines. Carts bearing food, weapons, wood, armor, cloth, animals - nothing escaped them. Longshot took out their drivers from ten yards away while Pipsqueak and Sneers overturned heavy loads. SmellerBee distracted the soldiers with his whirling fury and skill, slitting their throats after meaningless dances beneath their fire blasts. The Duke dropped from branches on soldiers helmets and steered them off cliffs or into Pipsqueak's waiting arms.
Jet began and ended each attack. No one moved except at his signal, and no one ran unless he gave the order to retreat. Anything recovered was immediately referred to him. Supplies were distributed as he saw fit; tree-houses were built only with his permission; and any plan, no matter how obscure or ridiculous, was followed without question. There was no room for rebelling in their life, and Jet was fair with them, so there was no reason for quarrel.
He knew of the opportunities the dam held even before the Avatar showed up. But when the three travelers stumbled into his realm, he finally had his chance. He could finally get revenge - on all of them.
He had killed many soldiers and slain many of Fire Nation, but when he saw the young Air Nomad walk into the Fire Nation camp they had been watching all morning, he smiled. He bloodlust had once again become dry, and he practically dying to quench it.
