Side Quest 10: Taming the Hound, Pt.1
Live Firing Practice Course, Dragon Combat Variant (Open-Combined), 1300hrs
From the sky, the woman descends rapidly, leaning forward, bringing her dragon into a dive towards the ground with unprecedented speed and agility. The dragon's opalescent scales phase into a reddish-brown colour, following its change in emotions; it is confident, readying itself for the assault. At that speed, the dragon forms a streak of red in the afternoon desert sky. The rider's sharp eyes catch sight of the land targets in the middle of the desert, even before she enters their scanner range.
Two tanks, an anti-air gun, a machine gun emplacement and a platoon of soldiers. Mishenyami; sitting ducks.
"Po nazemnym tselyam, tsel'Ground targets, aim" Speaking in Russian, callsign 'Camicazi' readies her dragon, Stormfly. Eyes narrowing, she awaits the right moment, for the targets to just enter her effective range of fire.
"Ogon'!" Upon the command, the dragon unleashes a barrage of rapid-firing red-hot flaming arrows. Like flaming rocket-propelled grenades, they scream through the air, leaving trails of grey smoke in their wake. The Mood-dragons were known for the extremely explosive projectiles that were fired during their assaults, with power almost surpassing that of the plasma blasts from a Night Fury.
The projectiles find their mark; upon contact, they explode in a brilliant ball of orange and red. The steel vehicles stand no chance; they are blown into smithereens. The soldiers are engulfed in the fireball; none of them know what hit them. A textbook takedown.
"100% of land targets, terminated. Time – 45 seconds. Move on to the next stage." The instructions come in through the intercom.
"Slushaus' lyeitenant,Understood, Lieutenant. Heading to checkpoint." Pulling back, Camicazi brings her dragon into a steady climb, swiftly soaring towards the next zone.
Low roars and growls indicate the arrival of the next wave of assault. From multiple directions came a number of dragons and their riders flying towards her, weaving through the sky.
"Neskolʹko kontaktov!Multiple contacts!" She was severely outnumbered; at least four flights of attackers were coming her way. Eight Nightmares, two Nadders, about four Zipplebacks and a few more Gronckles.
Nikakìh problèm. A confident smile curls at the corner of her mouth.
Taking advantage of her dragon's agility, Camicazi leads her pursuers into a flight chase through the clouds, diving and climbing with ease. The rattle of machinegun fire, and the bullets whizzing by her do nothing to shake her confidence.
Lyubiteli; amateurs. Smirking, she initiates a tight turn, whipping around on her dragon. "Ogon'!"
The explosive projectiles hit a Gronckle on its side, stunning it and downing its rider. He'll live; that was a non-lethal strike.
Executing a perfect barrel roll, she narrowly brushes past another rider, disabling him with a melee attack to the chest performed while still holding on to Stormfly. Taking the chance, Camicazi swipes the loaded AK-47 off the rider, disarming him for good.
Using her legs to grip firmly onto her harness on, she performs a number of close maneuvers, weaving swiftly through the flights of attackers. Pulling the trigger on the newly-acquired assault rifle, she unleashes her own torrent of projectiles onto surprised riders and dragons alike. Leaping off Stormfly and over an oncoming Nightmare, she fires a few rounds into the back of the rider before grabbing hold onto an unsuspecting Zippleback. Using its harness as a grip, she swings herself up and over, pumping the last of the bullets into the rider. Letting go, she lands neatly, returning to her dragon's back.
The show of acrobatics wasn't over, though. In a final act of showmanship, she slips below her dragon, hanging underneath and tossing a grenade into the lap of the last rider. The grenade goes off in his face before he can say anything, finishing him off.
The confident smirk that had always been there on her face grows wider, as she radios the Lieutenant. "Da, lyeitenant; air targets, terminated."
"Message confirmed. Time – 245 seconds. Not bad, return to base."
Live Firing Practice Course, Command Centre, 1300hrs
Lt. Astrid Hofferson
"Snotlout, your team's been wiped out. Report back for cleanup, debrief and AAR."
"What? I almost had her!" The shock in his voice is evident; he obviously didn't expect such an easy defeat at the hands of the new rider. Voice dripping with cynicism, I reiterate my orders.
"Since when was having a grenade go off in your face counted as 'almost winning'? Ilena's already at the landing bay. Move your ass."
"Whatever. How do you get this paint off? Stupid Simunitions… Hurts like hell, too."
"Not my problem, Sergeant. Get back here ASAP. Comms Centre over and out," Releasing the button on the switchboard, I end the transmission. Turning to Jack, seated and observing the simulated skirmish alongside me. He is as impressed as I am by Ilena's combat prowess.
"She and her dragon started with one grenade and a combat knife, and took down our best flights in less than ten minutes. That's one hell of a soldier you've brought me, Jack."
"Don't thank me, my Dad did it. Anyway, I guess that just leaves the off-dragon combat qualifications before she gets commissioned as our officer, right?" Getting up, Jack walks over to my side, and looks out the panoramic bulletproof window, watching as the rest of the dragons come in, flying onto the landing bay.
"Ooh, that's got to hurt." I follow his gaze, and see Snotlout, his face and torso splattered in the bright pink liquid from the paint grenade. The other riders have blobs of pink on them as well, splattered on their backs and chests, but none have it as bad as their Sergeant.
Turning to each other, Jack and I burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight of the normally proud, masculine and burly boy being covered in a very embarrassing shade of hot pink. Fortunately, we had turned off the transmission radio so no one could hear our very unprofessional laughter and comments at the expense of Snotlout's reputation and ego.
Struggling to catch my breath, I gesture out the window, and make my way over to the door. "Ha… I… I have to *wheeze* give the debriefing… to pinkie over there… whoo, he would kill you if he ever heard what we said here…"
Briefing room, Combat Training Centre, 1400hrs
Lt. Astrid Hofferson
Walking into the room, I see the soldiers on the losing side already seated there, ready for their debriefing. There is an air of defeat, the stunned expressions at being soundly and hastily beaten by Ilena set in. They were scared, and rightfully so; I was going to give them yet another of my famous tongue-lashings.
The heavy silence is punctuated by the sound of my boots against the floor. I reach the front, and there is a collective sigh as they hold their breath, steeling themselves. They were past crying from my harsh yelling sessions; they were more worried at what punishments lay ahead. Turning to face the seated personnel, I give them a cold, steely gaze.
"Can anybody tell me, what went wrong out there?"
"Ma'am, she had a vastly superior dragon, which was faster and more powerful than any of our own." Snotlout speaks up first, still sore from the thrashing.
"Null point, Sergeant! You've faced up against worse odds. You've survived enough training skirmishes against the Captain's Night Fury and I, you should be flexible enough to handle an opponent of that calibre. In addition, I gave you four flights to command; that's sixteen, I repeat, SIXTEEN dragons. You outnumbered her sixteen to one, and you still lost. You failed to take advantage of your strength in numbers, and instead chose to stick stubbornly to a simple, flawed tactic."
"That was not up to standard, Sergeant; I expected better! You should have at least lasted more than ten minutes, given your record up to now. I can forgive your men, due to their lack of experience, as well as not having trained enough with their dragons. You, however, were amongst the first of us to ever get on a dragon!"
Sputtering, he tries to get a word in, "But… Ma'am! She… it…"
"And now, Sergeant, because of your narrow-minded inflexibility as a command specialist, you and everyone that was under your command today will have your Saturday burnt in an intense 12-hour dragonback combat refresher, conducted personally by me."
Agonised moans fill the room, but I coldly shut them up, "Any objections?"
Silence. That's more like it. "You're dismissed."
The soldiers shuffle out of the room, disgruntled, but knowing that they can't do anything to object further; doing so would only mean extra duties or a harsh suspension of privileges from me.
"Ha ha, no offense, serzhant, but you guys are pretty green, da? It'll take more than that to even scratch me," Standing outside the room, Ilena is leaning against the entrance. She probably heard everything; a proud smirk is plastered across her face, arrogance shining in her eyes as she rubs in the defeat. Snotlout just storms past her, brushing aside her comments with a frustrated wave of his hand.
At that moment, something just snaps in me.
"Ivanova! You're not perfect either, I'll have you realise. You may think you're the best here, but in truth, you still have far to go." My sharp, cutting words burn in, stunning her. A shocked expression replaces the arrogant one on her face. But I'm not stopping there; stepping towards her, my boots make that tapping sound against the hard floor that has struck fear in so many recruits.
"Do you know why you're here, soldier? You were hand-picked by the ATF to fight for us; I don't care where you came from, or what connections you may have had before. The moment you step in here, Ivanova, you're one of us. You walk like us, you talk like us, and you think like us. At this moment, I still don't see you fighting like a true soldier. Until I do so, I don't see why you deserve those stripes you're playing for."
The words cut deep; the look on her face is priceless, a mix of shock, confusion and anger. I drive home my message, "No more games, Ivanova. Your final test is with us. Don't think you're out of it just because you've won today. You're still part of this unit – that means you're joining us this Saturday. Don't like it, too bad." Turning away, I wave aside her protests, making my way out.
"Oh, and Ivanova; those men and women you wiped the floor with today – they're your squadron mates, like it or not. It'll do you well to treat them with more respect." The sentence hangs in the air, a stern final warning on my part. It silences her, and I exit the room, leaving her alone to reflect upon her actions in dejection.
A few steps out, I hear a frustrated yell, followed by a loud crash, as a chair is kicked against the wall. I just sniff nonchalantly.