Song is based on Panzerkampf, by Sabaton
Chapter 3
Training
As it happened, Lieutenant Iceflow was not merely using figures of speech when she had said that Winter's unit would be running up Mount Windward. He had assumed that she meant they were flying, but now that he was on the east side of camp standing awkwardly in his leathers and looking at the foreboding trail before him, he reconsidered. There was only one half moon out, and already it was in danger of being hidden away behind a layer of wispy high altitude clouds. The wind was screaming loudly over the ice sheets and berating the ears of the IceWings. Before them, Lieutenant Iceflow was pacing back and forth as she explained what their punishment entailed.
"The announcement has not been made official, but allow me to give you a hint at what you will be hearing from the General tomorrow," Lieutenant Iceflow began, "For the duration of your time at Fort Windward, you will not be flying. I repeat, there is a very hard ban on any flight at this camp, unless you have been given express permission from one of your officers. Recruits, am I understood?"
"Yes, Lieutenant!" Winter chanted alongside the rest of his unit, though mentally, he was sent for another loop. No flying?! How in the world did they expect them to do anything, then? Surely they wouldn't be walking everywhere they went? Surely not. And fighting? IceWings didn't fight on the ground like animals. Every story, every tale, every song, all of them told of the great IceWing warriors descending on the wing to bring northern fury down upon the other tribes. How were they supposed to do that without flying?
"You're likely wondering why that rule is in place," Lieutenant Iceflow went on, "That is a question we will answer in time. Now is not the time for questioning or wondering, recruits! Now is the time for running!"
She paused briefly to take a long breath and point dramatically at the snow covered crag looming before them, backlit menacingly by the only moon in the sky.
"That is Mount Windward!" Lieutenant Iceflow shouted, "Your task this evening is to follow this trail to the top and back. You're to do the whole run in your uniforms. I will be watching you from the wing. If I see even the slightest glide, that dragon will be accompanying me back to the bottom to start the process again. You may be the most pathetic lot of recruits I have ever had the dishonor of training, but I will not let that stop me from turning you into the effective fighting dragons that the kingdom demands. That is my calling, and none of you shall stop me from fulfilling it. Am I clear, recruits?"
"Yes, Lieutenant!"
"Damn right I am," Lieutenant Iceflow nodded then shouted with a flick of her tail, "Helmets on! On your way recruits! The sooner you finish, the sooner you eat! Move it!"
Winter slid his helmet onto his head and fitted it into his leathers as he had been shown. There was a cutout in the back of the helmet for his horns, which he squeezed into, then lowered so the sides covered his ears and cheekbones, and visor hung just above his eyes.
With a deep breath, Winter set off into the wind and snow at a light jog, joined soon by the rest of his unit. Frost bounded ahead gracefully, while Tempest was huffing and puffing at the rear. Hare was trying to keep up with Frost, but his helmet kept slipping into his eyes and forcing him to take pauses to adjust.
"Keep running, idiot!" Lieutenant Iceflow bellowed at Hare from the skies above, "You stand still for even a second and you give the SkyWings a target so juicy they'd salivate! You wanna die, recruit?! Don't answer, keep running!" Hare swore between breaths as his helmet slipped into his eyes once again, but this time he simply powered through instead of stopping to adjust it.
It only took a few minutes for Winter to decide that running was awful, and he hated it. The wind was at their backs, but the gradually increasing incline erased any benefits the wind was giving them. There was no snowfall, but the wind was so fierce that it ripped shards of ice from the ice sheets and pelted them into the areas the leather didn't fully cover around his ankles and the back of his head. For all the benefits the leathers gave, like wind and hail protection, they did not make the run much easier. They were heavy, and made each pounding step a struggle. As he ran, shards of ice slipped into the leather through the sleeves and bit horribly into Winter's scales.
Through the wind and cold, Winter set his jaw and kept running. Lieutenant Iceflow was still shouting at them from above, but the wind drowned out her words, and Winter recognized the precursors of one of the notorious windstorms that often battered the Shimmering Scales. With new determination, he pressed on, despite the increasing resistance from his burning muscles. Never in his life had he ever run so far without stopping. He was used to flying, and he this new normal was torture.
It took over an hour for the group to reach the top, and Winter wasn't sure how they all made it. Hare had even done the whole thing partially blind, as his ill fitted helmet kept dipping into his eyes. Winter had expected them to get to glide back to the camp, or at the very least, be given a short break. Surely the lieutenant knew none of them were in shape to run however many kilometers up and down a mountain.
But no, that turned out not to be the case. The lieutenant landed on the highest peak just as Flurry and Frost got there, lifted her wings menacingly, and started screaming at them again, "No stopping! Touch the peak, turn, and right back down! There will be no slacking on my watch, recruits! No one stops until they pass the outer fence, and anyone who so much as lifts a wing starts over! Don't give up now, recruits!"
Winter's breath was coming in ragged breaths and his limbs felt like they were on fire. His leathers felt like a layer of mud dragging him down into the abyss, and his helmet felt as though the great ice dragon was shoving his head downwards towards the dirt. His tail dragged behind him, rubbed raw by the leather, and his wings hung limply at his sides as he touched the crag, then turned to follow Hare and Flurry back down the mountain.
Despite his helmet situation, Hare had held his pace well and followed behind Flurry, who took the lead when Frost fell behind. It seemed that the preyhunters had some experience with this kind of exercise, or perhaps Hare was more resilient than Winter had given him credit for. Tempest and Frost were struggling, as they pounded away behind himself, their breaths even more strained than his own. No one had had the energy to say a word since the run began, and it seemed set to be an equally quiet journey back down. Lieutenant Iceflow was still yelling at them from on the wing, but the wind was even more ferocious than before as the windstorm picked up in intensity, and her words were drowned out by the din of howling wind.
Winter had expected the return trip to be easier since they would be going downhill, but that turned out not to be the case. They were going headfirst into the wind, and the wrathful northern gale showed them no mercy. Wind and ice pelted his exposed face, making his face blush and eyes water. His saliva froze to his lips, causing them to quickly dry and chap as the wind blew all the moisture from his face, and the wind blew the watering of his eyes away with the breeze, causing his eyes to dry and become bloodshot. His dry tongue hung limply out the left side of his mouth, and had already chipped the points off two talons by tripping on hidden rocks as he dragged his exhausted legs along.
When they finally passed the entrance back into camp, Winter felt ready to pass out from exhaustion, but Lieutenant Iceflow was determined not to let that happen. As Frost collapsed to the ground, the lieutenant was on top of her in a heartbeat, shouting in her ear and pulling her back to her feet with an aggressive tug on her wing.
"Do not sit down, recruits!" Lieutenant Iceflow, "Keep moving, keep walking, all the way to the mess hall! If you lie down now, your hearts might stop beating! Walk it out, recruits."
With a long sigh, Winter stumbled over to where Frost was slumping back towards the ground, looking to be in danger of passing out. Too tired to speak, Winter wordlessly pulled her wing over his shoulder and began dragging her smaller body along in the direction of the mess. Lieutenant Iceflow looked back, but for once, did not offer any criticism, instead just giving a slight nod and continuing on her way.
Winter saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but was too tired to look. Gradually, he felt the weight ease off of him, and gaining the energy to look to his side, he saw Tempest pulling Frost's other wing over his own shoulder, helping him carry their friend along. Frost's head was drooping low beneath her helmet as she panted heavily, but beneath her visor, Winter saw an eternally grateful look on her face. Looking to his side, he found a growing respect for Tempest. The burly IceWing did not talk as much as his other friends, but evidently he still cared about them. The lumberjack had been the last one in, behind even Frost, but yet he still found the strength to care for them.
Finally reaching the mess, they found only the last stragglers finishing their meals, as most of the other recruits had already gone to bed. The mess was a large tent at the center of the barracks, filled with row after row of long tables, with space enough to fit maybe half of the twenty thousand or so IceWings currently at the fort. There were no carpets around the long tables like in Winter's home, but at least someone had the foresight to give them some sand to sit on. Frost had found the energy to walk on her own as they made their way inside, and the five of them sat back onto their haunches alongside the long mess table, and Winter wondered whether he would even find the energy to gather a plate of food to eat.
Suddenly, a trio of cooked seals were dropped hard onto the table, and Winter looked up in surprise to see it was the lieutenant who had brought them over.
"Eat," the lieutenant growled, "I know you've got a big day tomorrow, recruits," then after a pause added, "And don't expect me to feed you again. From now on, your survival is your own responsibility."
Winter tried to say thank you, but could not find the energy, instead leaning his head forward and tearing a chunk out of the nearest seal. It was a fast, quiet meal for Winter and his unit. Everyone was starving, and no one could find the energy to talk. Within half an hour, the food was gone, and the IceWings were making their way back to their tent. The wind had picked up once again, but Winter hardly noticed, as his exposed scales were already numb. As soon as he entered the tent, Winter collapsed over his front talons and was asleep within seconds.
oOoOo
The next morning, the IceWings were rushed out of the barracks by bellowing officers and ordered to the amphitheater where they had received their welcome the day before. Winter's lips were chapped and sensitive scales were peeling, and he had a number of new sores along his lips and tongue. His scales were rubbed raw along his tail, and his whole lower body was sore from the intensive physical exercise he had been put through the night before. Still, none of the pains could temper his excitement at beginning his training for real. He put his leathers and helmet back on with as much dignity as he could muster and leaped out of the tent while his friends grumbled about and lagged behind. With a grunt and a wince, he stretched and shook out his wings, tail, and legs, trying to ease the soreness.
The windstorm had finally passed after a long and furious night that Winter somehow managed to sleep through. The sun was still rising, casting a warm orange and yellow glor across the sparkling snow. The sky was clear and cloudless, and the snow was still, quiet, and serene, a stark contrast against the restlessness and activity within Fort Windward. The IceWings were hurried back to the central amphitheater, where they once again found General Windstorm ready to address them from his raised dais.
Winter looked curiously about as he led the rest of his unit to their assigned post within the brigade, near the left side of the formation. His brigade was the only one being sent to the amphitheater for instructions. Two of the other brigades were going straight to the ranges, while the final one appeared to be shipping out. Their leathers were loaded to the brim with gear, and they carried large leather satchels on their backs. Their heads hung low and expressions were grimmer than he would have expected from IceWing warriors finally getting to go find glory and adventure in combat. As he watched, they marched to the edge of the camp, and lifted heavily into the air as one unit. Their wingbeats were loud and heavy, and he wondered how far they would make it without a break with such heavy loads on their backs.
Five thousand IceWings warriors faded away into the sky, and Winter's eyes drifted across the sky, where he saw a trio of vultures circling high above. The sun had lifted higher into the sky, illuminating the dark colored birds into black silhouettes gliding across the still blue.
"Recruits!" General Windstorm's shout split the still morning, and instantly the brigade snapped to attention, "Welcome to your first official day of training. Before we begin your training, however, we must address your physical fitness. I'm sure many of you believe you're excellent hunters, but the battlefield you will soon find yourself in is not like those from the tales of old. Ballistas deny the skies, making flight a deathtrap. The only way to survive the dash between the trenches is on foot, so we're going to start by getting all of you into running shape. As long as you're here at Fort Windward, there will be a hard ban on flying, unless given express permission by one of your officers. Am I clear, recruits?"
A resounding cry of "Yes, General" silenced the growing dissent among the ranks instantly.
"Very good," the old veteran nodded approvingly, "We will start your journey towards peak physical fitness this morning," he gestured to the looming specter of the mountain, "That is Mount Windward. This morning, all of you will be running to the peak and back," Winter felt a knot in his chest at that announcement, and looked to Lieutenant Iceflow to see if she would excuse his unit from it. She did not give any reaction, and he felt his heart sink as General Windstorm explained the same rules as the night before.
Moments later, he was dragging himself along the wide trail towards the moon cursed peak that he had visited the previous night. All around him, dragons were swearing and complaining, but he and his unit knew better than to waste breath like that. They reached the top wordlessly, and returned near the back of the pack. Despite all of his soreness, Winter found the morning ascension much easier than the previous night. He suspected that the calm weather was the main factor.
When they returned, they got the disheartening news that, until the next battalion arrived, this would be the morning routine. On their return, one of the other battalions was called off their training to do the climb themselves. As they passed by, Winter noticed that the legs and abdomens on those IceWings were much bulkier and filled out than any dragon he had ever seen. Their limbs, core, and shoulders all rolled with tightly coiled muscle beneath their leathers. Perhaps all the running would have a payoff afterall.
The first week of training covered the basics of life in the trenches, which Winter learned was what life on the frontlines. Unlike Ghosts who moved about in army camps, life for the regular army was spent digging about in the mud like common animals. It was not like the stories, and he was not sure how he felt about that.
On the second day of training, the brigade was split into battalions, and led to the west side of the camp. Lieutenant Iceflow took Winter's unit and the rest of their battalion to a section of ground that had not been marred by digging yet.
"Recruits!" Lieutenant Iceflow shouted, bringing the battalion to attention. In her right talons, she was holding a strange metal tool with a wooden handle about the length of her forearm. It had a head like a spade, and was curved slightly, as if to scoop something. She lifted the tool into the air and explained, "This is an entrenching tool, and the first piece of your kit that you will be taught to use. On the battlefields of the Northern Front, Burn and her army have a wide range of tools at their disposal that can easily kill idiot IceWings like you lot, unless you're smart enough to avoid them. The ground is how we do that, and the entrenching tool is how we get there."
"When I am finished with my instructions, each of you will come up here and get an entrenching tool of your own," she went on, "Do not lose or break them. You will be given one, and only one. The trenches you dig may save your life, and if it comes to that, this can also be an effective weapon. If something happens to it, you'll be digging with your talons until they fall off, am I understood?"
"Yes, Lieutenant!"
"Use the curved side to dig, then clip it to your leathers like so for transportation," Lieutenant Iceflow explained, pacing like she usually did during instructions, "Split into your units. General Windstorm already explained how to properly dig a trench. I hope all of you were listening. Each of the units will line up parallel to one another, and the battalion will dig a continuous stretch of trench connected at the sides. Any unit whose trench I deem unsatisfactory can expect to run the mountain during dinner. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Lieutenant!"
Winter joined the mob of IceWings trying to get tools of their own. When he made it to the front and got his, he looked at it curiously in his talons. It was a strange thing, unlike anything he had ever seen. He knew from his research that scavengers made tools like this, but he never expected to use one as a dragon. Though, as he looked at the frozen dirt and snow around him and the trenches that had already been dug, he understood the logic. No one wanted to destroy their talons plowing through all that. He wondered again, as if he often did, if scavengers were smarter than they were given credit for.
"Weird huh," Frost commented as Winter joined the rest of his unit on their section of trench.
"Kind of like a scavenger tool, if you think about it," Winter agreed, earning curious looks from his friends, "What?"
"You never cease to surprise me," Flurry laughed, "Who would've thought Princess had scavengers on the brain."
"They're interesting!" Winter protested, "Have you ever-"
"Recruit Winter!" the bellowing voice of Lieutenant Iceflow made him nearly jump out of his scales, "Do you feel like running the mountain for the third time in twenty four hours!"
"No, Lieutenant," Winter replied quickly, feeling embarrassed.
"Then get digging!" she shoved him hard, then moved down the line to yell at other dragons.
"Right," Winter breathed, looking dubiously at the ground, wondering where to start.
"Let's think about this," Tempest offered, pointing at the dragons down the line, "If they've started digging there, then we should start here so ours runs parallel to the rest of the line," he paused, then added thoughtfully, "And we should pile all of our dirt here, so that it comes upward along the front side of the trench, giving us more protection from the enemy."
"Good idea," Frost agreed, "Well? Let's dig!"
Hefting his entrenching tool awkwardly, Winter tried sticking the head into the dirt. It slid in easier than he had expected, and pulled out a satisfying scoop of frozen dirt. He piled it along the front side where Tempest had suggested, then stuck it back into the dirt once again.
While at first it was new and exciting, Winter quickly fell into a rhythm as his sore muscles began acting up. After about an hour, the scales along the base of his talons were peeling, as his soft and uncalloused skin was unprepared for long periods of intense physical labor.
"You've spent too much time lounging about in your palace," Flurry laughed when he noticed, "Look at Tempest, he's been cutting and carrying trees his whole life, he's not bleeding any time soon."
Frost in turn, gave Winter a sympathetic look and offered to take up his spot on the dig. He refused, even when she tried to insist she do it as a way of returning the favor for helping her the night before. He was an IceWing warrior and an IceWing prince. The ranks might not matter in the army, but when he returned to the palace, he wanted to bring tails of courage and honor, not face his parents' wrath for being unable to dig a simple trench.
"How about a song?" Tempest offered as he piled another large scoop of clay alongside their steadily growing trench "We used to sing when we were chopping and hauling timber back home. It made the work a lot easier."
"Good idea!" Frost nodded enthusiastically, "None of the music at the inn really goes with this, though. Does anyone know any good songs?"
"Let's ask Princess," Flurry suggested with a laugh, gesturing to Hare and Tempest, "Since I already know all the songs these morons would suggest."
All the heads turned to him, and Winter paused his digging, leaning his right talons on his entrenching tool. He thought for a moment then suggested, "Do any of you know Wrath of the North? The aristocrats love that one."
"Pfft, of course we know it," Flurry laughed, "I doubt there's an IceWing in Pyrrhia who doesn't know that tune, but sure, let's sing it."
"Synchronize your digging!" Frost called out, and within moments, the sound of digging set the beat, and Winter's friends all looked to him to start the song.
Nodding his head to feel the beat as he shoveled more dirt, he began,
"Five thousand years ago, along the Northern Sea
IceWings line up in thousands, as far the eye can see
Ready for the onslaught, ready for the fight
Waiting for the NightWings to fly into the trap
Traps are placed in darkness, under cover of the night
Waiting to be triggered, when the time is right
Imminent invasion, imminent attack
Once the battle's started, there's no turning back
The end of the NightWings draws near
Their time has come to an end
The end of an era is here
It's time to attack!
Into the Ice Kingdom, the NightWing army march
Warriors stand side by side, to stop the NightWing charge
Enemies on sacred ice, soon to be deceased
A million of us at war, Queen Diamond's wrath unleashed
Melting ice and snow, the heat of battle burned
Suffering heavy losses, the tide of war was turned
Driving back the NightWings, winning the Northern Front
Hunt them out of Pyrrhia, out of IceWing land
Reinforce the frontline, force the NightWings to retreat
Send in all the reserves, securing their defeat
Soldiers of the tundra, broke the citadel
Ruined southern army, NightWings rest in hell
The end of the NightWings draws near
Their time has come to an end
The end of an era is here
It's time to attack!
Into the Ice Kingdom, the NightWing army march
Warriors stand side by side, to stop the NightWing charge
Enemies on sacred ice, soon to be deceased
A million of us at war, Queen Diamond's wrath unleashed
Oh Queen Diamond, mother of our tribe
Will of your dragons, strong in command
For Queen Diamond, mother of our tribe
Once more victorious, the IceWing army stands
The end of the NightWings draws near
Their time has come to an end
The end of an era is here
It's time to attack!
Into the Ice Kingdom, the NightWing army march
Warriors stand side by side, to stop the NightWing charge
Enemies on sacred ice, soon to be deceased
A million of us at war, Queen Diamond's wrath unleashed!
As he arrived at the conclusion, Winter found to his amusement that not only had the rest of his unit had joined in, but the entire battalion. As they reached the final chorus, the ice sheets were rattling with the echoes of hundreds of voices joined into musical harmony. From her perch before them all, Lieutenant Iceflow was actually looking rather pleased, surprising Winter.
"Your enthusiasm to fight for our Queen is a relief to our ears, here at the fort," Lieutenant Iceflow nodded approvingly, "With an attitude like this, you'll surely smash through Burn's lines and take the stronghold by summer."
Take the stronghold by summer? That certainly got Winter's attention. He could already imagine the look on his parent's faces if he returned home triumphant after sacking Burn's infamous stronghold in the Sand Kingdom. No siege or sack would possibly equal the fall of Burn's stronghold, aside from perhaps the destruction of the lost NightWing citadel from back in Darkstalker's time. And that was so long ago there was doubt if it had ever even happened, despite it being the subject of the great patriotic song Winter had just sung.
"It won't be that easy, Princess," Flurry grimaced, lowering his voice so only he and Winter could hear "I can see it on your face, you've got that look. It was the look all the idiot dragonets who get drafted young leave with. I know you've got this grand idea about what this adventure will be like, and Frost told me not to take that from you, but just… I don't know, just prepare yourself, alright? I like you, Princess. I don't want to bury you."
Winter paused and thought about that for a moment, and, as he had before, got the sense that there was something that his new friends wanted to tell him. He could not for the life of him figure out what it was, though. Surely he was not seeming overly optimistic about the war. It would not have lasted a decade and a half already if victory was easy. But the officers thought it would be over within the year, and surely they knew what they were talking about.
He thought about that for the rest of the day, when Lieutenant Iceflow showed the battalion how to fortify their trenches with logs and the metal twine apparently called barbed wire. They were also given another tool, this time a small two handled metal tool used for clipping through wires. He listened and memorized all he was shown, but his mind was not really there, he was focused on his friends' words. There seemed like there was some deeper meaning there, but he just could not grasp it. Perhaps time would tell.
oOoOo
This was all forgotten, however, when the next week of training arrived. Finally, each unit was given their assignments. Some were shuffled off to artillery, where they were taught how to maintain and operate the hulking ballistas and catapults used to keep the skies clear and pound Burn's trenches. Others were sent away from the fort to become couriers, doctors, or logistics specialists, their knowledge of trench survival from the first weeks enough to keep them alive and do their duties.
Winter was not among the unlucky ones sent away though, and was delighted to see his unit assigned to the Stormtrooper Corps, along with most of the brigade. In Winter's mind, everyone else was support, to help the stormtroopers do their jobs. Artillery softened Burn up, messengers brought letters, and logistics brought food, but the stormtroopers were the ones who would crack open the seemingly indomitable rock that was the Sand Kingdom.
Others brigade seemed much less enthusiastic, to Winter's surprise and confusion. Were they not delighted at the opportunity to serve their Queen and earn honor for them and their families? A few cowards here and there were to be expected, but the aura of gloom and doom that hung over the brigade was as tangible as it was confusing. Frost had looked green and Hare had blanched when they were given their assignments, though neither explained why. Flurry and Tempest put on their brave faces, but Winter could tell they too were scared. It seemed like everyone was except him. That evening at dinner, neither Frost nor Hare had made any attempt to eat their food, instead staring blankly into space.
Winter had never seen anyone die, but he had seen the look of a doomed dragon. Years earlier, when Winter was only two, there had been an IceWing traitor who they found out was working with Blister. The traitor was sentenced to death, but before his execution, he was paraded about the palace like a warning. Winter had seen that same expression on his face, all those years ago. It was the same expression Hare and Frost were wearing on their faces that evening. For a brief moment, just before falling asleep, Winter wondered if war was not all that he imagined it to be.
oOoOo
Stormtrooper training began in earnest the next morning, when, instead of one piece of equipment at a time like they had been given so far, the recruits had the whole rest of their kit dumped on them at once. The reason was made clear during the usual morning announcements. The situation at the front was critical, and training was being cut from twelve to six weeks. That left only four weeks for what used to be ten weeks of instruction.
It felt like a frenzied rush to get through all the information. Gas masks were distributed, and Winter learned how to store them, clean them, put them on, and breathe through them. He felt uneasy about losing his frost breath as a weapon, but when confronted with the alternative, was more than happy to sacrifice it.
He was given a bayonet, a large knife almost as long as his forearm. One dragon had questioned why they needed to carry metal talons around when they had natural ones on their claws. The officers had pointed out that this blade was much longer and heavier than their talons, meaning that they could take down enemies in a single strike much easier, especially the huge, strong, and tough MudWings. Bayonets held with medical treatment, and unlike talons, were easily replaceable should they break.
He was given a variety of basic medical supplies to treat burns, infections, and puncture wounds, and was taught how to use them. All his life, Winter had simply gone to the healer for his wounds, but suddenly, upon knowing how to care for them himself, felt a strange feeling of independence and accomplishment. Maybe he could tell his parents about all the dragon lives he saved when he got home.
The final piece of equipment was the most important, and the one he was most interested in: the strange wooden and metal contraption called a repeating crossbow, or needler for short. It consisted of a handle, a stock to brace against his shoulder. A curved section held a taut bowstring, locking a bolt in place. Above the bolt was a box containing another eleven bolts, held in place by a spring. A slider on the side of the weapon would chamber another bolt when he slid it back, released by squeezing the trigger mechanism along the handle. The bolts themselves were much more dangerous than any usual spearhead. Their heads were pointed, like a dart, and the length of the bolt held an explosive charge. The effect was that, when the dart penetrated the target, the pressure created a spark, lighting the powder within the bolt. The bolt casing funneled the explosion out the front of the bolt and into the target to devastating effects. Once fired, the slide was pulled back, chambering the next bolt easily and in one motion.
This, Winter realized, was an advanced weapon. A beast of wood and steel designed by the north's best minds. A killing machine. He looked in awe at that monster in his talons, feeling an excited shiver run down his tail. His heart was beating quickly, and found himself struggling to stand still. He could not wait to use it.
It turned out, though, that using needlers was not as easy as it looked. First, the IceWings had to master the three legged run, a strange hobble that allowed them to run while keeping one arm free to hold and shoot the weapon, but also staying low to avoid return fire from the enemy. Between strides, they had to flap their wings, lifting their front talons off the ground just briefly. In that moment, they pulled the slider back, so they could fire again. It was not easy, but Winter picked it up faster than most of the other dragons. Within a few days of practice, he was able to consistently hit targets while running between the trenches.
The last few days of training was about putting it all together. The brigade was split into battalions, who practiced against each other, digging trenches and then assaulting one another's position. Winter was pleased to find that he survived the drill every time it was run as did most of his unit. Tempest was hit in one of the drills, however, and looked much more shaken than Winter would have expected.
Winter was laughing humorously at his misfortune until he saw his friend's face. The IceWing had blanched, and was shaking badly. Tempest did not talk for the rest of the day, and his friends did not pressure him. Winter did not understand the reaction. It was just a game. This was training so they would all survive the real thing. Surely Tempest understood that. Besides, Tempest was an excellent soldier. He had even beaten Winter a few times in the hand to hand combat drills. Surely he was not worried about his own mortality.
The final night of training was a small celebration as the brigade finished their time at Fort Windward. Each graduate also passed from recruit to the official rank of private within the IceWing army. After receiving their accommodations and a short speech from General Windstorm sending them off, they each painted a small white snowflake with wings at the center of their gray helmets, the symbol of the stormtroopers.
After that, they were sent to the mess to eat. The drill instructors encouraged them to eat as much as they could, as supplies could often run short at the frontlines. Winter was enjoying a dolphin while absentmindedly rubbing the shiny white symbol on his helmet, which he held in his talons.
Winter was feeling excited, but he did not notice that that feeling did not seem to be shared by most of the other soldiers. For the most part, they sat somberly within their units, picking at their food and consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Unlike the parties at the palace, though, this did not encourage singing, dancing, or excitement, but rather an even quieter and heavier atmosphere.
His own table was no different. Frost was silently sharing a bottle with Flurry, while Tempest and Hare both stared off silently into the distance. Frost was playing with her talons between drinks, whereas Flurry seemed to be trying to steady his breathing. All of them looked more afraid than Winter had ever seen them.
"You want some, Princess?" Flurry offered quietly, extending the stained blue bottle in talons he seemed unable to keep from shaking, whether from drink or fear Winter did not know.
"Not for me," Winter shook his head with a low rattle of icicle spikes, "That tradition isn't for me."
"Hah," Flurry barked humorlessly, "We'll see how long that lasts."
There was another long moment of heavy silence before Frost spoke suddenly, her voice catching, "Let's try to enjoy this night, friends. We might not-" her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard and tried again, "We might not get-"
She cut off again, ducking her head beneath her wing and trying unsuccessfully to avoid their gazes. Winter was surprised to see she was crying. As her sobs became audible, Flurry gently wrapped a wing around her, and she leaned into his shoulder as her tears flowed more freely.
Winter was not sure what to say. Never before had he had to console a crying peer. That simply did not happen in the IceWing palace. Reaching awkwardly across the table, he gently took her talons within his own, and she looked up at him, wiping her eyes with a trembling hand.
"You're going to be alright, okay?" Winter said as reassuringly as he could, hoping he did not sound as awkward as he felt, "We're not going to let anything happen to you. That's what your unit is for. That's what your friends are for, alright? I won't let anything happen to you," then glanced around the table and added, "To any of you. I promise that."
"You do?" Frost asked in a meeker voice than he had ever heard from her. She was one of the strongest dragons Winter knew, but it seemed fear and excessive alcohol was enough to break her. To break all of them, Winter added mentally, none of them are normally like this.
"Of course," Winter nodded, "I made that promise on the first day we all met, remember? I'll watch your tails if you watch mine. I haven't forgotten my end of the bargain."
"And we haven't forgotten ours," Tempest nodded heavily, with a big sigh, "I'll stand with you lot til the end."
Winter nodded in agreement and added, "See, we'll be fine."
Frost seemed a little reassured, as she extracted herself from Winter's talons and Flurry's wing. With a wipe of her eyes, she sighed, "Yea, I hope so, friend. We better, right? We've all got dragons waiting for us at home. Our stories don't end on the Northern Front. That's not how a good story would end."
There was another silence, though this one a little lighter than before. Frost perked up enough to eat, and Winter resumed chewing on his dolphin, which he shared with Tempest. Flurry and Hare still had not moved, both of them sat still as statues, their gazes fixed on some intangible point out in the distance.
"Open the doors to the monastery, and you'll find only thieves and vagabonds," Hare spoke suddenly, in a low voice not at all his own, "Woe be upon us, the damned, the poor souls condemned to the pointless war."
There was another silence as Hare resumed his thousand yard stare. Winter looked around the table in confusion, looking for an explanation for their quiet friend's strange words.
"He doesn't weep for himself, Princess," Flurry broke from his trance to speak, "He weeps for his mother. He's already lost all five of his brothers and sisters to the war. His father passed from sickness. When it's his turn, his mother will be all alone."
"Don't say that," Winter snapped with more anger than he realized he was feeling, "You're acting like it's already over. All of you are! You're IceWings, for Moons' sake, the greatest tribe in Pyrrhia! Show some of that northern pride. We're excellent warriors, all of us are. Enough of this gloom and doom nonsense. Our chance at honor and glory comes tomorrow. We must seize the moment, and become the next heroes they sing of in the taverns! Nobody's going to die."
With an irritated snort, Winter lashed his tail and stood up from the table. He slammed his helmet on his head and stomped out of the mess in the direction of their tent. No one moved to stop him. Alone in the chilly evening air, under the light of a single full moon, Winter finally found himself alone with his thoughts.
He was excited, but much more uneasy than he had felt an hour earlier. His whole life, he had been dreaming about the adventure he was about to embark on, and how he would return home to his mother and father with tales of all his great victories. Now that moment was almost here, and he found his confidence rattled. None of the other dragons seemed to share his enthusiasm at all. Hare had always been quiet and tense, but this new look did not fit Frost or Flurry at all. Winter refused to let that slow him though, promising silently to himself how he would prove them wrong. They were going into battle in the presence of an IceWing prince, soon to be made legend. He had become very skilled with both the needler and the bayonet. He felt confident that he had everything he needed to protect his friends and become the son his parents had always wanted him to be.
Winter removed his helmet and leathers outside of his tent, and paused briefly before going inside, looking up at the stars. There was something uniquely beautiful about them that Winter found nowhere else in the world. The stars were always there, floating serenely in the sky above. They did not care about royal or commoner, they did not care about rank or honor, they did not even care for tribe, they always remained there, floating in the sky. A universal constant. Sometimes he wished he could wrap them all up in his wings, and bring their tranquility and beauty into his own life.
After a long moment, he left the stars behind.