He understood his orders well enough. Rumours were going around that somebody on Earth was supplying the Benthians with their tech. How and why, nobody could guess - no ships had ever been reported carrying such cargo into Porphyrian airspace. So Ryuga had to invesitage. Laura had promised to handle much of that, so the boy wasn't too worried about that part.
The problem was, upon disembarking, he was told to report directly to the Base Commander in her office with all the other pilots.
-------
"Welcome to Earth, you sorry sacks of shit."
Those words were not a comforting introduction. And neither was the first sight of Brigadier Eleanore McCreery.
Ryuga, from where he stood to attention, could tell that she was not in the least like any of the air marshals or colonels back home. Mostly because she looked immediately done with everyone's shit. She carried herself as though military decorum was for other people, despite the outfit she was wearing. Her expression was the kind of stone-walled "damned if I care" attitude one would find on a jaded teenage street punk. And she'd brought a gently smoldering cigar into the room, against all common sense and protocol.
But there was a fire in her eyes despite all that. A fierceness that made the row of assorted cadets freeze when she glanced at them. It seemed designed to make you uncomfortable, like you were naked in public.
"I'm base commander here," she continued, her voice like a hammer on iron. "And also your new drill instructor. I don't know how things work on Ardea, so forgive me if I don't tick off your names like this is primary school. But you sadsacks had the misfortune to be shipped here, and I have the misfortune of bringing you up to speed. So prepare to get some notions hammered out of your thick skulls."
She took a drag on the cigar, then puffed out the smoke in a great cloud. Most of it went into the faces of the other pilots and made them cough.
"First of all, I'm in charge here. The General's not here to cover your sorry asses, and there's no fancy major generals or air commodores to fuck up the chain of command. If you fly a bird, you answer directly to me. And the last word out of your fat pieholes when you speak to me will be either 'Ma'am' or 'Brigadier'. Am I making myself clear?"
There was a murmer of "Yes, Ma'am", which Ryuga joined in.
"Bullshit," snapped Eleanore. "Sound off like you got a pair!"
"Yes, Ma'am!" came the louder reply.
"Good. Now, here's part two - Whatever medieval-era bullshit they taught you in the academy? Forget it. Chivarly's dead here on Earth, and you didn't take it with you on the ship over. And there's no room here for smart-alecs or hotshots who think Top Gun is real. You speak when spoken to, you toe the line and you click your goddamn heels when I tell you to. If you got a problem with that, the door's right there."
A hand pointed at aformentioned door. "Go on. Fuck off. Pack your things and leave."
Nobody offered to move. Ryuga honestly felt like that was a trap, like taking up that offer would only bring more trouble. He remembered what advice Laura had tried to give him - 'just play ball, like you're at home, and you'll do fine'. But somehow, that didn't seem to be very good advice right now.
Eleanore - Brigadier, he corrected himself - snorted, and went on talking.
"I don't care who or what you are. As far as I'm concerned, you're all worthless. You're the shits that got pushed here either because you flushed your futures down the toilet, or because Porphyrion wants to pretend they're still relevant to interplanetary politics. And somehow, I have to try and polish you turds so that you slightly resemble gold. Which, I can see right away, is gonna a be fucking miserable experience."
Another pull of the cigar.
"So I'm going to be playing hardball. You're not getting any of that toodle-pip tea and coffee bullshit here. I am not your friend and I never will be. You will give one hundred percent, or I will unscrew your heads and shit down your necks. And if I think for an instant that you don't pack the gear to be under my command, I'm kicking you out onto the street. Do you maggots understand that?"
"Yes, Ma'am!" came the reply.
"Good," barked Eleanore. "Now, file out and make your way to your bunks. Your drills start in a week, so don't get too comfy."
As one, the assembled cadets turned and began to file out. Quickly, too - none of them wanted to stay in this room any longer than they wanted. Ryuga followed behind, all too eager to follow their example-
"Not you."
He halted, and turned. And went pale as he saw the finger pointed right at him.
"Yeah, you." The eyes were fixed right on him. "Stay there. We're having words."
The brown-haired boy felt the blood drain from his face like rats leaving a sinking ship. But he turned, clicked his heels and stood to attention whilst everyone else left. He desperately wished somebody would say something, anything to break the tention. Instead, the door clicked closed as the last man vacated the room.
Leaving him alone with Brigadier McCreery.
The woman strode over to him, boots clacking on the tiles. It never occured to Ryuga how tall she was, but by the time she reached him, he had to crane his neck backwards to look at her. From this up close, he could see the perpetual frown she appeared to be wearing, as well as the medals stapled to her lapel. Her breath stank of cigar smoke. Her eyes bored right into his, and the boy felt like he was being stripped bare in front of her.
The silent pause lingered for far too long. When Eleanore jammed the cigar between her teeth, Ryuga was almost glad for the sound of her biting into it.
"So," she said, folding her arms.
Ryuga didn't say anything.
"You're the new Ace Pilot the General raved about," she went on. "The reason I had to write an essay so we could clear a Wyvern with this city's buereaucrats."
Ryuga managed to squeak out a "Yes, Ma'am." And then wished he hadn't - it sounded like a mouse farting. Eleanore's eyes swept up and down, and the Junior Ace Pilot wondered if this was what a trout felt like before an eagle swooped down upon it. The idea that he now had to answer directly to her wasn't as appealing as it had been back at home.
Her eyes then fell onto his shoulder. And narrowed.
"You know what I instantly don't like about you, Kanzuki?" she snapped. No 'cadet' or 'pilot' or anything like that. Just his surname.
"No, Ma'am," Ryuga replied. Then he winced as he felt a finger jab at his shoulder, where an official ARM pilot's patch had been sewn on. It had been done some months prior, and it had been a symbol of pride for him. It made him feel like he really did belong amongst the Wyverns.
"That. 'Junior Flying Ace'," the Brigadeer sneered. "What, they give you a fucking Happy Meal after every mission? You think you can sit at the big boy's table, is that it?"
Ryuga made the mistake of trying to defend himself. "With all due respect, Ma'am, I never asked to-"
WHAM.
Agony sang through Ryuga's abdomen as a fist impacted with it. He doubled over, then collapsed to his knees. His mouth hung open, but no scream came, only ragged gasps for air. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, and for an awful moment he thought he was going to be sick.
He hadn't realized Eleanore had squatted down beside him until cigar smoke blew into his face. When she next spoke, her voice was cold.
“Lesson One. I’m not the General. I don’t give second chances and I don’t play favourites. Especially not for shrimp-dicked dropouts who bullshitted their way into the job. I don’t care if the walrus says you piss diamond and shit cake, you’re gonna put the work in like every other maggot on this base. And I expect no less than two hundred percent from you. People who think they can coast through on luck don’t last in my army.”
A ripping noise caught his attention. When he looked up, Eleanore was holding the patch up to his face in her free hand. Strings of thread dangled from it like the tendrils of a depressed jellyfish.
“Lesson Two. You don’t get to wear this until you pull your head out of your ass and impress me. And I don’t impress easily. So you better not make me regret ticking the box that got your sorry ass transferred here. You get one chance only - fuck it up, and you’re going back to Porphyrion in a crate.”
She leaned in closer, teeth bared. "Am I right, cadet?"
Ryuga choked, trying to resist the pressure in his gut.
"I said, am I right, cadet?!" Eleanore snarled.
With great effort, the boy was able to wheeze out a "Yes, Ma'am."
"Damn right, I am." Eleanore straightened up, then prodded him with a foot. "Now beat it. You're interrupting my 'me' time."
It took Ryuga some time to stagger to his feet and wobble out of the room. But he felt the Brigadier's harsh, judging stare on him all the way.
-------
Laura snorted when Ryuga told her the story. But not with anger.
"I think she likes you," she quipped.
Ryuga's eyes bugged out. "You call that liking me?!"
"Yeah." The hologram leaned back, grinning. "She didn't immediately tell you to scrub the toilets with a toothbrush."
The boy stared at Laura as though she'd grown a second head. She recognised his confusion and shrugged.
"Look," she said, "don't pay any mind to her tough girl act. She's been like that ever since she got into the military. Had to claw and bite her way to the top because the old fossils higher up would rather she be a nurse or a cook. And that builds up a lot of resentment. So she takes it out on the cadets - when she's not slugging back whiskey."
Ryuga stared some more. Then he sighed and passed a hand over his eyes.
"She took my patch," he moaned.
"Don't take that personally, champ. She's no good at taking people's word for anything - can't even trust her own eyes. You just gotta prove you're the genuine article. Lucky you got me, right?" Laura grinned and jabbed a thumb at herself.
Too many questions were in Ryuga's head right now. Most of them started with 'how' or 'what'. But one of them stood out as particularly important, so he latched onto that.
"You... seem to know a lot about her," he ventured.
Laura shrugged again. "Don't worry about that. All you need to know is that I got everything arranged here. You're not gonna have any trouble if I can manage it. And that extra training you did back home netted you a few privelages - like the chance for extra free time. So you can pop out of this stuffy metal box and take in the sights."
"Like what?" asked Ryuga.
The grin came back as Laura leaned forward. Only wider, and with the maniacal edge he'd come to worry about.
"How about," she purred, "the King of Beasts?"
-------
What none of them knew was that, after Ryuga had gone, Eleanore stayed motionless for a few moments.
Then she turned, went back to her desk and sat down. A drawer was yanked open and a glass and decanter were fished out. The Brigadier poured out a measure, then threw it down her throat. It was a mechanical action, one that had been perfected over years, with no enjoyment in it. She swallowed, and took a deep breath.
Her eyes fell on a photo. General Thomas McCreery, in his days as a Sergeant. Younger, with with none of the iron grey that stained his moustache and hair. By his side, a young girl with red hair, all smiles and wide eyes. And to the other side...
Eleanore let the breath go in a sigh.
"You better be fucking right about him, dad."
TO BE CONTINUED
in Zoofights Roleplay 2019
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