Induction

(Alternate title – Welcome, to our world!)

Author's Note: There have been a whirlwind of changes in my life since I last updated. I am now working for a new company but at the same location I was at before. I also find myself writing reports which are presented to a different audience than what I have here. Surprisingly (or not so much) it takes more out of me than expected after analyzing and writing all day. I am grateful though that they are willing to pay for my effort. In the meantime, I keep plugging away at the story (and chapter seven is well underway) and I still plan on finishing the story. The plot bunnies will not rest! So here is the latest installment of "Officer and a Dragon".

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining me here at the New Berk Academy." Sergeant Major Eugene Smith stood ramrod straight in his Marine Khakis in front of six volunteers; Outsider Berkers serving the King and Queen of Norway. These senior enlisted personnel were called sersjants in the Norwegian Army and the Royal Norwegian Air Force while senior enlisted personnel in the Royal Norwegian Navy were known as kvartermesters. "I will call role to see who, is who. Amundsen".

A red-haired woman responded, "Here!" She appeared to be around the age of thirty, possessing the physical build of someone not afraid of hard work and heavy lifting. She wore the outfit of a Sersjant of the Norwegian Army.

"Björk".

"Ja!" A blonde male bedecked in the uniform of the Royal Norwegian Navy responded. He appeared to be in his forties and possessed a scar that ran from his left eye to his left ear.

"Fornæss".

"Yes!" responded a thirty something year old female wearing the outfit of the Royal Norwegian Air Force. She was blonde and quite stunning in appearance.

"Nygaard."

"Jawohl!" A gentleman in his mid-forties responded to Gene. He wore the uniform of the Royal Norwegian Air Force.

"I thought 'jawohl' was German for 'yes-sir'?" Gene asked.

Sersjant Nygaard responded, somewhat embarrassed. "It is. I thought I could be slightly different in my answer."

Gene looked askance at him before returning to his roster. "Strøm."

"Yes, sir!" A blonde woman in the uniform of the Royal Norwegian Navy replied. She appeared to be in her late thirties.

"Vårvik."

"Ja." A blonde gentleman in his late thirties answered. He wore the uniform of the Norwegian Army.

Gene looked at the names and scanned the group one final time. "Alright. You all know what will be expected of us in a little more than ten days, so I will need your guidance with respect to dragons. I will be receiving the candidate information tomorrow and except for Spring, the remaining cohort are outsider Berkers."

"A question, Sergeant-Major," Sersjant Nygaard spoke up. "How are we to address you?"

"I would appreciate that we go by our given ranks. I expect the inductees to refer to all of us as either 'sir' or ma'am. This initial test should break the ice and give us an idea of how observant they are."

"Another question, Sergeant-Major," the woman who answered to Strøm addressed Gene. "Why did Guardian Substance pick you? I mean, you have the same qualifications as us…and I… others here as well applied for this position. Other than being svart, I don't get it."

A thin, tight smile appeared on Gene's lips as he shrugged his shoulders. "I have a possible idea," he replied. "In looking at some of your credentials, you all are probably more qualified than me for the position. Hell, you even know about the dragons as well, so I am curious myself as to her reasoning… other than Guardian Substance saying I had the 'life experiences' they were looking for. As far as being 'svart', well I had no choice in that."

The woman took in what Gene said, showing no emotion or reaction in her demeanor.

"Any more questions? If not, then we have a lot of work to get things in order. Thank you." The Norwegians filed out of the office Gene appropriated on his first day.

"Sir, may I enter?" The boy he encountered behind the counter at the mess hall the first day stood just outside the threshold to the office.

Gene turned and looked at the wiry teen. "What is it, son? By the way, what is your full name, …Henrik?"

The teen shuffled his feet slightly before returning Gene's gaze. "Henrik Baglien, sir. I've been asked to deliver a box to you."

Gene's right eyebrow arched slightly. "Really, any idea who they are from?"

"It appears to be from a Mister Robert Williamson."

"Good!", Gene exclaimed as he got up and approached Henrik when hearing Bob's name. "Bring it inside and set it on my desk."

"Yes, sir. Oh, this envelope was attached." Henrik handed to Gene a sealed envelope before turning around to retrieve the delivered items.

Gene unfastened the packet to reveal a second sealed envelope marked 'EYES ONLY'. He opened it and removed the enclosed letter.

June 1, 1991

Merry Christmas, Gene!

I was asked to provide you with a translated copy of 'The Ýsa Journal' and the current Dragon dictionary. I didn't know if you had a CD reader, so I chopped down a few trees for the hardcopies. The Barony picked up the cost for the analysis and the initial printing. Working on it was a blast (just not nuclear)!

Enjoy!

'Kaiju' Bob.

Gene turned his gaze back to the doorway upon finishing the letter, in time to see Henrik negotiating a hand truck holding a hard-shell trunk. The trunk was the size of a foot locker, milled out of aluminum and sealed with metal strapping tape to prevent tampering or unauthorized access.

"Sir, I think it's too big for the top of the desk," Henrik said somewhat sheepishly.

Gene nodded with some resignation. More work. "Just…set it on the floor under the far window."

"Yes, sir." Henrik took the time to situate the trunk on the far wall away from his desk. Gene was able to find a pair of wire cutters from a nearby storage cabinet. While cutting each strap he noticed zip ties on each of the lock fasteners. Each zip tie had an affixed label with a date and the initials 'BMW'. Bob's initials. He removed those as well before taking the time to undo the latches on the box. There was another envelope inside the container. Gene pulled a sheaf of papers from the envelope and started to mumble as he recited their contents.

"Bill of lading…this document is to show items delivered…Contents…one copy 'The ÝsaJournal' translated into English, one volume of one thousand and twenty-two pages…one copy 'New Berk Dragon to English dictionary', two thousand four hundred and thirteen pages…one copy 'New Berk Dragon Grammar', three thousand pages…copy of notes from Bob Williamson, five hundred thirty-six pages…End of list." Gene put the papers down. Six thousand four hundred and seventy-one pages. He shook his head. To say that it wasn't light reading was an understatement. He would get started with 'The Journal'.

"Thank you, Henrik." Gene said as he looked inside the metallic container while Henrik removed himself from the building. A vacant gaze came over Gene as he kept repeating to himself, "How do you eat an elephant?"

They muddled around in the center of the common area in front of the training center barracks present inside the Executive Training Center. Ten men and women in their late teens and early twenties kept themselves busy with idle conversation. One exception stood by himself, not really knowing what to expect as he was neither a man or a woman.

Spring Ýsa was a Night Fury, a black dragon who wanted to be a Naval Officer for the nation of New Berk. The adopted son of Chiefs and Guardians, the training facility he now found himself was based on this desire. Many favors, including a significant amount of funding and resources were poured into this facility so Spring could pursue his dream.

Spring could not fail.

He was only beginning to feel the pressure of the moment. His gaze was fixed on the running track oval situated in the far corner of the complex. Inside the oval was something he was familiar with; a soccer or 'football' field. He could at least dredge up comforting memories of a similar field in New Berk not that long ago.

A line of military personnel in full uniform marched out of barracks labeled with the number '3'. while a lone person exited from a barracks labeled with the number '4'. He was dressed in brown military khakis and wore a trademark of United States Armed Forces drill sergeants; a campaign hat. This one piece of attire marked his authority; a flat, brown, broad-brimmed felt hat with a high crown squeezed into four corners. The Eagle, Globe, and Anchor medallion affixed to the front of the hat signified he was a member of the United States Marine Corps. The intense stare he affixed on the group he now approached was his way of telling each candidate in a non-verbal manner that he would suffer no fools. He carried a clipboard in his left hand, the names of each candidate clearly printed on the single sheet of paper.

While the senior enlisted personnel all had white complexions and blonde hair, the skin tone of the Drill Instructor, DI for short, was more of a light coffee color highlighted by his shaved head evident from underneath his hat. Both groups approached the teens still milling in the middle of the common area of the buildings.

"ALL RIGHT…LISTEN UP! I WANT YOU ALL TO PLACE YOUR TOES ON THIS LINE SET IN THIS DIRT." Gene called out to the inductees as he stood three paces behind the blue line painted in the grass. "NOW!"

Every one of the inductees rushed to stand as expected on the blue line. Spring placed his forepaws on the line as he stared at the DI.

"EYES SRAIGHT…BACK STRAIGHT…WINGS TIGHT…YOU WILL KEEP THIS POSITION UNTIL I TELL YOU OTHERWISE." Gene stood ram-rod straight in front of the inductees, gazing at each candidate for an inordinate amount of time to gauge the group overall. It was an uncomfortable stare; 'into their souls' as Gene would call it. Gene then declared in his usual projecting voice, "My name is Sergeant-Major Eugene Smith, United States Marine Corps. For the next eight weeks, I have to see who among you is officer material." Gene looked behind him at the line of military personnel before returning to address the enlistees. "The senior enlisted you see behind me are a part of the Norwegian Navy, Army, and Air Force. Take a good look as MOST of you will NOT wear a uniform like THAT or ONE for commissioned officers. IS THIS CLEAR TO EVERYONE?"

"Yes…I understand…Yes…Okay," came the muttered reply from the group.

"WHAT…THE HELL…WAS THAT?" Gene roared his disdain at the tepid response. "YOU WILL ANSWER ME WITH EITHER 'YES, SEARGANT-MAJOR' OR 'NO, SEARGEANT-MAJOR'...IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR" The response was more in line with Gene's expectations.

"Better…now…as I said, most of you will NOT get to wear any uniform. I…have the daunting task to find out which of you have the GUTS…the SMARTS…and the PERSISTENCE…to lead." Gene took a breath before he continued in a more business-like tone as he scanned the group. "I…take my job seriously. Dead seriously. Those that pass and graduate to the Norwegian Officer Schools will not only lead Norwegian forces but NATO forces as well."

Gene looked down the line to the black dragon. "Yes, even Night Furies can lead NATO forces, as I found out from Guardian Substance." Gene returned to glare at the remaining inductees in the line. "And so, for the next eight weeks, I will be… 'Toothless'…and you all will be either 'Boulder' or 'Upchuck'. Appropriate, as you are either dumb as a rock or making me want to puke!"

An uncomfortable silence overtook the area, the type of intimidating situation that Gene expected and wanted at this point of the process.

"And yes, if you haven't guessed, I've read 'The Journal' …"

"Excuse me, sir…" One member of the group raised his hand to ask a question.

"STOP!" Gene swung around to direct his attention at the young inductee who dared to interrupt him. "DID I SAY YOU COULD ASK A QUESTION?"

"No, sir…"

"WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME 'SIR'? WHAT DID I SAY WHEN I FIRST SPOKE HOW YOU WERE TO ADDRESS ME?"

"Uhhh, sergeant-major?"

"THEN WHY DID YOU NOT REFER TO ME IN THAT MANNER? ARE YOU DEAF! DO I NEED TO YELL AT YOU ALL THE TIME?"

"No, sir…"

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY HOW WERE TO REFER TO ME?

The inductee looked sheepishly at Gene, "Sergeant-major?"

"IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE A QUESTION?

"No, sir…"

A vein on his left temple made itself known to Gene as he stared menacingly at this boy. "ARE YOU THAT DUMB? I JUST TOLD YOU TO ADDRESS ME AS SERGEANT-MAJOR. DID I NOT?"

"Yes, Sergeant-Major." The reply was barely a whisper.

"LOUDER!" Gene barked at the boy who was now visibly shaking.

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

Gene looked intently at the boy. "For the next eight weeks, you are 'BOULDER'. Got it?

"YES, SI…SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Yeah, that fits you…Now…since you children don't know proper protocol, IF...you have a question…WAIT…until after I either dismiss you, OR, I will ASK if there are any questions…DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR" was the authoritative response from everyone.

"Good. Now when I call your name, step forward one pace and present yourself to the Norwegian senior enlisted and me…KRISTIANSEN!"

A diminutive and attractive woman of eighteen years stepped forward. She had a set of dimples on her cheeks and a slightly upturned nose while her red hair cropped at the shoulder gave her an even more youthful look. She wore a white button-down blouse and jeans that were clean and fashionable.

Gene asked. "What is your full name?"

"TYRAH ANGIER KRISTIANSEN, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

Gene looked at Tyrah, trying to imagine her in a leadership role. "Why did you come here?" He wanted to get directly to the point with his questioning. Did they have the right reasoning for their decision to be here? The same could be said for the questions asked of him not more than two weeks prior. Why be here? He was comfortable in the answers he provided, especially since Substance was aware of his condition.

"TO PROTECT THOSE THAT I SERVE, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

Gene continued to gaze at Tyrah, gauging her answer with her facial expressions to see how committed she was to her reason. "What do you mean, 'protect those that I serve'. Seems like a pretty canned answer if I say so myself."

Tyrah bit her lip as she thought of the best way to convey in plain terms what she wanted to say, in a resolute tone. "SERGEANT-MAJOR, IT HAS BEEN MY DREAM…SINCE I WAS A CHILD AND TOLD ABOUT DRAGONS AND FINDING OUT ABOUT NEW BERK…THAT I NEED…I WANT… TO PROTECT THE DRAGONS AND THOSE THAT I LOVE. THIS IS MY CHANCE TO FULFILL THAT DREAM."

Gene smiled, "Thank you, Miss Kristiansen, for your straightforward and heartfelt answer. Please return to your place in line."

Tyrah stepped back. The other inductees strained themselves to hear what she said to the Drill Instructor to elicit a smile from him.

"BERGE!"

A blond female of nineteen stepped forward from the line. She wore a blue tank-top that highlighted her well defined muscles. Her jeans were faded with some holes present in the knees. Gene seemed to recall that was the fashion rage, ripped jeans. Personally, he didn't care for the look as it emphasized sloppiness which was a definite taboo for him. Her hair was shoulder length and bound in a braided pony tail held in place by a leather head-band.

Gene asked. "What is your full name?"

"ASTRID BERGE, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

Gene looked at Astrid and tried to imagine her in a leadership role. "Why did you come here?"

"TO CARRY OUT THE TRADITIONS OF OUR PEOPLE AND TO SERVE WITH HONOR!"

Gene raised an eyebrow. "Viking?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

"You realize that Vikings died out a millennium ago?" Gene asked as kept his attention on the facial expressions of this candidate.

"NO, SERGEANT-MAJOR. THEY LIVE ON IN NEW BERK AND AMONG THOSE THAT ARE ON THE OUTSIDE, SUCH AS MY FAMILY."

Gene was impressed with the answer, acknowledging her purpose here at the training center. "Thank you, Miss Berge. Please, return to your place in line," he requested Astrid as she returned to her prior position in the line.

"KJOS!"

The boy he yelled at previously timidly stepped forward. He wore a gray polo shirt with clean blue jeans, apparently ironed as there was a crease present on each pant leg. He sported a pair of black leather loafers, possibly Johnston & Murphy, instead of the rubber sneakers or running shoes that comprised the usual attire of teenagers world-wide. His blonde hair was styled and fixed in place with copious amounts of hair gel. Gene thought he detected a whiff of cologne about the boy.

Gene stared directly at the asked. "What is your full name?"

"HEINRIK JOHANNSEN KJOS."

"HOW DO YOU ANSWER ME, KJOS?"

"AS SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"THEN WHEN YOU TOLD ME YOUR NAME, WHY DID YOU NOT FOLLOW PROTOCOL?"

"I THOUGHT…"

"THAT IS YOUR PROBLEM SON…YOU THOUGHT…I DID NOT HAVE ANY ISSUES WITH THE TWO PREVIOUS CANDIDATES. THEY PROVIDED NOT ONLY THE ANSWER IN THE TONE AND MANNER I ASKED FOR BUT IN THE CORRECT MANNER, TOO!"

Heinrik stared at Gene, motionless and unable to respond.

"I have had enough of this. You, are out…"

Heinrik's eyes widened at what Gene just said. "BUT…I JUST GOT HERE!" He exclaimed as the shock began to overwhelm him. "No…" he whispered. "You can't do this to me!" He cried out to Gene.

"Yes, I can, and I have to. You're not coming up to speed on what's needed even at this stage. I need people who can think on their feet. I can't have people freeze on me the way you just did. I can't have it on my conscience that I let you pass only to see people die you were supposed to lead. You might be able to have another chance later, but you're not ready. Not now." Gene looked over his shoulder and motioned to one of the Norwegian non-commissioned officers to join him.

"Sersjant Nygaard, I want to withdraw this candidate from the cohort as he is unable to understand basic commands. Would you concur based on observation?"

The sersjant looked over to Heinrik. "I did observe and listen to your dialogue with this candidate. Frankly, your request is in line with what I have done to others," the sersjant nodded and replied to Gene before turning his gaze on the young boy. "I agree with the decision of the Chief Drill Instructor. You are hereby relieved of your position in this cohort. Come with me."

Heinrik could not believe what was happening to him. In a matter of minutes, in his mind, he felt that his life was over, shattered due to his inability to answer a simple question. "No…this can't be. My father paid…"

"STOP…RIGHT…THERE! I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR HOW YOU ARE ENTITLED TO THIS. NO ONE…IS ENTITLED TO LEAD. EVER! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR FATHER PAID TO GET YOU IN HERE. YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT…TO STAY" Gene screamed directly into Heinrik's face, spewing small flecks of spittle. The vein throbbing on his left temple was noticeably evident, pulsing in time to Gene's rising heart rate.

Heinrik visibly shrunk at the verbal tirade, trying to process what just occurred.

"No one…is entitled. And that includes him…" Gene retorted to Heinrik as he pointed down the line to Spring. The Night Fury's eyes widened as the light of attention fell on him.

"Now, get…out." Gene glared at Heinrik with the darkest look of resolve.

The nineteen-year-old boy composed himself before allowing his head to fall. He would face consequences for his failure. Sersjant Nygaard took him by the right arm and turned away from the group before hiking up the trail that led to the training center exit, the one Gene used just weeks previously to enter.

Several minutes passed to allow Heinrik and the sersjant to walk up the trail before Gene continued his review.

"ÝSA!"

His ear-frills perked up upon hearing his name. Spring took two steps forward from the line as Gene approached. Spring was not adorned in any clothing or sashes as his parents. He was his normal self, much like any other self-respecting dragon. What Spring did not expect is to find himself shifting from one leg to another, something he never experienced before in his life. The human equivalent would be of letting his nerves get the best of him.

Gene asked. "What is your full name?"

"SPRING ÝSA, SSSSERGEANT-MAJOR". The power present in Spring's basso profundo voice was palpable. Gene felt it in his chest.

Gene looked at Spring as he tried to imagine him in a leadership role. The protocols were established previously with Guardian Substance, so precedence was not an issue. Still… "Why did you come here?"

"TO LEAD AND PROTECT, SSS-SSS-SERGEANT-MAJOR," was the rumbling reply.

"YOU KNOW HOW TO SPEAK ENGLISH?"

Spring paused before he answered Gene. "YESSSS, SSSSERGEANT-MAJOR. HAVE TROUBLE AT TIMES."

Gene looked at Spring. A leader needed the ability to communicate clearly in the national language. If he can improve his ability to clearly speak in English…well. "Well if you have trouble than why should you be here. I just mentioned that graduates from the cohort are EXPECTED to lead NATO troops."

Spring continued to fidget. "I KNOW THATTTTT, SSSSSEARGANT-MAJOR."

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SQUIRMING ABOUT, BOY? YOU NERVOUS?" Gene picked up on the dragon's nerves.

"YESSSSS, SSSSSERGEANT-MAJOR. THISSSS ALL NEWWWW TO MEEEE."

"WELL IT'S NEW TO ALL THE OTHERS HERE AND TO ME TOO. SO, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?" retorted Gene as he waved his left hand in the general direction of the non-commissioned officers, to the other students in the line, and then finally pointing to himself.

"I WILL CALM MYSELFFF AND FOLLOWWWWW ALL GIVENNNN ORDERSSSS," Spring willed himself to remain still.

Gene continued to question the dragon. "So, you said you came here to quote, 'lead and to protect', unquote. Why can't you let those on the outside do what they've done for a millennium?"

"THINGS CHANGED, SSSSERGEANT-MAJOR. WORLD CHANGED. NO LONGER HIDE IN SAFETY, SSSSSERGEANT-MAJOR."

"AND SO…YOU WANT TO BE THE FREAK? STANDING ALONE BY YOURSELF AS THE WORLD SPITS ON YOU AND TEARS YOU APART?" Gene allowed himself to relive the hatred and violence experienced in his own life. It was not intentional on Gene's part, but Spring's decision sparked an opening to fill gaping emotional wounds. He wondered initially whether it would be suitable for this training. Yes. Yes, it would.

Spring looked down for a moment before returning to his forward gaze. "YES, SSSSERGEANT-MAJOR. I MUSSSTTT."

This willingness to voice self-sacrifice was a reminder of Gene's conversation with Substance. She was willing to give up her life for the greater good in the face of the attack on the village by the Soviets. Spring declared his willingness to do the same. There was a difference, however, between words and actions.

"Do you think that your position as the son of Chiefs and Guardians gives you any special favor?"

"NO, SSSSSSERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Good. Neither do I. In fact, because of your position and precedence you must prove at least TWICE as hard to me and the senior enlisted behind me that you warrant this. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

"YES, SSSSSERGEANT-MAJOR."

Gene looked at Spring. He had to test him, starting now. "For the next eight weeks, you are the FREAK, just because you THINK you can do this…, now…get back in line." The Night Fury took two paces back, his ear flaps flattened against his thick black neck.

"Garness!"

A heavyset boy with curly blonde hair took two steps forward. He wore a blue cotton button-down shirt; the sleeves were rolled up halfway exposing forearms thicker than some men's calves. His blue jeans were somewhat ill fitting as his physique required suspenders to keep his pants from falling off. He kept looking around to take in the sights of the training center.

"EYES STRAIGHT, BOULDER!" Gene barked at the inductee. His stern gaze did wonders to freeze the boy's wandering eyes.

"What is your name?"

"JON GARNESS, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"So why are you here, Boulder?"

Jon looked at the DI.

"DO NOT LOOK AT ME. EYES STRAIGHT! I DO NOT WANT TO REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN. DO YOU HEAR ME, BOULDER?"

Jon stood at attention with his eyes fixed directly ahead. "YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

"NOW, WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"TO PRO—

"STOP… YOU DON'T GET TO REPEAT WHAT THE OTHERS HAVE SAID," Gene shouted at Jon, before staring up and down the remaining inductees. "SO…ALL OF YOU…LOOK INTO YOUR SOUL AND REALLY ASK YOURSELF 'WHY THE HELL AM I HERE?'…THIS IS NOT SOME CLUB WHERE YOU PAY TO GET IN. THIS IS BLOOD, THIS IS SWEAT, THIS IS PAIN, THIS IS TEARS…YOU EARN THE RIGHT TO BE AN OFFICER."

Gene turned his attention back to Jon.

"NOW…WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

Jon licked his lips, staring straight ahead, answered Gene. "ALL MY LIFE, I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AMAZED BY THE STORIES I WAS TOLD ABOUT DRAGONS, SERGEANT-MAJOR! TO KNOW THAT THEY EXIST, REALLY EXIST, MEANS SO MUCH TO ME. I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THEM. IF IT MEANS JOINING THE NAVY, OR ARMY OR AIR FORCE TO LEARN THEN SO BE IT."

Gene smiled broadly at the large boy standing at attention. "WELL NOW…TELL ME SON…DOESN'T THAT FEEL BETTER?"

Jon looked at Gene.

"EYES STRAIGHT!"

"Oops, sorry. YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR. IT DOES FEEL…RIGHT."

Gene continued to glare at Jon while the 'big-boned' boy continued his effort to 'keep his eyes straight', in line with the Sergeant-Major's directives. Gene could see that the candidate had the passion and appeared trainable, in his quick observation and opinion. "Back in line, Boulder."

Jon took two steps back to the line.

"NOW, WHO IS NEXT IN THIS FLUSTER CUCK?" Gene asked as he looked down the names present on the sheet. "Arbkke."

A twenty-year-old, blonde woman took two steps forward. Her long, flowing hair was set in three braids. She possessed an air of complete indifference to her looks and even her clothing. She appeared to like ripped jeans and wearing flip-flops, rather than sneakers or sandals.

Gene walked up the line of candidates until he stood in front of her.

"What is your name?"

"TURID ARBKKE, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

"SO…I AM GOING TO ASK YOU THE SAME QUESTION AS EVERYONE ELSE…WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"I DON'T KNOW, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

Gene was not expecting that as an answer. "YOU DON'T KNOW? THEN WHY IN HELL SHOULD I WASTE MY TIME IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR REASON IS FOR BEING HERE? DID I NOT ASK THAT EVERYONE HERE LOOK INTO THEIR SOULS FOR THAT ANSWER? DID YOU EVEN HEAR ME?"

Gene was incredulous that at this stage in the program he would find a candidate not committed to the path of military service. "DO YOU INTEND ON 'FINDING' YOURSELF DURING THE NEXT EIGHT WEEKS?" Gene placed both of his hands in front of her and extended his index fingers. He moved them in an up and down motion to create a set of virtual quotation marks when he said 'FINDING'.

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR. THAT IS MY INTENT!"

Gene looked at her. "In that case, what if you don't 'find' yourself in that time?"

"I WILL REMOVE MYSELF FROM THE PROGRAM, SERGEANT-MAJOR," Turid replied

She was setting a goal for herself, challenging herself to come to a decision and to participate in the program. "GOOD… I WILL SEE THAT YOU KEEP YOUR WORD, UPCHUCK, AS YOUR INABILITY TO DECIDE MAKES ME SICK... BACK IN LINE, TURD!"

Turid responded, "SERGEANT-MAJOR, MY NAME IS TURID."

"YOU WILL EITHER BE UPCHUCK OR TURD. DO NOT CONTRADICT ME AGAIN."

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR." It was evident to Gene that Turid was seething at the outcome of this interaction. He could guess that her name was the subject of many child-hood taunts and he would be right. She took two steps back into the line with the other candidates.

"BRUHN, TWO STEPS FORWARD!"

A burly boy with large biceps took two steps forward. He was somewhat shorter in height than the other candidates. It was evident that what he lacked in stature he made up for arrogance. His American jeans were brand new and his t-shirt showed off the name "Golds Gym". His brunette hair was shoulder length in the style of the day.

Gene walked to down the line to the candidate. "What is your name?"

"DAG BRUHN, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

"So…why are you here?"

"TO PROUDLY SERVE IN THE NORWEGIAN AIR FORCE AND TO HONOR MY FATHER'S SERVICE TO THE KING."

Gene looked at Dag. "Do you really believe that?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR!"

"SO, you want to honor your father…How will you go about that?"

"BY ACHIEVING, AT LEAST, THE SAME AWARDS AND COMMENDATIONS HE DID."

Gene looked at the candidate, trying to see what he could about his demeanor. "Sersjant Fornæss, can you join me?"

A diminutive blonde wearing the uniform of the Norwegian Air Force stepped out of the line of senior enlisted and approached Gene. "Yes, Sergeant-Major."

"Candidate Bruhn here said that his father served in the Norwegian Air Force. Do you know anything about his father?"

The sersjant turned to Dag. "Your father is Arno Bruhn? Well then…his father was awarded the Defence Medal with Laurel Branch, and the Armed Forces Medal for Heroic Deeds. If I remember correctly he was a helicopter pilot in the Forstvaret back in 1982. He wound up saving some oil rig workers who went overboard during a fierce storm in the North Sea. He managed to save them and safely make it back to Bodø. He was one of the first to receive the awards as they were instituted the same year."

Gene turned to look at Dag. "Well then…It appears you have some very big shoes to fill. I am curious to see how you turn out. However, whether you succeed or fail, THAT will fall on your abilities, not your father's." Gene moved so that he was within an inch of Dag's face. He stated in a low and menacing tone. "And frankly, regarding your father, I…don't…care… Is that clear, Boulder?

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Get back in line," Gene commanded as Dag took a step back.

"AKRE, TWO STEPS FORWARD!"

A tall, thin, nineteen-year-old male with long, flowing blond hair stepped forward two steps. His attire was a used t-shirt and jeans that were both frayed at their edges.

Gene walked down the line to review the candidate. "What is your name?"

"ODDVAR AKRE, SERGEANT-MAJOR." He appeared to be chewing gum and trying to speak at the same time.

Gene continued to stare at the candidate, completely dumbfounded. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, BOY?"

"I'm…CHEWING GUM…SERGEANT MAJOR!" he replied.

Gene turned to the senior enlisted. "He's chewing gum…Boy howdy, it sure is nice that we have all these well-to-do people." He swiftly turned back to Oddvar and got within an inch of his face. "DO YOU HAVE NO RESPECT?" Gene paused before continuing his tirade. "NO…I TAKE THAT BACK…", Gene's mind raced to see if he could make better use of the situation.

"DID YOU BRING ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY?"

"Uh, no Sergeant-Major, I didn't bring enough for everybody."

"WHY NOT?"

"I didn't think…"

"STOP," Gene roared. "THAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU HAVE SAID I AGREE WITH! NOW…WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THAT?"

"I don't know…"

"STOP," Gene roared. "THAT IS THE SECOND THING YOU HAVE SAID I AGREE WITH! FROM NOW UNTIL THE DAY YOU DIE, I WANT YOU TO THINK ABOUT YOUR TEAM. THAT IS…EVERYONE IN THIS LINE. DO YOU HEAR ME, UPCHUCK?"

"YES, SERGEANT MAJOR."

"NOW, TELL US ALL WHY YOU ARE HERE." Gene bellowed.

"I DON'T KNOW, SEARGEANT MAJOR," was Oddvar's reply.

Gene's eyes widened, his jaw dropping when he heard the response. He looked back at the senior enlisted, some of whom were shaking their heads. "Incredible, just effing incredible." He looked down the line to where Turid stood. "ARE YOU TWO TWINS? ARE YOU BOTH THIS STUPID? NO, DON'T REPSOND TO THAT QUESTION." Gene shook his head. "SO, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO DO… 'FIND' YOUR SELF?"

"UH, YES SERGEANT-MAJOR," replied Oddvar.

"AND WHAT IF YOU DON'T?"

"WELL, I WILL THINK OF SOMETHING…"

"LIKE WHAT, SON?" Gene was incredulous. "WHY DON'T YOU FOLLOW THE LEAD OF TURD AND GET THE HELL OUT IF YOU DON'T 'FIND' YOURSELF."

Oddvar looked down the line at Turid before straightening his eyes to fixed in front. "I HEARD HOW TURID RESPONDED AND I WILL DO THE SAME, IF NEEDED, SERGEANT MAJOR."

Gene turned to face the Norwegians. "From now until the end of training, these two will be known as the 'twins'". The senior enlisted nodded, responding with "YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Get back in line, ODDBALL." Gene growled in a low and threatening tone.

"SERGEANT-MAJOR, MY NAME IS ODDVAR."

"AND IT WILL BE ODDBALL OR UPCHUCK FOR AS LONG AS I SEE FIT! NOW…GET BACK IN LINE."

Oddvar's face hardened. He took two steps back.

"HALVORSON." Gene barked out the name of the next inductee.

A lanky nineteen-year-old took two steps forward. His brown hair was shoulder length and in need of a good haircut. That would soon not be a problem for this group.

Gene walked down the line to stand in front of the candidate. "What is your name?"

"LEIF HALVORSON, SERGEANT-MAJOR," the candidate answered with a reed-thin voice.

Gene gazed intently at the boy in front of him. "So…why are you here?"

"TO LEARN AND OBSERVE SPRING AND OTHER DRGONS. TO USE THAT INFORMATION FOR THE GOOD OF NEW BERK."

"OBSERVE?" Gene looked at the recruit in front of him. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HALVORSON?"

Leif continued to fix his gaze as he answered the sergeant-major, "THERE IS A LACK OF INFROMATION ON DRAGON LANGUAGE, THEIR BEHAVIOR, AND THEIR LIVES!"

"I…AM…CONFUSED!" Gene exclaimed. "THAT IS SOMETHING A SCIENTIST WOULD SAY!" Gene stopped to look at the Norwegian senior enlisted. Some shrugged their shoulders. "We are here to find leaders, son. Not scientists."

"IF I MAY SERGEANT-MAJOR, I BELIEVE KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. POWER NEEDS TO BE MANAGED. EFFECTIVE LEADERSHIP IS A WAY TO ACHIEVE THAT."

Gene started to smile. "NICE RESPONSE, SON. HOWEVER," Gene took a step back to gauge the candidate. "WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS A TALKING FISHBONE," he stated that for all to hear. He turned back to the line of Norwegians. "Kvartermester Björk, can you please assist me?" A burly male in the uniform of the Royal Norwegian Navy approached Gene. "Kvartermester Björk, THIS candidate believes he can lead through observation. I believe he will be blown away by the lightest gust. PLEASE make sure he is properly secured and anchored to the ground to make sure he is not blown away by wind during a storm."

Kvartermester Björk drew a half-smile. "I will personally take care of it, Sergeant-Major."

"Thank you, Kvartermester Björk" Gene replied. "Back in line," he said to Leif.

Leif's expression was stone-faced as he stepped back into the line.

"MKLEBUST." Gene barked out the name of the next inductee.

A nineteen-year-old girl took two steps forward. Her black hair was cut short, almost a crew-cut.

Gene walked down the line to stand in front of the candidate. "What is your name?"

"MARGIT MKLEBUS, SERGEANT-MAJOR," answered the nineteen-year-old girl.

Gene gazed intently at her. "So…why are you here?"

"I LOST A BET TO MY FATHER, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Lost a bet? What do you mean, lost a bet?"

"MY ACADEMIC GRADES WERE NOT GOOD, SERGEANT-MAJOR. SO, I HAD TO EITHER LEARN A TRADE OR JOIN A MILITARY SERVICE?"

"So, you chose…this?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR. I WANT TO PROVE TO MY FATER THAT I AM BETTER THAN WHAT HE SEES IN MY ACADEMICS."

"I see, so how do you think this will go then, Mklebus?"

"I WILL COME OUT OF THIS TRAINING WITH PASSAGE TO THE ROYAL NAVAL ACADEMY. I WILL THEN GET MY BACHELOR'S DEGREE IN MATHEMATICS AND THEN SERVE NEW BERK WITH PRIDE."

Gene was impressed with her answer. She didn't show any bitterness to her father and was willing to challenge herself. No loss of conviction here. "So, tell me, why do you want to pursue a degree in Mathematics.

"IT WAS WHAT I FAILED AT IN HIGH SCHOOL."

Gene chuckled. "Okay, I get it and I wish you luck. Be aware that I will not be making it easy for you. Is that understood?"

"YES, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"Good. Back in line."

Margit took two steps back.

"MYKLEBUST." Gene called out the name of the next inductee.

A blonde, fairly thick-set, woman in early twenties took two steps forward from the line. She was wearing her blonde hair in pig-tails. Pink ribbons were tied in each pig-tail.

"What is your name?"

"LAILA MYKLEBUST, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

Gene gave her a long, hard look. "Why are you here?"

"I LIKE THE IDEA OF BEING AN OFFICER, SERGEANT-MAJOR."

"You LIKE? YOU LIKE? WHERE IS YOUR PASSION? WHERE IS YOUR CALLING? NOW…WHY THE HELL SHOULD I NOT KICK YOU OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW?"

Laila was taken aback by Gene's verbal tirade.

"PLEASE, SERGEANT-MAJOR! I DO NOT MEAN TO OFFEND! YES, I WANT TO BE A LEADER."

"WHY?"

Laila paused before answering. "I AM BEING HONEST WITH YOU SERGEANT-MAJOR. I CAN NOT SAY THAT I LOVE THIS AS I WOULD A MAN. I LOOK FORWARD TO BECOMING A PART OF THE OFFICER CORPS AND I LOOK FORWARD TO WORKING WITH SPRING AND THE OTHER DRAGONS. I HOPE AND PRAY THAT THIS WORKS FOR ME."

Gene glared at Laila for the longest time. He could tell that her heart was not completely into this endeavor or maybe she had difficulties in trying to express that passion. She was honest with her response which is more he could say for some of the other candidates.

"You have eight weeks to figure out whether or not you love this. I will give you that. Now, get back in line," Gene replied to Laila.

Gene now turned to look at all of the candidates. His overall opinion of the cohort was ambivalent but that was normal. They would each have to prove themselves over the following weeks. Gene looked up and down the line one last time before he continued.

"All right…Now that we've gone through the introductions…AS OF TODAY, YOU WILL ALL EARN THE RIGHT TO BE CALLED AN OFFICER FOR NEW BERK. YOU ALL START OFF ON THE SAME FOOTING. IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU ARE A MAN, A WOMAN OR A DRAGON. AS OF THIS DAY YOU ALL BLEED BERK FORCE GREEN. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

"YES, SERGEANT MAJOR!" was the combined throaty response.

The man stood in the lobby of the Hotel Bodø, looking for the proprietor. He wore a thick white sweater and new blue jeans over his thick, muscular frame. His crew cut blonde hair highlighted Scandinavian features while his piercing blue eyes were constantly scanning, looking to take in all the idiosyncrasies of the lobby. He noticed in one corner of a hallway a rack containing fliers for places of interest in the immediate area.

He stabbed a still smoldering Gauloises cigarette in the ashtray present on a side table nearby before proceeding to the counter. He rang the bell present there.

A thin, graying man appeared from the doorway behind the counter. "May I help you?"

"I am looking for a room," the man answered the hotelier.

"Of course. How long will you be staying?" He began to pull up the necessary forms for the visitor to fill out.

"I could be here for about a month, maybe longer."

The hotelier looked up from shuffling his papers. "That is quite long. Are you sure you want to stay here? There are some rental properties in town that would be less expensive."

The man smiled. "If I knew exactly how long then I would agree. However, my company may call me back earlier."

"I see," the hotelier replied. "Well if you could provide your passport, we can check you in."

"Of course." The man handed the hotelier a blue American passport.

"Mister Johnathan Andrews," the hotelier read aloud the name printed in the document. "Chicago?"

"Yes, why do you ask?

"My aunt currently lives on the north side of town. Near Highland Park."

Johnathan shifted his stance prior to his reply. "I was born there but we wound up moving to Europe. Dad's work and everything."

The hotelier continued the processing of the paperwork. "I understand…It is just nice to know that there are connections to the New World."

Johnathan nodded his head.

The hotelier handed a piece of paper to Johnathan, pointing to some numbers in the middle of the sheet. "Here you are, Mister Andrews. The daily rate is here, and all taxes are included. Please sign at the line on the bottom after you review."

Johnathan did a cursory review of the form before signing and handing it back to the hotelier.

"Thank you, Mister Andrews. I hope that your stay is a productive one. I can return your passport within the hour."

"Thank you," Johnathan replied.

"Is there anything else that you would need at this time? Do you need any assistance with your luggage?"

Johnathan smiled. "I can handle my luggage, but can you provide a list of the restaurants and bars here?"

"Of course, Mister Andrews," the hotelier replied, searching for and finding a piece of photocopied paper with the names of restaurants and bars in the town. "I would recommend the 'Rogue Viking' for its authentic take on Norwegian cuisine." He handed the list to Johnathan.

"Then that will be my first choice," Johnathan smiled as he picked up his one checked bag and a carry-on bag.

"Room 110 is located on this floor to the right," the hotelier answered as he handed to Johnathan a key with a fob embossed with the number '110'.

"Thank you," Johnathan replied as he took the key and his luggage. He proceeded down the hall from the lobby, glancing at the numbers present on each door. '110' was the last door on the left. Perfect.

Johnathan opened the door to the room; well-lit and clean but somewhat dated. It would serve his purpose. He placed his checked bag on the luggage carrier and his carry-on bag on top of the wooden desk. The king-sized bed was covered with a woolen blanket that would have no problems keeping anyone warm underneath.

He went to the sliding glass window at the end of the room and opened it for some fresh air. Opening the window allowed him to take in the view of the harbor directly in front. Several fishing boats were anchored at the piers while some cackling gulls flew in circles, looking for scraps of food.

He reached under his sweater with his right hand to touch his left shoulder, tapping on his shoulder a series of long dashes and short dots. He finished in under ten seconds, withdrawing his hand from underneath his sweater.

Anyone with a short-wave receiver tuned to 49 meters wavelength at that time would hear a transmitted message. It was Morse code for "I AM HERE".

Author's end note:

I am again grateful to Norwesterner for allowing me to continue this story. I have had re-read his trilogy to look for additional clues and correct my misperceptions. His work, and his creation of the alternate universe, is logically sound, thoroughly detailed, and full of emotion.