The Altan Ord Saddles Up
Jan 12, 2022 20:34:59 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 2 more like this
Post by penguinpyro on Jan 12, 2022 20:34:59 GMT -5
The platypus known as The Grand Duck took in the bracing morning air. He wore a finely-made racing suit, specially tailored for his short build. He stood ill at ease in it. He much preferred his protection in the form of lamellar armor and faith in Rando, the goddess of luck. But this excuse for armor would have to do for now.
On the Duck’s left stood a tall blonde woman in mechanic’s overalls. She stood at attention with her hands folded. On Duck’s right stood the shade of the Mongolian warlord Genghis Khan. Or at least, all who had seen Genghis agreed that his presence was no trick of the senses. The wind blew, but only the Duck and the woman’s clothes flapped in the breeze.
The Grand Duck spoke. To ignorant ears, the Grand Duck could produce only growls and squawks. But to those learned, like his two companions, he spoke with confidence and absolute firmness.
<It is a fine day for testing. Kallie, ready my steed,> he growled.
Kallie Mae Oh, a maidservant to The Grand Duck, nodded and pressed a button. In response, an 18-wheeler behind them released its burden: an eight-wheeled armored vehicle with a long, angular chassis.
<Good workmanship. Now to see if the BTR-80 was worth bringing here>, the Duck growled. He ran a paw along the armored personnel carrier’s hard shell but stopped when he noticed a former Soviet republic’s flag.
Kallie noticed his expression. “That will be painted over, at the shop, sir.”
<Do not forget, Kallie,> growled the Duck.
Kallie nodded.
<A fine steed indeed. It will serve us well in many struggles ahead,> spoke Genghis, in his native Middle Mongolian. He stroked his beard in approval.
<I would have preferred my warhorse, Byakuoh. Alas, the race rules forbid living animals. An armored personnel carrier shall have to suffice,> said the Duck.
<Spoken like a true heir to the Khanate legacy. There can be no life without hooves beneath your heart,> said Genghis.
<Well put,> said the Duck. <Though I can’t help but notice you started appearing to me after I retired from the raiding and pillaging life, Genghis. Does racing need Genghis Khan as a spiritual advisor? I don’t even have a horde anymore!>
Genghis made eye contact with the Duck. <I have seen much in my time with the ancestors: the flows and eddies of the living, dead... past, future... temporal, divine. Much I cannot say. But trust in me, duck-billed Khan, for you are on a righteous path to a new Khanate.>
The Duck turned to Kallie. <Any idea what the fuck this guy is on about?>
“No, sir”, she answered. “I am still seeking a replacement tutor for the Middle Mongolian language and our apparitional guest seems to have a strong accent besides.”
<Shame, maybe you could slap some sense into him since I sure can’t. Still not sure how *I* can understand him.> said the Duck. The beady-eyed platypus swung a paw through Genghis Khan’s form. Genghis stood still without reaction. The Duck shook his head. <Let’s just do what we came here to do.>
“Very good, sir,” said Kallie.
The Duck opened the hatch atop the BTR-80 and dove in with acrobatic grace. After a moment, the enormous vehicle bellowed awake. Its 4x4 drive maneuvered to face a meandering dirt road carved in the grassy plains. Many sandbags and paper targets decorated the side of the dirt road.
Kallie raised a walkie-talkie. “All good, sir?”
<Purring like a thirteen-ton kitten,> the Duck’s voice answered over the radio. <Let’s see what sixteen cylinders with 1600 horsepower feel like.>
He hit the gas. The engine did not so much roar to life as snarl at five octaves to the south of the screams of a dying blood frenzy. The armored beast shot forth at a velocity that would have been alarming on a vehicle a fourth of its size. Instead, it was terrifying on the tank-sized monstrosity, like a boulder-sized wildcat on rocket-assisted steroids. In three seconds, its wheels kicked up enough dust to be seen from space. In the corner of the Duck’s vision, a speedometer slapped itself completely to the right and stayed there.
<Good handling,> the Duck remarked. <Much faster than a fine horse, but it’s taking these curves well.>
Kallie donned a gas mask. The Khan did not seem to mind the gouts of dust slamming their area.
"Well, it’s hard to eyeball at this speed sir, but… you seem to be clocking…” She checked a radar gun in hand. “...150 mph.”
<Good. The engine’s holding up. Prepare for a weapons test.>
Kallie ducked behind a pile of sandbags. The Khan stayed where he was. His brow furrowed in contemplation of the strange armored beast created centuries after his time.
The BTR-80 skidded into a drift on a section of road with paper targets. Atop the APC, a remote weapon turret with a mounted bow fired a barrage of arrows. The paper targets found new calling as pincushions in seconds. The car’s body then blew past, sending them flying in its wake.
<Exceptional accuracy while moving. Worth every penny,> the Duck’s voice crackled over the radio.
<Only the finest marksmanship shall suit a khan,> declared Genghis. <On pain of death, a cavalryman shall be able to move and shoot a mouse’s eye at a hundred paces at full gallop.>
<And if that doesn’t work, I can run over anything that can take an arrow,> replied the Duck’s voice.
“Sir, if I may, a question?” said Kallie.
<Spit it out,> muttered the Duck.
“You do realize those arrows are unlikely to penetrate vehicle armor? Maybe not even some unarmored parts.”
<It’s not about damage,> the Duck growled. <The arrows are to panic and disorder my enemy so that I may close distance and rout them with a decisive blow at close quarters. This is how the horde shall finish its enemies, as it always has.>
Genghis Khan stroked his beard and nodded strenuously in approval.
<Also, I *hate* guns,> said the Duck.
Genghis Khan shrugged.
“Very good, sir,” said Kallie. “How about our second modification?”
<Alright. Starting defensive measures,> said Duck.
Kallie double-checked the fit of her gas mask.
The BTR continued to dart along the dirt road, cutting harsh turns and vicious streaks through the soil. The storm of dust in its trail suddenly blossomed into a full hurricane, enveloping the APC and all surroundings from sheer size. It threatened to lower next week’s temperature by a significant percentage.
Genghis Khan appraised the sight and allowed his face a rare smile. He said, <Like deathly beasts straight from the pits of Tamag, the very sight of the khan’s charge shall terrify his enemies, rending their souls as lances rend their bodies. This is best in war and life, duck-billed Khan.>
<Great, here comes the poetry. Kallie hit him for me,> came the Duck’s voice.
Kallie’s hand swatted in Genghis Khan’s direction without contact.
“I tried, sir,” she reported.
<Good. Dust generator working as expected? I can’t tell if Genghis is just being dramatic again.>
“I cannot see my hand in front of my face on account of the dust. I estimate we are about fifty meters from your last known position, so it seems to be quite effective.”
<Above expectations. Fantastic. Infrared sight cuts right through the dust, too. Let’s move onto the third modification.>
“Very good sir, please try not to flip over.”
<Only because you asked nicely.>
On the edge of the racetrack sat a derelict pickup. On its second lap in as many minutes, the BTR-80 swerved in the derelict’s direction and made full contact. The impact rang with a horrid crunch of steel on steel and the empty truck flew into the air like an arrow loosed from the finest bow. The BTR-80 barely shed speed, and the Duck countersteered the armored giant back onto the racetrack.
<Special internal reinforcements seem to work. At least, the APC hasn’t folded in half under its acceleration or that impact. For now,> the Duck reported.
He tore another pair of laps across the track while the dust hurricane subsided. Whenever the BTR slammed into sandbag barriers, they were sent flying like shotgun pellets. The automated bow turret gave the remaining paper targets new lives as hedgehog dolls. The entire vehicle ripped around at uncanny speeds as if in fast-motion footage.
Finally, the BTR came to rest. The enormous vehicle loomed over the two spectators and the hatch popped open again. The Duck hopped out. Kallie removed her gas mask. Her overalls and shirt were spotless despite the abundant dust. The Duck did not comment on it.
<Kallie, check for damage,> said the Duck.
“Yes sir,” Kallie headed into the vehicle to inspect it.
Genghis Khan stepped forward and addressed the Duck. <You are ready for the great trials ahead, duck-billed Khan. May ancestors and Tengri smile upon your journey, for your foes are many and fierce.>
<Gee, thanks,> said the Duck. <I’ll try to leave some conscious at the end of the race, so you can bother them instead.>
The long-airborne pickup truck landed somewhere near the horizon with a very sharp boom. The resulting fireball briefly backlit the Duck’s face.
<Hm. Good air time,> he said without looking. <Kallie! All good?>
“No problems found, sir!”, said Kallie. “We’ll get a closer inspection, some touch-ups and a reload at the shop. And the new paint job, of course, sir.”
<Excellent, Kallie. Today went outstandingly, for once. I think we’re ready for the race next week… what was it called again?>
“The Sippy Cup qualifier, sir.”
<The Sippy…>
The Duck froze.
<...WHAT?!>
“I did not come up with the name, sir.”
<They’re going to need sippy cups after I bash all the other racers’ teeth out! The competition had better be fierce, it had better be worth the debasement of a ‘Sippy Cup’! ...Genghis!>
<What do you ask, duck-billed Khan?>
<What do the ancestors and junk say about competitions with silly names?>
Genghis thought for a moment. <Provide it much-needed gravity by shedding much blood of your enemies.>
The Duck’s beady eyes narrowed. <First smart thing you’ve said all day. Welcome to my pit crew, Genghis. Do not fuck this up for me.>
The deceased Mongolian warlord nodded. Kallie backed the BTR into the carrier truck. The three of them filed into the truck and drove off.
Behind them, they left a racetrack full of wheel gouges, craters, arrows, and several inches of dust layered like a warped coat of snow. Perhaps, a faithful preview of things to come.
-END-
On the Duck’s left stood a tall blonde woman in mechanic’s overalls. She stood at attention with her hands folded. On Duck’s right stood the shade of the Mongolian warlord Genghis Khan. Or at least, all who had seen Genghis agreed that his presence was no trick of the senses. The wind blew, but only the Duck and the woman’s clothes flapped in the breeze.
The Grand Duck spoke. To ignorant ears, the Grand Duck could produce only growls and squawks. But to those learned, like his two companions, he spoke with confidence and absolute firmness.
<It is a fine day for testing. Kallie, ready my steed,> he growled.
Kallie Mae Oh, a maidservant to The Grand Duck, nodded and pressed a button. In response, an 18-wheeler behind them released its burden: an eight-wheeled armored vehicle with a long, angular chassis.
<Good workmanship. Now to see if the BTR-80 was worth bringing here>, the Duck growled. He ran a paw along the armored personnel carrier’s hard shell but stopped when he noticed a former Soviet republic’s flag.
Kallie noticed his expression. “That will be painted over, at the shop, sir.”
<Do not forget, Kallie,> growled the Duck.
Kallie nodded.
<A fine steed indeed. It will serve us well in many struggles ahead,> spoke Genghis, in his native Middle Mongolian. He stroked his beard in approval.
<I would have preferred my warhorse, Byakuoh. Alas, the race rules forbid living animals. An armored personnel carrier shall have to suffice,> said the Duck.
<Spoken like a true heir to the Khanate legacy. There can be no life without hooves beneath your heart,> said Genghis.
<Well put,> said the Duck. <Though I can’t help but notice you started appearing to me after I retired from the raiding and pillaging life, Genghis. Does racing need Genghis Khan as a spiritual advisor? I don’t even have a horde anymore!>
Genghis made eye contact with the Duck. <I have seen much in my time with the ancestors: the flows and eddies of the living, dead... past, future... temporal, divine. Much I cannot say. But trust in me, duck-billed Khan, for you are on a righteous path to a new Khanate.>
The Duck turned to Kallie. <Any idea what the fuck this guy is on about?>
“No, sir”, she answered. “I am still seeking a replacement tutor for the Middle Mongolian language and our apparitional guest seems to have a strong accent besides.”
<Shame, maybe you could slap some sense into him since I sure can’t. Still not sure how *I* can understand him.> said the Duck. The beady-eyed platypus swung a paw through Genghis Khan’s form. Genghis stood still without reaction. The Duck shook his head. <Let’s just do what we came here to do.>
“Very good, sir,” said Kallie.
The Duck opened the hatch atop the BTR-80 and dove in with acrobatic grace. After a moment, the enormous vehicle bellowed awake. Its 4x4 drive maneuvered to face a meandering dirt road carved in the grassy plains. Many sandbags and paper targets decorated the side of the dirt road.
Kallie raised a walkie-talkie. “All good, sir?”
<Purring like a thirteen-ton kitten,> the Duck’s voice answered over the radio. <Let’s see what sixteen cylinders with 1600 horsepower feel like.>
He hit the gas. The engine did not so much roar to life as snarl at five octaves to the south of the screams of a dying blood frenzy. The armored beast shot forth at a velocity that would have been alarming on a vehicle a fourth of its size. Instead, it was terrifying on the tank-sized monstrosity, like a boulder-sized wildcat on rocket-assisted steroids. In three seconds, its wheels kicked up enough dust to be seen from space. In the corner of the Duck’s vision, a speedometer slapped itself completely to the right and stayed there.
<Good handling,> the Duck remarked. <Much faster than a fine horse, but it’s taking these curves well.>
Kallie donned a gas mask. The Khan did not seem to mind the gouts of dust slamming their area.
"Well, it’s hard to eyeball at this speed sir, but… you seem to be clocking…” She checked a radar gun in hand. “...150 mph.”
<Good. The engine’s holding up. Prepare for a weapons test.>
Kallie ducked behind a pile of sandbags. The Khan stayed where he was. His brow furrowed in contemplation of the strange armored beast created centuries after his time.
The BTR-80 skidded into a drift on a section of road with paper targets. Atop the APC, a remote weapon turret with a mounted bow fired a barrage of arrows. The paper targets found new calling as pincushions in seconds. The car’s body then blew past, sending them flying in its wake.
<Exceptional accuracy while moving. Worth every penny,> the Duck’s voice crackled over the radio.
<Only the finest marksmanship shall suit a khan,> declared Genghis. <On pain of death, a cavalryman shall be able to move and shoot a mouse’s eye at a hundred paces at full gallop.>
<And if that doesn’t work, I can run over anything that can take an arrow,> replied the Duck’s voice.
“Sir, if I may, a question?” said Kallie.
<Spit it out,> muttered the Duck.
“You do realize those arrows are unlikely to penetrate vehicle armor? Maybe not even some unarmored parts.”
<It’s not about damage,> the Duck growled. <The arrows are to panic and disorder my enemy so that I may close distance and rout them with a decisive blow at close quarters. This is how the horde shall finish its enemies, as it always has.>
Genghis Khan stroked his beard and nodded strenuously in approval.
<Also, I *hate* guns,> said the Duck.
Genghis Khan shrugged.
“Very good, sir,” said Kallie. “How about our second modification?”
<Alright. Starting defensive measures,> said Duck.
Kallie double-checked the fit of her gas mask.
The BTR continued to dart along the dirt road, cutting harsh turns and vicious streaks through the soil. The storm of dust in its trail suddenly blossomed into a full hurricane, enveloping the APC and all surroundings from sheer size. It threatened to lower next week’s temperature by a significant percentage.
Genghis Khan appraised the sight and allowed his face a rare smile. He said, <Like deathly beasts straight from the pits of Tamag, the very sight of the khan’s charge shall terrify his enemies, rending their souls as lances rend their bodies. This is best in war and life, duck-billed Khan.>
<Great, here comes the poetry. Kallie hit him for me,> came the Duck’s voice.
Kallie’s hand swatted in Genghis Khan’s direction without contact.
“I tried, sir,” she reported.
<Good. Dust generator working as expected? I can’t tell if Genghis is just being dramatic again.>
“I cannot see my hand in front of my face on account of the dust. I estimate we are about fifty meters from your last known position, so it seems to be quite effective.”
<Above expectations. Fantastic. Infrared sight cuts right through the dust, too. Let’s move onto the third modification.>
“Very good sir, please try not to flip over.”
<Only because you asked nicely.>
On the edge of the racetrack sat a derelict pickup. On its second lap in as many minutes, the BTR-80 swerved in the derelict’s direction and made full contact. The impact rang with a horrid crunch of steel on steel and the empty truck flew into the air like an arrow loosed from the finest bow. The BTR-80 barely shed speed, and the Duck countersteered the armored giant back onto the racetrack.
<Special internal reinforcements seem to work. At least, the APC hasn’t folded in half under its acceleration or that impact. For now,> the Duck reported.
He tore another pair of laps across the track while the dust hurricane subsided. Whenever the BTR slammed into sandbag barriers, they were sent flying like shotgun pellets. The automated bow turret gave the remaining paper targets new lives as hedgehog dolls. The entire vehicle ripped around at uncanny speeds as if in fast-motion footage.
Finally, the BTR came to rest. The enormous vehicle loomed over the two spectators and the hatch popped open again. The Duck hopped out. Kallie removed her gas mask. Her overalls and shirt were spotless despite the abundant dust. The Duck did not comment on it.
<Kallie, check for damage,> said the Duck.
“Yes sir,” Kallie headed into the vehicle to inspect it.
Genghis Khan stepped forward and addressed the Duck. <You are ready for the great trials ahead, duck-billed Khan. May ancestors and Tengri smile upon your journey, for your foes are many and fierce.>
<Gee, thanks,> said the Duck. <I’ll try to leave some conscious at the end of the race, so you can bother them instead.>
The long-airborne pickup truck landed somewhere near the horizon with a very sharp boom. The resulting fireball briefly backlit the Duck’s face.
<Hm. Good air time,> he said without looking. <Kallie! All good?>
“No problems found, sir!”, said Kallie. “We’ll get a closer inspection, some touch-ups and a reload at the shop. And the new paint job, of course, sir.”
<Excellent, Kallie. Today went outstandingly, for once. I think we’re ready for the race next week… what was it called again?>
“The Sippy Cup qualifier, sir.”
<The Sippy…>
The Duck froze.
<...WHAT?!>
“I did not come up with the name, sir.”
<They’re going to need sippy cups after I bash all the other racers’ teeth out! The competition had better be fierce, it had better be worth the debasement of a ‘Sippy Cup’! ...Genghis!>
<What do you ask, duck-billed Khan?>
<What do the ancestors and junk say about competitions with silly names?>
Genghis thought for a moment. <Provide it much-needed gravity by shedding much blood of your enemies.>
The Duck’s beady eyes narrowed. <First smart thing you’ve said all day. Welcome to my pit crew, Genghis. Do not fuck this up for me.>
The deceased Mongolian warlord nodded. Kallie backed the BTR into the carrier truck. The three of them filed into the truck and drove off.
Behind them, they left a racetrack full of wheel gouges, craters, arrows, and several inches of dust layered like a warped coat of snow. Perhaps, a faithful preview of things to come.
-END-