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Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9
Jack Mason stood six feet tall, lean muscled and tough. His dark hair fell over his brown eyes making him appear dangerous when he narrowed his gaze. This early morning in front of his tent at the Sierra Valley campground, Jack was trying to teach his best friend a thing or two about sword fighting. His friend of over eighteen years was a stocky thirty year old man named Tony Sanchez. The two men looked a little like brothers though no one could ever tell which one was older. Tony attributed their youthful appearance to their shared half Latin, half Caucasian lineage. Growing up together, the two often trained in many forms of martial arts as teens. Jack took to the sword at an early age. His studies of combat were buttressed by a simple natural talent. He took sword fighting seriously and wanted his street brother to do the same.
Facing Tony about ten paces apart, Jack held firm onto the handle of his bamboo practice sword with his right hand. He raised the rounded, somewhat harmless looking weapon towards Tony and spoke,
“Okay, this time I am going to leave myself open. See if you can capitalize on the mistake.”
Tony sighed and held his Kendo Sword with both hands in a defensive position; straight in front of his body. He wanted a smoke. He wanted a coffee. Hell, he wanted to be back in his tent sleeping but Kendo, the ancient Japanese art of sword fighting, was a reminder of a simpler time. He could wake up early for this once in a while. Tony took a deep cleansing breath, just as he was taught to do so many years ago and exhaled slowly, allowing his thoughts to wash away into a quiet calm.
Jack advanced with amazing speed. His left hand joining his right beneath the bamboo hilt bringing an increased force as it struck Tony’s upraised sword. Jack pivoted on his left foot and spun, bringing his blade close to his body on the turn and extending it as he once again faced Tony. With instinct that he hoped looked like anticipation, Tony back peddled a step and caught Jack’s blade mid-air. Jack feinted to the right, leaving his left leg overextended and exposed. Jack, who knew Tony to be a defensive swordsman, left an exploitable weakness in his stance. Tony missed what Jack thought to be an obvious opening. Tony backed off and resumed his defensive, sword first stance.
“You missed it,” Jack chided.
“Huh?” Tony said while noticing he had stepped on a sharp rock. He shifted his weight to absorb the pain without conscious thought. Then, in a heartbeat, Tony had more to deal with than he could have imagined. He blocked Jack’s strike from the right at a low angle, left from on high and again from the right. Pain rang out from behind his left hamstring as Jack’s blade struck. Tony fell to one knee and put his sword up in instinctive defense. He looked to see Jack demonstrate his control of his weapon as he stopped his sword just inches from Tony’s neck.
“Punk,” Tony exhaled.
Walking away satisfied in his abilities but disappointed in his friend, Jack asked,
“Were you even paying attention?”
Taking a seat on the picnic bench that was anchored to their campground, Jack watched Tony struggle to his feet.
“Man, it’s too early to pay attention,” answered a defeated Tony.
He took a seat at the bench opposite Jack and drank the last of his tepid coffee from a stainless steel mug. Jack thought for a moment and decided to try some honest encouragement.
“You have to attack more, learn to think about offense and defense at the same time.”
“It’s kind of hard to find targets when you’re swinging at me so fast,” Tony complained.
“That’s why we train, so you can speed up your reactions, to see weakness and openings,” Jack said. He did not like criticizing his friend but he wanted to help improve Tony’s skill. They both had their strengths. Tony was a dynamo with the nunchaks; two hardwood sticks joined by a chain often used by Bruce Lee in the movies. Jack never could master Nunchaku. Then again, the swirling sticks were too dangerous to practice on a live opponent. Jack felt that there was no substitute for the challenge of a real person. The unpredictability of humanity was the only true way to test and improve oneself.
“You could be better, you just have to practice,” Jack offered.
“I am better, better than ninety eight percent of the general public,” Tony answered as he put down his coffee. “How many people practice Kendo anymore?”
“Not enough,” Jack said somewhat sad. “You should take it more seriously though.” Jack stood and started towards his tent.
“Yeah, when it’s for real I will,” Tony mumbled. He finished his coffee and looked around for his smokes. Amongst the clutter of the picnic table; underneath Jack’s copy of Secrets of the Ninja and Tony’s Improvised Munitions Handbook, laid his pack of cigarettes. Tony noticed that the box felt a little light but was relieved to find two smokes left. He separated the pair and popped one into his mouth. Finding the lighter would be another matter. It was not underneath the men’s camp fire reading materials. It was not near Tony’s collection of obscure vitamin supplements nor underneath his motorcycle helmet that he had allowed to fade in the sun. Tony stood over the table with his cigarette hanging dumbly from his mouth as he searched.
“Here, it was on your bike,” Jack’s voice rang out accompanied by Tony’s lighter as it sailed through the air. Tony caught the stainless steel Zippo and lit his cigarette. Tony saw Jack disappear into his tent and wondered what time it was. Looking out over their campground, past Jack’s white late model truck and their two motorcycles on a trailer, he could see the sun, still low on the horizon. There was still some hot water on the camp stove and the thought occurred to Tony that he should have some more Coffee. He poured a hot cup and added only instant creamer. He opened a bottle filled with eleven different vitamins and amino acids. Each pill had an esoteric purpose that Tony resolved would help him fight off the effects of smoking, careless nutrition and the occasional hangover. Tony had previously filled the bottle at home from his supply of health products in anticipation of the weekend. He palmed the mixture and downed eleven pills with a large slug of hot coffee. Cigarettes and vitamins, Tony never even considered the contradictions.
Tony smoked while looking at the books on the table. They were so different from the textbooks that he had studied at college. The Improvised Munitions Handbook was written in the eighties by the U.S. Army to teach field personnel how to create explosives from common household materials. Tony had bought the handbook when he was sixteen from a military surplus store during the Reagan administration. Back when World War Three seemed like it was just over the horizon. He had read the book cover to cover many times and was reasonably confident that he had absorbed the principals of improvised explosives. The weapons and training all seemed like useless knowledge now. After finally graduating with a Bachelors in English just two months ago and now facing the prospect of finding a real job, Tony wondered if he had wasted his youth studying the wrong things.
“Do you think thirty is too old to play army?” Tony asked with a loud voice as he smoked his dwindling cigarette.
Jack exited his tent dressed in full camouflage combat gear. His tactical vest was neatly stuffed with equipment. A large combat knife hung on the left side of his chest with the scabbard fastened securely as not to snag on anything while sneaking through the brush. He cradled a very expensive black paintball rifle in his arms, always aware of where the weapon was pointing.
“Who’s playing?” Jack asked.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9
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