Victory's Defeat

by Mark Tufo

  All of that made sense, but the amount of sleep I was about to lose was not making me all that enthusiastic, and as acting Executive Officer, it would be my job to make sure that the men and women under my command did as they were told. I’d always found it funny how the higher ups thought that drills and lots of them instilled high morale within the units when it was really a warm meal and a proper amount of sleep that readied soldiers for battle.

  Chapter 19

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 13

  It’s well known I’m not much of an officer; no real formal training—basically given the commission because of my history. More of an honorary thing, as the returning war hero gets a feel good moment for the public. Only, the world was about to lose most of its officers so here I was now, leading men and women as if that could have ever been a good idea. Had to be grads from West Point spinning like tops in their graves watching how I did my job. For ten days Paul drove us like dogs. We somehow had drills while drills were going on. Yeah, I don’t know how that worked either. The crew seemed to be on the cusp of mutiny and it was me as XO that had to keep them in line. I’d gone from being fairly ambivalent to most, to the most hated. Couldn’t even count how many dart boards my face adorned. I think Dee even uttered some Genogerian swear words at me when we ran past each other in the hallway. If Tracy could have found another room, she would have slept in it. Not really. She knew I was only following the orders of the Old Man, and in this case, that was Paul. XOs always got the bad rap. On a side note, the ship performed admirably, and the few small bugs we discovered were quickly ironed out by the Prog team standing by.

  After another day and night of running around during a controlled pell-mell, I was barely able to get my boots off and I’m not even kidding, my head had just touched the pillow—hadn’t even had a chance to make an ear-shaped indent, when my intercom came to life.

  “XO to the bridge.” I told the voice to fuck off and die, then I depressed the “send” button to let them know I was on the way.

  “Attention on deck!” the guard said as I walked in.

  “At ease,” I told them.

  “The general would like to see you,” the guard said, escorting me over to his door. He spoke into a small radio unit attached to his vest, much like the police wore. “XO is here, sir.” I could hear Paul on the other end say to “let him in.”

  “What’s with the guard?” I motioned to my back once the door was shut.

  “I thought it might be a good idea since we’re not a hundred percent sure we have all of Beth’s people.”

  I suddenly wanted to get one for Tracy, but then I’d need a guard to protect me from her once she found out I'd ordered one.

  “You did remarkably well during the tests,” Paul said to me.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m thinking of promoting you.”

  “For what purpose, sir?” I asked.

  “I want you on the Vicieus, and I want to make Major Talbot my XO here.”

  “I respectfully decline.”

  “I haven’t even offered…and can you make that same decision for the major?”

  “I’ll step down and she’s welcome to the role, sir.”

  “I’m offering you the chance to co-rule the world, Mike,” Paul replied sadly.

  “General, that is far from anything I’ve ever wanted. My family is the most important thing to me. All I want is for this fucking war to be over so we can move to the suburbs where I can raise my son, drink beer, have barbecues, and play bocce ball.”

  “Bocce ball?”

  “I’m tired…it was all I could think of on short notice. The point is, just being the XO is more than I care to govern and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt what happens the moment I step on the Vicieus. The Stryvers show up and somehow that ship, or this one, gets sucked into a black hole and is lost. No thank you, sir. If something happens, my place is by my wife’s side.”

  “I can see you’re tired. We’ll revisit this at a later date.”

  I was about to protest and tell him wouldn’t matter when he brought it up again, the answer would be the same, but he shifted gears on me and went to a completely different topic. “I’ve caught wind of your friends’, Drababan and BT’s, intense dislike for each other.”

  “They get around their personal feelings to do their jobs admirably,” I said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. I heard that there may potentially be a fight in the arena.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “For all the shit you do, how is it that you lie so inadequately?”

  “Sir?”

  “As the CO of this ship, I cannot condone that fight. But I do believe it is common knowledge that I will be flying over to the Vicieus two nights from now and will be spending most of the day there. I think the XO should organize a little something behind the CO’s back. Maybe put himself in the graces of the men again, let them blow off some steam at a well-matched contest. I’ll even bet the XO doesn’t even realize there are twenty-five kegs of beer aboard this vessel. Can you imagine the fun that could be had at a sporting event if there was free beer involved?”

  I think I was in full on fly-catching mode. “Ummm…I think I can manage all of that, sir. Maybe I should, umm, grab one of those kegs just to make sure that I’m not giving the personnel flat beer.”

  “This bout, I want this to be a sporting event—not a death match. Is that understood?”

  “I’m making them wear helmets; had one specially designed and fabricated for Dee. He’s pretty pissed off about it. Makes it even funnier. There will be no lethal weapons.”

  “Good. So what are the odds?”

  “Betting sir? Betting is illegal.”

  Paul merely looked at me.

  “Dee is favored two and a half to one, and that is irking BT off to no end. That man has been training relentlessly during his off hours.”

  “How would you fair?” Paul was curious.

  I snorted. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Paul. Nearly all, if not all, of my fights had a degree of luck involved. Some just a modicum, others well I rode that bitch naked, pulling back on her mane, through a field strewn with landmines and cactuses where a million things should have gone wrong but didn’t. I don’t know why it worked out the way it did and I do my best not to dwell on it—the nightmares are already bad enough. If I had to fight either BT or Drababan, I’d be shark chum by the end. I’d bet my savings on the other person so my wife would have some money to live her life with.”

  Paul handed me five gold coins. “I’m betting on humanity. Get some sleep XO. Dismissed.”

  I could feel the hateful stares lighten-up as the men and women got more sleep and more down-time. I was not a fan of being the most loathsome person aboard a ship that contained Progerians and Genogerians.

  “I’m almost going to be able to sleep with you again,” Tracy said as I sat down next to her in the chow hall. “You wouldn’t believe some of the names they came up with over the last few days.”

  “Yeah, I heard Talbot the Tyrant. Did you defend me at all?”

  “Hell no, I made some of them up.” She snorted. “They needed to vent; I let them. Did you hear the one about Napoleon having a Talbot complex?”

  “What the fuck woman?”

  “That was one of my better ones. How are you pulling this fight off?”

  “I’m not. Again, I’m just a patsy, Monkey in the Middle so to speak. This is the general’s idea.”

  “I wouldn’t let that out. The men are finally starting to see you as a non-combative.”

  “I don’t want to go back to that arena, Tracy.”

  “You have to. It will mean a lot to the people aboard this ship for you to be in there.”

  “My nightmares have been intense these last two nights because of it…the thought of my two best friends beating each other senseless in that horror pit...”

  “I’ll be with you; we’ll get through
it.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  “Hello, Major Talbot. Is this man bothering you?” It was Master Sergeant Beckert from Engineering; he had come up to the side of the table, a tray of food in his hands. The not so funny thing about it was that he was absolutely serious.

  “I’ll be fine, Master Sergeant. I’d kick his ass myself if he was.”

  “Let me know if you need any help.” He eyed me for a few long seconds.

  Of all the departments, it was engineering that had been drilled the hardest and longest; nothing short of reparations in blood was going to make them see me in a positive light again.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Tracy pointed to the retreating man’s back with her fork.

  “Fine, fine.”

  The next day I stood there with all the pomp and ceremony as Paul boarded his shuttle to go over to the Vicieus and discuss the rousing success that was the ten day-long exercises. The shuttle bay doors hadn’t even closed when I got on the ship-wide intercom.

  “Hello men and women of the Guardian. This is your XO, Colonel Talbot. Those of you not on essential duty are ordered to report to the newly renamed Fenway Sports Arena. This is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill!”

  Tracy had thought it might help my fragile psyche if I called the arena something that brought back good memories. It had helped significantly when she’d worked with the programmers to have a nearly three-quarter size Fenway Park show up in the arena. I shed more than a few tears as I looked out upon something that I’d loved for years.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “It’s things like this that make me love you—because it’s certainly not your cooking.” That had cost me a punch to my arm that rocked me back.

  The arena was festive, to say the least. I had gone from pariah to hero. I was getting pats on the back and thank yous as beer holding personnel walked past, some smiling for the first time in over a week. I grabbed a beer, sucked it down, and grabbed another to steel myself for my entrance into the stands; at least this time I wasn’t a combatant. I did my best to block out that Tracy and I were sitting where the supreme commander had the day I’d unseated him from his throne. I turned to make sure that the person behind me was not Beth. I won’t lie; I wasn’t too thrilled that it was Master Sergeant Beckert. He gave me the old stink eye before smiling and raising his beer in a toast.

  I finished my next beer in record time and was happy to note that the men seemed to be on my side again and were more than happy to refill my empty cup. Ten minutes later, the fight was about to get started. The lights in the stands dimmed, spotlights hit the combatants area; we watched as the wizardry and magic of the holographic arena took shape. BT and Dee had flipped a coin and BT had won. He chose to have a miniature scale of the Los Angeles battlefield put in place. Told me that it incited him. I’d told him that perhaps that wasn’t the best idea considering we were trying to make peace with the Progs and Genos now. He’d looked at me like he was figuring out if he could fit me and my political correctness in his punching bag.

  “Good evening folks!” An announcer’s voice came over the loudspeakers. “Tonight we have a special event brought to you by Colonel Talbot enterprises in accordance with General Ginson absenteeism.” The crowd roared. “In the Red Corner, we have Drababan, the undisputed Genogerian Intergalactic Champion, currently favored at four-to-one odds!”

  “Shit. The heavy money is going his way; that can’t make BT all that happy,” I said to Tracy.

  Dee’s mug was up on the main screen as the announcer continued. The image changed to footage of our particular bout. Loud cheers erupted as Dee and I faced off against each other. Sure, I was about to meet the love of my life, but at the moment that this was shot I was pretty sure I was about to die; it was hard to get all nostalgic about it. Tracy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She’d lost some good men during that rescue attempt—it wasn’t exactly her favorite moment in history, either. It thankfully cut off before the explosion happened on the side of the crater. I received more than my fair share of claps on the shoulder as joyous men and women around me wanted to thank me. Personally, I wasn’t entirely sure what for. I was basically set up as a prop on both sides at that moment. The Progs had wanted to show just how easy it was to kill the so-called Earth Champion and Paul had wanted to stage a symbol of hope to show to the world by rescuing me. Basically, my job had been to not die. I was pulled back from the dark spot I had been heading to when BT’s name was announced.

  “In the blue corner, we have BT! He is the Warrior of Los Angeles! He has forty-seven savage street fight wins to his credit! This man is afraid of nothing or no one and tonight he is going to prove it!” The crowd went nuts. I’m sure the flowing of free beer had something to do with it, but don’t ever underestimate the blood thirst of a crowd. Now I’m not saying they wanted either participant to be seriously injured, but watching hard hits? Oh yeah, they were all in.

  Tracy squeezed my hand. “You alright, Talbot? You’re looking a little pale.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “I’d rather be getting a root canal,” I told her honestly.

  “We won’t be here long. Just remember you’re here to support your friends and show some camaraderie to your men. Trust me, you need it worse than they do.”

  “That bad?”

  “They were talking to me about slipping laxative in your morning coffee so you’d be MIA for at least a day, and, well, I entertained the idea.”

  “What!?” I turned to her.

  She shrugged. “Next time, don’t be such a hard ass.”

  I was going to try to defend my position when the announcer came back on after the roar of the crowd subsided.

  “Let the fight begin!” The crescendo started again.

  Unlike my fights, they kept the main screen on with a split action of what each combatant was doing. Both had opted for pugil sticks. If you’ve never seen one, they're like huge cotton swabs, although instead of soft cotton tips, there is heavy batting encased within stiff leather at each end. The idea is that you can hit your training partner without killing him while definitely letting him know that he would have been killed if you had been swinging a rifle or some similar instrument. Weapons in hand, they started marching straight for the center of the arena, wasn’t much in the way of tactics here.

  BT’s journey would be through the streets of LA and to the giant Stryver created wall. Dee would be coming through the desert and up the wall. Obviously the scale was off, but otherwise, it was eerily similar. And again, another memory bobbed to the surface that I’d rather had stayed sunken deep under the ocean of alcohol I had consumed to keep it hidden. BT got to the top first where he stayed to watch Dee approach. Dee paused to look up; the moment his foot hit the base of that hill the crowd went deathly quiet. This had just got real. Even through the helmets, the masks of determination both beings wore was intense.

  “Mike, this might not have been such a good idea.”

  “Yeah,” was all I could tell my wife.

  BT waited until Dee was three-quarters up the hill and moving fast, he pulled that stick back past his shoulder like he was swinging for the moon. When he swung I couldn’t believe the speed and torque he’d put into it. His timing had been perfect; he hit the side of Dee’s head so hard, the shaft of the pole shattered and splintered, sending huge shards of it into the air to rain down upon the two. There was a collective “oooh” from the crowd. Dee had staggered back two or three steps, he’d clearly had his bell rung. BT looked at the end of his pole, which was now a wicked looking spear, then he looked to Dee. I know he contemplated shoving that sharpened stick deep into the other’s midsection. It would have been against the rules of this particular fight, but had it been the real thing BT may have actually won.

  BT tossed the stick away in disgust and descended upon Dee with fists swinging. He was sending crushing blows into the other’s midsection that would have collapsed any Human man in two. I imagined that if those had
hit me, his fists would have come out the other side. Dee was taking steps backward down the hill as BT pressed the assault. I could hardly believe what my eyes were seeing. Then by slight degrees, I saw what everyone else knew and why the safe bet may have been on Dee. The steps backward got smaller as the cobwebs were shaken free from the belfry.

  Dee pushed out with his stick laden hands creating some distance between himself and BT. Without taking either hand off, he swung an end into BT’s shoulder and midsection. It didn’t look like that significant of a hit, but then one needed to take into account who was delivering the blow. BT skidded to the side and was falling over, his outstretched hand the only thing keeping him from hitting the dirt. He sprang up as Dee roared and moved with a speed you just can’t fathom something that big having. He slammed his stick where BT’s head had been only a fraction of a millisecond before. I think had he connected, he would have planted the other man’s head like a flagpole.

  Close combat for BT was over for the moment and he knew it. A replacement weapon was on the arena wall but I had my doubts he could beat Dee in a foot race. I noticed something new in Dee, though, as he circled BT. He was wary. I’m thinking he still had one hell of a headache and maybe some bruising on his midsection, and he was in no rush to add to those injuries. BT feinted as if he were coming in and Dee actually braced for impact, then the race was on as Dee realized it was a ruse and BT lunged towards a hefty wooden sword. Make no mistake—this wasn’t something your five-year-old nephew played with. This thing looked like it was straight out of Medieval times. Had to be close to twenty pounds of English oak.

  BT had the early lead, but within a few bounds Dee had made up that gap. At ten feet from the wall, it was still anybody’s guess as to who was going to make it. Dee had swung his pole once again, hitting BT in the shoulder. The big man was launched from his feet. If not for the wall and the crashing impact he would have been on the ground, likely several yards farther away. In an auspicious set of circumstances, Dee had helped his opponent reach his weapon. As BT slid down the wall he grabbed the sword. They were both armed again, though neither moved into the other just yet. Blows had been landed on both sides; it was time for some cunning. BT looked like he was favoring his left shoulder; I, personally, was wondering how the damn thing wasn’t dislocated. As BT moved away from the wall, an alarm sounded and that damned red flashing light took up the entirety of the viewing screen.