by Robert Evans
“Listen up Sergeant, I think things are worse than I first thought,” said the LT as he nervously chewed on a nail. That was an irritating habit of his that told me he was starting to lose his cool. “These locals in here are all keyed up and acting really weird. Everyone in the team reported that they think these locals are planning something.”
“Weird isn’t the half of it; this guy has a punch that can knock out a bull and ever since the first round he’s held it back.” I tried to let the fight go and focus on what the LT was telling me. “What makes you think the locals are acting weird?”
“The troops said no one is betting, and there are a lot of ’em with video cameras.”
“That isn’t weird; they don’t want to bet against the Sheik, but as far as the cameras, that is a little weird.”
“You’re right on both accounts Sergeant, but they would bet against you.” Lieutenant Campos munched the end of his nail while he scanned the audience through squinted eyes.
“And you don’t think this lack of betting has anything to do with their support of the Sheik or because the Koran says it’s bad?” I knew I was attempting to make up a reason other than the one that was forming in my head, which was we were in a bad situation.
“Sergeant you know as well as I, that they gamble over here. They love gambling and the only reason the locals show up at these places is to bet. And they wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bet against an American.”
It wasn’t so much the LT’s explanation of events that made me start to think something was up, (I was slowly coming to the same conclusion), but the fact they were filming the fight worried me. “What do you propose Sir?”
“I think we’re going to have to fight our way out of these warrens.”
“Don’t jump the gun Sir, we don’t even have a clear idea of what’s going on. And besides I’m going to put this guy down in the next round.” I knew the Lieutenant was nervous and not thinking straight. He was worried about his troops and so was I. “Send one of the two soldiers up topside when the next round starts. Unless they are planning something for next round, they’ll leave them alone. Have the soldiers call in our roving backup.”
“The time table is not negotiable. When I give the word you’re coming with us Sergeant.”
It’s tough to calm down a Lieutenant when you’re in the middle of the octagon fighting a human gorilla, so I did the only thing I could; I stood up to meet the bell and accidentally gave him a hard elbow to the gut. “The best thing we can do is keep this fight going until we know for sure what they are up to.”
The bell rang and I met the Sheik at the center of the ring, him now sporting a bleeding nose and a left eye swollen shut from a few rounds earlier where he stepped into my left. He came out strong and landed a left and a right hook. This guy was dangerous. A trainer told me a long time ago the toughest opponent you’ll ever meet is the one that fights hardest when they are just about ready to drop. He called it the animal instinct and it could come out of nowhere and knock you out.
Suddenly, the crazed Sheik came on with animal rage and started swinging in a wild abandon of technical perfection that landed hard punches to my head and body. A right to my stomach got through my guard and took some of the wind out of me. He followed up with a hard left to my jaw that rocked my head back. Another right landed on the side of my nose and bent it over, a spray of misty blood clouding my vision. This was turning into a toe-to-toe slug fest. This was the guy I fought in the first round. I was dazed but fought my way out of trouble.
The crowd woke up with a roar to support their man the Sheik.
I stumbled into the center of the cage. The Sheik shot in, got a hold of my legs and put me on the ground.
He had me on my back and was pummeling me with blows to my head. I trapped his right arm and he collapsed against me, so I let loose of his arm, put my left around his neck, and grabbed hold of my bicep and started to squeeze his head in a vice-like triangle arm choke. I rocked back and forth on my hips until he tried to get his legs to the side and escape, but all he did was allow me the opportunity to tie up his legs with my own, and get a better position to choke him unconscious, if he didn’t tap. I hoped he wouldn’t tap.
An explosion rocked the building. It startled me for a second, and in that moment I let loose of the choke and the Sheik flipped around to face me. He had been waiting for the explosion, knew it was going to happen and waiting for me to flinch. I tried to reestablish my hold on him, but our sweaty bodies kept me from it. Like a crocodile in a death roll, I twisted and turned until I managed to get on top of him and started to punish him with my knees, elbows and fists.
A hard right in my thunderstorm of punches caught the Sheik square on the nose like a lightning bolt to a rod. He put his arm straight out and turned his head to stop a repeat of the punch that just tagged him. I locked up his right arm by grabbing his wrist, twisting it and pulling it out straight. I slid my hips up, caught his arm between both of my legs, laid his arm against my chest and started to fall back. I was determined to rip his arm out of its socket. He was pushing and pulling in a foolish frenzy that let me release the arm bar I had just gained and roll him over onto his stomach. I put his neck in the crease of my right arm, tied his legs with mine and started to squeeze his neck against my bicep. Nobody could escape a rear naked choke hold, but the guy wouldn’t tap out and the crowd sounded as if it was starting to tear the building apart. I hadn’t heard any shots, so I hoped our soldiers were holding their own.
Two more explosions in quick succession shook the place as I held on and tightened my hold. The guy wasn’t getting any air and I knew he’d pass out soon, but he could have made it a lot easier if he just tapped.
Suddenly I got hit from the side by a body blow. When I got to my feet the Sheik was lying sprawled on the dirt floor unmoving, with one of his entourage standing over him protectively with a knife only a few inches shorter than a sword. I heard a bolt slide forward and Lieutenant Campos started shouting. “Put down the knife! Put down the knife!” When I looked up into the crowd I saw that every one of our soldiers had locked and loaded, and were standing back to back in a two-man final stand.
The Sheik was starting to stir. Sergeant O’Quinn I said to myself, we are in some deep shit.
Explosions went off all around the room, and something hit me from behind. The last thing I remember was squeezing something with my arms that I could never get a hold of. It was like I was trying to grab onto air, illusive, ethereal. Sounds were muffled; everything was grey and getting darker, until I passed out.
When I came to, I was outside the building and propped up against the wheel of the Humvee. There were guys in black body armor and khaki pants running around; professional mercenary types. They were hauling out the Sheik and many of those who had been in the fighting den in handcuffs. Even the fight promoter Haziq was being escorted out wearing the suddenly fashionable metal bracelets on each wrist.
“Sergeant O’Quinn.”
I didn’t recognize the voice, and had to move my aching head and body to see where the voice was coming from.
A man in a dark blue polo shirt, khaki pants and a big bushy grey beard and long hair strode up beside me and popped a squat.
“Can I help you sir?” I asked, my throat feeling dry and parched.
“Sorry about all the concussion grenades we had to throw in there,” said the guy with a grey beard as he offered me a delightfully cold water bottle and an ice pack, “but we had to get everybody knocked out quick. Do you know who it was you were fighting?”
“All I know is that he called himself Sheik Barak Ali,” I explained putting the ice pack against my aching face, and taking a long drink.
“Well that was just his fighting name. His real name, and the name he is known as throughout the world, is Fazul Salih Abdullah, a senior member of al-Qaida. He was using these underground fights as a way of recruiting. It had been working very well for him; too well as far as we were concerned, as his
army was getting too big for our liking. But we had a problem. We hadn’t been able to find out where he was going to be. We just knew he was out there.”
“So what caused you guys to catch up to him in such a hurry?” I asked, moving the ice pack from pain to pain over my face.
“That is an interesting story. You see, when we started looking into his past we found out he killed a guy in the ring about two months ago, a local Iraqi fighter. His reputation took off, and reports of his fights started to come in from all over the Middle East. A few weeks later he started fighting in the events you coalition boys like to partake in, and for the first time we had concrete proof of where he had been, but not where he would be. The word on the street was that the great avenger Sheik Ali was going to single handedly destroy the coalition and leave a bloody trail of dead troops.”
“Two months ago you didn’t have a clue where he was or was going to be. What changed?” I asked.
“The “Howling” Henry Hollingsworth fight, was our big break. His ego was to the point he was going to start filming these fights, put them on the web, and humiliate the coalition forces while garnering support for al-Qaida. Problem was, he started bragging and advertising his upcoming event, this event in particular. That made him easy for us.”
“So that explains why they were filming the event,” I said, feeling nauseous. The spectre of cameras didn’t sit well with me. “What does this all have to do with us scrappers?”
“We are on to something, I don’t fully know what it is, but some really bad people are trying to get their claws into this sport over here. We know that Fazul Salih Abdullah was a money guy, and that he was somehow getting money to al-Qaida. Now that we have him we might find out more about his operation.”
“Are you going to shut down the fights?” I was worried that this was the end of MMA in Iraq.
“Not a chance Sergeant. One of my guys is set to start fighting on the circuit here in a few weeks, and when he does you won’t have a chance.”
I chuckled at the good-natured rivalry this guy was throwing in.
“He sounds like a chump to me. I’ll knock him down. He didn’t try out for the SEALS did he?”
He laughed with a wicked smile as he popped up from the ground. “No he didn’t. Just keep fighting, and from time to time you may see me around the fights. I’m starting to become a fan of this underground fight club you guys have over here.”
As he walked away, a bubble of controlled intensity went with him. I had the feeling he would be a pretty tough guy in the ring as well. He had a lot of blood on his hands and his eyes had seen more than any man should. A part of me was extremely happy he was on our side, but something else inside of me said I had just made a deal with the devil.
“Sergeant O’Quinn, we made it out of that scrap,” said the Lieutenant as he came around the front of the Humvee. “By God and all that is holy in this God-forsaken desert, we got out of there alive, with over fifty Iraqis wanting our necks.”
“Very few of them were Iraqis, I said as I used the tire to help me up, “but they were all terrorists. Besides, we had help, Sir. In fact we had our butts saved for us. Or knocked out. However you want to look at it.”
“Don’t rain on my parade. I had it all under control, but that’s old news. I’ve got you a fight in a week. The Aussies have a fighter says they can take you in two rounds.”
That was my LT, biggest pimp on this side of the world. We barely got ourselves out of one scrap and he already had a line on another fight.
