Gabriel: Only one gets out alive.

by mike Evans

  Pietras walked to a clipboard and replied, “Just one, sir, but it sure as hell isn’t this pencil dick.”

  The class looked down the line at each other, obviously knowing that they themselves were not the genius in the group. Clary let go of the boy’s shirt and threw him to the ground. “Give me seventy-five and hurry up. I still have work to do today and you guys are just wasting my damn time.”

  The class watched as the two men did pushups as if their lives depended on it. They rose to their feet with their arms feeling like Jell-O and fought to catch a breath. Clary pointed to the hard-shell case. “Everyone grab a pistol and keep all barrels pointed to the ground. Do not… I repeat do not put your finger on the trigger. The group walked in formation to the case of pistols, each of them hesitantly picking one.

  “Line up in front of one of these pieces of shit.” Clary walked behind each of the bagged men smacking them hard on the back of the head. “Each one of these degenerate bastards was found and convicted of one or more acts of terrorism against The United States.”

  Pietras held up his pistol. It was identical to those the recruits were holding. He pointed to the side of the gun at the safety switch. “Now I am sure none of you know shit about guns, so this little black thing is called a safety switch. If you flick it down it will make the gun not safe. So, don’t point at your face or the face of the recruit next to you. The gun will be safe to point at a terrorist though.”

  Clary stared at the group, but none dared to ask a question after seeing what happened to those who spoke out of turn. “These men deserve to die. This will be your first test. This test is strictly a pass or fail.”

  While nine of the recruits were busy thinking and trying to determine who would be the first to disobey and thus fail the test, one man stepped forward out of line. He was slim with a ropey, muscular build and cropped dark-brown hair. He walked towards the bagged men. He had his newly acquired gun pointed down, as instructed, and his finger off of the trigger. The instructors were watching him from the corner of their eyes.

  The young man stared at them and when the instructors looked away, a succession of four shots went off and four men fell into their shallow graves, one after another. The young man walked to the middle of the remaining six and emptied his magazine until it fired empty. The smoke from his barrel disappeared into the cool morning fog.

  The instructors sprinted, leaving the group unattended. All their young faces were frozen with more questions and emotions than a person could handle. Clary ran to the young man, gripped his arm, and reached for the pistol, yanking it away. Pietras and Wesenberg jumped into the first and second of the ten graves and ripped the masks off the men. Clary put the pistol into the rear of his waistband and jumped into the third hole.

  The young man leaned over, staring at the three men working quickly to pull the hoods off, and exposing the thin military-grade helmets that each man was wearing. The other two instructors did the same, working frantically. Clary yelled, “Chuck, Chuck!”

  He slapped the man across the face, and he did it hard. The man’s eyes opened, staring in disbelief at Clary. The man looked around and noticed the grave that he was currently lying flat in. He jumped, forgetting that his hands and feet were tied and started bucking, trying to free himself. Clary held him down, showing him a knife. “Now, Chuck, I’m going to cut you loose. I need you to sit still for me, buddy, or I’m gonna cut your fucking hand off. You think you can do that for me?”

  Chuck nodded his head, breathing heavily and looked ready to kill. He had a rage of fire in his eyes and he wanted to take all of it out on some unlucky recipient. Clary cut his hands loose and then cut the restraints from his feet. The man looked up at the kid, then at Clary. “What the fuck happened, Clary? Did that little son of a bitch actually shoot me?”

  Clary pulled a radio from his pocket. “Medics, can you come to the new recruits welcoming station on the east side ASAP?”

  Less than two minutes later, ten men were resting on the edges of the graves. Each man was staring at the kid in front of them. One of the men finally had to ask, “What’s wrong with you, god damn it? You could have killed someone.”

  The young man had realized exactly what was going on the moment the first mask was pulled, exposing the helmet and the man’s white face. “That was my intention, sir. I wouldn’t shoot an instructor on purpose.”

  Clary walked to the table with Pietras, thumbing through the files. He found a file whose picture matched the man standing there, looking cold and unforgiving. He threw the rest back on the table and started reading it. He spoke quietly, “Jacob August. Christ, that doesn’t sound as dark as he looks.”

  Pietras, who was reading over his shoulder, pointed at the file breakdown of the young man. “It looks like we found our genius, Clary. Jesus, look at his psych eval! Fuck! I bet he made the psych department wet when they saw his file.”

  Clary stared at Pietras. “Is there something else you could be doing besides peering over my fucking shoulder? Take the recruits to the barracks and then see how they like to run. I’m sure that there is at least one quitter here today. After they find out how little they like to run, go ahead and see how little they like calisthenics, also.”

  Pietras turned on a heel, realizing he was being dismissed. “Yes sir, I’ll get them stowed away and start the assessment immediately. There’s going to be a lot of puking today, I hope. God, I love my job!”

  Clary ignored him, still reading Jacob’s profile. His test numbers were off the chart. At twenty years old, he had enough credits to graduate with a double bachelor’s degree. In addition to numerous psychology classes he had taken, he was fluent in Arabic and Persian. He looked down to his next of kin and saw there was an uncle who lived in Iowa that was the closest thing to a relative. He read his psychological profile, which stated he knew right from wrong. He had no remorse, though, and his views on right versus wrong were extremely black and white.

  Clary set the folder down, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He sat there for a minute thinking that if they could teach this kid, he could be one of the best potential field operatives they’ve had in years—if not ever. He tapped on the smoke, thinking and realizing that if they didn’t take care of this young man and rejected him, he could be the scariest damn thing on the planet to have to worry about.

  Wesenberg walked over after the ambulances and medics closed their doors, taking the ten men with them. He rubbed his hands through his hair, thanking God he wasn’t one of the ones standing there when those shots were fired. Wesenberg cleared his throat and Clary signaled him to come with his index and middle finger. He said, “They’re going to be all right. Rogers might have a slight concussion, but, all in all, we’ll come out okay on this.”

  Clary shook two more smokes from his pack, looking up at Wesenberg and then back at the file; he looked up again, shaking his head. He handed Wesenberg one of the two cigarettes and then lit the second with the one he was still trying to finish. He dropped that one in the grave, putting it out with his shined black boot. “You know, in fifteen years no recruit has ever done that. This is all about breaking them down and resetting their psyche to handle killing people. Recruits don’t come in with the mindset that it’s okay to kill. We have to explain it, break them down, and put them back together.”

  Wesenberg lit his smoke and shook out the match. “He shot ten, not one. He took it upon himself to try to kill every single one of them. He’s going to be one scary son of a bitch when we’re done with him.”

  “He is going to be an assassin, if I’ve ever seen one. Screw wet work; he’s a natural-born killer. The type that pulls the trigger and just keeps on going without needing the mandatory cool off period. He’ll just line them up and keep on knocking them down.”

  *****

  Pietras pushed the group until he thought they were going to break. He had been a track star many moons ago and could still kick the shit out of anyone in a race. He had not yet raced up
against Jacob August, though. Jacob and Pietras kept a pace that blew the rest out of the pack. The difference was when Pietras looked like he was about to have organ failure, Jacob was still pumping hard and breathing easy. Jacob looked over, seeing the defeat on his soon-to-be mentor’s face and realized that he was going to be put on a serious shit list.

  When they finished the run, Pietras bent over, heaving hard. Only Jacob was able to see this, as the others were still a few miles back. Pietras walked over to him, grabbed him by the wrist, and yanked him down to the ground. “You… you tell anyone… anyone, anything about this, I swear to God… you won’t ever have to worry about seeing your last day here. I’ll bounce your ass from this class!”

  Jacob pushed up and knelt in front of him. He said, “Sir, you can kick me out, but you would be ruining the only thing that I got going. You don’t understand where I came from or why I’m here. But if I were you, sir, I don’t think I would want to be the sole person responsible for putting an end to my only way to get back at those I hate most in life. They took everything from me. If you do take that from me, you will be the next person in my sights.”

  Pietras looked up, finally catching his breath. “You’re a cocky little fuck, aren’t you? You realize what threatening an instructor can do to your career? You know I just need to make one phone call, right? I tell instructor Clary and—”

  Jacob cut him off, getting as close as he dared to his new teacher’s face. “You and I aren’t getting off on the right foot here, Instructor Pietras. I am younger; I’m a track star from my college. That probably isn’t something you know about me. Something else about me is that I’m here to learn. I’m here to learn to kill and that’s it. I will kill without remorse, and if you can teach me those things, I’ll do whatever you want. But if you’re going to be too bent up over the next few months about the fact that someone twenty years younger than you can outrun you… well then, for your sake, I think maybe you should try and stay the fuck out of my way, sir.”

  Pietras smiled, hearing the rest of the group coming up the beaten path in the forest. “You just keep your mouth shut, if you know what's good for you.”

  The other nine cadets reached them, coming to a stop. They were walking slowly at first until they stood hunched over, their stomachs resting on their knees. The majority of the young faces blew chunks everywhere. Whatever they had left in their stomachs was now spread everywhere. Pietras got his form back and looked as sharp as he had before they started their run. He took a deep breath, making sure he himself was not going to puke, and yelled, “What? Did that make you maggots tired? Christ, I thought we had some Marines in this group. Aren’t you supposed to be tough sons of bitches? Everyone drop and do pushups. When I get back, we’re going to spend some time on the mat and see if any of you actually know how to do anything useful besides hold your dick.”

  One of the men stepped forward, arm raised. “How many pushups did you want us to do, sir?”

  Pietras walked away without answering. Before he went inside the cabin he yelled, “I don’t remember giving you a number, dumbshit! It means you do pushups until I come back. We’re going to make sure we have nothing but the fittest operatives standing in front of us. Now drop and push until I come back. If anyone has any questions about it, then maybe you should wait until someone comes back that gives a flying fuck!”

  *****

  Jacob dropped down and began doing his endless count of pushups. One of the men in the group grunted out a question to him as they began their second test. “What the hell, are you some sort of track star? Christ, you guys were so far ahead of us and you don’t even look like you broke a sweat.”

  Jacob ignored him and just kept doing as he had been directed. He wasn’t positive but was pretty sure that if there was going to be mat hand-to-hand instruction, Pietras was going to be requesting a few minutes of his time. The man next to him was not very patient waiting for the answers and asked a little louder. “Why the hell are you trying so hard on the first day? You trying to make everyone here look bad? You think that you are something special? You think you’re better than us?”

  Jacob kept pushing, never stopping. He looked over at the man. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I’m just keeping to myself; I won’t be in anyone’s way.”

  “What makes you think you can stay out of my way?”

  Jacob gave him as serious face as he could. “You don’t understand. I’ll be so far ahead of anyone else that you won’t have to worry about me being in your way.”

  Pietras came back out, ready to teach the class a few more things about pain. He sat watching for a moment. He could see those that were tired and those that could most likely do pushups until the end of time. He stared at his least favorite, Jacob, and saw the “end of time” look on his face. He had to get past the fact that he didn’t like the kid. He knew exactly how good someone like this could be. “Alright ladies, that’s enough pushups. Now let’s go to the workout facility; we’re going to learn so much today.”

  One of the women raised her hand as they walked. Pietras nodded to her and she said, “Sir, I don’t appreciate you calling everyone in the group ladies as if you mean that women are weak.”

  Pietras nodded as he walked away. “Sorry about that. Maybe you thought you got off the bus in the land of make believe, where your instructors give a fuck, ma’am.”

  He walked into the barn and opened the doors wide to keep it from getting too hot inside. He flicked a switch and the lights around the raised platform shone down on it. Pietras motioned to the bleachers and the group started to head over to it. He yelled, “Jacob, I think that you’re going to be my sparring partner today. Why don’t you get up in the ring and see if we can’t teach you something that might save your life one day.”

  Jacob rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to get a little feeling back in his joints after the run and the insane number of pushups. He climbed up the three steps where Pietras was already walking around. He was shaking his arms loose, though they were not burdened with the feeling of a hundred-plus pushups. He said, “You ready to learn something, Jacob? Do you know the first rule to fighting for your life?”

  Jacob walked slowly towards him, keeping four feet between them, and walking a slow circle. He held his hands up flat and open. Pietras walked the circle with him holding his weathered, old, and scarred knuckles that were white from being squeezed too hard. Pietras thought again that his years of experience were going to be valuable. He couldn’t help himself when it came to underestimating the recruits. The majority of them came in with a high IQ and in decent physical condition, but they also didn’t know their fighting skills from their assholes.

  The two men circled for a moment. When the rest of the instructors came in, Wesenberg yelled, “You going to teach him something, Pietras? Or you going to check his diaper and see if he shit himself?”

  Pietras released the pressure on his knuckles for a second to lift up his middle finger. He put his focus back on Jacob, who didn’t respond. “You see, the problem with fighting for your life is you have to want to live and not want to live. Does that make sense to you, son? Can you understand what I’m saying here?”

  Jacob shrugged. “I might have more problems then. I don’t worry about living or dying, as long as I take out those who have made others hurt. Or if I can keep them from hurting others.”

  “Jesus, you’re just a damn boy scout, aren’t you? Kind of a dark one, though.”

  When Jacob shrugged this time, Pietras sent a well-aimed punch straight towards his nose. Jacob saw the instructor’s shoulder move before he had a chance to throw it. Jacob stepped to the right and pushed the man’s arm into the air with his right hand. With his left hand, Jacob sent two palm strikes. The first went into his ribs and the second into his chest, knocking Pietras back a foot and off balance. As Pietras started to stumble, Jacob spun on his left foot; with his right foot, he sent a reverse sidekick to the man’s chest, knocking him off his feet and to t
he ground. Clary tapped Wesenberg on the shoulder and nodded his head to go up. “We don’t let our own get their asses kicked—get up there; we need to teach. Don’t hurt him where he is outclassed for too long, but teach him.”

  Wesenberg smiled quickly, nodded, unbuttoned his black fatigue jacket, and tossed it on the ground. He jumped up on the platform, spacing himself a few feet away. The three men made a perfect triangle. Wesenberg said, “You see, son, it’s not always going to be one-on-one, and in cases like that, you need to either learn how to take on two men, or learn how to take a beating. Which one do you want it to be, son?”

  Jacob thought of his father, and the lack thereof, in his life and said, “I’d like to be able to take care of two-on-one, sir.”

  Wesenberg smiled and said, “Well, maybe over time you might have an opportunity to do such a thing.”

  Jacob kept his hands up without backing up; Wesenberg lunged at him with a front snap kick to the face. Jacob stepped to the side, reached in and underneath Wesenberg’s leg. He pushed the older man’s foot into the air. He then unleashed a palm strike to the nose, feeling and seeing the blood all at once. Pietras came running, but Jacob was already in motion. He swung in a circle, holding on to the bleeding Wesenberg and not letting go until he was perfectly aimed to fall into Pietras’ path. Pietras tried to change his pace, but as he did, he was flying into the air, tripping over Wesenberg. Jacob caught him in midair, gripping the back of the instructor’s fatigues, and rammed his knee into his gut.

  Jacob looked at the two men, both writhing in pain and both staring at him confused. Neither of the men were strangers to a beating, but neither of them had ever taken such a brutal one on the first day of training. They were amazed at how quickly it had happened. Clary walked up smiling at Jacob, clapping slowly. He looked down at his two instructors in disgust, leaving no doubt in their minds that there would be one hell of a tongue-lashing later as they sat in the instructors’ apartment, nursing their wounds with whiskey. “Instructor Pietras and Wesenberg, I suggest that you sit the rest of this out; I will go about finishing the mat training for the day.”