by Joe Nobody
Bishop laughed, “I’m disappointed, Kilmer. While I’ve always thought you were an immature little bag-wart, I’d never imagined you were such a snowflake. Now wipe your tears away, and head on back to Alpha to file your protest. Nick is going to tell you the same thing I am. Don’t start shit you can’t finish, have respect for your betters, and never, ever fuck with SAINT One.”
“Go ahead, Funny Guy. Yuck it up while your man-lover is still running the show. Nick’s going to be out of a job after the election, and you know it. That’s why you’re bailing on the program. You’ve had your nose up that dude’s ass so far that you help him chew his food. Now that he’s not going to be around, there’s nobody to protect you. After the votes are counted, I’ll come visit you some night.”
Kilmer turned to walk away. Bishop, realizing he’d just been personally threatened, couldn’t let it go. “Coward.”
Captain K paused but didn’t turn around. “What did you just say?”
“I said you were a coward. Probably a traitor, too, but a coward for sure.”
Exhaling, K turned back to face his nemesis, the man’s jaw locked in anger. He charged.
Bishop was ready, sidestepping the lowered shoulder aimed for his gut.
Kilmer recovered quickly, planting one foot while lashing out with a flashing boot at Bishop’s knee.
The blow missed the critical joint, landing solidly on the Texan’s thigh and spinning him off balance. A second later, the two team leaders were a locked in a fur ball of vicious blows. Kilmer was younger, larger, and stronger. Bishop had experience and guile on his side. Both benefited from excellent training and advanced techniques.
After throwing several punches and kicks, the two separated and began to circle, each waiting for the other to provide an opening or display a weakness. “Old school, huh?” Bishop taunted, pointing at the blood flowing from K’s nose. “Come on in. I’ll be happy to teach you a little more.”
In truth, Bishop knew his lip was going to be the size of a football by the end of the day. He’d be lucky not to have a black eye as well. Both of them had landed a few blows.
Before they could rejoin, the sound of running boots pounding on the earth sounded in Bishop’s ear. Not wanting to get caught between a hostile SAINT team and its besieged leader, the Texan chanced a glance over his shoulder.
Coiled and ready, Captain K saw the opening and attacked again with a streaking round-house kick that caught Bishop square in the chest. With an audible whoosh, he went down just as the rest of Six arrived.
Bishop wasn’t outnumbered for long. Right behind the arrival of K’s men, Grim, Kevin, and Bailey rushed into the opening, all of them charging into the fray.
More than anything in the world at that moment, Bishop wanted to fight beside his men. All week, they had suffered Six’s abuse without any sign of resignation or request to cheat in kind. Now that frustration was boiling over, and the Texan wanted his share.
Managing one elbow, Bishop tried to force the air back into his lungs while his brain screamed for his muscles to regain their strength. Around him, the air was filled with the impact of fists, grunted curses, and the growls of pain and rage.
The situation was made worse when Kevin went down, the team’s youngest and slightest member taking a nasty strike to the head. Now Bishop’s guys were outnumbered four to two, and Bailey was already limping so badly he could hardly stand.
Just when Bishop thought it was over, Butter roared into the opening, evidently, the climb down from his sentry’s perch delaying the huge kid’s arrival. This is going to be good, Bishop thought, rising to his hands and knees. Get ’em, big guy.
Captain K’s men were game, all of them veterans of more fisticuffs than they could remember, all constantly refining their unarmed combat skills.
Despite still having superior numbers, Butter’s arrival quickly turned the tide against K’s team.
With unbelievable speed and bone crushing strength, Butter took the man who faced him down with a single strike. Another fell to the ground a few seconds later, emitting only a slight yelp after his midsection was on the receiving end of a huge, fast-moving elbow.
Kilmer and his remaining charge backed off, SAINT One’s resident behemoth readying to give chase. “Enough!” Bishop commanded. “This is over!”
As ordered, Butter relaxed and started to turn toward the still-prone Kevin.
“Watch out!” Grim yelled too late, as Captain K and his mate rushed Butter from behind.
They managed to tackle One’s largest member, one hitting him high, the other low. As the mass of men landed hard on the earth, K was raining blows as fast as his arm could pump.
Grim, screaming a battle cry at the top of his lungs, dove into the dog pile, the old contractor’s fists doing their fair share of damage.
With a chest-deep howl of fury, Butter began rising from the flaying heap of struggling men, literally lifting friend and foe alike as he fought to stand. Kilmer’s teammate went flying left, soon followed by the Captain himself being tossed across the opening like a child’s toy.
It was then that Bishop spotted the bloodlust in Butter’s eyes. For a moment, the Texan wondered if anything or anybody would be able to stop the muscle-bound giant from killing one or all of SAINT Six.
Finally managing to stand, Bishop rushed to get between Butter and Captain K’s nearest man. “Stop!” he demanded.
Confusion passed over Butter’s face, but only for a moment. Again, the massive man’s eyes focused on the adversary lying nearby, murder clearly on his mind.
“I order you to stand down, Butter!” Bishop tried again.
It didn’t do a bit of good, Butter flexing his enormous hands and staring hard at his victim’s neck.
Bishop knew his man could snap any human’s neck in less than a second. The Texan also realized that to Nick and the command back in Alpha, there was no such thing as justifiable homicide during a training mission. “Butter – don’t. That’s an order!”
Kevin appeared out of nowhere, blood running down the sharpshooter’s face from a nasty cut on his forehead. Maneuvering between the downed member of Six and his best friend, Nick’s son put both hands on Butter’s chest and said, “Stop. It’s not worth it.”
Some light of recognition switched on inside Butter’s head, his comrade’s voice cutting through the rage that thundered in his head. Finally, he relaxed, backing away without taking his eyes off K and his men.
Slowly, the two teams began dusting themselves off and licking their wounds, gathering in a bunch on opposite sides of the clearing. Somebody retrieved a medical kit, and soon white bandages were being wrapped over gashes while antibiotic spray hissed into lacerations. All the while, both sides kept a diligent lookout on the other, glancing across the battleground while mumbling low curses and snide remarks.
Without another word, Captain K motioned for his men to move out. Bishop and Grim watched as they made their way along the path, no member of SAINT One saying a word.
Finally, Bishop grunted, “I think this exercise is over. I think we won.”
Shaking his head, Grim spat a mouth full of blood. “I think when Nick hears of this, I will officially hold the record for the shortest duration in command of a SAINT team in the Alliance’s history.”
Bishop grunted, rubbing his stiffening jaw and then wiggling one of his teeth before answering. “Naw. He won’t be mad at you. It’s my ass that’s going to get chewed up and spit out. What the hell? It was worth it. I wanted to go out with a bang, not a whimper. Let’s get going, Grim. It’s a long hike down that mountain.”
Chapter 6
Three hours later, SAINT One and Six stood at attention, both teams forming a single row. Bishop had to admit; it was the sorriest formation he’d ever seen.
With torn clothing, muddy boots, haphazard kit, and a plethora of bandages and wraps, the nine men gathered at Nick’s order looked more like a parade of refugees than an elite force. If his mouth had not been so so
re, Bishop would have had difficulty keeping a smile off his face.
Not only were they filthy and bruised, SAINT Six’s uniforms were covered in the streaked blue, paintball dye – a result of the previous night’s ambush. None of them smelled like roses. Kevin suffered a knot on his head the size of a small apple. Bailey’s knee could barely support his weight, and Butter was covered in scratches, lacerations, and blood. Grim, after bitterly complaining, had finally allowed the basecamp’s medic to put his arm in a sling.
One of Bishop’s eyes was nearly swollen closed, his face twisted in an ugly slant due to the puffiness of his lip. The Texan thought he looked good compared to Captain’s K’s fractured nose and raccoon eyes.
One by one, Nick and Sergeant Capela inspected the troops, the Alliance honcho shaking his head in disgust after examining each individual for several seconds.
When his massive frame cast a shadow over Bishop, the Texan refused to make eye contact, instead keeping his gaze unfocused, somewhere between the taller man’s Adam’s apple and chin. It didn’t help.
“And what the fuck happened to you, Bishop?” Nick growled. “Looks like you were on the wrong end of a meat grinder.”
“You should have seen the other guy, sir!” Bishop snapped, taking a gamble that Nick wasn’t as mad as he was letting on.
“Okay, Mr. Smartass. Mind explaining to me just exactly what happened up on that mountain?”
“It was a training exercise that got a little out of hand, sir. I am completely responsible. It is entirely my fault that our unarmed combat drills resulted in these minor injuries and damaged equipment.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot skyward. With a growl worthy of a grizzly bear, the big man leaned into Bishop’s face, their nostrils nearly touching as the bellowing began. “Unarmed combat drills? A little out of hand? Minor injuries! Just how fucking stupid do you think I am, Trooper? Do I look that dumb to you?”
“No, sir.”
For a moment, Bishop thought he was going to receive additional attention, but Nick moved on to Captain Kilmore. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Captain? Are you going along with Bishop’s obvious line of bullshit? How did this unacceptable situation occur? Speak the truth, or I will run your sorry asses up and down this mountain until your feet are like your dicks – limp, little nubs of mushy, worthless flesh!”
“It’s just like the commander of One reported, sir. Bishop and I agreed that the more realistic the training, the better for the men, sir. Things just got a little … intense, sir.”
Twice Nick raised up on the balls of his feet, leaning into Kilmore like he was going to rip the man in half. Then, without another word, he moved on to inspect the next man, which happened to be his son.
“You. Of all people. What happened to your head, young man?”
Kevin swallowed hard, obviously not wanting to lie to his father, yet determined not to break ranks with his team. “I struck a rock, sir!”
“You struck a rock, or the rock struck you?”
When Kevin hesitated, Nick let him off the hook, moving on to the next unfortunate soul in one large, purposeful step.
After reaching the end of the line, Nick pivoted smartly and marched to address the formation. “In all my years, I’ve never seen such a disgusting sight in uniform. You people are an embarrassment. SAINT teams are required to be the Alliance’s diplomats and ambassadors, not brawlers, ruffians, blowhards, and liars!”
Pausing to scan up and down the line of men to see if there was any challenge, Nick seemed almost disappointed when no one spoke. What? Does he think we’re that dumb? Bishop thought.
“All leaves are canceled until further notice. In addition, you will all have your pay docked until the Alliance is reimbursed for the equipment damaged on this exercise. And finally, none of you will receive credit for this incomplete training. As soon as possible, both SAINT One and Six are ordered to return here and repeat this week of recreational pleasure. Do you understand me?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” both teams barked in unison, the effort making Bishop’s mouth sting with pain.
“Dismissed!” the big guy ordered, and then pivoted smartly for the standard-issue Alliance SUV parked nearby.
As soon as their superior was inside the vehicle, a series of groans and moans filled the area, everyone pitching a bitch at the same moment. “Dock our pay?” someone complained.
“I don’t give a shit about my paycheck! Crawling up that mountain again is what sucks.”
Bishop wanted a shower and fresh clothes. After watching Nick drive away, the Texan headed toward the officers’ barracks and its promise of hot water.
He’d no sooner stepped under the spraying relief than he heard the head’s door open. Bracing to fight, just in case Kilmer hadn’t had enough, the Texan quickly wrapped his bar of soap in his towel and prepared to launch an attack.
Nick’s voice drifted through the door, “I wanted a word with you in private, Bishop.”
“I’ll be right out, sir.”
Disappointed in having to rush his hygiene, Bishop ran a palm’s worth of shampoo through his hair and then quickly scrubbed the rest of his frame. Two minutes later, he exited the stall to find his boss sitting relaxed on a nearby bench.
“So, what really happened up there?” Nick grinned. “Clearly there was a disagreement, but given you all were beat to hell, my curiosity just can’t let it go.”
Bishop nodded and relayed a quick history, concluding with the brawl that morning. The report was honest, and Nick knew it.
“Who won?” Nick asked.
Shaking his head, Bishop announced, “Butter.”
The answer brought a deep belly laugh from Nick’s core. “That makes sense to me. Damn, that kid is built like a brick wall and still moves like a cheetah.”
“SAINT One was losing until his arrival. After that, the scuffle was over quick.”
“I can believe it,” Nick replied. “Did Kevin hold his own?”
“Yes. He jumped right in and gave as good as he received. You should be proud, Dad. Your boy has a pair. But then again, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Nodding, Nick rose as if to leave, but then paused at the door. In a low voice, he asked, “What do you think of Kilmer and his team?”
Bishop had to think about his answer. After a long moment, he said, “That man scares the hell out of me, my old friend. He is smart, skilled, manages his people well, and is ruthless. The problem is, he enjoys the combat far, far too much. It seems to be the only thing that he lives for, and in my experience, those are the guys who get their buddies killed.”
Nick sighed, signaling a long suspicion had been confirmed. “I was afraid of that. Six’s record has been mixed. Sergeant Capela pointed out a few weeks ago that their best missions seem to be the ones where a lot of lead is flying and bodies stack like firewood before winter. I’m going to have to keep my eye on them until the reorganization is complete.”
Once more, Nick started to leave. Again, he stopped. “Oh, one more thing. The Council has voted to award you the Medal of Freedom. Diana wanted to have the ceremony tomorrow after she announced her bid for reelection. Now, given the worse than normal condition of your face, I’m going to recommend that shindig is postponed. You have any problem with that?”
Glancing at the nearby wall mirror, Bishop grimaced at his reflection. “No problem whatsoever, sir.”
“Go home. Heal. Come by tomorrow, and I’ll have your final paycheck and paperwork. Get some ice on that ugly puss of yours before you start scaring little children.”
With that, Bishop found himself alone, staring at his mug while gently probing his injuries. “Terri won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole now. Damn it, Kilmer. Next time, I’m going to seriously beat your worthless ass.”
After gingerly shaving and dressing, Bishop exited to find Grim and the guys all waiting outside. It was amazing how much better his friends looked with a shower and clean duds.
One by one, Bis
hop stepped down the line; shaking hands, exchanging smiles, and trying to keep his emotions in check. “This isn’t goodbye,” he kept saying. “We’ll stay in touch, I promise,” he repeated. “You are the best men anyone could ever hope to command.”
Then he found himself in his truck, the keys in the ignition, ready to drive away from the Alliance Training Center for what would probably be the last time. Taking one last glance around, he mumbled to himself, “You always hated this torture chamber … dreaded this place like the plague. Now stop acting like a gushy old fool, and get out of here before Nick changes his mind and sends your ass back up that mountain.”
Terri’s steady gaze passed over the decorations for the 10th time. It was all there, the standard red, white, and blue ribbons, the Texas flag, the podium with the Alliance’s official seal, and the balloons.
