The Black Guard

by C. R. Daems

  * * *

  The four years went fast when I looked back—although there were periods when time seemed to have stopped. I lay in bed watching the gray light of dawn exposing the double row of bunks that the current survivors of the one hundred plus children who began training with me a lifetime ago called home. Today, I wished I could make time stand still. In a few hours, someone was going to make a decision that would affect the rest of my life. And like my father’s decision to get rid of me, I would have no say.

  I looked over to Hada’s bunk. She too was lying with her eyes open. I hoped her father had been right, and she would be selected for the Guard. It was her dream. I had no dreams, just a hope that I would not lose my only friend.

  As if to remind me I had no control, the barracks’ lights came on and the loudspeaker announced another day. Pushing my dark musing aside, I sprang out of bed along with the others, washed, dressed, and headed for the dining hall. We had one hour to eat, pack, and assemble for transportation to our next school.

  "Well, Hada, excited?" I asked. I wanted to talk so I wouldn’t have to think.

  "I will be as soon as they tell us we’re going to the Guard school. I’m not going without you, Rivka." She didn’t smile.

  "I don’t think they’ll let us choose. I love you, Hada, but I wouldn’t let you give up your dream—your father’s sacrifice." I hugged her. A tear slid down my face. We ate in silence, or rather, Hada and I pushed food around our plates.

  An hour later, we stood outside the barrack, bags packed and ready to go. Hada and I stood together holding hands. Soon we were approached by a Guard lieutenant identified by his black uniform and red star above a red dragon on his right sleeve, and a commando sergeant identified by his dark-blue uniform and two gray stripes above a gray dragon on his sleeve. We straightened to attention, although the sergeant hadn’t called for it. The sergeant was a broad shouldered man with a square jaw and a no nonsense look. He stood expressionless as his eyes scanned us. The lieutenant stood straight but relaxed compared to the sergeant who looked… tense by comparison. The lieutenant was lanky with a narrow face and several centimeters taller than the sergeant. He seemed to appraise us in one glance and then looked down at the computer device strapped to his left arm.

  "We have been evaluating each of you for the past four years to determine where you can best meet the need of the Jax military. For most of you, that will also be where you will be the most comfortable. A few that started with you four years ago have been transferred to army units as they weren’t fit for the commandos. Most of you here will make good commandos. You have worked hard and earned a position in an elite component of the Jax military. Congratulations. He turned toward the sergeant and nodded. The sergeant looked at his computer device before speaking.

  "The following recruits will assemble over by those shuttles. Amyas, Gamal, Osher…" The list seemed endless, the pause between each name an eternity—waiting for Hada or Rivka to be called. I prayed to whoever might be listening that Hada’s name wouldn’t be called. Thirty agonizing pauses. As I waited for the next name, the sergeant turned to follow the last man, and the Lieutenant spoke.

  "You sixteen have earned the right to enter the Guard school. Your eventual position in the Guard will be determined by your performance. And like poor performance at the commando school resulted in several being transferred to the army, poor performance at the Guard school can result in you being transferred back to the commandos. Get your bags and assemble over by the shuttle on the pad to your left."

  When I looked at Hada, she looked at peace—like a bird just released from a cage. And it finally hit me. I was going with Hada to the Guard school. I had been so worried about her, I had forgotten about my future. It hadn’t seemed as important as hers. My dreams had been broken years ago. Her dream still lived.

  * * *

  "Wow," was all I could say as I exited the shuttle. The landing pad sat on the top of one of the smaller mountains and the view was breathtaking. The mountain range extended as far as the eye could see—snow covered peaks disappearing into the clouds, gentle waterfalls with ribbons of silver and giant ones creating mysterious mists, and rivers rushing to reach distant green valleys. From the landing pad, a trail wound its way down to a number of terraces carved out of the mountain. On close examination, I could make out buildings and people on each of the four terraces.

  "Isn’t it beautiful, Rivka? It’s just like my father described it."

  "Yes, it is." Hada had described the school several times, but I had dismissed it as another lie, although I had hoped for her sake it wasn’t. "Your dream come true."

  "Only partially. I’ve made it to the Guard school, and I have you with me. Now we must reach for the dragon-collar." Her eyes sparkled, and her smile spoke to a precious dream.

  "What’s a dragon-collar?" I suddenly realized I’d not only been following Hada but was being sucked into her dream.

  "Just like the army and the commandos, the Guard has rank. Whereas the army has green and the commandos gray dragons, the Guard has red. And the stripes and stars denote roughly the same thing—sergeants and officers. And like the advanced army and commando schools, performance determines whether you are an officer or not. But the Guard has something neither the army nor commandos has, a unique rank that transcends the others—a red dragon on the collar. They are the elite of the Guard because they have mastered themselves. That is our goal, Rivka."

  * * *

  Again the training consisted of classroom and physical exercises. The army was traditionally contracted to defend or liberate a city or rebel held area. The Jax tended not to take contracts with rebels against legitimate governments. The commandos were a standard contingent on most Jax cruisers and there to support the navy during space battles, special hit-and-run operations, and occasionally to support the army. The Guard defended VIPs and their facilities and were specially trained to fight inside buildings where the encounters were up close and personal. Under those conditions, excellent reflexes, quick thinking, and good judgment were essential.

  The school curriculum was divided into four two-year segments. If you passed a segment, you were promoted. If not, you reverted to your previous rank, except the first segment. Failure there meant being returned to the commandos school; success meant promotion to Guard private—a red dragon on your sleeve.

  We were introduced to the special weapons the Guard typically carried: a five millimeter laser, a multi-functional weapon called an Mfw that was capable of shooting metal shards, nine millimeter bullets, and metal piercing explosive bullets; a multifunctional communication/computer device called an Mfi; and a special non-resistant fighting art called Wuji.

  I found the classroom studies relatively easy and had no trouble with the weapons. But I struggled with Wuji. The art was driving me crazy. Like before, the dances consisted of simulated fighting techniques and moves, which when performed over and over again reinforced the techniques. The new dances were performed slowly which permitted the instructor to easily see your every mistake. Even more frustrating, the instructors insisted each move be made with precision—every move made in perfect balance, every leg and arm movement precise, and every breath performed in a certain way and at a specific time. After most sessions, I returned to the barrack exhausted and frustrated to a point of admitting defeat.

  "I can’t do it, Hada. The harder I try the worse I perform. Even instructor Yadin is frustrated. I don’t think I’m going to pass this segment," I whined. I would have given up long ago except I couldn’t stand to disappoint Hada, or destroy her dream for both of us.

  "That’s the problem. You’re trying too hard, and it’s making you tense. And when you’re tense you move like a… drunk." She giggled. "Quit whining and stand up."

  When I did, she raised her right arm, bent so her palm faced towards her. I repeated the motion. Then she touched her wrist to mine and placed her left hand on my elbow. I copied the position. After standing that way for a few s
econds, she suddenly pushed and I stumbled backward.

  "You lost because you lost your balance and had to step away." She raised her hand again and waited. Angered by her rebuke, I stepped up and resumed my original position. When she pushed, I was ready and pushed back hard, found no resistance, and stumbled forward.

  "You lose." She smiled. "Sorry, Rivka. Both times I was able to throw you off balance because you were stiff, like an oak tree. The first time you lost your balance because my force was greater than yours. Like an oak tree, you broke from the excess force. The second time because I didn’t try to resist you, and your excessive force propelled you forward. You must be like a willow tree which bends when force is exerted on it. Not like the mighty oak which must withstand the force or break."

  We spent every minute, when we weren’t otherwise occupied, practicing her exercise. Slowly I began to understand, and my Wuji improved. With the picture of a willow in my mind, by the end of the first year my dances flowed smoothly. By the end of the second year, two had failed to meet our instructors’ standards and were returned to the commandos. The remaining fourteen of us were promoted to Guard privates.

  * * *

  The second two-year segment concentrated on Wuji applications and introduced Hada’s exercise, which they called Pushing. That proved a lot of fun, since Hada and I easily defeated everyone. Weapons training became more intense, and we were expected to accurately hit the target whether we or it was moving. We studied building security and conducted regular exercises where our instructors tested our defenses and alertness. And we had real fights using Wuji.

  Early in the segment, Hada introduced me to meditation. Like Pushing, Hada’s father had only taught her the basics, so we had to improvise. I loved meditation and the feeling of cleansing my mind of worry, yesterday which couldn’t be changed, and tomorrow which couldn’t be lived today. Over time, we realized that being able to clear our minds improved our fighting and decision making.

  Six were judged to have failed and were assigned to the Guard as privates. The remaining eight of us were promoted to corporals, a red band above a red dragon, and allowed to advance to the third segment.

  * * *

  "Now it gets hard," Hada said, as we sat drinking a black tea I’d become fond of since arriving at the Guard school. The third segment was scheduled to begin the next day.

  "You’re joking. What do you think the last four years were? Fun?" I glared at her, only half in jest.

  "More like an introduction to the Guard. Now we will be competing against each other," she said, watching me with eyes narrowed. I didn’t like the sound of that. Hada had a dream. I was just tagging along, although I had to admit I loved the Guard school—and not being a commando. "Rivka, promise me you will try your hardest to defeat me during every contest. Promise on your honor as my sister."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to know I earned whatever rank I get. But even more important, if you help me or I help you the instructor will fail us both." Her hazel eyes bore into me.

  "I promise… If you promise I won’t lose your friendship." At this point in my life, that felt more important than rank.

  "I promise. You will always be a friend and my adopted sister. Nothing will ever change that."

  * * *

  Hada had been right, the classroom studies and subsequent exercises were more complex. The one-on-one fighting was more intense and in spite of protective equipment often ended in serious injuries that required advanced medical treatment. Weapon practice evolved to a new level. We were expected to hit the target in the kill zone every time whether we, the target, or both were moving. And I was introduced to the love of my life—the dragon whip, which all officers wore. Made of hundreds of strands of a special diamond-metal fiber, it could cut cleanly through metal, muscle, and bone. I even gave up some of my sleep-time to practice on my own.

  Four of us passed. The four that failed to meet the instructors’ standards were assigned to a Guard unit as corporals, and we were promoted to Lieutenants: a red star over a red dragon.

  When we arrived for our first day of training, three Black Guard captains were there to greet us. Captain Yadin had been our first segment instructor. The youngest of the three, I’d heard he had been injured on an assignment and was on limited duty. He walked with a slight limp. Captain Sarnoff was middle-aged and had taught the second segment. She was rumored to be semi-retired but available if necessary. The third captain, Kluger, was the senior training officer. He looked to be in his sixties with silver hair and lined face.

  "Congratulations." Kluger said as he and the others approached our little group. We bowed deeply as required. "The four of you have succeeded in passing the third segment. But only one of you may proceed to the fourth. Today you will compete against each other in a series of matches. The winner will continue his or her training. The other three will be assigned to a Guard unit. You have two hours to prepare yourselves. The first match will be Hada and Adler, the second Rivka and Yehu, the third Rivka and Adler, the fourth Hada and Yehu, the fifth Adler and Yehu, and the final match Rivka and Hada. Dismissed."

  I looked at Hada in shock. She had said this would happen, but I hadn’t expected it so soon. We immediately ran off to our favorite meditation spot we had discovered by accident while exploring a narrow path. The trail ended at a small bare slab of rock, just big enough for the two of us to sit, precariously perched on the shear face of gray granite. It was partly hidden by a mighty waterfall that fell hundreds of meters and created a turbulent river of crashing, white water that fought its way over boulders and through narrow canyons into a lush green valley far in the distance.

  * * *

  Captain Sarnoff was the official referee, with Kluger and Yadin standing on opposite sides, judging the match. We had been told to start in the Pushing position, but everything was fair after that. The winner was the one who disabled the other or drove him or her out of the circle.

  Hada’s match against Adler was over seconds after Captain Sarnoff signaled them to start. Adler attempted to use his twenty-kilo weight advantage to throw her off balance and finish the match. When he lunged forward, Hada twisted sideways. The sudden absence of resistance threw Adler forward and Hada caught him with an elbow to the temple. He collapsed, and she was declared the winner.

  I was next. Yehu was more subtle, probing me for a weakness to attack and made no attempt to disengage. After several minutes of unsuccessful tries, he grabbed my right wrist, pulling me to the right, and drove a round-house kick towards my head. Rather than trying to defend against his coming kick, I let myself be pulled into him, driving my elbow into his ribs. As we fell, I tucked my head and did a forward roll onto my feet. Yehu landed on his back and was pushing himself up from the floor when I drove a back-kick to his head, ending the match.

  The judges gave the next match to Adler, since Yehu was not fit to fight. He had two fractured ribs and a concussion. Hada and I were next.

  "Promise," Hada said as we touched in the traditional Pushing position—wrists touching and one hand on the other’s elbow. I nodded and emptied my mind as Hada and I probed for a weakness to exploit even before Captain Sarnoff said to start. Pushing was as much a mental contest as physical as we each made subtle feints looking for a weakness to exploit. Every now and then I would begin a pushing attack, thinking I had found an opening only to stop in time when I realized it was a deliberate trap. My traps for Hada also failed. Like Hada, I knew from previous experience an attempt to give up the Pushing position for a more aggressive attack would have left me vulnerable.

  "Stop!" Captain Kluger shouted. Hada and I froze in place. "Step back."

  While we waited the three captains talked in whispered tones. Then Kluger spoke.

  "You have fought for ten minutes, without a winner. We find it hard to believe that’s possible without cheating. We will review the tapes, and if we determine you faked the match, you will both fail and will lose your recent promotions. You are dismi
ssed for now." They left without another word.

  "I didn’t," Hada immediately said, frowning as she looked at me.

  "I promised you I wouldn’t, and I kept that promise. I did my best to find a weakness. I couldn’t," My stomach roiled. There was nothing we could do but wait for their decision.

  * * *

  Hada and I stood in front of the three captains the next day, awaiting their decision. Captain Kluger broke the long painful silence.

  "We have reviewed the tapes in great detail. One of us feels you cheated. One that you did your best. And one is undecided. But none of us is willing to vote our feelings as we saw nothing that proves the truth one way or the other. We have contacted Dragon Tzadok. He will arrive tomorrow and will make the final decision. You’re dismissed for now."

  "A dragon," she whispered, gazing off into the distance. I knew that was Hada’s dream and felt like crying.

  "I hope I haven’t ruined your dream. I didn’t mean to. You’ve taught me everything I know." My chest hurt as though someone were squeezing my insides. "It’s your dream, not mine. It’s not fair."

  "My dream isn’t dead, but there may be a minor setback." She smiled and put an arm around my shoulder. "Come, sister, let’s practice that damn whip you love. Maybe you can teach me to love it."