It occurs to me that until my cousin comes up with a surefire sales pitch to settle things, all that takin’ a peace-maker role is accomplishin’ is committin’ us not to shoot back when the trouble starts!
Chapter Six
“Boards don’t hit back!”
B. Lee
PRE-INHABITED AS I was with my worries about Don Bruce and the Mob, the altercation between Sergeant Smiley and myself slipped my mind completely. As it turned out, however, this did not matter, as the sergeant took steps to remind me of it, and the way it was sprung on me, it wouldn’t have done me no good to have used up a lot of time and energy thinkin’ about it.
We had reached the portion of our trainin’ in which we was to learn how to relate to the enemy at close quarters . . . preferably without surrenderin’. That is to say, hand-to-hand type combat.
Sergeant Smiley was teachin’ this section himself, which did not strike me as odd until later, as he obviously had more than passin’ familiarity with the techniques we was to learn. He homed in on the Flie brothers as his demonstrator/victims, and had great fun showin’ us all that size was not a factor in hand-to-hand combat by tossin’ and punchin’ ‘em both around with impressive ease ... or, put differently, he really made them fly. While all this was great fun to watch, I could not help thinkin’ that the lesson he was attemptin’ to drive home stank higher than the “Realistic Doggie Doodle with Lifelike Aroma that Actually Sticks to Your Hands” that I was so familiar with. I mean, I wonder if he really thought he was foolin’ anyone with his “size doesn’t make a difference” spiel. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that size can make a considerable difference in a physical-type difference of opinion, as one honest to goodness fight will usually demonstrate this fact clearly enough to convince even the dimmest of wits. The only time skill triumphs over size is if the little guy is very skillful and the big guy is very unskillful ... not to mention slow and maybe has a glass jaw. If they are at all matched for skill, the big guy is a good bet to make strawberry jam of the little guy if he is so inclined. This is why professional contact, sport-type athletes, not to mention kneecappers like Nunzio and me, are on the extralarge side. It isn’t because our employers figure we are cheaper if cost justified on a “by the pound” rate, it’s because we tend to win.
Of course, even if one accepts the “skill over size” concept, there is still a glarin’ flaw in the sergeant’s logic. Remember how long I said it would take to train someone with a longbow? (No, this isn’t gonna be a test ... I was just askin’.) Well, it takes even longer to train someone to be skillful at Hand-To-Hand. A lot longer. The idea that someone like the Spellin’ Bee could absorb enough skill in one afternoon to be effective against one of the Flie brothers, however unskilled, is laughable. Realizin’ this, it was clear to me that even though he said we was bein’ prepared for combat with the enemy, all he was doin’ was showin’ us a few tricks to help us survive the inevitable barroom type brawls which seem to naturally gravitate toward people in uniform who are tryin’ to have a quiet drink around civilians durin’ their off-duty hours. Simply put, we was bein’ trained to deal with unskilled civilian-type fighters, preferably blind staggerin’ drunk, rather than against skilled soldier-type fighters in the field.
“. . . Of course, these are techniques which will enable you to dispatch an unarmed opponent!” Sergeant Smiley was sayin’, which was again misleadin’ as none of the countermoves he was demonstratin’ were lethal enough to “dispatch” anyone, confirmin’ my belief that someone was figurin’ we’d only use them on civilians.
“. . . To deal with an ARMED opponent, however, is a different matter entirely! Fortunately, we have an EXPERT with us to demonstrate how that is done! GUIDO! Front and center!”
“Me, Sergeant?” I blinks, as I had not expected to be called upon.
“That’s right,” the sergeant sez, showin’ some extra teeth in his smile. “At the firing range you made a big point that only jerks have to kill people, Well, here’s your chance to show everybody how to ‘gentle’ an enemy into submission when he’s trying to kill you.”
Needless to say, I don’t care for the sounds of this, but as I have been summoned, I have little choice but to step forward into the clear space bein’ used for the demonstrations. My discomfort grows as the sergeant gestures to Corporal Whittle, who tosses him a short sword. That’s right, a real short sword . . . with a point and sharpened edges.
“What’s with the sword, Sergeant?” I sez.
“I said this was going to be a demonstration against an armed opponent,” he grins. “What we’re going to do is I’m going to try to kill you, and you’re going to try to stop me without killing me.”
“... And if I don’t?”
“Then I guess we’ll have us a little ‘training accident’ . . . unless, of course, you’d rather just back out now and admit you can’t do it.”
Needless to say, I did not obtain my current lofty position as bodyguard by backin’ away from fights. What’s more, the sword wasn’t my real worry as it is nothin’ more than a long knife, and I’ve dealt with knives often enough.
“Oh, I can do it,” I shrugs. “The trouble is it might involve striking a non-commissioned officer . . . which I seem to recall from our Military Law lesson is a no-no.”
The sergeant’s smile fades a bit, and I realize he has been expectin’ me to withdraw from this exercise when he feeds me the cue. Unfortunately for both of us, this realization comes a little late to do us any good.
“Don’t worry about that, ‘Cruit!” he sez, though I notice his voice has gotten tighter. “Even if you get real lucky and tag me, you’re acting under orders so no charges will be brought.”
That was all I needed to hear. As a last precaution, I glance back at Nunzio where he’s standin’ in line, and he gives me a little nod with his head.
“Your cousin can’t help you now. Guide,” Smiley snaps, regainin’ a bit of confidence. “This is between you and me.”
That wasn’t why I was checkin’ with Nunzio, but I have no trouble goin’ with the flow, bein’ real adaptable when the music is startin’ and I am one of the designated dancers.
“I was just wonderin’,” I sez with a shrug. “It’s nice to know you know I’d be under orders. The question is whether or not that officer knows it.”
Now the sergeant is no dummy and I really don’t expect him to fall for the old “there’s someone behind you” gag . . . but he does. It isn’t until much later that I find out non-coms have a real thing about officers. That is, they are comfortable runnin’ the army . . . unless there is an officer somewhere in witnessin’ range. Anyway, Smiley starts cranin’ his neck around tryin’ to spot the officer to which I am referrin’, and when his head is turned away from me, I glide in on him.
If this tactic sounds a little strange to you, realize that if someone waves a sharpened hunk of metal at you, the last thing they are expectin’ is for you to charge them. What you are supposed to do is freeze up, or better yet run, thereby givin’ them ample leisure time to carve their initials on whatever portion of your anatomy is handiest. When you move forward instead of back, it tends to startle them, and they usually react by pokin’ at you with their weapon to try to get you to back off like the script says. This is really what you want, as it has put you in control of their attack and lets you bring it in where and when you want it instead of just standin’ and hopin’ they’ll go away while they play around on their own timetable.
The sergeant sees me comin’ out of the corner of his eye, and, just like I expect, he sticks his sword out like he’s hopin’ I’ll run into it and save him the trouble of havin’ to plan and execute an attack of his own. This makes it easy for me to weave past his point and latch onto the wrist of his sword arm with my left hand, which keeps the weapon out of mischief and me, whilst I give him a medium strength pop under the ear with my right fist.
It was my genuine hope that this would end the affair without furth
er waltzin’, but the sergeant is still a pretty tough old bird and it only crosses his eyes and drops him to one knee. I realize the situation has just become dangerous, as he still has hold of his sword and in his dazed condition may not remember that this is only an exercise ... if that was his original intention at all.
“Give it up, Sarge,” I hisses quiet-like, steppin’ in close so’s only he can hear me. “It’s over.”
Just to be on the safe side I wind his arm up a little as I am sayin’ this to prove my point. Unfortunately, he either doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore what you must admit is excellent advice, and starts strugglin’ around tryin’ to bring his sword into play.
“Suit yourself,” I shrugs, not really expectin’ a response, as at that moment he faints, mostly because I have just broken his arm ... for safety sake, mind you. (For the squeamish readers, I will hasten to clarify that this is a clean break as opposed to the messier compound variety, and that it probably wouldn’t have put the sergeant out if he hadn’t been woozy already from the clout I have just laid on him. As I have noted before, controlled violence is my specialty . . . and I’m very good at it.)
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO . . .”
These last words come from Corporal Whittle who has come alive far too late and tries to intervene after the dance is already done. The incomplete nature of his question is due to the fact that, as he is steppin’ forward, he runs into a high swing from Nunzio’s elbow goin’ in the opposite direction, which effectively stretches him out on his back and turns his lights out . . . and also stops his annoyin’ prattle. For the record, this is what the earlier exchange between Nunzio and me was all about . . . my makin’ sure he was in position and willin’ to cover my back while I dealt with the sergeant.
There is a moment’s silence, then someone in the ranks lets out a low, surprised whistle, which seems to cue everyone to put in their two cents worth.
“Wow!”
“Nice goin’, Swatter!!”
“ ‘Bout time someone taught him to . . ,”
Hy Flie starts nudgin’ the corporal’s nappin’ form with his toe.
“They don’t look so big lying down, do they, Swatter?” he grins, like he took the two of ‘em out all by himself.
“AT EASE! ALL OF YOUSE!!” I bellows, cuttin’ the discussion off short, “If you touch that man again, Hy, you and I are gonna go a couple rounds. YOU UNNERSTAND ME??”
He looks surprised and hurt, but nods his agreement.
“I can’t hear you!!!”
“YES, SAR . . . I mean, GUIDO!!”
“THAT GOES FOR THE REST OF YOUSE TOO!” I snarls. “I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU KICKIN’ EITHER OF THESE TWO, OR MAKIN’ FUN OF THEM UNLESS YOU’RE WILLIN’ TO DO THE SAME THING WHEN THEY’RE AWAKE AND ABLE TO HIT BACK. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR??”
“YES, GUIDOW.”
As might be noticed in my manner, I am a bit annoyed at this point, but mostly with myself. I am genuinely irked that I was unable to squelch the sergeant’s move without havin’ to break his arm, and am quite willin’ to take my anger out on the crew. If my speech pattern when addressin’ my colleagues seems uncharacteristic, it is because I discovered quickly that the army’s non-coms have a point ... it is the easiest way to shout at an entire formation at the same time.
“Okay, now LISTEN UP!! As Actin’ Squad Leader, I am the rankin’ individual present until such time as the sergeant and corporal regain consciousness. I want one volunteer to get a medic for these two, while the REST OF US CONTINUE WITH THE TRAININ’ EXERCISE!!”
This strikes me as the logical course to follow, as I am not eager to lose a day’s trainin’ whilst waitin’ for our non-coms to wake up. At this point, however, I notice my cousin has raised his hand politely for my attention.
“Yes, Nunzio? Are you volunteerin’ to go for a medic?”
“Not really, Acting Squad Leader Guide, sir,” he sez, sarcastic-Iike. “I was just thinking that, before you assumed command, it might be wise for you to check in with the officer over there who is the ranking individual present.”
Now, as youse will recall, when I pulled this gag on the sergeant, it was a ploy to divert his attention. I’ve played Dragon Poker with Nunzio though, and I can tell when he’s bluffin’ . . . and this time he wasn’t. With a sinkin’ feelin’ in my stomach, I turn to look in the direction he is pointin’. Sure enough, there is an officer there, the first I have seen outside of our lectures. What is worse, he is comin’ our way with a real grim look on his face.
“Stand easy, Guido.”
I switch from Attention to At Ease, which is not to say I am at ease at all. I have been summoned to the Officer’s Tent, which is not surprisin’ as it is obvious I am gonna take some kinda flack for the afternoon’s skirmish. What does take me off guard is that Sergeant Smiley is there as well, sportin’ a sling for his arm and a deadpan expression.
“Sergeant Smiley here has given me his version of what’s been going on with your training group that led up to the event I witnessed this afternoon. Would you like to tell me your side of the story?”
“I’m sure the sergeant’s account is complete and accurate . . . sir,” I sez, crisp-like.
Normally, I would have just clammed up until I had a lawyer, but so far no charges have been mentioned, and I somehow don’t think this is a good time to make waves.
“Very well,” the officer nods. “In that case I feel compelled to follow the sergeant’s recommendation in this case.”
It occurs to me that maybe I should have offered up some defense, but it is too late now, as the officer has already swung into action. Pickin’ up a quill, he scribbles his name across the bottom of a series of papers that have been sittin’ on his desk.
“Do you know what an army that’s been growing as fast as ours needs the most, Guido?” he sez as he’s writin’.
I start to say “Divine Intervention,” but decide to keep my mouth shut . . . which is just as well as he proceeds to answer his own question.
“Leadership,” he sez, finishin’ his signin’ with a flourish of his quill. “We’re always on the lookout for new leaders . . . which is why I’m so pleased to sign these orders.”
For a change, I have no difficulty lookin’ innocent and dumb, as he has totally lost me with his train of thought.
“Sir?”
“What I have here are the papers promoting you to sergeant and Nunzio . . . he’s your cousin, isn’t he? ... to corporal.”
Now I am really lost.
“Promotions, sir?”
“That’s right. Sergeant Smiley here has told me how the two of you have taken it on yourselves to lead your squad during training . . . even to the point of giving them extra training during off duty hours. After seeing for myself how you took command after . . . that mishap during training today, I have no problem approving your promotion. That’s the kind of leadership and incentive we like to see here in the army. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” I sez, not bein’ able to think of anything else to say.
“Oh yes . . . and one other thing. I’m pulling your entire unit out of training and assigning them to active duty. Ifs only garrison duty, but it’s the only thing available right now. I figure that anything more they need to learn, you can help them pick up on the job. That’s all ... Sergeant Guido.”
It takes me a minute to register he is addressin’ me by my new rank, but I manage to come to attention and salute before turnin’ to go.
“If I may, sir,” I heard Sergeant Smiley say, “I’d like to have a word outside with Sergeant Guido before he rejoins his unit.”
I am half-expectin’ Smiley to try to jump me, bad arm and all, once we get outside, or at least lay some heavy threats on me about what would happen the next time our paths cross. Instead, he is all grins and holds out his good hand for me to shake.
“Congratulations, Guido . . . sorry, I mean Sergeant Guido,” he sez. “There was one thing I wanted to say to you away from the o
ther recruits.”
“What’s that, Sergeant?”
“I wanted to tell you that you were right all along ... it does take more skill to handle a combat situation without killing . . . and I’m glad to see we’re getting men of your abilities enlisting on our side. Just remember, though, that we only have limited time to train the recruits . . . which is why we focus on getting them to think in terms of ‘kills.’ If they’re at all squeamish about killing, if they think they can get by by disarming the enemy, they’ll try to do that instead . . . and they don’t have the skill and we don’t have the time to teach it to them, so they end up dead themselves and we end up placing second in a two army fight. Try to keep that in mind the next time you’re working with a group of raw recruits. In the meantime, good luck! Maybe we’ll get a chance to serve together again sometime.”
I am so surprised by the sergeant turnin’ out to be a good Joe, not to mention givin’ careful consideration to the thoughts he laid on me, that I am nearly back to the unit before the full impact of my promotion sinks in.
Then, I feel depressed. My entire career has been geared toward avoidin’ bein’ an authority-type figure, and now I am saddled with what is at least a supervisory post . . . permanent this time instead of temporary. My only consolations are that a) I can potentially do more damage havin’ a higher rank, and b) Nunzio has to suffer the burden of extra stripes right along with me.
Perkin’ up a little from these thoughts, I go lookin’ for Nunzio, wantin’ to be the first to slip him the bad news.
Chapter Seven
“To Serve and Protect ...”
Traditional Motto Of Protection Rackets
AS EAGER AS we are to get on with our assignment, which is to say demoralizin’ and disruptin’ the army, both Nunzio and me are more than a little nervous about doin’ garrison duty.
Not that there is anything wrong with the town, mind you. Twixt is a bigger’n average military town, which means there is lots of stuff to keep us amused during our off-duty hours. The very fact that it is a sizable burg, however, increases the odds of our presence bein’ noticed and reported to Don Bruce . . . which, as we have mentioned before, was not high on our list of desirable occurrences.
M.Y.T.H. Inc in Action Page 6
