Girl Fights Back (Go No Sen) (Emily Kane Adventures) (26 page)

A second man, who looked to be in
his early forties, also seemed to have a rather more sophisticated style of
fighting. He was not a
very
large
man, perhaps not quite six feet tall, but very solidly built with a good deal
of upper body muscle development. He looked very much as you would expect a
Marine Corps drill sergeant to look. He fought in an extremely disciplined
style, quite conservative, like the
Krav
Maga
she had seen Ethan and Jesse
practice. He studied his opponent, blocked effectively and waited for an
opening. Every once in a while, he would attack first, but this seemed to Emily
to be merely a calculation on his part to conceal the essentially conservative
nature of his overall style. He scored most of his points when his opponent
tried fancy spinning kicks. He lost two points to simple reverse punches.

The next few rounds played out much
as she expected. Her opponents were very aggressive, but were unable to control
the match. She won the first one with a series of takedowns, relying almost
entirely on leg sweeps and throws. The second one, against a hyper-aggressive
opponent, she won through
sen
sen
no
sen
. She attacked first each time,
either scoring immediately or directly after his first block. She finished him
off with a flourish that brought the crowd to its feet, blocking his punch with
a quick reverse crescent to the back of his arm that led seamlessly into a
leaping roundhouse kick to the side of his head. He was sent spinning across
the floor by the force of her kick. As the crowd roared, she crouched over him
tentatively, hoping she hadn’t hit him too hard. When he finally opened his
eyes, he looked into her face and just lay there for a moment smiling at her as
she sighed in relief. That match was over in less than a minute.

Throughout the tournament she was
intent on not giving the rest of the field a coherent sense of how she fought.
She created the illusion that she was given to one sort of technique or
another. Each competitor thought they had her figured out, and each one came to
a different conclusion about what her strengths and weaknesses were.

After four rounds only four
competitors were undefeated, Emily, the guy with the pony tail, the drill
sergeant, and another rather larger man with long legs and arms. In the next
round, she was paired with him. He was very fond of his left round house kick,
and liked to keep his leg in the air, balancing on one foot, threatening his
opponent with a sudden long range blow. It was obvious to Emily that he was
nervous about close quarter combat and used this technique to keep opponents at
a distance. She took the first point by leaning out of the way of the first
kick and then stepping to her right behind his raised leg, forcing him to bring
his foot down. Just as he was about to touch the floor and put his weight on
his left foot, she kicked it out from under him, sending him twisting to the
floor helpless. She hit him with three quick, light strikes to the jaw, armpit
and chest as he fell. He lost the second point in a similar fashion, this time
trying to follow his initial round house kick with a wheel kick with his other
leg. He hoped to catch her as she came up out of the lean she used to dodge the
first kick. But before he could bring the wheel kick around, she kicked the
back of his left knee. He went down again and she took the point with another
series of quick strikes to his head and shoulders. In the subsequent points, he
tried to initiate the action with front kicks followed by hand strikes. But
Emily either kicked his foot before he could begin his kick or hooked it on the
way down and pulled him off balance. Again, he became immediately vulnerable to
close quarter strikes to his head and chest.

Up to this point, she had yet to
lose a single point. No one even came close to making any contact with her. The
fellow who lost to her in the first round was in much better spirits. He was
now openly cheering her on. Danny and Wayne went over and stood by him to offer
moral support to Emily’s newest fan.

The judges decided that in the
final round Emily should face both remaining competitors, even though the drill
sergeant had lost to the guy with the pony tail. Of course, it was more or less
a matter of indifference to her. Perhaps she even preferred it this way, not
wishing to give anyone the occasion to think she had somehow evaded a potential
opponent. The first match was against the drill sergeant. He was determined to
make up for his one loss by defeating her, and thought she had gotten off easy
in her previous matches. He decided he needed to intimidate her early in the
match and was willing to
bend
the rules,
as he saw it, to do it. As they met in the middle to bow, and before the
referee had signaled the beginning of the fight, he suddenly swung his fist
into her head. She reacted in time to avoid the full force of his
punch—it was a glancing blow that struck the edge of her jaw. But it
still hurt. The crowd roared its displeasure, and the referee signaled the side
judge to award her a penalty point. Emily looked at the referee and shook her
head.

“No, give him the point,” she said
loudly enough for everyone to hear. Then she turned to her opponent and in
quieter tones said “Shall I hit you as hard as you tried to hit me?”

“Give it your best shot,
sweetheart,” he said with obvious contempt.

Emily looked at the referee and he
nodded. She took that as tacit approval for what she was about to do. Connie,
watching from the door, caught a glimpse of Emily’s expression and winced
slightly. She would know what it meant to be on the receiving end of that look.
She may also have thought she understood the mentality of her opponent. She had
received much of her training from men like him, men who took an obvious
pleasure in dominating trainees, especially women. She awaited the event with a
smirk on her face. A hand gesture restarted the match.

The drill sergeant thought he had
gained a mental edge over Emily and tried to capitalize on it by attacking with
a series of fast and powerful strikes to her midsection and head. Emily blocked
them all, first pushing them across his body and then allowing him to swing
wide. She stepped into the opening he left and landed a blistering array of
strikes to his head and chest, finishing him with a full force reverse punch to
his solar plexus. He staggered back, struggling to breathe for a moment. He
stood at the edge of the ring, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees.
The referee asked him if was able to continue. He brushed the question aside
angrily and tried to stare her down. She looked him in the eye and smiled. He
shuddered visibly, as if a chill had just run up his spine.

Another hand gesture restarted the
fight. He led with a left jab and tried to follow with a left kick to her knee
that he hoped would leave her open for a head strike. But Emily slapped his jab
back across his chest, swept his left foot out from under him and punched him
hard on the left ear as he spun down to the floor in front of her. He tried to
roll over onto his back as soon as he hit the floor, hoping somehow to counter
attack from the floor. But before he knew what had happened, Emily landed on him
jabbing her elbow directly into his solar plexus. He grimaced in pain and was
again unable to breathe for a long moment. The referee asked him if he could
continue and he brushed him aside again. He stepped to the center of the ring
to face her.

He was convinced he needed to be
even more aggressive in his attack and began this time with a ferocious series
of strikes of every kind in rapid succession. He was clearly trying to hit her
as hard as he could. Emily blocked them all one after another without giving
any ground. To his great consternation, he found himself backing up even as he
was attacking, much as Jesse had on that beach in New Zealand. And, like Jesse,
he tried to force her back with a quick forward step and punch. But Emily
anticipated his step and swept his foot before he could set it down. She
grabbed his wrist as he fell backwards and twisted it hard, forcing him to flip
over as he fell. He ended up on his back with Emily’s elbow once again planted
in the center of his chest. He was completely disoriented, and lay on his back
with a look of perplexity etched deeply across his face. His anger and
frustration were palpable. It seemed to cloud his mind, keeping him from
understanding just how profoundly he was out of his depth with this girl. He
stood up, ignoring the referee and stood opposite Emily. She smiled at him and
asked if he was okay.

“You better believe it, sister,” he
snarled.

“Well then, bring it on, tough
guy,” she said, meaning to provoke him.

When the referee dropped his hand
to restart the match, he charged forward as if he meant to tackle her. Like a
matador, Emily side-stepped him and swept his foot as he went by, sending him
sprawling face first onto the floor. He picked himself up off the floor and
surged toward her again, this time trying to punch her hard in the face. Emily
parried and twisted his wrist, first one way, forcing him into a deep, awkward
crouch, and then the other way forcing him up and over. He tried to resist the
movement she was forcing him into, but to do so was unbearably painful. Finally
he felt himself leave the ground as he flipped over and out of control. He
landed several feet away on his back at the edge of the ring. He lay there for
a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. Emily walked over to him, crouched
down next to his head and looked him in the eyes.

“Maybe you’ve had enough,” she
offered.

He looked up into her face and saw
her, maybe for the first time. He understood the generosity in her words and
nodded his head. He couldn’t quite believe the depth of compassion he saw in
her eyes. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him and finally recognized it for
what it was: shame.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small
voice. “I behaved badly. Forgive me, Sensei,” he asked, looking for the right
word to express the respect he now felt he owed her.

“It’s okay,” she replied with a
smile. “I hope you’re not hurt.” He shook his head. Emily helped him to his
feet. He held his fist inside his open palm in front of him and bowed deeply to
her. The audience cheered thunderously. He bowed to the referee and the judges
and stepped out of the ring. The match was over. He had conceded the last
point. There was nothing else for him to do.

Watching from the door, Connie
found herself measuring her own behavior against that of the drill sergeant.
She had behaved much worse than he had when she attacked Emily in the bathroom
at the student center. She had been the recipient of Emily’s mercy that day,
but perhaps not her compassion. She found herself longing to gaze once more into
Emily’s eyes, to search in those depths for the redemption she hoped to
deserve. The thought that those eyes might be closed to her forever this very
evening terrified her. She staggered for an instant, then reached out to steady
herself against the wall. She took a deep breath and looked inside herself for
the resolve to make sure that didn’t happen. By the time she had regained her
full composure her face was locked in steely determination and her own eyes
seemed like black mirrors, as if fashioned from obsidian.

The final match was anti-climactic
by contrast to the one Emily had just won. The guy with the ponytail was
careful and precise, and wanted to approach the match like a chess game, as a
problem of thoughtful calculation. Emily refused to allow him the time or the
space to think through his strategy in that fashion. She took the first two
points with quick, ferocious attacks designed to force him into desperate
defensive maneuvers that left him vulnerable. She fought as she imagined her
father would. In each case she had finished him within three quick moves. He
tried to adjust in the next two points by being more aggressive. But his
initial attacks were just too slow to catch her off guard. She was able to use
each of his attacks to develop the vulnerability she needed to finish him. In
the final point, he tried to use a left front kick followed by a left jab to
create an opening. But Emily kicked his foot before he could fully extend it
and slapped his jab back across his chest leaving him completely vulnerable.
She hooked his foot with hers and pulled him down with it, finishing him with a
series of light taps to the side of his head. He knew he had lost decisively.
The match had not even been close. He bowed to her and said “Sensei.”

In a brief ceremony a few minutes
later, the referee presented her the first place trophy. The crowd roared its
approval. The rest of the black belts in the kumite competition were watching
from the front row. They stood up together and bowed to her. She smiled and returned
their bow. Her friends rushed onto the stage and huddled around her, hugging
her and shouting congratulations. When Wayne finally found his way to her side,
she gave him a knowing look. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her high
above his head so the whole crowd could see her, and she them. She leaned
forward and spread her arms as if she were flying, and Wayne did a complete
turn. Cheering filled the room and even seemed to shake the stage. The judges
and the tournament organizers pushed through the crowd to meet this impressive
young woman again, and to congratulate her once more. She thanked everyone,
shook what seemed like a thousand hands, smiled graciously and waved to the
crowd. Eventually the swell receded and the crowd thinned out. Emily and her
friends came down off the stage and made their way to the main door. Emily
spied Connie at the far side of the room near another exit.

Here, guys,” she said, handing the
trophy to Wayne. “I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes. I’ve gotta talk to
someone.” She gave Sensei a meaningful glance and then headed across the room.
He herded the rest of them out the door and toward the elevators.