Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (57 page)

“Watching the Soviet bleachers is like studying Soviet society. When their man drew first blood, they were stoically unmoved. I guess the old saying that there is ‘no sex in the Soviet Union’ is true,” concluded 1LT Pale Rider.

CPT Two Horses looked at his junior partner with a quizzical look. “I guess I haven’t heard that expression. What are you getting at?”

“Well, if our guy had drawn first blood, what would our bleachers look like?”

“They’d be up on their feet shouting.”

“Exactly my point. In the Soviet Union, they are trained to keep their thoughts to themselves. Individual expression is not encouraged. People in a repressive society bottle up their feelings and keep their emotions in check for the collective good. They are ever careful of their Soviet ‘big brother’. So they watch stoically.”

Being cooped up with CPT Black Ice in a closed-in space made MAJ Norsemun uneasy. It was not because he didn’t like him. He did, but the major was socially ill-at-ease with people. MAJ Norsemun felt the air in his office getting tighter. MAJ Black Ice knew him well and recognized the early symptoms of a panic-attack. He accessed the comm. “CPL Gray Eagle?”

“Sir, yes sir?”

“Please bring Blaze to MAJ Norsemun’s office, and two more near beers.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

CPT Black Ice looked at the major and then his watch. “Corporal, make that two real beers. I’m off-duty.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

The major smiled at CPT Black Ice sheepishly and said, “Thank You.”

The captain smiled. “Always ready to oblige, Major.”

CPL Gray Eagle arrived with Blaze five minutes later and handed CPT Black Ice the beers. He directed his question to the major. “Should I leave her for a while, sir?”

“Yes, Corporal, give her a couple of hours.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Major Norsemun's heart rate returned to normal with the cold wet nose of the dog pressing into his hand. He petted her and turned his attention to the fight which was already in progress in round two.

The Soviet catapulted himself from his corner like a stone in a medieval war machine hurled at his American rival. The Soviet continued to capitalize on his earlier first blood score, getting right down to business early in round two. He brought all of his fighting skill to bear on his American adversary, systematically attempting to grind and wear his opponent down. He landed two blows to each one of his opponent’s, firing straight rights and an occasional punishing left. The American bade his time and waited for an opening. His opening came, with twelve seconds to spare in the second round. He launched a whipping left uppercut that lifted the Soviet off of his feet and put him on the canvas. Kahless withdrew to a neutral corner while the referee started the count.

“One—two—three—,” started the referee. He was very conscious that a fast count would cause the Soviets to cry foul. The Soviet was clawing at the canvas to try to get on his knees and get up. His foggy brain was only conscious of the hot ring lights on his back and the canvas resin on his knees. Had the punch been one-half inch to the right and it would have been “lights out.” “Four—five—six.” Tkachenko’s brain ascended though the fog and he was aware of his second shouting to get up. The Soviet was now on one knee, making the most of the count. “Seven—eight—nine.” Tkachenko was on his feet. His American antagonist moved from the neutral corner toward the Soviet as the bell rang announcing the end of round two.

“The American got in a lucky punch. It should not affect the outcome at all,” said SSGT Butkovsky. MAJ Savenkov did not like the outcome of round two, but approved of the way SSGT Butkovsky commented on the reversal. It was a very “politically correct” way for a socialist to view the round.

“And that is the end of round two!” announced CPT Two Horses. “Our colonel showed the Soviets that he is a force to be reckoned with.”

“He certainly has, Captain. Now the Soviets can’t assume that Tkachenko will dominate the match and do with our commander as he chooses!” exclaimed 1LT Pale Rider.

MAJ Norsemun and CPT Black Ice had nearly cheered themselves horse with the excitement of the knockdown. Blaze joined in and barked excitedly.

“Very, very nice, colonel. You know you can do this—and now he does, too. He is a volume puncher, but that doesn’t mean anything because you’re not fighting for points. Every fighter has just so many punches in him before he’s punched out. You have great footwork; fight him peek-a-boo style. Keep focused and choose your shots carefully,” advised the American first officer. Kahless nodded while his cut-man removed his mouthpiece and washed his face with a wet sponge.

“What happened out there?!” the Soviet first officer asked. His medic took his mouthpiece and examined his face for cuts.

“He got a lucky punch in. He hits hard, and I did not expect him to be that strong. I will not overestimate him again!” His medic put his mouthpiece back in, and he bit down as the bell signaled the beginning of round three.

“The Soviet came out of his corner with guns blazing, firing six quick hard right jabs in succession at our man. COL Kahless, assuming a peek-a-boo stance has blocked half of them, deflected two more but got a stinging jab on his left jaw. Kahless stepped back, and then moved forward to get himself set,” reported CPT Two Horses.

“Our commander is engaging the Soviet again, playing peek-a-boo with his adversary, keeping him from effectively scoring against his face. The Soviet is switching to working on our man’s ribs,” said 1LT Pale Rider.

CPT Janus Dread watched the round at the edge of his seat, crouched and leaning forward like a tiger, ready to pounce. The American bleachers were alive with excitement.

“Beat hell out of ‘em, Colonel,” shouted 1LT Scourge.

“Hit him, Colonel. Hit him for the U S of A,” hollered CPT Boneman.