Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (58 page)

The tension of the normally stoic Soviets was like an internal pressure cooker. Though they watched in relative silence, a cauldron of Slavic passions was slowly boiling. MAJ Jankauskas watched the match, outwardly appearing to be utterly detached, but inwardly his blood pressure was climbing. To be defeated by an American was unthinkable! The Soviet military was supreme, and their commander was a great man. He absentmindedly glanced at his watch and frowned.

Majors Savenkov and Ivanov leaned forward to strain their ears for every detail. “Our commander seems to be very effective in firing punishing blows to the American’s left side. The American countered with a right hook to the head—and another—and another! And there is the bell to end round three,” reported SSGT Butkovsky.

“COL Tkachenko will soon start dominating the match,” predicted JSGT Pavlov. He looked at his watch and over at the American commentators. He had bet his watch against 1LT Pale Rider.

The next three rounds were very much equal, each man landing punches on the other and trying to maneuver his opponent into position for a knockout punch. None came, and the bell for the end of round six sounded. Both fighters moved to their corners a little slower, with a little less bounce to their step than at the start.

CPL Gray Eagle knew something was wrong. MAJ Norsemun and CPT Black Ice were hiding something. CPT Two Horses was his father and he was COL Kahless’ aide. He was worried about them both. COL Kahless maintained a mysterious godlike reputation of being everywhere—hearing and knowing everything. His aide knew the truth, and so did MAJ Norsemun and CPT Black Ice. The only common areas without listening devices were MAJ Norsemun and CPT Black Ice’s personal offices. They were both part of the technical process of the colonel’s godlike mystique. CPL Gray Eagle just had to know what was going on. He slipped into his commander’s office and got a small listening device out of his desk drawer, grabbed two more beers and headed to MAJ Norsemun’s office. He knocked on the closed door to MAJ Norsemun’s office, and the major turned the radio’s volume knob off.

“Come in,” said MAJ Norsemun. He was anxious to get rid of CPL Gray Eagle before round seven started. The young corporal set the two beers on the major’s desk with his right hand. As he leaned over the desk, he slipped the listening device under the edge of the major’s desk with his left hand. CPT Black Ice was not distracted by the beer. He had been in security for too many years to let an amateur place a bug in his presence.

“Thank you corporal. You can put that thing back in your pocket. If your daddy and your commander weren’t in the field, you would be in the brig. I know you are worried. Sit! You will serve out the time for your crime in here until the fight ends,” lectured CPT Black Ice. MAJ Norsemun scowled at him for the invasion but didn’t say anything.

The young corporal lit up and said, “Thank you, sir.” MAJ Norsemun turned the volume knob back up.

Kahless bit down on his mouthpiece as the bell announced the beginning of round seven. Sweat ran down his face, dripping down his shoulders like anointing oil, confirming him king of the blue corner and contender for the crown of Mars’ squared ring. He stood ready to exercise his “divine right” to pound the king of the red corner into obeisance.

Tkachenko reminded himself that he was fighting for his socialist principals, once and for all proving that socialism was superior to capitalism. But a realization deep down in his heart was surfacing: the greater reality and with crystal clarity. The fact was this wasn’t about politics at all. This was about two men, and though he would not admit it, he was fighting for himself. His reputation and pride were on the line, and he would not be disgraced by losing to a weak American.

The two gladiators squared off again and started their dance. Kahless opened up with two quick and well-timed right jabs to the left eye of the Soviet. Tkachenko flinched and then countered with a bone-jarring hard right hook to the left ribcage of the American. Kahless pulled back, painfully aware of bruised ribs. Tkachenko’s vision in his left eye was not as clear as it was before the swelling started.

“Both fighters are infighting up close, avoiding being hit by blows with their opponent’s whole body weight. They are working the bodies of their opponents over closely, capitalizing on the closeness with jabs to the body and uppercuts. The referee has had to break up clinches now on both sides,” commented CPT Two Horses. CPL Gray Eagle leaned forward and was relieved to hear his father’s voice.

“It looks as though both men are getting a little tired,” observed the junior American officer.

“Yes, this looks as though this is a real test of endurance and stamina, and who has the most heart,” said the senior commenter.

“And there is the bell and the end of round seven. This has been a close but exciting round!” exclaimed 1LT Pale Rider.

“It certainly was,” agreed CPT Two Horses.

Tkachenko's aide was examining his left eye while sponging his face with water.

“I have been watching the American. He is tiring faster than you are. Control the pace and keep up the pressure. When he runs out of steam, you can finish him,” his first officer said.

Tkachenko nodded his agreement.

Kahless sat down in the folded chair while his medic examined his ribs.

“Tkachenko is still too fresh. Me? I’m getting tired,” the weary fighter confessed.

His second nodded. “You remember the Jack London book,
Boxing Stories
that I loaned you?”

“Sure.”

“What did the old ‘un do against the stronger young ‘un in “A Piece of Steak?” ”

“Sorry, haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Just this, he worked the end of each match, so it ended in his corner. All he had to do was sit down, while his opponent had to walk the distance each time across the ring to sit down. He got his full minute’s rest and his opponent got at best, forty-five seconds. You do the same.”

CPT Black Ice decided to order some more beer and some snacks. He didn’t want to send CPL Gray Eagle because he might somehow reveal what was going on. Security people strongly believed that “loose lips sink ships.” He called the mess hall.

“Yes sir,” answered Mess SGT Gutshot.