Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (60 page)

His medic looked him in the eye. “You have got to stop letting him hit you.”

“I will keep that under advisement.”

His cut man had the bleeding stopped in time for the bell for round thirteen. Kahless rinsed out his mouth and bit down on his mouthpiece.

MAJ Ivanov answered the door and took a tray that the Mess Sergeant had sent them. There were two steaming hot bowls of borsch with sour cream to spoon in a dollop into the hot liquid. There was bread, sausage and plenty of mayonnaise to satisfy the worst Slavic cravings. Both started to eat their fill as round thirteen started.

“The bell for round thirteen has sounded and both fighters are advancing, though the American has barely covered half the distance to the center of the ring,” proclaimed SSGT Butkovsky.

“Yes, Senior Sergeant, I think the breaking of the American’s nose was the turning point. It is all but over now!” the junior sergeant zealously exclaimed.

Round thirteen found two battered warriors meeting on the American’s side of the ring. Gone was the bobbing and weaving and dancing. Both men were tired enough and hurt enough that they did not waste energy on fancy footwork and evasive body movements. Tkachenko took Kahless’ reluctance to go all the way to the middle as a sign that he was too tired for the trip. Kahless appeared to have checked out of the fight, so intent he was to stall, clinch, and employ delaying tactics that Tkachenko was sure that victory was within his grasp. The American appeared as though he was half asleep, but every fiber of the man was waiting for his chance. Like a bear awakening from hibernation, the American suddenly propelled a lighting paw to the Soviet’s jaw and he went down like a rock. The referee pointed to the neutral corner, and as Kahless complied, he began his count.

“One—two—three.”

“Get up, Yuri!” his second shouted.

“Four—five—six.”

Tkachenko stirred, rising to one knee, but staying down for most of the count to get the most of his rest.

“Seven—eight—nine,” announced the referee.

Tkachenko was fully on both feet, and steeling himself to bring the wrath upon his rival. He made sure he got himself set, then grinned and motioned to the American to
come and get some
. Kahless moved toward him and found that the momentum he had gained was lost. The Soviet was much composed and pressed hard against him, firing right-left-right combinations, looking for an opening. Kahless subtly turned and led his opponent to his corner by ever so slowly backing up. The bell sounded the end of round thirteen. Kahless sat right down, while the Soviet walked across the ring.

“Yuri, what are you doing out there?” his second challenged.

“I can defeat him!” he exclaimed. His chest heaved with his gulping of air while he caught his breath. “In the last end of the round, he appeared slower and weaker, as if he used up a lot of his strength early in the round, hoping to end it. I can defeat him!”

Tkachenko’s medic touched up the cuts on his face and looked at his eye again, shaking his head at the Soviet first officer.

“You did good, Colonel. Stay focused and make sure you keep cutting his breaks short by making him walk across the ring,” the American first officer exhorted.

“I expected him to go down hard that time. I used up a lot of strength to get that knockdown, and he got back up. He doesn’t seem to get the message and stay down!” grumbled Kahless.

“Keep your hands up and stay focused. If your hands are up, he can’t hit you,” his first officer advised.

Kahless’ medic was touching up some cuts on his face. Kahless looked at him. “Yeah I know, don’t let him hit me.” His medic smiled as though he had just taught a child to finger-paint.

The bell sounded the beginning of round fourteen. The American let the Soviet walk most of the distance to meet him. Tkachenko was glad to oblige him. He was determined to put this American dog down for good in this round. When he collided with the American, he fired six hard rights as though they exploded from a cannon. Kahless was not ready for the assault. Tkachenko followed up with a right-left-right combination, watching Kahless’ right hand drop. It was the opening Tkachenko was looking for. He put his whole body weight into a powerful twisting left hook to the American’s jaw. Kahless kissed the canvas. The Soviet was directed to the neutral corner by the referee and Tkachenko complied.

“One—two—three.”

Kahless stirred, trying the clear the dark clouds from his head and raise himself up.

“Four—five—six.”

Kahless heard his second shouting to get up. His mind was starting to clear, but his every pore of his body and head ached and petitioned him to give up. With the heart of a warrior, he rose to one knee.

“Seven—eight—nine.”

Kahless stood up, and the Soviet made a beeline to meet him. The American put up his arms peek-a-boo style and kept him from hitting his face again. Kahless evaded, stalled and clinched for the rest of the round, artfully directing his adversary to finish the round again in his corner.

“I think he is wearing out, but not enough, and my strength is almost gone,” confessed the American to his first officer.

“How many rounds you got left in you?”

“One, and he’s still too fresh.”

“Then let him do all of the fighting. Save yourself for round sixteen.”

“Time to rope-a-dope?”

“Time to rope-a dope!”

“He is mine!” he gasped, chest heaving, gulping down breathes of air. “I could feel the strength leaving him when he was in the clinch. I will take him this round!” exclaimed Tkachenko. He spit water into the bucket while the medic worked on his badly blackened left eye, which was now swollen shut.

“I’ve been watching him closely; he is done,” concluded LTC Voronin. “Make sure you stay focused! He is sly as an old fox. Wear him down until he can’t hit you and then finish him off.”

Tkachenko nodded, bit down on his mouthpiece and prepared for the last battle. The bell sounded announcing the start of round fifteen.

Kahless moved slowly toward the center of the ring, making the Soviet cover more ground. He was using all the ringcraft he had to make the Soviet waste his energy reserves. The Soviet didn’t seem to notice, so sure he was that the American was too weak to make the entire journey to the center of the ring. Kahless perceived that pride might be a weakness to exploit to help him with his plan to drain the strength out of the Soviet.