“Torbin, did you know that Mr. Williams had him meet his family, had him over for meals?” They knew who “he” was without mentioning the name.
“Well, Aleks, sometimes people change. Sometimes, seeing too much blood, too much death can corrupt a person’s ability to make a rational decision. They choose what they believe is the lesser evil, without being able to admit to themselves that their choice is still evil.”
“I do not know what to think, Tor. He seems to really believe he is helping most by watching some being sacrificed. He apparently is a very nice, helpful, even loving person.”
Torbin grunted. “People say the same thing about psychopaths, sociopaths, serial killers. Many charm their victims, and lull them with a false sense of security. That is, until their own brutal instincts kick in, and they follow their own dark and disturbed desires. So, sorry if I don't propose a certain individual for a Citizen of the Year Award.”
“Well, Torbin, my love, if he is a sociopath, is psychotic, he still is able to function without killing people other than in self-defense. And women just love and worship him.”
Torbin chuckled. “Women always like the bad boys. Nice guys finish last.” Aleks pinched him. “Ouch, woman.”
“Is that why I love you, because you are a ‘bad boy’?”
“The baddest,” Torbin answered.
Suddenly, Aleks rose from his chest, and stared directly into his eyes, just inches away. “My Captain, I love you because you are the most honorable man I have ever met. You are the one I desire to spend the rest of my life with… if you will have me.”
Torbin had been feeling a warm glow for quite some time whenever he was near Aleksandra. Hell, whenever he thought of her. It wasn’t just sexual. For what was probably the first time in his life, he was head over heels in love. Based on the look in Aleks’ eyes, she felt the same. The last time he saw anything similar was the look Kathy Monroe had given his brother William, and vice versa.
Aleks’ brow furrowed. “I just saw a dark cloud pass your eyes. What is it? Do you not want me?”
Torbin put his finger to her lips. “Hush. That is farthest thing from the truth.”
He took her face in his hands. “Aleksandra Smirnov, I love you more than you can imagine. I wake up every day, happy that it is another day that I will see you. Will you marry me? I don’t have a ring; I can’t ask your father for your hand...” Aleks stopped his rambling with a deep passionate kiss.
“Is that a ‘yes’, or were you were just trying to get me to shut...” Another kiss from Aleks.
A minute later, Aleks pulled her lips away. “Torbin Bender, of course I will marry you. After this war is over, I will give you many fine Russian babies.”
“Does this mean that you do not want to cuddle up to a certain sociopath we were just talking… Ouch! You bit me!”
“I will do worse things to you if you ever mention that idea again.” Aleks then gave him an evil little smile. “Besides, you are lucky. His ‘harem’ already has a black-haired woman, as well as blondes. We have decided he would be attracted to a red headed woman. So, you are stuck with me.”
Torbin covered his eyes with the back of his arm and spoke in a falsetto voice. “Stuck with you. Such torture…” Aleks distracted Torbin once more with a kiss, and a few other things she had in mind.
It was an hour or so later, they were eating an American-style breakfast Torbin had prepared. Ham, bacon, eggs, and toast, with dark Russian Caravan tea as the only concession to Aleks.
“You will make me fat, Torbin my love,” Aleks protested.
“Then I will just have to work it off you, my dear,” Torbin answered with a wink and a grin.
She smiled back. “Promises, promises.”
The secure line telephone rang, a recent addition to his quarters. It was still early, with nothing scheduled until later, but Torbin decided to take the call. “Captain Bender here.”
It was the General. “Good. I see you’re up already. I know you have some training plans in the works for the selection of the personnel you will need, but we have a real time problem that may be used as part of the selection process. Eaters have miraculously appeared near Montana and in Alaska, along with reports of so called Kraken humans. They may have been seeded like the one down south. In about a week, I need to you to start picking a team to take to the field for some real world action that will double as training and selection. Nothing like the actual fear of death to see how someone acts under pressure. See you in the training section later.”
“Yes Sir.” He hung up the telephone, a grin on his face. He pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“What is it?” Aleks asked.
“Action. A chance get to go to the field to hunt Eaters and Krakens. It will be used as part of my selection process for assault team members. I won’t be stuck in the Training Section.”
“I am happy for you, Captain. It will free me and give my fellow officers more time to develop our on infiltration strategy.” She stood up stiffly and began to take her dishes to the sink.
Sensing that something was amiss, Torbin stepped over and grabbed Aleks around her waist. “Sorry I sounded so excited about leaving the base. It has nothing to do with you.”
Aleks set the dishes down and turned in his arms to face him. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “You American men are just as stupid as Russian men. You do not understand women at all. Of course I know it has nothing to do with trying to get away from me. I can tell by the way you look at me and touch me that you are, in the American vernacular, ‘hooked’.” Torbin noticed her eyes were beginning to moisten with tears.
“But you men think you are indestructible. We women know different. So we are fearful that you will return injured from playing with your man toys.” Her voice caught. “Or maybe not return at all.
“Torbin, you are first man I have truly loved. You are the first man I have allowed myself to care for since the Squids arrived. I have seen too many people killed and eaten, to not have developed a tough, steely shell. I am hard.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Now you have softened that shell and I am feeling again. Damn you.” She kissed him hard. He kissed her back. They stood hugging each other for a while. Finally, they separated.
“Now I must touch up my makeup so that I look as a Russian officer is expected to.” She looked into Torbin’s eyes. “You have my heart. Please do not break it.”
The next few days became a blur of preparation activity. Torbin put together two teams of possible applicants for his Special Unit, twenty each, forty total. He knew Ichiro was actually part of the air assets part of the mission, but in the back of his mind he was scheming to have him with the assault unit if that fell through. With the son of Nippon’s combat skills, he knew no one would question his presence.
As Torbin readied a trip to the field to go after the Eaters, Krakens, and maybe Ferals, Ichiro demonstrated his abilities to everyone in a most unusual way. All forty of Torbin’s applicants were present in the gym, where he was busting their asses with calisthenics, sprints, push ups, trying to put as much pressure on them as possible. His years training to be a certified physical trainer as well as his SEAL experience gave him a one up on his personnel. As the saying goes, “You train like you fight, you fight like you train.” That afternoon, they would go to the “shoot house” for live fire drills. Thanks to some help from the base training technicians, he had come up with some realistic and very nasty simulations and mannequins of Eaters. The film of Kathy Monroe’s attack provided real world images of what Eaters were really like.
“Alright, troops. Take a break. Get some water. I don’t want anyone falling out due to dehydration. Clear?”
“Crystal.” As one, the forty applicants responded. He did not let on but the quick bonding they exhibited gave him a warm, feral feeling. Like a pack of wolves, they were quick to learn how to work as a close knit group of predators. Wolves. That was a good symbol, especially in Montana, where wolves we
re making a comeback, thanks to the reduction of human presence in their traditional hunting areas. Even man’s best friend, the dog, started as a wolf. He suddenly had an idea for a special unit patch.
Ichiro walked in. Instead of a combat fatigue uniform, he was wearing a traditional judo gi. He had no belt on yet, but was carrying something rolled up in his hand. Torbin knew he had the thousand stitch belt on underneath, just as Torbin did. It was a bond they shared that could not be broken.
George Williams entered from the opposite end of the gym. He had a newer looking gi on, with a slightly used black belt in his hand. He stopped short of some mats that had been set up for combatants. He turned toward the fifty star American flag that still resided in a place of honor in the main entrance of the gym. He bowed, then quickly wrapped and tied his belt on in the traditional manner.
Ichiro approached the mats. He knelt, bowed and touched what Torbin saw was a rolled up belt in his hand to his forehead. He quickly rose up on his knees and wrapped and tied the belt around his waist. This belt had not been commercially dyed to black, it was actually a white belt that was now very black from years of use. Torbin whistled low to himself at the realization.
After he had received his thousand stitch belt, Torbin had asked Ichiro over cups of sake how the he knew Mr. Williams. Ichiro had replied, “He had competed against my uncle and I in the Olympics, in judo. In the heavyweight division. My uncle had to, how you say, ‘bulk up’ to try and get closer to the American weights. Even then, Mr. William still was bigger, though within standards.
“My uncle told me during my training that Mr. Williams was as skilled as he. But his superior size, weight and muscle mass gave him an advantage. Judo and jiu jitsu are said to be able to allow the small to defeat the large. That only works if the large does not have the same skill as the small.”
Now, looking at Ichiro, Torbin saw he had been trained in a very hard, traditional manner. No wonder he was so skilled and so focused. He had been raised to be a Samurai from childhood.
Ichiro stood and approached the mats, bowing before stepping on them. He then stepped forward and bowed to Mr. Williams who had also entered the mats.
“Captain Bender, may we borrow you for a few minutes?” Mr. Williams asked in a loud voice.
“Of course, Sir. As long as you don’t mind my guys watching.”
Mr. Williams nodded in assent, and then motioned him over to the mats. “If you could please let us know when to begin and keep an eye on us so that if one of us misses the other one tapping out, you stop the match. We don’t want anyone to be choked out unnecessarily.”
“Will do, Sir.” The two protagonists approached each other, and then bowed. They were standing arm’s length apart, facing each other.
“Captain Yamamoto, are you ready?”
“Hai.”
“Mr. Williams, are you ready?”
“Yes Sir.”
“I am not going to waste my time asking two black belts if they know the rules. So, upon my mark, you will begin. Alright, gentlemen… begin.”
Both men grabbed each other’s gi, trying to get a good grip toward the back of the judo gi top collar, sleeve, belt, or front. At the same time, they slid on their feet, moving, shifting, and almost dancing with each other. Each man was trying to throw his opponent ever so slightly off balance, to gain an advantage so that he could get a good throwing technique applied. Suddenly, Mr. Williams went for a traditional uki otashi–floating hip throw–the one often seen in movies. A man with superior muscular power could definitely make this throw look easy by literally overpowering his opponent. It looked like he had, as Ichiro began to be thrown over George’s left hip. As Ichiro went over, he twisted in a blur of motion so that he literally landed on his feet before the throw seemed to be complete. Dropping down to his knees, he used some of the bigger man’s momentum to pull him off balance, causing him to literally trip over Ichiro’s now lower body. George went into a forward roll and was able to roll free, winding up in a standing position facing his opponent.
Ichiro rolled backwards, kicking out with his feet so that he rolled back on his hands. He rose into a handstand, followed by handspring to his feet. Torbin’s mouth dropped open. He thought he was a prime physical specimen, but he suddenly felt like a slug.
The large black man gave a broad grin. “Captain, I heard you were as fast as greased lightning and as flexible as a snake. Now I know there was no exaggeration.”
Ichiro made a slight bow to acknowledge the compliment, and then reengaged his opponent. For the next ten minutes, the action seemed to repeat itself. Mr. Williams would seemingly have Ichiro in a foot sweep, a leg tripping throw, a stomach throw, a shoulder throw. In each case, Ichiro would either slide out of it, twist out of it, or go with the move and quickly flip onto his feet, then using the bigger man’s momentum to push, trip or flip him toward the mat, making George roll out of his own technique. Torbin had never seen this extreme degree of judo play. He was used to clean throws, slaps to the mat, then some ground grappling as the opponents tried for a collar choke or submission hold. But Ichiro never had to break his fall; he seemed to always land on his feet. And the older man, though in excellent shape, was beginning to breathe hard. Ichiro, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat.
“Looks like it’s time to try something else,” declared Mr. Williams. As the two men closed, George went for a standing collar choke, grabbing the lapels of the gi, crossing them and trying to twist the collar into the side of Ichiro’s neck. He was going to use his brute strength to overpower Ichiro and make him submit, since blows were not allowed in judo. Ichiro, in a sudden move, pulled his chin down to his chest between his shoulders, the gi collar now sipping up toward the top of his head. He went limp, collapsing backwards and downwards while grabbing the sleeves of the bigger man’s gi sleeves. Ichiro seemed to roll his long, muscular body into a ball. In actuality, he was bringing his feet up into the large man’s stomach as he rolled backwards. Caught by surprise and off balance, George tried to go into a forward roll in order to roll through the technique and out the other side. No such luck.
Two strong legs attached to the feet on his stomach sprang out like released coiled springs. The large black man was propelled like a rocket upwards. With Ichiro still holding on to his sleeves, he was rotated up and over the Japanese warrior, being kicked so that he came crashing down on his muscular behind. A blur of motion followed and George Williams the fourth found himself so wrapped up by Ichiro’s arms and legs, it was as if Ichiro had morphed into a Squid. He felt the gi’s collar pressing onto the side of his neck where the main artery carries blood to the brain. A few moments of pressure, and it would be lights out. The former Chief tapped out. Ichiro untangled himself in, stood up, and extended his hand to help up the larger man.
During the match, there had been a level of silence among the observing military men that was unusual in a gym setting. Now there was a roars of “Oorah!” and rebel yells, followed by deafening applause.
Torbin had to yell, “At ease!” several times as loud as he could to stop the display of exuberance. Finally he gained control.
“Fall in, dammit!” he bellowed. All forty men fell into two twenty man groups, ten men to a rank.
“Alright. At ease.” He turned toward Ichiro. “Did I ask you to remind me to never piss you off?”
“Could you remind me also?” George Williams interjected. He reached out to shake Ichiro’s hand. “Captain, you are definitely your uncle’s nephew, and then some. Even at the height of my judo career, I would never be able to move like you did. Did you study some new form of martial arts I don’t know about?”
Ichiro gave him a shy smile. “No, Mr. Williams. I just studied with my uncle, and did what you Americans say comes naturally.”
“If I may be so bold to express an outside opinion,” Torbin began. “I believe the reason that my friend Ichiro is blessed with his abilities is karma, pure and simple.”
“Karma? What do
you mean?” George asked.
“Easy. Captain Yamamoto was put on this Earth to kill Squids. His ability with a Katana is supernatural. He has reflexes that that are unbelievable. A higher power must have sent him here to take care of Squids. There is no other explanation that fits. He appears at just the right time, is trained just the right way. He is meant to be here now.” Torbin knew that they probably considered he was nuts. He didn’t care.
George hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’m a God fearing Christian, Southern Baptist. I guess you could be an old testament Warrior of God. But in the greater scheme of things, whatever the reason, you have skills we need and can sure use. I am glad I have had a chance to meet you and compete with you.”
Ichiro bowed to the large man. “You do me honor, Mr. Williams”
“Hell, son, call me George. You’re the first man to beat me in years.”
Ichiro smiled. “Okay, George-san. If you wish to workout again, it would be my pleasure.”
“I bet it would. Let this old man rest up a bit, before I take you up on it. Now, before I leave, I expect you two Captains to meet me for drinks at the club at say, 7:00pm. I’ll buy you each a steak dinner, if you wish.”
“Yes Sir. See you at seven.”
He returned his attention to his forty troops. “Alright, gentlemen. Now that we’ve had our entertainment for the day, two sprints around the inside track, shower, change, grab chow, then meet me at the range in full battle rattle at 1:00pm. The rest of the day, we’ll get to bust a bunch of caps, one of my most favorite activities.”
“Are we clear?” he bellowed.
“Crystal!” they yelled back.
The Gathering Storm Page 24