A Hero of War--An Adrian Hell Novella

by James P. Sumner

  A HERO OF WAR

  AN ADRIAN HELL NOVELLA

  by

  JAMES P. SUMNER

  A HERO OF WAR

  First published in Great Britain in 2015.

  Second edition.

  Copyright © James P. Sumner 2015

  The right of James P. Sumner to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission of the copyright owner.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, situations and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, place or event is purely coincidental.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Table of Contents

  A Hero of War (Adrian Hell, Book 0)

  More Books by the Author

  1

  July 29, 1990

  06:31 CDT

  “Hughes! Get your ass up!” yells the instructor—our squad leader, Staff Sergeant Bradley Hunter.

  I quickly scramble to my feet, standing as straight and tall as I can, arms by my side, sweat pouring out of me. I’ve been awake for an hour already.

  Seriously—what the fuck? Have you seen the time?

  I’ve also done more push-ups in the last ten minutes than in my entire life before that.

  Hunter stands in front of me and leans in close. “What is your problem, Private?”

  Man, his breath stinks…

  I try to avoid eye contact. I’m not really sure what to say, so I might as well be honest. “Sir! Push-ups aren’t really my thing, sir!”

  He looks shocked. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t realize. Tell me, Princess, what would you prefer?”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, either. Am I even meant to say anything? I glance around at the rest of my squad, who are all standing to attention—their eyes facing forward and their lips tightly shut. They’re probably keen to avoid our leader singling them out, too.

  Well, I doubt this situation can get much worse, so here goes…

  “Sir, I actually prefer beer and a movie, if I’m honest… sir.”

  His eyes widen to the point where I’m concerned they’re going to simply roll out of his skull. He leans in closer, his nose inches from mine. “Hughes! On your face, right now! Gimme fifty!”

  Me and my big mouth…

  I won’t lie—I signed up for the army about four months ago, and my time here has been the shittiest of my life. They assigned me to Fort McCoy, Wisconsin—over four hundred miles away from my hometown of Omaha, Nebraska. It’s the farthest I’ve been from home in my eighteen years. Before this, it was that one time when I fell asleep on a bus one night and woke up in West Point…

  I’m a long way from anything familiar, doing something I don’t even want to do, and I hate it. The one consolation is that my squad is a nice bunch of guys, for the most part. But it’s a small consolation.

  Plus, our staff sergeant has got it in for me. I know, you could argue I do kind of bring that on myself. What can I say? I don’t take too kindly to people telling me what to do. Unfortunately, this guy doesn’t take too kindly to people not doing what he tells them, which is why we sometimes clash…

  I’ve done twelve push-ups, I think. I wasn’t counting. My arms are burning, and my whole body is shaking. Hunter crouches in front of me, pointing his finger in my face as I push myself up for what might be the thirteenth.

  “Come on, Hughes, put the work in! One… Two… Three…”

  Are you kidding me? I was definitely on more than three!

  I started counting to myself from thirteen, and made it to thirty-three before I threw up. I’m lying face down in the mud, the morning sun casting its pale glow on both me and the puddle of vomit next to me. My arms feel like they’re bursting at the seams and completely useless.

  The staff sergeant walks away, leaving me here while he addresses the rest of the squad. Orders given, they start to file out. I hear footsteps approaching. I open one eye to see Private Newman crouch beside me. He’s a tall, skinny kid from Dayton, Ohio. He doesn’t look like much, but he’s got it where it counts, and you couldn’t hope to meet a nicer guy.

  He scoops me up, dragging me to my feet. “Keep your mouth shut, Omaha, you crazy bastard.”

  I nod and set off walking.

  Whoa!

  My legs feel like jelly, and I stumble forward after a couple of steps.

  Newman puts my arm over his shoulder and hooks his around my waist. Struggling to support my weight, we set off back to the barracks.

  “I got you, Omaha, just take it easy.”

  We make it eventually, and Newman holds the doors open for me. I barely make it through. I fall inside and lie spread-eagled on the floor, motionless and gasping for breath. After a few moments, I hear a noise, so I lift my head slightly to see what it is.

  It’s Hunter.

  His immense frame fills the doorway. He’s a giant of a man—not especially tall, just… huge. His body is bulky, due to the natural muscle-mass, and his clean-shaven features give him the look of a career military man. He’s physically intimidating, and his personality has, I’m sure, sent many a man fleeing from active duty. Definitely not the kind of guy you want to piss off, and certainly not the kind of guy who you want having a grudge against you.

  He looks down at me. “Comfortable, Private?”

  There’s a ripple of laughter from the rest of my squad.

  I’m still gasping for breath, but I manage to chuckle a little. “Actually, sir, if you could pass me a pillow and a blanket, that’d be swell.”

  He points his finger at me. “Stow that shit, Hughes.” He looks around the room at everyone else. “And the rest of you grass-chewing ass-huggers, listen up! Mess hall—oh-seven-hundred!”

  He leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. I let my head relax on the ground for a moment, before three guys appear around me and help me to my feet.

  “Holy shit, Omaha,” one of them says, laughing. “Hunter fucking hates you!”

  “Yeah, I reckon you’re about to have a really bad day,” says another.

  I frown as they help me onto my bed. I sit on the edge and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. I look up at them in a line in front of me. “How’s my day going to get worse than this?”

  Newman walks over and pats my shoulder. “We’ve got unarmed combat training straight after breakfast. Hunter’s taking the class, and I’m sure he’ll need someone to demonstrate on…”

  I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh as the rest of the squad goes about their business, still laughing. I fall back onto the bed and stretch my arms out.

  This sucks…

  08:06 CDT

  We’re all standing side by side, forming a square around a couple of scuffed, blue gym mats. In the center, pacing back and forth, eyeballing everyone, is Staff Sergeant Hunter. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he hasn’t said anything since we arrived a few minutes ago.

  I think he�
��s trying to intimidate us.

  To be honest, we’re pretty intimidated already. Our unit is made up mostly of new recruits. We’ve been together almost four months now. In this kind of environment, you form bonds quickly. We work together, we succeed together, we fail together, and we get scared together.

  We’ve been having these unarmed combat training sessions twice a week, in this small, under-equipped, makeshift gymnasium that permanently smells of sweat. Everyone’s unanimously agreed they’re the worst thing ever. The first session started out with Hunter demonstrating some basic techniques for attacking and defending. But where you’d expect people to only put in fifty percent effort, because you’re training, he went full throttle and gave us all a real beating. He even put one kid in hospital. When he got out, he quit and never came back.

  I don’t mind admitting, due to my hate-hate relationship with our squad leader, he tends to pick on me more than most. And if you thought he wasn’t holding back with the rest of them, then he’s committing full-blown assault and battery against me!

  But I just can’t help myself. It’s like this… this impulse in my brain, telling me to rebel against anyone trying to give me orders, usually by using derogatory humor to amuse both myself and whoever’s watching. I’ve always done it. Back home, if I ever got into a fight, I’d do the same thing to distract my opponent. They’d get pissed off and lose focus, and they’d wind up making a mistake—which would give me chance to punch them really hard.

  Hunter turns a slow circle. “Listen up, you bunch of pussies!”

  Huh… as motivational as ever.

  “Today, we’re going to try something a little different. Learning techniques is one thing, but learning how to use them effectively is something else. Your enemy won’t always stand in front of you and wait for you to attack. You gotta know how to create the opportunity.”

  Despite all my reservations, I actually find this stuff pretty interesting. I just don’t like getting beat up in the name of education.

  “Hughes, front and center!”

  Shit.

  I sigh and step forward, trying to ignore the murmurs of laughter rippling around the room. My arms still feel useless after my world record attempt at push-ups earlier, and I hadn’t been able to eat much at breakfast, either, so I’m feeling pretty crappy right now.

  Hunter stares at me with his wide, unblinking eyes. “Now, you’re going to attack me, any way you want. I won’t know what’s coming, but I’ll show you how to turn that kind of situation to your advantage, so you’re then in a position to counter and win.” He holds his hand up and gestures for me to attack him. “Come on, Private, don’t be shy now.”

  He steps back into a loose fighting stance and waits for my attempted attack. I have been paying attention in these sessions, and I’m not afraid to get into a fight, but I can’t possibly see how I’m going to come out of this with an ounce of dignity intact.

  Fuck it… nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

  I take two steps forward, bring my arms up into an orthodox boxing stance, and move to the side. Hunter doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares at me. I fake a left jab and swing a right hook, aimed at his left kidney. If I can—

  What the hell?

  I’ve barely moved, and he’s already right in front of me! I didn’t even see him move…

  There’s hardly any power behind my punch. With him being so close to me so quickly, I know I’m going to miss, but it’s too late for me to do anything now. My arm flies off to the left behind him, and my momentum carries me forward, sending me off-balance. He takes another step into me and pushes my chest with his forearm. There’s not even that much weight behind it, but it’s enough to send me to the ground. Hard.

  He’s on me in a heartbeat, looming over me with his knee pressing down hard on my chest, near my throat. Instinctively, I try to grab him, but he takes my wrist and twists it, pushing it against the joint and holding it there.

  “How did I beat you?” he shouts.

  Good fucking question!

  I grit my teeth, fighting against his weight. “I was… too… slow…?”

  He puts more pressure on my wrist. “No, you weren’t. I was too quick—not the same thing. How did I beat you?” He looks up at the rest of the squad. “Anyone?”

  Silence greets him, which I’m guessing pissed him off, because he’s now pressing down harder with his knee to the point where I’m starting to choke.

  “I beat you because I knew what you were gonna do before you did it.” He finally stands and looks down at me. “Get your ass up, Private.”

  As his weight lifts off my chest, I roll on my side and ball up, clutching my throat and coughing desperately.

  Jesus…

  I slowly get to my feet and dust myself down. I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady my heart rate, but it’s too late. I can already feel an obscene amount of anger beginning to boil just beneath the surface, slowly rising inside me. I clench my fists as I start to breathe faster, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline.

  I grit my teeth until my jaw muscles ache, fighting the urge to charge at him. “Sir, how did you know? I was looking at you, and you didn’t move an inch before I did.”

  Without saying anything, he runs at me, stepping past me and planting his left foot behind my right leg. He pushes me with little effort and I over-balance, falling flat on my back.

  Again, he’s on me in a flash, pinning me down with his knee like before. “You might have been looking, you pointless sack of gnat crap, but you weren’t seeing. What I did was basic and obvious! You should’ve seen it coming a mile away. Look at my body language. Look at where I’m shifting my weight. An attack is never instant. The brain has to get the body prepared. It has to send millions of tiny, little electrical signals to all the parts needed to throw that punch, to pull that trigger… In the valuable seconds it takes to do that, you can decipher those signals. Then, you know what to expect, and you can react accordingly.”

  Christ! That’s probably the single greatest piece of advice anyone’s ever given me. It’s simple, and it makes perfect sense. The kind of sense that makes you angry at yourself for not realizing it sooner.

  I just wish my teacher didn’t have his knee in my throat while he was explaining it to me.

  He stands again and gestures silently for me to get up. “Men, partner up and practice. Take it in turns, attack and defend. Hughes, you’re with me!”

  I feel my shoulders slump forward involuntarily with defeat.

  Fucking great…

  I square off in front of Hunter again. We’re actually about the same height, but he’s a lot broader than me. And I’m no slouch—I have some free weights back home, and I always worked out when I could. He’s just older and stronger than me.

  As I watch him step back into a fighting stance again, I think about what he just said. He said our brain tells our body what it wants to do, and you can read that message in the person’s body language…

  Right now, I’m thinking of running at him and smashing my elbow into his face—which is a regular daydream of mine, I’ll be honest. But I’m not going to get anywhere near him, I know that. He’ll see the run and the elbow coming, and I’ll be on the ground before I can blink.

  I circle around him. He’s still watching me, like a hawk waiting to swoop down on its unsuspecting prey.

  What if I get my brain to send a different message? I mean, he’ll be watching my body prepare for the run and the elbow, right? So, if I make sure I give off the signals that suggest I’m going to do that, I can actually be preparing to do something else, which he won’t know is coming.

  I try to relax and let myself act how my brain’s telling me to act, all the while thinking about the run and the elbow. I pay attention to Hunter this time. I see him bend his knees slightly, preparing himself. He must have deciphered the message…

  I run at him, letting my arm take a natural position, as if preparing for the elbow strike. When I’m a f
ew feet away, I quickly move my arms down and jump, dropping and pushing both feet into his thigh. He steps forward, anticipating the attack, but he’s waiting for the elbow, not the dropkick. I take his leg out from under him and he faceplants to the mat. I quickly scramble to my feet and jump on him as he rolls over. Using my knees, I pin his shoulder to the floor with one, and press against his throat with the other—just like he did to me. I hold my fist high above him, as if preparing to drop a finishing blow to his face. But I resist the urge, satisfied I’ve gotten the better of him for once.

  I don’t even try to suppress a smile. “Sir, how was that, sir?”

  I quickly look up, aware of a silence in the room. Everyone’s standing still and staring at me; their mouths open with surprise. I can’t stop smiling, feeling proud of myself. I finally—

  Whoa!

  Ugh!

  My head just bounced off the mat.

  My ears are ringing, and my head’s throbbing.

  Hunter must’ve bucked with his hips and thrown me off his chest.

  I roll over on my back. I have no idea what’s happening…

  Ugh!

  Fuck!

  I know what that was! He just buried his knee into my ribs. I felt a pop as he did, and I reckon that’s at least two of them broken.

  Wide-eyed, I jolt up, clutching my chest. My mouth’s open, gasping for air, and I see a thin trail of blood fly out and land on the mat in front of me. He stands, and towers above me, looking down with an expression of pure hatred on his face. And probably a little embarrassment.

  I roll onto my side, close my eyes, and assume the fetal position.

  Oh my God—the pain is incredible! It hurts to breathe!

  I open them again, and see Hunter crouching down next to me. “You gloat, you die, Private! You see a chance to finish it, you finish it. If I was the enemy, you’d have more than a busted rib.”