First Strike

by Jack Higgins

the natural way. Mutants were not created by the Spirit-In-All-Things, but by

  white men for vile purposes. Years ago the Doktor sent his mutants against us

  and we were nearly destroyed." He paused. "I repeat. The mutant is a bad

  omen. I do not like him among us."

  "I understand you," Blade said. "But I can not ask Grizzly to leave. If you

  want to go, though, it's okay by me. The Flatheads are welcome to send another

  volunteer."

  Thunder drew himself up to his full height. "I will not bring dishonor to my

  people by leaving. I have said what I had to say, and I will say no more." He

  turned and walked off. Blade put his back to the group again. Now he had three men who didn't want Grizzly in the force. What was he supposed to do? He certainly couldn't boot Grizzly out; the mutant deserved a chance to prove himself as much as anyone else. Should he send Kraft and Spader back to their homes? No. Doing so would only aggravate the problem. The Clan and the Moles might refuse to send someone to replace them. Maybe if he gave the recruits enough time they would come to accept the mutant. Maybe. But it was a long

  shot.

  He'd better concentrate on the job at hand.

  Blade closed his eyes, repeating the focusing technique he'd used before,

  waiting for the mutant to make a mistake. He waited. And waited. And just when

  he was beginning to wonder if Grizzly had decided not to take the test, someone

  tapped him on the shoulder.

  "I knew you woke up too early," quipped a familiar raspy voice. "What are

  you doing? Taking a nap? I didn't think we could deep on the job." Blade swiveled to face the mutant, grinning. "Congratulations. I never

  heard you."

  "What did I tell you last night?" Grizzly asked.

  "What I said then still goes," Blade said. "Just because you are more

  skillful in some regards does not excuse you from the training exercises." "I just hope I don't get bored to death," Grizzly cracked.

  "If you die, it won't be from boredom," Blade predicted.

  "So what's the next test?" Grizzly queried. "Thumb sucking?" "Unarmed combat."

  Grizzly grinned. "Now you're talking my kind of language." "I thought you'd like it," Blade said, rising.

  The hand-to-hand combat session was held in the early afternoon. Blade

  had ordered mats to be brought from the supply bunker and aligned in front of

  the HQ. He deposited hisBowieson the north edge of the mat, then faced the

  recruits. They were seated in single file along the southern edge, Grizzly off to

  one side, to the east. "The purpose of this session is to see how you'd hold up

  without your weapons,"

  Blade began. "There will be no actual training. All I want you to do is to

  try and hit me. Any questions?" Kraft laughed. "All we have to do is knock your

  block off?"

  "That's it," Blade said.

  Kraft bounded to his feet. "Then take me first, dude. I want to make up

  for yesterday."

  "Dream on," Boone interjected.

  Kraft strutted onto the mat. "You know what they say. The bigger they

  are, the harder they fall."

  "Yeah, I know what they say," Boone chimed in. "Ignorance is bliss." Kraft

  chuckled. "Just watch me, smart guy." He shifted his legs apart and assumed a

  crude horse stance, Blade, his arms folded across his chest, nodded. "Whenever

  you're ready."

  "I was born ready," Kraft retorted. Evidently, he had received some

  martial-arts instruction. He closed in on the Warrior and aimed a vicious side kick

  at the giant's left knee.

  Blade effortlessly evaded the Clansman's sweeping right leg. He gripped

  Kraft's right ankle and tugged, upending the cocky recruit and unceremoniously

  dumping Kraft onto his posterior. Spader was tittering.

  Kraft rose to his feet, a study in indignation. "Let's go for two out of

  three," he proposed.

  "Take a seat," Blade directed, glancing at Spader. "You're next," he

  instructed the Mole. Spader walked onto the mat while Kraft sat down. "I'm not

  much of a fighter," the Mole admitted.

  "Give it your best shot," Blade urged.

  Sadder came in swinging his fists like a wild man.

  Blade sidestepped the Mole's flailing arms, then hooked his left leg behind

  Spader's legs and did a reverse sweep.

  Spader was dumped onto his back.

  Kraft cackled. "And I thought I did bad!"

  Blade pointed at Boone. "Let's go."

  The Cavalryman approached the Warrior slowly, his fists upraised to

  protect his chin and his stomach. He closed in, darting and weaving, boxing. Blade reacted in kind, blocking the majority of Boone's blows. The

  Cavalryman did not wield his fists anywhere near as expertly as he did his

  revolvers, but he was no slouch either. Twice Blade was struck, once a glancing

  blow to the ribs and again a flicking jab on the chin. After several minutes Blade

  disengaged, stepping to the right and smiling. "Where'd you learn to box?" "My dad taught me," Boone replied.

  "Do you know any of the martial arts?" Blade inquired.

  "Never had any call to learn," Boone said. "I can use my fists, but I prefer

  to let my Hombres do my talking."

  Blade glanced at the Flathead. "Your turn."

  Thunder slowly rose and stepped onto the mat, rubbing his palms

  together, while Boone sat down.

  "What style do you like?" Blade asked. "I am not much of a boxer,"

  Thunder revealed. "But I do like wrestling."

  "Then we'll wrestle," Blade said. "The first one to pin the other wins."

  They grappled, rolling and tumbling on the mat, working up a sweat. Blade was

  clearly the larger and the stronger, but Thunder wrestled with a sinewy, elusive

  skill, narrowly evading pin after pin. Once Thunder succeeded in applying a full

  nelson to the Warrior. Before the Flathead could savor his seemingly inevitable

  victory, Blade's shoulders and arms bulged as he strained against the hold. Try

  as he might, Thunder was unable to retain his grip. His hands were forcibly

  wrenched from the nape of Blade's neck, and the next instant the Warrior

  whirled and bore Thunder to the mat, pinning him.

  "Not bad," Blade commented, standing and offering his right hand. Thunder allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, "if you keep this up," he joked,

  "you're liable to give me a complex."

  Blade grinned, then faced Sergeant Havoc. "You're up next." Havoc's blue eyes sparkled. "I've been looking forward to this. How do

  you want to do it?"

  "Try and take me out," Blade instructed.

  "Brace yourself," Havoc warned, and promptly closed in.

  Blade was compelled to retreat several paces by the furious flurry of hand

  and foot blows Sergeant Havoc delivered. He realized General Gallagher had not

  exaggerated; Havoc was indeed an expert in hand-to-hand combat. But Blade's

  prowess was likewise exceptional. All of the Warriors had been exhaustively

  trained in the martial arts by one of the Family Elders. Some of them relied on

  the martial arts more than others in combat situations, and one of the Warriors,

  a diminutive Oriental by the name of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, was the undisputed

  unparalleled martial artist of the Family. While Blade wasn't quite the equal of

  Rikki where the martial arts were concerned, he was second to no one else.

  Sergeant Havoc had waded into the Warrior full of confidence and optimism. In

  dozens upon dozens of reg
ulation matches and tournaments

  throughoutCalifornia, he had proven his superiority time and again. He was

  virtually a legend in the California Army, and he was not accustomed to finding

  an opponent capable of withstanding his aggressive tactics. So when he

  perceived, after two minutes of sustained sparring, that he could not penetrate

  Blade's guard, his frustration caused his undoing.

  Blade ducked and slid to the left, avoiding a spinning back kick. He

  expected the sergeant to assume a defensive posture, perhaps the Kokutsu-tachi

  or the Neko-ashi-tachi, but instead Havoc swung his left leg in a Mawashi-seashigeri, a roundhouse kick, providing the opening Blade needed. As Havoc's left foot

  swished past Blade's chin, the Warrior closed in, driving his left instep against

  the back of the sergeant's right knee. Havoc, perched on only his right foot, was

  carried forward by his own momentum, falling onto the mat. He rebounded

  immediately, shoving himself erect. "Damn!" the sergeant exclaimed. "You did it to me again."

  "I was lucky," Blade said.

  "Yeah, sure," Havoc said, obviously disappointed in his performance. "I

  think Thunder is right. If you keep this up, you're going to give all of us a

  complex."

  "I won't," Blade assured him. "I promise." Havoc grinned. "I hope not." He

  marched to the edge of the mat.

  Blade turned toward the mutant. Grizzly was seated on the ground near

  the mat, his chin in his hands, a look of boredom on his face.

  "Do you think you can do any better?"

  Grizzly smirked and stood. "You must be joking." He casually strolled onto

  the mat. "You won't beat me."

  "I will," Blade declared, his simple response laced with conviction. Grizzly

  chuckled. "What did you do at lunchtime? Sniff glue?"

  Blade smiled. "Do you have a style you prefer?"

  "I don't go in for any of that fancy footwork," Grizzly stated. "And I'm not

  much for wrestling or boxing. I like the direct approach," so saying, he raised his

  right hand, his fingers rigid, and his claws popped into view.

  "I've been meaning to ask you about those," Blade said. "How do they

  work, anyway?" Grizzly walked up to the Warrior, extending his right arm.

  "Watch," he directed, starting to relax his hand. As he did, the five-inch claws

  automatically retracted into his fingers, sliding overthefingernails. Blade's gray

  eyes narrowed. His initial observation had been wrong! The fingernails were not

  part of the claws. "I thought your nails were the tips of your claws," he

  remarked.

  "They're not," Grizzly confirmed. "I haven't dissected my fingers or

  anything, you understand. But as near as I can figure this is the way they work."

  He tapped his large knuckles. "The claws are housed behind my knuckles. There

  must be tubes of some kind running from my knuckles to the tips of my fingers

  Do you see this?" He used his left hand to carefully pry open a flap of skin and

  fur located behind the fingernail on the middle finger of his right hand, revealing

  a hole the width of one of his claws. Blade understood. "So your claws are fitted

  into the upper part of your hand, between your knuckles and your wrist. When

  your fingers go stiff, the claws slid down the sheaths in your fingers and come

  out those holes behind the fingernails," he deduced.

  "That's the way I see it," Grizzly agreed. "It's like having five built-in

  knives in each hand," Blade marveled. "I've never seen anything like it." "Me neither," Grizzly said. "I know other mutants who have claws and

  talons and such, but none of them just pop out like mine."

  "How sturdy are your claws?" Blade inquired. "Sturdy enough," Grizzly

  replied. "They will break, but only under massive pressure. I broke one once

  when I was in prison. I tried to cut my way through a metal door." "Your claws will cut metal?" Blade queried in disbelief. "They'll hold their

  own against swords and knives,'' Grizzly said. "But I found out the hard way they

  won't cut through metal. They will cut a human to ribbons."

  "I can imagine," Blade remarked. He wheeled and walked; over to his

  Bowies, scooped them up, and replaced the big knives; in their sheaths. "Let's

  put them to the test," he suggested, facing the mutant.

  "What?" Grizzly responded.

  "A little test," Blade said. "Your claws against my Bowies." ."How will we

  tell who wins?" Grizzly asked.,

  "If you're as good as you claim you are," Blade replied, "then you should

  be able to break through my guard and nick me on the arm, no problem." "That's the craziest idea I've everheard," Grizzly declared. "What's wrong with the idea?" Blade countered.

  "What if one of your Bowies slips? What if my claws slip? What if I

  miscalculate? You could lose an arm," Grizzly said. "Every day we live we encounter risks," Blade mentioned. "Some are greater, some lesser. Either way,

  life goes on."

  "I still say you're nuts," Grizzly opined.

  Blade shrugged. "That's okay. If you don't want to do the test, I

  understand. There's no shame in admitting you couldn't win."

  "I never said I couldn't win," Grizzly noted.

  "You don't want to do it," Blade said. "That's the same thing in my book." "Oh, it is, is it?" Grizzly held his left hand aloft, then his right, his fingers

  tensed, and his claws snapped free, gleaming in the afternoon sun. "I was just

  thinking of you, dummy. I kind of like you, and I didn't want to hurt you." He

  stared at the Warrior. "But no lousy human challenges me like you did and gets

  away with it. So let's get this over with."

  Blade drew his Bowies and crouched, wondering if he'd bitten off more

  than he could chew. His job as the head of the Force required him to assess the

  abilities of each recruit. Goading the mutant into a mock duel might not be the

  brightest idea he'd ever had, but at least he'd discover, firsthand, the extent of

  Grizzly's capabilities.

  Grizzly grinned as he sprang for the Warrior, his claws slashing. Blade backed up under the onslaught, deflecting each swipe of those

  deadly claws with his Bowies. The mutant's reflexes were superb, and Blade was

  hard pressed to evade Grizzly's lashing strikes. The Bowies and the claws

  produced a clicking and scraping noise as they met and slid apart. "Come on, Blade!" Kraft cheered from the sidelines.

  Blade concentrated on blocking the mutant's blows, seeking an opening,

  but Grizzly's streaking claws were everywhere. During his training for Warrior

  status, and over the course of his years as a Warrior, Blade had engaged in

  countless training exercises with his fellow Warriors. Many of the practice drills

  had involved the use of edged weaponry: knife fights, sword duels, ax contests,

  and more. Blade had fought with the best of the best. Or so he'd believed. Until now.

  Grizzly was incredible. His speed and strength was uncanny, and added to

  those traits was his inherent ruthlessness. The longer he fought, the more bestial

  he became, his visage distorted by a snarl, his eyes focal points of ferocity. Blade

  back pedaled, thwarting the mutant's rain of claws. In the recesses of his mind a

  doubt began to form, a doubt Grizzly would ever make a mistake. If he was

  going to win, he needed a clever strategy to turn the tide. But what? Inspiration

  struck a second later. Grizzly lunged, bringing both
powerful arms around in an

  arc, aiming a crisscrossing pattern at the Warrior's broad chest.

  Blade reacted by extending his arms, his Bowies clashing against the

  mutant's claws and locking for a moment. The pair strained, their arm muscles

  rippling. And that was when Blade saw his chance. He took the mutant by

  surprise by doing the completely unexpected; he released his left Bowie. The

  abrupt letup of pressure caused Grizzly to lose his balance. The mutant started

  to fall forward, and before Grizzly could regain his balance the contest was over. Blade drove his left hand down and in, locking his fingers on Grizzly's throat, even as he flashed his right Bowie toward Grizzly's face. Grizzly instinctively tried

  to recoil from the glittering blade.

  Blade stopped his strike with the tip of his Bowie barely touching the

  mutant's nostrils. He grinned and tapped Grizzly's nose. "I trust you won't hold it

  against me if I don't draw blood," he commented. Grizzly was dumbfounded. He

  gaped at the Bowie near his nose, then at the Warrior. "No one's ever beat me

  before," he blurted out in astonishment.

  "There's always a first time for everything," Blade remarked,

  straightening. Grizzly held his claws in front of his face. "I must be slowing

  down." Blade chuckled as he replaced his right Bowie in its sheath on his hip. He

  spotted his other Bowie on the mat and retrieved it.

  Someone began clapping from the sidelines.

  Blade glanced over Grizzly's right shoulder.

  Boone had risen and was clapping, a grin creasing his features. "That was

  the greatest exhibition I've ever seen," he said, commending them. "Me too," Sergeant Havoc added. "And I've seen more than myshare of

  combat." Kraft made a show of stretching and yawning. "I've seen better," he

  commented. "It was no great shakes, man."

  "I've never been beaten before," Grizzly mumbled to himself, sounding

  dejected.

  "Don't take it so hard," Blade advised. "It was just a training exercise."

  Grizzly studied the giant. "I know there are other Warriors where you come from.

  Are they all as good as you?"

  "Some are better," Blade replied.

  "Better?" Grizzly repeated skeptically.

  "Each Warrior possesses individual strengths," Blade said. "Most of us

  have tended to specialize. I like Bowies. One of the other Warriors is partial to