Rage & Fury

by Darryl Hadfield

  Shit. That was… rough. Okay, fuck it. I figured he was in a position to make my life pretty miserable if I didn’t, and I felt a bit like my old cavalier self when he put it all that way. “First important person I killed was with Rage.”

  “Okay, but what’s that got to do with the knife? Did you stick him?”

  “No, Sma… Sean. Rage is the knife.” It still felt weird calling him by his first name.

  He looked over at me. “That’s… interesting. Go on.”

  “He was my gang leader when I was still on the streets. I think he might have been my dad.”

  “Did you think that, at the time?”

  “No, all I could think about was I was sick of him pushing me around, controlling me, and abusing me. He was gonna knife me, and I was faster. Gutted him, watched his insides become his outsides.”

  Ballard barked a short laugh. “Good kill. Bradburry actually had already told me all of that, but he didn’t tell me that you’d figured Pip might be your dad.”

  I’d never told him – or Bradburry - Pip’s name. More fucking spying?!?

  He went on. “Not everyone in the military grew up in the arkies, kid. Yeah, obviously, you’re one of the other ones. There are, however, more of us than you might think.”

  Wait. US?

  “All of the people who swore the Oath of Blades came from the streets. It’s sort of a club within a club; usually we feel someone out pretty good before we add them, but I already knew your past, and it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. Think about it. Our BLADES. Our BODIES. Our SOULS. Growing up out there,” and he towards Cleveland, it’s arkscraper visible even from a hundred miles away, “ you don’t have guns, grenades, explosives… you can’t call in arty fire support… your blade is everything. You use it to protect your body – and that sense of self defense, that’s in our soul.”

  Hunh. Yeah, I guess I could buy into that.

  “That’s not just it, though, and if you ever speak a word of this discussion to anyone else, you’ll wake up in a pool of your own blood one morning, just long enough to realize you’re dying.”

  Jesus Fucking Christ, this guy was looney!

  “There are many within the military who eat, breathe, and sleep the bullshit that comes from the arkscrapers, and the fuckhead ‘social justice heroes’ that run our country. I am not one of them, although anyone else will tell you that I toe up to whatever line the administration comes up with. Anyone else you ever see swearing the Oath of Blades is the same way. You are the same way.”

  I thought about that for a minute… I didn’t know about these other warriors he was talking about, but I thought back to basic training and laughed out loud, listening to that twat ramble on about… hell, I don’t even know what it was anymore, I just remember Ballard showing up and making us crank out pushups.

  “Yeah, Sean, I am.”

  “I know you are, and that’s why you were invited in when you finally hit your first NCO stripe. That’s where the second part comes in.”

  Yeah, the gods and shit. I mentally rolled my eyes, wondering if he was one of those old-school weirdos who had hidden bibles and crap.

  “God, Goddess… doesn’t matter. Whatever you believe, whatever anyone believes, is entirely up to them – and they should have the freedom to believe whatever the fuck they want. Our country wasn’t always like it was, James. We were once a country that let people do whatever the fuck they wanted. The Oath of Blades is our way of saying that, and it’s our way of remembering it.”

  That made a lot of sense to me, and I smiled. “That’s some risky shit, Sean. How’s it fly past Intelligence? You guys gonna overthrow the government or something?”

  “Not… exactly. You’d be surprised how many people there are in the military who believe this way. Your training company in Basic only had what, half a dozen streetgangers? I’ve had basic training courses that were nothing but. We select carefully, but most of the Infantry branch of the Army is made up of streetgangers. Not all, but most. There are a few arkies in there, and, even some of the streetgangers buy into the arkies’ bullshit. I’m pretty confident you aren’t one of those, else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  He’d transitioned from I75 onto I-280… We were probably halfway back to the base.

  “So what’s this thing, anyway?” I asked him, pulling out the “DON’T TREAD ON ME” cloth he’d given me.

  “ahhh… That’s similar, but a little different. Bear with me here for a sec..” He paused, acting like he was trying to remember something, and then started speaking:

  I recollected that her eye excelled in brightness, that of any other animal, and that she has no eye-lids. She may therefore be esteemed an emblem of vigilance. She never begins an attack, nor, when once engaged, ever surrenders: She is therefore an emblem of magnanimity and true courage. As if anxious to prevent all pretensions of quarreling with her, the weapons with which nature has furnished her, she conceals in the roof of her mouth, so that, to those who are unacquainted with her, she appears to be a most defenseless animal; and even when those weapons are shown and extended for her defense, they appear weak and contemptible; but their wounds however small, are decisive and fatal: Conscious of this, she never wounds till she has generously given notice, even to her enemy, and cautioned him against the danger of stepping on her.—Was I wrong, Sir, in thinking this a strong picture of the temper and conduct of America?

  “Where’s that from?”

  “That was Benjamin Franklin, one of the people responsible for creating the United States, a long, long time ago. You learned a bit about him in your idiot classes, but probably with a different slant. He was talking about a rattlesnake.”

  “I figured as much, but what’s that got to do with the ‘don’t tread on me’ thing?”

  “Wolf, seriously, you are gonna be the fucking end of me one of these days. What’s a rattlesnake do when he knows you’re gonna step on him?”

  “I have no fuckin’ clue, Smaj, I’ve never seen one.”

  “Shit, Okay, fair point. So, the rattlesnake is called a rattlesnake because it has bones on it’s tail that it rattles – to warn people away.”

  It made sense. “Okay, so this Franklin guy believed that was the essence of the country? That we’d warn people to leave us the fuck alone, and if not, we’d pull out the secret weapons and fuck shit up?”

  “Well, so the little wolf has a working noodle in his head after all! Yes, James, precisely that. It fits in well with the general concept of the Oath of Blades, and you need something to wipe down the blade with, so there ya go.”

  Deep shit, but it made sense, and I could appreciate it – like Ballard had said, the idea of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ was one I liked. The military was a way out of the streets, and I was… grateful? Thankful? Whatever. I liked it, I was starting to like the people I was dealing with, and it… felt right.

  “That cloth, by the way, needs to stay out of sight. Anyone asks, it’s just a cleaning rag, something you made when you heard a story about a rattlesnake. You’re infantry, so no-one’s gonna question that too much. Not everyone who uses the Oath of Blades uses one, but I like it and I have them made by some street people – usually I carry an extra one to give out, like Friday night.”

  Nothing else needed to be said. The trip back through the front gates was soon enough and Ballard stopped the Jeep outside my quarters – we had hit the end of the garrison work day. I stepped out and saluted him.

  “Thank you Sergeant Major, I appreciate your guidance and direction.” I meant it, I really did, but I’m pretty sure he got my hidden meaning as well, since he laughed, gave me a half-assed salute, and drove away. There was more to this shit than just breaking shit and fucking people up. That made me feel pretty good – maybe even as good as building my Bronx empire.

  That night, I went to the dojo to train with Sensei Vinden.

  “James me boy, come in, come in… Good to have ye back!”

 
“Thanks Sensei, good to be here!”

  Small talk ensued, and by the time I’d gotten into my Gi, other students had begun arriving.

  I, as the senior student, took a position of ‘status’ at the far left of the floor, behind Sensei Vinden. I had the class bow in, and then he turned to address us, as was common for him.

  “So, as everyone kin see, James-san has come back from his wee stay-cation. Those of ye who’re familiar wi’ the military’s adventures know it’s nae always as much fun as going somewhere else, but it must be done, nonetheless.” His Irish brogue was always enough to make me smile when I heard it, even when I wasn’t the topic of conversation.

  “Laddie me boy, It warms the cockles o’ me heart to have ye back – noo I hae to kick yer brawny backside up o’er yer shoulders!”

  It was pleasant to know that my presence in the Dojo had been missed, and honestly, it felt good to have a place I knew I could go, where I’d be welcome.

  I didn’t have the old routine anymore – I was an NCO now and had to see my own squad (Privates Willis, Jacobs, and Smitty, second squad, first section, first platoon, D Company, 1st Battalion of the 148th Infantry regiment – HOOAH!) and make sure their shit was squared away. I coordinated training at the squad level (Look, I wanted to make sure my guys were ready for anything, and sometimes that meant doing training on our own).

  I did both my training as well as teaching junior belts at Sensei Vinden’s dojo in the evenings, kept generally to myself otherwise, but occasionally spent weekends out with other junior NCOs in town, or, at the JNCO mess.

  Towards the end of the month, I finally had my orders cut for the five weeks of Junior NCO school. I knew it was coming, since I’d already been doing the online / correspondence portion for it, but I didn’t realize… it was also at Fort Mcclellan.

  Mil transport again – base to base, I was really getting to like that – with nothing more than a duffle bag full of clothes, plus of course, my Gi and Obi. I was here for classroom sessions and garrison work – the actual field leadership was already waivered, as a result of my efforts during our Chicago Riot deployment.

  JNCO training was… boring as fuck. I knew the content was mandatory, I knew it was important, it just struck me as all stuff I’d already done.

  And? I had. A lot of it was about the “why people do the things they do” sort of stuff, the “how to motivate your troops”, and similar skills. I felt like some sort of manager type, learning stuff that didn’t really feel “military” to me.

  The big surprise was walking into Sensei Marshall’s Dojo again. He didn’t seem overly surprised to see me when I first walked in (which I suppose I should have expected, he *DID* run all of the training at the base), but I sure as hell got a surprise, after a week of training at my old dojo.

  Chapter 17: The Last Beating.

  After I walked into the Dojo, I changed out of uniform into Gi and Obi, and hit the floor… and during my warm up, Sensei Kim started welcoming other people into the Dojo. I’d never seen this many people there before; for that matter, I’d never seen that many blackbelts in one place before, either.

  I finished my warmup, worked through several forms, and then kneeled in the back corner of the dojo, as more of the black belts came in. They started kneeling down around the edges of the dojo – a space that was never intended to hold that many people, now had two dozen black belts sitting around the edges of the training floor. I adjusted myself accordingly to not get in anyone’s way, thinking there was something special going on and I would probably need to leave.

  Something special was going on, but I didn’t get to leave. Sensei Kim had drawn the shades, and laced a short chain through the door handles before snapping a padlock closed on both ends. No-one was leaving.

  Sensei Kim said something in Japanese I couldn’t understand, and everyone turned towards the front of the dojo, and we bowed in – once to the shrine, once to Sensei Kim, and once towards the center of the room based on how everyone was focused in that area. Sensei Kim remained on the floor, and spoke.

  “James-san, to the center, please.”

  Ohholymotherofgodwhatthefuck????

  I felt my stomach flip-flopping as I stood, bowing to him. “Hai Sensei!” I moved to the center of the floor, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. I flexed my shins, trying to work the kinks out from kneeling on them for the last 10 minutes.

  He had me go through every form, calling out each one after another. I felt myself slipping away, no longer paying attention to the people watching me, focusing instead on my center, and precision of my movements. As I finished the last one for what I’d had to do for my brown belt grading, Sensei Kim spoke to once more. “Now the next one.” I’d learned it, so I did it. “And the next.” I did. “More.” I did the next one.

  By the time I had done every form I knew, I was already at the ones that were normally reserved for third-degree black belts. I wasn’t particularly GOOD at them, but I knew them, so I did them. His criticism felt emotionally detached, but was exceedingly brutal – catching every flaw, every mistake, even the slightest degree of deviation from the proper stance or movement.

  Then he had me go back to the most basic katas, and he stood. I knew what to expect; I’d been there before. I suspected at this point, I was doing a pre-grading – where he would check to see just how far I’d progressed, to ascertain whether or not it was time to schedule the grading for my next belt.

  He walked behind me, slamming his shinai – a collection of bamboo stripe, lashed together and used for instruction purposes – hard against the floor to warm it up. Probably also to intimidate me, or try to anyway.

  He gave the command to start the first form, and as I went through it, he was attacking me methodically, using the shinai in place of a real sword. This continued through all of the forms again, and I was starting to feel the pain. I knew I had welts across my legs, arms, sides, and belly, and felt like that last one might have even drawn blood.

  He stood back as I completed, then motioned to one blackbelt to stand.

  “Face.” We did.

  “Bow.” We did.

  “Fight.” Sweet mother of god, we did.

  I was sore and tired, probably forty-five minutes’ worth of activity behind me at this point, and all I could think about was getting the fuck out of here.

  I won two points easily – that guy must have been slow as shit, because no-way should I have ever gotten those. We used no pads; at this level, you were expected to be able to pull your punches without hurting or killing your opponent.

  I won the next bout against the next blackbelt as well, quickly. It took more and more time, and after the eighth fight, the ninth opponent was…. Sensei Vinden???

  My surprise must have shown, his face remained blank. He took the first point amazingly fast, but again, I was tired. He came in with a feint kick, and I dropped low to hit it fast, and he came over top with a chop that, had he not pulled it, probably would have snapped my collarbone. I took the next point, though, by closing to grappling distance and taking him to the mats, squeezing until he tapped out. One point for me, and we faced off again. He tried another kick, but I wasn’t falling for it this time – except, it wasn’t a feint. His foot hit my shin, and I barreled through and bowled him over, with a quick jab at his throat. “YAMEH!”

  I backed off, and had won the second point. Good thing Sensei Kim had taught me more than Sensei Vinden had been – although had I been paying attention, I would have shifted to techniques Sensei Vinden hadn’t been expecting, and I’d have had two points, without losing any. I shrugged it off, and bowed.

  Sensei Vinden stepped back to where he’d been hiding slightly out of view along the edge of the room and Sensei Kim stood and faced off with me.

  Oh fuck me.

  We fought… well, no, we didn’t fight, I fought, he played with me, forcing me to attack. I never did take any points against him, but did get him to finally crack a sweat. He beat on me, left me with brui
ses my children would feel, before he finally stepped back.

  He motioned me to sit, and asked out loud. “Would anyone else like to fight? Does anyone else wish to review more?” There were no takers.

  He knelt in front of me and pulled a gold-thread embroidered blackbelt from behind him – he must have had it tucked there all evening, even while we fought. With one good yank, he broke the fastenings on either end that kept it bundled together, and presented it to me. I took it, bowing over it, not sure what to say. I stood there holding it, till he smiled and whispered to me… “Put it on, Sensei.” My arms felt like lead, barely able to move, but I undid my brown belt, and as he’d taught us to do previously, balled it up and threw it behind me. I wrapped on the new black belt, stiff and not particularly yielding to the knots I needed to tie with my rubbery arms.

  “Domo arigato gozaimasu, Sensei!” I bowed to him again, forehead touching the floor, like he’d taught.