And while, Atticus had landed the first blow of the match—weapon strikes were considered ‘true blows’ in such duels, while punches and kicks were often disregarded due to lower lethality—it very nearly saw him thrown from the circle as Kratos pivoted his incredible bulk with Atticus’ leg trapped against his side.
But the War Leader’s balance was superb, and he crow-hopped several steps while lashing out at the larger man’s head with the pry bar. Kratos kicked his foe’s leg out with a perfectly-timed sweep, knocking Atticus’ bar off-target in the process as the smaller man was sent to the deck.
Rather than leaping on top of his opponent, Kratos shook his head in mock pity as he turned to the crowd. “This is your leader?” he mocked, his voice filling the now-silent chamber.
Atticus roared in anger as he kipped up to his feet—yet another display that would have seemed impossible for men of their size—and charged across the circle toward his adversary.
The War Leader brought the bar up, down, left, and right in a complex, but coordinated sequence of short, chopping attacks punctuated by the occasional thrust. Kratos did not parry each blow, but it was clear even to a novitiate fighter like Fei Long that the older man anticipated much of the sequence as he stepped this way and that, forcing Atticus to follow him across the circle on his terms.
The clang of their makeshift weapons became furious, with each new impact drowning out the echoes of the previous one. Atticus landed a pair of blows to Kratos’ massive chest, but the one-eyed man had yet to land a blow of his own aside from the early knee. He seemed to be fighting in a purely defensive fashion, which seemed odd to Fei Long.
But with each successive exchange, the young man became increasingly convinced that the affair was proceeding precisely as Kratos wished it to. It was a sentiment which the crowd appeared to share as well, with even Atticus’ loyal followers beginning to don anxious expressions.
The two broke apart and Atticus was clearly frustrated as he drew hot, heavy breaths. Kratos was breathing deeply as well, but his seemed more controlled than the other man’s.
“This is no contest,” Kratos grumbled as he looked down at the hammer in his hand. He then inexplicably tossed it well outside the circle and beckoned with his now-free hands for Atticus to approach.
A low, barely-audible growl rippled through the crowd, and Fei Long could do nothing but watch spellbound as Atticus attempted to seize on the opportunity with a new flurry of offense.
Atticus swung his bar upward once again, this time aiming for Kratos’ head, but the one-eyed man spun quickly out of the way and delivered a thunderous right hand into Atticus’ flank. But the War Leader brought the bar around for a follow-up, and the one-eyed Tracto-an was unable to avoid the blow as it struck the side of his head with a sickening crack.
The crowd gasped as one, but the scar-faced warrior impossibly seemed unfazed by the blow as he reached for Atticus’ right wrist with his left hand to secure a grip on the War Leader’s bar-wielding arm.
Atticus drove his knee into Kratos’ groin, and this time the older man reacted in a predictable, if muted, fashion as he staggered back a pair of steps. The War Leader took the opportunity to deliver an inside leg kick to Kratos’ right shin, and very nearly toppled the one-eyed warrior. Had it not been for Kratos’ unbreakable grip on Atticus’ wrist, he almost certainly would have fallen.
Kratos drove an uppercut into Atticus’ chest with his free hand and stopped the other man’s momentum completely, but Atticus was not yet through with his attack. He delivered another knee to Kratos’ groin, but this time the larger man trapped the leg with his right hand.
With a motion so fluid, so precise, and so perfect that it should have been recorded for posterity, Kratos dropped his body down while pulling Atticus’ right arm across his shoulders and elevating the War Leader’s leg with his massive, right arm.
Fei Long had heard Lu Bu describe the maneuver as a ‘fireman’s carry,’ since it was how a firefighter would often carry an injured person out of a burning building, but he had never seen it used in combat before.
Atticus’s body went completely inverted, and he barely managed to get his left hand between his head and the deck before Kratos drove him into the metal with more force than any human had a right to generate—or survive.
Amazingly the War Leader was not killed outright, nor was he rendered unconscious, but his arms flailed wildly as he Kratos reached for the bar with his right hand. He had never relinquished his grip on Atticus’ right wrist, and the smaller Atticus scrambled for all he was worth in an effort to escape from beneath Kratos’ bulk.
But try as he might, the larger man was simply too strong and too practiced. The contest quickly devolved to a war for control of the bar and, slowly but surely, Kratos managed to twist Atticus’ body onto his right side. The one-eyed man reared up and cocked his right hand for a crushing blow to Atticus’ head, but Atticus bucked upward with his hips and managed to knock the larger man off-balance momentarily. As he did so, Atticus turned his head sharply to the side and sunk his teeth into Kratos’ left forearm, causing a short geyser of blood to erupt from the old warrior’s body.
But in doing so he created an opening for Kratos, who still had Atticus’ bar-wielding right arm pinned to the deck. Kratos drove his forearm across Atticus’ face, but that blow was only incidental as his fist smashed into its real target: the War Leader’s right hand.
The bar fell from Atticus’ fingers after the blow landed, and a murmur went up through the crowd as Kratos released his foe’s wrist and quickly clamped both hands around Atticus’ head—tearing a not-insignificant chunk of flesh from his own arm as he did so. He drove his fingers into the other man’s eye sockets, causing the war leader to scream in agony as he tried desperately to pull Kratos’ hands free from his head.
Fei Long was unable to avert his eyes while he watched with morbid fascination as Kratos leaned forward and growled something in Tracto-an to Atticus before crushing his skull and sending a series of spasms through Atticus’ body.
Apparently unsatisfied with the kill as it was, Kratos gripped the War Leader’s head in his hands. He looked up and immediately found Sergeant Gnuko, and their eyes locked for what seemed to be an eternity before Kratos snapped the fallen War Leader’s neck with an emphatic twist that was as much for theater as effect. The resulting sound was far less dramatic than Fei Long had expected, resembling more of a sucking sound than a cracking one, and Atticus’ body quickly went limp.
Kratos stood to his full, imposing height and swept the assemblage with a disapproving gaze. “This is your leader?” he waved his hand at Atticus’ fallen corpse, making no attempt to hide his disgust. “Who would avenge him?” he asked, drawing long, even breaths as he began to pace back and forth.
Fei Long became acutely aware that over fifty Tracto-ans—and a handful of non-Tracto-ans—had filled the shuttle bay, and they currently surrounded the victorious Kratos. It would be a small thing for Atticus’ followers to bring him down, even though none was armed with any better weapons than the combatants had been.
The tension in the room heightened, but all at once it seemed to disappear as the Tracto-ans—both those who had followed Atticus and those who had not—adopted a collective look of acceptance.
“You people,” Kratos growled, spitting on the deck as he continued to pace, but Fei Long noted that the spittle landed well away from Atticus’ body, “you are all fools. Do you hear me? Fools!” he bellowed, his voice grinding like a glacier over a mountainside.
Several of the crowd actually looked ashamed for a moment before collecting themselves, and Fei Long dearly wished he had brought a recorder to capture the moment for later review.
“You are given the stars themselves,” he continued with open disdain, “and the chance to carve your names in them for all time, and what do you do? You bicker and argue like children over your lineage and past deeds. The past means nothing!” he roared. “A true warrior seeks to exp
loit every advantage, yet you close-minded fools,” he waved his hand, sending a spray of blood to the deck surrounding him, “carry your accursed bigotry with you like a baby clings to a doll in the darkness.”
“You are a dishonorable heretic, Kratos,” a Lancer said in a raised voice as he stepped forward.
“If your version of honor and precious dogma turns you into him,” he pointed at Atticus’ fallen body with an outstretched finger, “then I am proud to be called heretic by you!”
“We know of Blue Fang Pass, Kratos,” another Lancer stepped forward, “and we know of your continued heresy in the River of Stars. We will never follow you.”
A murmur of assent echoed throughout the chamber, and Kratos began to chuckle. The chuckle quickly turned into a mocking laughter before he retorted, “And I would never lead you! Each of you swore an oath when you joined this warship,” he said, his eyes burning with anger. “You swore your oath to your new Warlord…or have you forgotten?”
Even the two Lancers who had stepped forward looked hesitant, and Kratos shook his head contemptuously.
“You, who calls me ‘dishonorable’,” he said, taking a step toward the first man who stepped forward. “You are nothing but a coward who hides behind honor when it suits him and ignores it when it does not.”
“You insult me—“ the Lancer began, but Kratos stepped toward him and the other man took an instinctive step back.
“What of it?” Kratos growled. “Would you break your oath to satisfy your supposed honor?”
“You call me ‘oathbreaker’?” the Lancer cried, and the crowd seemed to tense at the prospect of yet another battle.
“I do!” Kratos declared. “You have all broken your oaths to your true Warlord,” he turned slowly to address the entire assemblage.
“Satisfaction,” the Lancer yelled. “I demand satisfaction!”
“And I would welcome your pitiful attempt to gain it,” Kratos said with no small amount of amusement as he turned to face the man, “for that would mean you are as weak and dishonorable as Atticus!”
“What foolishness is this?” the second Lancer asked, his tone considerably more respectful than the first. “Atticus kept to the Ways of Men; he fought and died with honor.”
“No!” Kratos whirled to face the second Lancer. “Atticus shamed himself—and all those who serve with him—by placing tradition and pride above his sworn duty!”
There was a pregnant pause, and the crowd exhaled in unison. Even the two argumentative Lancers paused and briefly looked at each other before taking half-steps back toward the crowd.
“Now you understand,” Kratos said grimly before turning to face Atticus’ corpse in silence for twenty seconds. “And it took the death of this fine warrior to make you see,” he said, his voice no longer filled with disdain. “Your bigotry killed him, and may yet kill others. Your pride…Atticus’ pride…they mean nothing on this ship.” He turned to face Sergeant Gnuko, who pressed through the crowd wordlessly with a set of duralloy manacles in hand. “The only pride which should concern you is Captain Middleton’s—your true Warlord.”
Gnuko came to stand before Kratos, and the size difference between them was noticeable. Kratos stood a head taller than the Lancer Sergeant, and the difference in their girth was even more pronounced, but Sergeant Gnuko did not appear anxious in the least as he held out the manacles.
Kratos looked down at the manacles pointedly before meeting the Sergeant’s gaze. He then placed his hands in the bindings, which automatically locked around his wrists. The Lancer Sergeant gestured to the door, “You know the way to the brig.”
“I do,” Kratos agreed before walking calmly toward the exit. The crowd parted around him, and a hushed round of murmurs made its way through the throng.
“The rest of you,” Gnuko said heavily as he turned to face them each in turn, “are confined to quarters until further notice. Move out.”
For the first time, the crowd seemed uncertain how to proceed. Then the first outspoken Lancer turned pointedly and made his way to the exit. He was followed by a pair of others, then by the second outspoken Lancer. The throng became an orderly file as they wordlessly left the shuttle bay, leaving only Fei Long, Sergeant Gnuko, and a handful of technicians who had been working on repairs to the hangar prior to the altercations.
Sergeant Gnuko turned to face Fei Long, who suddenly felt very self-conscious. The Lancer looked him up and down before shaking his head, “I don’t even want to ask how you got caught up in this, but until Captain Middleton can review this you’re also confined to quarters.”
Fei Long nodded, knowing that the worst was most definitely yet to come. But a question was burning a hole in his mind, and had been doing so since the start of the fatal battle between Kratos and Atticus.
“Sergeant…” he began hesitantly, and Gnuko gave him an impatient look before the young man turned to face Atticus’ body, “why did you not stop this?”
Gnuko also looked down at the fallen War Leader. “I thought you were supposed to be smart,” he muttered before fixing Fei Long with a piercing look. “There was no stopping this, Long…not without spilling a whole lot more blood and dividing the crew even further.”
“Then…this was your plan?” Fei Long asked numbly. The idea that he had been manipulated into unwittingly acting in someone else’s plan was simply unthinkable to him.
“No,” Gnuko said, his voice tinged with regret, “not least of which because I couldn’t have done it. But even if I had, they would never have listened to me afterward…and at least half the people who just walked out of here would never have been given the opportunity.” He looked out toward the corridor for several seconds and shook his head, “I’ve had the privilege to stand alongside some great men, and some not-so-great men. I thought Atticus was the former, but I was wrong…I have no idea about Kratos.” Gnuko shook himself visibly and pointed to the corridor, “Don’t make me put you in restraints.”
Fei Long nodded and, after collecting his clothes, made his way back to his quarters without even a shred of the satisfaction he had hoped to feel from facing, and even conquering, his greatest fears.
Chapter XL: Disappointment & Strengthening Bonds
“After I specifically said I didn’t want him killed!” Middleton fumed as Sergeant Gnuko stood at attention before him. “And don’t try telling me that you got there after the deed was done.”
“No, Captain,” Gnuko said, his eyes fixed forward.
The Pride’s commander walked around his desk and came to stand in front of the Lancer Sergeant—who outweighed him by nearly as much as Middleton’s total bodyweight—and looked into the other man’s eyes. “Look at me, Sergeant,” he said coldly, and Sergeant Gnuko reluctantly met Middleton’s gaze. “Tell me how you would deal with a subordinate who, after receiving explicit instructions how not to proceed in a delicate situation, turned around and at the first opportunity,” he yelled the last two words, “countermands those orders, resulting in the death of a crewman—an officer, no less?”
Sergeant Gnuko made as if to speak, but held his tongue instead and shifted his weight slightly before resuming attention.
“Oh,” Middleton said hotly as he feigned interest, “you’ve got something you’d like to say, is that it?”
Again Gnuko looked ready to say something, but he shook his head instead, “I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem necessary, Captain.”
“Oh, grow up, Sergeant,” Middleton snapped before pacing several times in front of the other man. “You think you’ve got me over a barrel, is that it?”
Gnuko’s brow furrowed, “Sir?”
“You know as well as I do that I can’t pull you out of rotation, Sergeant,” he laced the rank with venom as he said it, “so you think you can do an end-around on me and I’ll be powerless to stop it. There’s a word for that, Sergeant: mutiny!”
“Captain, I would never—“
“You just did!” Middleton cut in angrily. “You blaste
d well just did, Sergeant Gnuko, and now you’ve put me in a position I had dearly hoped to avoid.”
“Sir,” Gnuko said, meeting Middleton’s eyes with a hard look that made the Captain’s choler rise even higher, “it was unavoidable.”
“Don’t you think I know that!?” Middleton bellowed, spittle flying from his lips and landing on Gnuko’s chin. Captain Middleton took a deep breath and shook his head in bitter disappointment, “Do you have so little faith in my ability to command that you honestly think I didn’t know that?”
Sergeant Gnuko’s brow furrowed even more than before, “Then why—“
“Because by not informing me beforehand, you took responsibility for Atticus’ death,” Middleton interrupted, trying as hard as he could to contain his anger. “The Admiral already has it out for me; I doubt my career—let alone my command of this ship—survives my next meeting with the man. I could have taken that heat on my way out, Sergeant, but you took the option away from me. In case you don’t understand what that means, I’ll lay it out for you,” he added as he took a step back and felt his nostrils flare with each breath, “in doing so you have cast a shadow over the records of every single one of your crewmates—some of whom need their careers, Mr. Former-Smashball-Star!”
“I don’t see—“
“I can see that!” Middleton threw his hands in the air, feeling a powerful urge to grab something—anything!—and hurl it against the wall. He saw the data slate containing the previous shift’s report and he smashed it against the desk before doing precisely as his urge suggested.
The slate exploded into a shower of fragments against the bulkhead, and Middleton knew he needed to calm himself but he was fairly certain that was an impossibility at present.
He took long, hopefully calming, breaths as he regained some semblance of control. Thankfully he did manage to calm himself somewhat, so he continued tightly, “When Admiral Montagne learns about this he’ll be forced to sack someone, Gnuko. I’m as good as a lame duck right now; there was no need for you to get involved.” He closed his eyes as he felt his temper beginning to flare once again, “You should have trusted me, Sergeant.”
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 42