Girl Takes The Oath

by Jacques Antoine

  As soon as he caught a glimpse of Emily, Stone extricated himself from his booster seat and scrambled over the seat back and into Connie’s lap, and Li Li let out a howl.

  “Calm down, little man,” Ethan growled. “Wait until we’re parked, okay?”

  Crouching next to a tree, Emily knew what to expect, not having seen the kids since the beginning of August. And true to form, Stone bowled into her, followed one beat later by Li Li, their collective mass rolling the three of them into the grass.

  “Give her some air, my not-so-little ones,” Andie said.

  “You guys are soooo big,” Emily crooned over them. “Pretty soon, you’ll be bigger than me.” Probing fingers found Li Li’s tickle bone and she shrieked even louder, and tried to squirm out of reach. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

  Soon the fingers found Stone, though he seemed to have no ticklish spot. But he loved the attention, nonetheless. An instant later, Ethan hoisted him up by his ankles, and Emily kissed his cheeks, until she could get back on her feet and scoop him up into her arms. “You are much too big for me, little man,” she said as she squeezed him in a hug, then rubbed her face on his.

  Connie brought Li Li over, now hanging from her neck, and Ethan took Stone off Emily’s hands. Neither one was content with the new arrangement, but at least they were within easy reach of her hair, her shoulders, her face. At least it felt that way.

  “The brawl is down there, on the athletic field,” Emily said.

  ~~~~~~~

  Because of a last-minute addition to the number of competitors, the final event, the Men’s Advanced Kumite, had been moved to the grass field of the football stadium. This meant that at least part of the event might require the stadium lights, given how early sunset would be this deep into the winter. It also meant that as the evening wore on, the later rounds might take place in deeper cold. Remaining limber could prove to be a challenge, though fortunately an Indian Summer had lasted longer than anyone expected, and the temperature would likely not dip below forty.

  “This final part’s not gonna be like a regular tournament,” Emily said. “After last year, they decided to make it full-contact, and restrict it to armed forces personnel.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Yuki said. Several men in fatigues crossed their path just then, and she cringed at the sight of them. “Those guys are huge,” she continued, once they were out of earshot.

  “Won’t there be some resentment?” Andie asked. “You know, because you’re a woman in the men’s competition.”

  “Oh, I think you can count on that,” Connie said

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Emily said. “When do I ever not run into that?”

  “I get that you want to prove something to them,” Connie said.

  “Not just them. It’s also for me, you know?”

  “Okay, fine,” Connie continued, “but sometimes the better part of valor is to let the boys win one. Jarheads will be as impressed if you show you can take a hit as if you hit someone.”

  Emily nodded, unpersuaded.

  In the midst of a small caravan of black SUVs at the edge of the parking lot nearest the stadium, Michael’s head popped up over the roof of one of the vehicles. A tall man, at least a head above the brown-suited man standing next to him, he was hard to miss, and when he spotted his family, he gently extricated himself from the round of bows and handshakes and walked over.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” Andie said, and reached up to kiss her husband on the cheek. “What’s with the entourage? Is that Tom O’Brien?”

  “Yes,” Michael replied, with a peculiar expression on his face. “Emily, the Secretary of the Navy would like to meet you.”

  “How’s he even know who Emily is?” Andie asked, and Michael shook his head slowly, as if trying to deflect the conversation away from that perfectly reasonable question.

  “That’s fine,” Emily said, ever optimistic, or at least resolute.

  “She’ll be back in a minute,” Michael offered as reassurance to Anthony and the little kids, who looked like they might protest. Then turning to his wife, he added, “Why don’t you and Yuki come over, too? Can you handle things here for a minute?” he asked Anthony, who nodded a merry affirmative.

  The expression on Michael’s face suggested some sort of alarm, and Emily could see the effect it had on Andie, who didn’t appear to be assuaged when he turned to Emily and said, “I’m sorry to spring this on you like this, but I didn’t have a chance to tell you about it sooner. Some new competitors have been added to the field.”

  “Judging from the look of the party you came with, I might guess it has something to do with the Pacific Rim Conference?” Emily said.

  “Yes, ostensibly. But there are always wheels within wheels in DC. The Chinese ambassador has just arranged to have a member of the PLA participate in the tournament. I’m guessing he’ll turn out to be the best their army has to offer. Act surprised when you hear.”

  “I’ve already faced the best they have,” she said for her mother’s benefit.

  “And you won, right?” Yuki asked.

  “Not exactly, Mom. We came to an understanding before it came to…”

  “You mean Tang?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, Li Li’s dad. He was a good man, in his own way… honorable.”

  “Don’t count on their man being as honorable. I mean, if you end up facing him in the ring, expect the worst.”

  This warning did nothing for Yuki’s demeanor, and with a shaky hand she tugged on her daughter’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Emily said, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “We need to keep cool in front of these men, okay?” Yuki shook her head and composed her face into something rigid and hard.

  By the time they caught up with the crowd of dignitaries, now numbering a dozen or so, the morning sun had warmed the scene, and several of the men had removed their jackets. The Asians in the crowd remained stoic and fully jacketed, impervious to the vicissitudes of temperature, except for the largest of them, undoubtedly security men, who had begun to perspire uncomfortably.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Cardano,” said a man in a brown suit, jacket slung over one shoulder.

  “In office over a year, and still so formal, Tom,” Andie said. His smile concealed a blush, and she gestured to Emily and Yuki with a sweep of an arm. “Let me introduce our close friends, Dr. Kagami and her daughter…”

  “Michiko Tenno, sir, ” Emily interrupted, and stood at attention awaiting his acknowledgment.

  “It’s good to meet you, Miss Tenno,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the Commandant. They’re very impressed by your performance at the Academy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And the fact that you’re the only member of the Academy team to make it all the way through the qualifying rounds, and on the men’s side no less, well, it speaks volumes. You may end up setting a precedent, if you’re not careful.”

  “I hope not, sir,” she said.

  A tall, elegantly dressed man, with a bright yellow tie knotted more thickly than current fashion dictated, leaned forward and addressed himself to Yuki and Emily with great formality. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Tenno, and your mother’s as well.” He finished with a deep bow.

  “Allow me to introduce the Chinese Ambassador, Zhang Jun,” O’Brien said. “He’s here as part of the Pacific Rim Naval Cooperation Conference, as a goodwill emissary, and because he expressed an interest in our martial arts training.”

  Emily bowed graciously, and Yuki nodded slightly, somehow managing to create the impression that she looked down on the proceedings from a great height, even though she was several inches shorter than everyone standing around her.

  Zhang gestured to another man standing a few feet away, and said, “Miss Tenno, please allow me to introduce my, how do you say… protocol officer, Dong Zhuo.” While Dong went through the ritual gest
ures of greeting, a second man, taller, more thickly built, and dressed in military fatigues, stepped forward and took Emily’s hand in his and bowed to her, though not so deeply as to prevent him from maintaining eye contact. “And this is Jiao Long,” Zhang continued. “He is an expert in Chinese wushu, and will be competing today.”

  “It’s all just fighting, Mr. Ambassador, at least in my experience,” Emily replied. “What’s in your heart matters more than a style.”

  “You are a soldier, Miss Tenno?” Jiao Long asked.

  “And a competitor, sir. Perhaps we’ll meet in the ring.” She said it to test him, and he seemed surprised, but something in his grip indicated otherwise. She held on a moment longer, trying to get a read on him, to feel his pulse, his warmth, his chi, but he remained elusive, dark inside, she thought, not lucid, and the smile he flashed at her said he could read her, too, maybe even better than she read him.

  That this was not a friend, or even an ally, she saw clearly enough; and something else snatched at the edges of her mood, less clear, not quite focused enough to claim her attention, something restless, crouching, perhaps ready to leap at her… why couldn’t she see him more clearly? How sharp her intuitions had been three years ago, how incisively she felt what other people felt. For all its emphasis on discipline, the regimen of the Academy seemed to have dulled whatever acuity her heart used to have. All that remained undetermined for her in this slow decline is whether it was a development to be lamented or welcomed. Did it offer liberation from the great kami who haunted her dreams and meditations?

  “Mr. Secretary, it’s time,” a gray-suited functionary leaned in to say.

  “Well, best of luck in the tournament, Miss Tenno,” O’Brien said. “We’ll all be watching with great interest.”

  Zhang bowed to Emily and wished her well, before following the Secretary, trailed by his own security detail. Dong and Jiao left with him, while Michael lingered for a moment.

  “Troubled?” he asked, in response to her faraway look.

  “No, it’s nothing. I mean…”

  “Is that him?” Andie asked.

  “Don’t fight him,” Yuki said. “Please, sweetheart, I don’t trust him.”

  “I know what you mean, Mom.”

  Back to top

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Sweet Science

  After two rounds, Emily had registered two wins, one against an Australian sailor, strong and quick—she took him down in three straight falls, once with a leg sweep and heel kick to the chest that left him struggling for air, and twice more with joint-lock throws and a pain compliance hold that led to an early tap-out.

  The second match pitted her against the boxing champion from Camp Pendleton, outside of San Diego. Good hand-skills meant she had to be careful inside and at range, since his long arms created a formidable advantage. When he tagged her on the side of the head with a quick left hook, she went down and rolled out of reach.

  “That’s my girl,” Connie said, standing on one side of the ring next to Theo.

  “Oh, please,” he said. “She totally slipped that punch, and the fall…”

  “Do you think they bought it?” she asked, tipping her head to the crowd of Marines watching nearby.

  “Clever girl.”

  Trying to follow up on his apparent success in the first point, the boxer moved in behind a jab and Emily surprised him by ducking under and striking a sharp blow to the biceps just below the shoulder. He winced in pain and tried to wrap her up in his long arms, but she’d already hit him several more times, once on the opposite arm, twice more to the center of the chest, the soft spot just below the ribs, and one final blow under the chin. As he staggered back from the onslaught, she crossed one foot behind the other to stick a heel into the same spot on his chest.

  Theo watched as she stood over her opponent and offered him a hand up. “Man, she knows how to sell it,” he observed.

  One more takedown happened so fast, the boxer looked completely helpless—another lunging jab and instead of blocking, she seized his wrist, stepped up on his forward leg just behind the knee—he’d crouched slightly to get a better angle, not realizing how vulnerable it would make him—and kipped up to his shoulder, where she scissored her legs around his neck. The rotational inertia of her body so high above his center of gravity spun him around until he could no longer stand. Once he was down, a chorus of howls and jeers serenaded her as she choked him off, maintaining a compliance hold on the captive wrist, until he tapped out. He stumbled out of the ring, rubbing his neck and looking even more bewildered than the Marines watching on all sides.

  “He should be grateful he’s still got his knees,” Connie said. “That wasn’t even close.”

  Theo scanned the crowd, wary of the reception, and walked over to a group of SEALs standing off to one side.

  “That’s your girl?” one of them asked.

  “Not my girl. More like a cousin or a niece.” Theo replied.

  “And you let her go through with this?”

  “Some idiot put her into the men’s division,” another one said.

  “What on earth does she think she’s doing?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Theo said. “I tried to talk her out of it.”

  “That last move she put on Talavera, spinning him down by the neck, that was pretty awesome,” someone behind him said.

  “She coulda snapped his neck with a move like that. Reckless.”

  “I don’t get you, Castro,” Theo said. “Which is it? Is she not tough enough or too tough?”

  “She better not expect special treatment, you know, if she gets me in the draw.”

  “You think you can take her?” Landry asked, and Castro snorted out his disdain.

  “How would you handle her?” Morley asked.

  “Oh, come on. One solid punch would finish her. Hell, a slap or two and the high hard one would do it.”

  “And if she kicks your ass, you’ll let her into the clubhouse?” Theo asked.

  “Right, like that’s gonna happen.”

  “And Talavera?” Theo asked. “She just got lucky there, I suppose.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Castro, you’re the one who’s always saying women shouldn’t have lower physical standards, but you meet one who passes the same standards you did and you get all pissy.”

  Theo stormed off with these words, frustrated at losing his cool. Over by the aluminum stands, he spied Connie smirking at him. A few feet away, Emily stood with the family, letting Yuki tend to the cheek where she must have thought Talavera had struck her daughter. To go stand with her now would be to sacrifice any credibility he might still have with the Marines and SEALs watching from the other side of the ring. The pressure of waiting threatened to squeeze all the pleasure of the surprise out of him, so he slouched over to the bench where he’d dumped his gear and watched the remainder of the second round matches.

  Before last year, the “Brawl” had been run like any number of other martial arts tournaments: open to the public, with the kumite judged according to a standard point system—points awarded for blows that would disable if delivered full force, three or five wins a match, and restrictions on acceptable targets. But after a high school girl surprised everyone by winning the men’s kumite, the tournament was closed to the public, and the rules modified. Now it resembled a tough-man competition more than a kumite, with no restrictions on the force of blows. The only limits imposed were intended to prevent serious injury or maiming. A tap out, often as the result of a submission hold, decided most matches, though a few ended in knockouts.

  If Theo hadn’t seen her manhandle the spec-ops mercenaries who’d attacked his sister’s home almost three years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to imagine how she could win a single match under these rules. Smaller, lighter and not any quicker than the men she was likely to meet in the ring, she might be able to outpoint someone with the soft touches of sparring rules, but not in a full-contact match. As it was, Theo on
ly wondered if she could win without seriously hurting someone before it was all over.

  After three rounds, a dozen SEALs were added to the tournament, rounding out the remaining field to thirty-two competitors. “It’s now or never,” he thought, as Emily made a beeline for him across the stadium the moment the next match was announced over the loudspeaker.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “It’s only fair.”

  “Fair, how? Do you think I won’t fight you, that I’ll give up the tournament?”

  “You won’t win their respect like this.”

  “Yeah, I already got an earful from Connie about letting the boys win.”

  “She’s not wrong, Emily, and I can’t stress that enough. Please, just try not to win the tournament. Proving you’re tough isn’t enough to win over the Marines. You need to show them you can stand up to a friend.”

  “And that’s where you come in?”

  “More or less.”

  “And you think I’ll take it easy on you?”

  “That’s not gonna impress any jarheads. And don’t think I won’t knock you on your ass if I get half a chance.”

  Not even ten minutes later, and much of that time taken up by the referee explaining the rules once again to the participants, Theo found himself lying flat on his back, staring up into her eyes as she reached a hand down. He’d hit her once, catching her on the jaw-line just below the ear, hard enough to send her spinning to the ground. At least it seemed like he’d hit her, but now he wasn’t so sure he’d felt the impact or any significant resistance from her face and the muscles in her neck. The padding in his grappling gloves would have dissipated some of the force, and he’d heard her cry out when she went down. That was the first point, and he remembered thinking as she picked herself up how pissed at him Andie would be.

  The next point was little more than a blur in his memory—she’d punched, he’d blocked and created an opening for a hook-uppercut combination. It all felt right, like she’d go down again, until he felt that sting under his arm. He’d missed her both times, though he hardly knew how, and she’d hit him on the bottom rib, exposed by the overextended arm that missed. When he winced and tried to twist away, she hit him three more times, in the ribs, the biceps—which left him totally exposed—and a stunning backfist across the nose. And things went south from there. He tried to stagger back from the rain of blows that just kept coming, none of them so hard as to put him down, but so many that it felt almost intoxicating. No way to block, since each blow seemed to anticipate his block and his counter. One more step and he’d be out of range, and then something hit him, much harder, like a kick from a mule, right in the center of his chest. It practically lifted him off his feet and planted him on his back a few feet away; breathing became difficult.