When Rhee behaved like this, Hyo-jin felt the urge to spike a volleyball into his face. Perhaps she should keep one in her office.
She briefly considered filing a complaint to his military superiors outside the lab about his disrespectful attitude, but not for long enough to further interrupt her flow of ideas onto the whiteboards.
Who cared about the American security report?
She was a scientist, not a soldier.
* * *
First Sgt. Keith Bishop's job babysitting junior officers never ended.
It shouldn't take a black sergeant from Virginny to talk sense into a pair of what were officially gentlemen. The last thing he wanted to do in the middle of his daily workout was referee a testosterone-fueled dispute over that doggone CIA woman.
What was she doing here in his gym, anyway?
Dagnabbit, why'd Harper have to bring her over here to cause such a ruckus?
Usually at most during workouts he'd have to remind a Ranger to keep his t-shirt tucked in, or correct their lifting form so they didn't hurt themselves.
Lieutenants would be the death of him.
Rangers recruit high scorers on the Army's Aptitude test and the RRC had even higher standards than the Regiment as a whole, but they must make exceptions for lieutenants.
Maybe he could keep 'em from making fools of themselves in front of the two-dozen Ranger operators now distracted from their PT to bet on the fight.
Bishop could hear the odds running heavily against Harper. At least Schnier and Harper planned to settle this in the ring, rather than in a Soju bar downing rice liquor bombs, the way the locals preferred.
Not a real ring, of course.
A padded black combatatives mat overlaid the wooden floor of a basketball court at the back of the gym.
"Own It" was stenciled on the olive green block wall beyond, a reminder to take personal responsibility for your actions. If only the officers would listen a little more.
No stands for spectators, just safely enough away from the now quiet weight racks and benches to not bash a participant's head into a barbell.
Bishop scanned the gym. Recently abandoned treadmills and VersaClimbers, designed for cardio, looked out the glass panes which covered the front. Next a line of artificial green turf simulated part of a field with sleds, battle ropes, tractor tires, and other heavy objects for Rangers to struggle with.
They trained to be anti-fragile, able to carry heavy loads unknown distances. Push themselves mentally far past the point where their bodies ached to give up.
In the corner, an ice bath aided recovery. Maybe he could come up with an excuse to dunk Schnier and Harper's heads into it.
Free weights occupied the back. Closest to the rear wall rested the mat; a large yellow circle marked out the arena for unarmed combat bouts.
He'd spent more time than he wanted crushed into that mat's padding, the strips of plastic fiber in the cover pressed against his face. Bishop much preferred to be the crusher, rather than the crushee.
After he'd trained soldiers for years, that's how it usually went.
He rubbed his chin. That's how it went, except for his few combatatives program bouts with Schnier. Those ended poorly.
Kid grew up literally taking bulls by the horns.
Schnier, dressed in a regulation black t-shirt tucked the proper distance into his matching PT shorts, threw a few air boxing punches to warm up along one side of the mat. Stood bowlegged, as if he'd ridden too many horses for his legs to ever straighten again.
He joked with the Rangers under his command. Appeared totally unconcerned about the fight with Harper. Probably saw this as a way to get a little back for losing in San Diego.
Schnier was an overall good soldier, and a fine operator, but one day, probably before he ever retired to his ranch, that boastful mouth would write a check his egotistical body couldn't cash.
Short term thinkin'.
Today weren't likely to be that day. Harper's level of technical competence was only matched by his naive inability to fit in.
Bishop figured he struggled with that in regular life, too. Certainly wasn't used to Ranger culture yet, not after a few classes and tests at Fort Benning and just 30 days in-country. He'd hoped to ease him and his Red Team nerds into the company a little more gently than this.
No, Schnier would demolish Harper, so Bishop considered it his duty to ensure he was at least fit for duty at the end of it all. His tougher mission was to heal the breach between the high-speed operators in the line platoons and the support staff who did much of the day-to-day work.
The parts focused on coordination with and improving the warfighting ability of the Republic of Korea (ROK).
Would this fight help that relationship? Physical conflict could bring combatants together in newfound mutual respect, but often it just tore the team apart.
Maybe if Harper could at least hold his own for part of a round or two.
Harper stood on the other side of the circle in the mat. Still wore his baggy OCP trousers, but he'd stripped down to a tan t-shirt.
His uniform jacket and tan beret hung on the end of a weight set next to his MI issue phone and whatever that contraption was he'd used outside the door.
He stood with muscles relaxed, a dumb surfer from Southern California. Buzzed dishwater hair, all six foot one inches of lean nerdy machine. Oh, Harper was built like a typical RASP 2 graduate, with running and rucking muscles, but nothing like Schnier.
Harper was more like a toddler Ranger at this point, stubborn, always asking why and getting into trouble whenever Bishop turned his back.
Schnier hunched on his side of the mat. Flexed his shoulders at Harper. "Let's get some." Schnier slapped his green plastic mouth guard between his teeth and grinned across the ring.
Bishop rubbed the scar on his cheek.
It took way too much work to raise up real officers from lieutenants and they came dumber every two-year duty cycle. Schnier's lack of confidence in his own abilities made him too much of a braggart. He didn't need to talk about his skills; he had enough to demonstrate instead.
The CIA brunette, Michelle, leaned over to Sam and advised in a whisper loud enough for the entire gym to hear, "Don't be stupid, Sam. This isn't worth it."
At least she had a brain, if the tact and diplomacy of a revenuer amongst the stills.
Bishop walked over to where Harper waited in the other corner of the training pad. "She's not wrong. This is stupid, sir. Lieutenant Schnier is the base unarmed combat champion. Even the green beanies don't mess with him without a weapon. Be lucky if you stay uninjured. Doubt you'll even get a point from him."
Harper thought for a second, but obviously not long enough. "Schnier insulted the whole support team. Not just me. My men. Supposed to just laugh along with him?"
"Sure this is about your men, sir?" Bishop glanced over at Michelle, fiddlin' with her crazy necklace. "You're supposed to fight alongside the operators, not against them."
Harper gestured across the makeshift fighting ring, where Schnier ran his hand through his buzzed red hair, "Tell him that."
Puma take 'em, nobody could restrain dumb lieutenants.
Bishop shook his head. "Try not to hurt yourself, the paperwork will finish us all off."
He walked across the mat. Split the distance between the two combatants.
Spectators pulled out their personal phones to record. Just what they needed, a dumbbell to post the fight online.
"All right, gentleman," Bishop said, "A brief reminder of the rules."
Legally, these idiots were officers and gentlemen. Bishop needed to remind himself of that continually, lest he really go off on them and set a bad example for the men who stared in anticipation from around the ring. Instead, he gave them his standard spiel about allowed blows and holds to prevent permanent injuries.
Finally, he concluded his explanations with "The winner will be the first to two out of three falls. We'll disregard draws."
He paused for breath. Checked both lunatic officers held a guard position. "Ready... fight!"
Harper rushed in at Schnier, as if to catch him by surprise.
Schnier didn't keep his distance, but stepped forward with perfect timing.
Jammed a right palm into Harper's left shoulder. Spun him sideways.
Harper used that momentum. Stabbed toward Schnier's eyes with a left thumb hook. Would've been an illegal disabling blow, but he stopped mid-swing and frowned.
Schnier completed his move. Stepped to the right. Slipped his left arm between Harper's left elbow and body.
With a knee in Harper's back and his right arm around his neck, Schnier controlled Harper. Forced him down to the mat to a soundtrack of cheers and taunts from Schnier's supporters.
Inevitable.
Took three more seconds of raw muscle and squirming to compete the pin.
"First round to Lieutenant Schnier." Bishop waved the over-testosteroned officers away. "Back to your sides."
Schnier took a quick sip of water.
Bishop stalked over to Harper and Michelle. "Saw you pull that eye jab."
"Sorry." Harper caught his breath. "Not used to ring fights. No need to worry. Won't break the rules. Instincts just wrong."
Michelle handed Harper an olive green towel. Stared at Bishop. "At least we know he has an impartial referee, with all the time you spend over here giving advice and talking up Schnier."
This CIA officer was definitely not destined for the diplomatic circuit. Bishop could see why they made her a military attaché as her official cover.
"Bishop's a Mormon." Harper wiped the sweat off his face. "Doesn't even drink coffee. Doubt he'll cheat for one of us."
"Don't worry, Ma'am. A junior lieutenant is gonna get me killed one day. Try not to get too attached to any of 'em in advance, begging your pardon, sir."
"Totally. Let's get on with this. He won't get me goofy footed like that again."
"Look." Bishop put his hands up. "As an impartial observer, the next round will go a lot like the first one. You never had a chance.
"Why not throw in the towel before one of you gets hurt, the Major gets involved, and I have to do all sorts of paperwork for him to sign and send up the chain of command?"
Harper slowly shook his head. Stared at the floor. "If I give up, that's worse than if I try and lose."
Bishop stomped over to Schnier, who sat on a stool and sipped water in a slow rhythm, one squirt at a time from a green bottle. "You've made your point, lieutenant. He can't take you on the mat. Why not call it a day and quit while you're ahead, before someone gets hurt?"
Schnier looked up at him. "You mean before Harper gets hurt, right?"
Surrounded by stubborn morons with rank. "Forget I said anything, sir."
Harper and Schnier stepped up to opposite edges of the marked yellow circle. Stared each other down.
Bishop walked back to a point halfway between them. Waved at the two combatants to get in place with their guard up for the second round. "Ready."
Harper looked wary, but prepared.
Schnier stood bowlegged opposite him, one hand on an imaginary belt buckle. His gaze scanned the crowd.
"Fight!"
Harper shuffled toward the center of the mat. Used the balls of his feet to step. Circled in a spiral so as not to approach straight on.
Schnier moved in an opposite circle. Kept only a few feet from the edge. Studied Harper's footwork.
When he reached the edge of Schnier's punching range, Harper dropped. Swept his right leg out.
An attempt to nail Schnier behind the left ankle.
Schnier took a half step back like he teaching a clinic. Laughed. "Need upper body contact to trip that-a-way."
Harper continued his momentum across the mat. Rolled over. Extended his left leg even farther. Smashed it into Schnier's left ankle.
Caught flat-footed and watching, Schnier's weight distribution was all wrong. Tried to pull his left leg while his center of gravity was over it.
That didn't work at all. Instead, he landed on his side with a loud thud.
Harper took advantage. Wrapped the crook of his right elbow like a snake around Schnier's neck. Created leverage with his left arm and Schnier's leg.
Schnier refused to tap out right away.
Bishop called it as soon as it was clear he couldn't progress toward escape from the hold. "Second round to Lieutenant Harper. One and One."
Lucky point for Harper, with Schnier overconfident, but maybe that'd be enough to earn him a little respect from Schnier's watching operators. "Back to your sides."
This time, the sounds of Schnier's supporters rumbled to fill the gym.
Harper reached his area, the side of his t-shirt dark with sweat. Grunted a few words to Michelle. Grabbed a water bottle from her.
"One more round." She put her hands on her hips. "This was your idea. Don't be a loser, or I'll go see what Schnier's doing for lunch."
"Don't worry. I've got this. Underestimates me."
Bishop wasn't sure Schnier's mistake would last into the third round, but only one way to find out. "Ready."
Harper and Schnier crouched and raised their fists into the guard position for the third time.
Sergeant Lee, one of Harper's Red Team analysts on loan from the KCIA, entered the gym. Wore the uniform of the day, so not here to work out. A bad sign.
He spotted the commotion in the ring. Stopped near the weight benches to watch. Arrived just in time to see his leader battle Schnier.
"Fight!"
They circled as they approached. Schnier crowded forward. Reached behind Harper's head. Pulled his upper body down to meet Schnier's knee thrust into his chest.
Air rushed out of Harper in a low grunt.
Had to hurt. Wouldn't be long now.
Harper's right fist became curled knuckles. He turned it into a stiff blade on the way to jab it into Schnier's throat.
Bishop stepped toward the combatants, ready to stop the fight. By force if necessary; if Harper's disabling blow landed.
Windpipes were strictly off-limits. Too much risk of permanent injury.
At the last split second, Harper diverted his hand. Wrapped it around the back of Schnier's neck. Pulled Schnier's head down. Lifted his own head.
Jammed it into Schnier's chin.
Despite Harper's grip on the back of his neck, Schnier's head snapped backward. A bead of sweat flew into the air above him.
Bishop tried not to wince, glad the combatants wore mouth guards.
A long "Oh . . ." released from the spectators.
Somehow, Schnier recovered enough to hook his right leg around Harper's left calf. Shoved Harper with two stiff-arms.
Harper went down hard. Led with his shoulder blades. Tried to kick his right leg into Schnier's groin as he fell.
Failed to connect. Hit his opponent's muscular thigh instead. Harper's back slammed into the mat.
The thud echoed across the gym.
Schnier pounced. Pressed Harper's legs into the air with one arm. Forced the rest of his body into the mat.
With Harper's shoulder blades pressed into the mat and his body under Schnier's control, he had no choice but to slap the mat with his flat palm to tap out.
Bishop stepped over for a closer look. Ensured neither combatant required first aid. "That's two out of three to Lieutenant Schnier."
Not a surprise ending. No serious damage, though.
Schnier's supporters chattered like a passel of chipmunks discussing their nuts, even the ones who paid off bets against Harper at low odds.
Harper recovered on his back in the middle of the mat. "Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."
Bishop smiled as he recognized the quote. Harper couldn't be that damaged, if he tossed around bad jokes. "Who wishes to fight must first count the cost."
The young lieutenant wasn't the only one who could quote Sun Tzu's Art of War.
/> Schnier stood. Reached out his hand to help Harper up.
A brief pause. Harper accepted the offer.
After Schnier heaved him up, the red-headed officer winked at Michelle, standing nearby. "So, how's about that lunch I heard you mention? Ten minutes to shower and I'm ready for you."
Michelle let out a long breath. "Maybe another day."
She turned away from Schnier to follow Harper as he walked past her to the weight benches.
The crowd surrounded Schnier to pat him on the back. Congratulate him on his victory.
At least there wouldn't be any paperwork from the Major on this one.
Bishop decided to follow the loser. Do what he could to smooth things over.
Schnier wouldn't miss him in the victory party.
Harper picked up his tan beret and uniform coat from the end of the weight set. Shoulders slumped, he didn't look like he wanted to talk to anyone.
Sergeant Lee took a tentative step forward, "Lieutenant?"
Harper stiffened his shoulders. Squeezed a smile onto his face as he recognized his subordinate. "Yes, sergeant?"
"The CO wants to see you in his office right away, sir. Didn't say why."
Harper's face shuffled into blank neutrality. "Be right there."
On a Friday afternoon, an unscheduled command appearance for Harper in front of the CO wasn't good news. Maybe a problem with his first report?
The CO occasionally advanced their Ranger Reconnaissance Company and its attached MI platoon into trouble his 1SGT had to retrograde them out of.
Bishop decided to cut his own workout short and return to his desk in front of Major William's office. He'd figure out what was going on.
A sergeant's job babysitting officers is never done.
Chapter Six: Dangerous Carpets
DPRK Deputy Defense Minister Meon Lon-chun didn't intend to destroy Korea today. He just wanted to silence the tanks outside his office for a moment.
He pushed his navy blue phone handset harder into his ear, but lost half the Reconnaissance General Bureau (RGB) Major's words. Outside his temporary office near the main base road, a line of tank engines rumbled.
Their treads clanked in the frozen mud of the main base road. Overrode every other word on the phone.
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