Deion smirked next to him.
He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear the tears. Snot ran down the back of his throat and he coughed, trying to swallow. He spit out the mouth-guard. “Sorry, Eric. I don’t know what happened.”
“You reacted like a normal human being. First, don’t ever swing a closed fist at someone’s jaw or nose, you stand a good chance of breaking your knuckles. You’d have a hell of a time firing a gun after that. If you aim for the nose, natural human reaction is for your opponent to drop his head, then you hit him right in the skull, breaking your knuckles. You did good going for the solar plexus, a good stiff punch there can take your opponent’s breath away. You see how I kicked out your legs? The lunge wasn’t a mistake, but it wasn’t good either. The more aggressive opponent usually wins.”
John nodded, his hands trembling. Eric noticed and had John extend them.
“See that? Trembling is the after-effect of the adrenaline rush. Your nervous system is wired to fight or flight. It’ll wear off shortly. You’ll feel tired, like you ran a marathon. All completely normal. We’ll be integrating the Implant later. It will give you an edge, but for now we want you to learn to fight without it. Notice that I went for the throat? Funny how a blow to the throat, even a weak one, can take the fight out of someone. Then you continue, you don’t ever let up. If this fight was real, I would have continued when you hit the ground, kicking you in the kidneys, the head, then finished you with a knife or gun. Now, how’s the adrenaline? Wearing off?”
“Yeah, I don’t feel like I have to puke or piss anymore.”
Deion laughed. “Don’t let Wise get you down. It wasn’t half bad for a beginner.”
“Now,” Eric said, “we’re going to do it again.”
John nodded and calmed himself as he put his mouth-guard back in. He circled Eric, looking for an opportunity. Eric shifted his weight, then snapped a palm toward John’s eyes. John blocked it and brought his knee forward, catching Eric in the stomach. Eric doubled over but turned that movement into a lunge forward with his shoulder, striking him in the chest.
He stumbled back and swung his palm against Eric’s nose but Eric blocked it smoothly, then continued the hand forward to claw John’s eyes. John twisted away and Eric’s palm struck his ear. There was an explosion of pain and he collapsed, stunned, Eric on him again, striking his stomach and groin. Even though Eric was pulling his punches, he still felt the shock of blows across his body. Eric stopped suddenly and stuck out his hand, helping him up.
Deion laughed. “How you feeling now, John?”
“Like I got run over by a truck,” John wheezed. His lungs pumped like a steam locomotive as he struggled to catch his breath. He had a stinging pain where Eric made contact and he knew he would have purple bruises the next day. “I just can’t seem to hold you off.”
“Of course not,” Eric agreed, “because I’ve had a shit-ton of practice and I’ve had to use it. It’s a funny thing, though. With all that I’ve been through, there’s still a moment of hesitation before I’m ready to strike. The trick is to make that moment as quick as possible. That’s what I’m going to teach you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that learning is going to be painful?”
“Because you’re not stupid,” Deion cackled. “And because you’re right. It’s gonna be painful.”
Eric nodded toward Deion. “Now, Freeman here hasn’t been in that much combat. He’s had all the training, and he’s been on a couple of missions, but he spent most of his time on his comfortable ass, back at base, while us ground humpers did all the work.”
Deion shrugged. “Work smart, not hard, that’s what my paps used to say.”
Eric beamed. “Good, then you won’t mind showing John how it’s done. John, he’s got a lot less experience than me, you’ll stand a better chance.”
“Damn it, Wise, I’d never go one-on-one. I’d rather come up behind him in an alley and put a bullet through the back of his head.”
John shivered. He believed Deion.
Deion put in his mouth-guard and approached. He outweighed Deion by thirty pounds and was a few inches taller. He hoped that was enough. He tried a feint to Deion’s throat, but Deion blocked it and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. John tried to strike Deion in the stomach but Deion grabbed John’s shirt and hip tossed him to the mat. He landed hard and before he could recover Deion had him face-first on the mat, his arm in a joint lock, elbowing him in the kidneys. He yelped and Deion let up.
Deion grinned. “Now that’s how I’d do it. If I had to.”
John groaned. “The fun is quickly fading.”
“Get used to it,” Eric said. “It’s only going to get worse.”
Eric circled John warily, his boots shuffling against the padded blue mats. He watched the young man, waiting for the opportunity to attack.
“Why do I have to learn to fight with a knife?” John asked.
“Sometimes you have to get up close and personal,” he answered. “Plus, a knife doesn’t jam or run out of ammo. Now, come at me again.”
John held the rubber knife in his right hand, his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the knife blade sticking out like he was holding a hatchet. “This just seems uncomfortable.”
Eric grinned. “That’s because you’ve seen too much television. Remember, don’t swing with the knife. If you lead with it, I can knock it away or take it from you. Strike with your left hand. When I move to block it, stab with your right.”
He watched John, not focusing on any specific body part, and saw the flicker of motion as John feinted with his fist. He drew back and John never came close, but his frustration grew. “Damn it, John, I told you, that’s a good way to break your knuckles. The side of your first, and don’t aim for the jaw, aim for the ear. I know, it’s hard, but you’ve got bad habits to unlearn.”
Deion laughed. “Kick his ass, John!”
John nodded, then feinted again, coming fast against Eric’s neck, then swung up and clipped Eric in the ear. Eric winced, then felt John’s rubber knife stab into his armpit. He dropped to his knees but John was waiting and smashed the heel of his hand against Eric’s nose, then stabbed again with the rubber knife, jamming it into Eric’s neck.
He hit the floor, John on top, stabbing his neck through the tangle of his hands and arms. He collapsed and John slashed the rubber knife hard across Eric’s neck, which would have severed the artery if the blade were steel.
“Good, that’s good,” Eric managed. John stuck out his hand and hauled him to his feet. He shook off the ringing in his ear. “Again.”
They repeated the exercise, this time John’s palm striking Eric in the nose hard enough to draw tears, then the knife strike to the throat. Eric stabbed his knife against John’s right arm but it wasn’t enough. When Eric collapsed, John switched the knife to his left hand and using his right palm to strike Eric in the nose and eyes, stabbing at his throat, belly, and groin when Eric fell.
“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Eric said. “Remember, if you get stabbed or slashed, you will bleed. There’s not much you can do to stop it. The thing is to continue the fight. You might lose movement in an arm or hand, but you’ll survive. The other guy won’t. Once he’s been stabbed, he won’t be able to do much to protect himself. Trust me, I’ve been stabbed before, it’s hard to think straight. Against an untrained opponent a strike to the throat won’t kill them immediately, but they’ll bleed out soon enough. Now, again.”
Deion watched without comment, shifting from their session to his palmtop computer.
They continued for an hour until they were both covered in sweat, deep circles under the armpits of their shirts, both huffing for air.