Fiction: The Girassian Debacle Chapter 12: Cheap Shot

Drawing by R.E.

Previous Chapter 11: No Turning Back https://onthebeachatnightalone.com/2023/03/15/fiction-the-girassian-debacle-chapter-11-no-turning-back/

“What do you say, Lieutenant Song? Want to burn off some of the frustration I imagine you have?” Commander Madelaine Gray stood over Lieutenant Krista Song who was seated at a console studying the body cam video from Gray during the boarding of one of the pirate ships London encountered during its last mission. Gray had spared no firepower, committing her entire platoon of marines in the boarding. She also did not spare herself from potential fire, being the third one in through the ship’s airlock.

Song looked up at Gray. She was too close, pushing the back of her chair. She stood up, warning Gray first with a shift forward in her chair, followed by rising briskly. Gray had to back away abruptly. Song smiled at her. 

“Commander, I would enjoy that, very much. Are you suggesting we do some sparring?”

“Yes, I am. Quarter-staffs. The workout area may be busy since Senator Mitchell took over the lounge but I’m sure people will cede the floor to me,” Gray said. 

“Yes, I’m sure of that,” Song said.

__________

The Weapons Unit had an open space for workouts. There was enough room for a couple of treadmills and exercise bikes, and two weight stations. The space in front of the launch tubes was large enough for an exercise mat which was always being used, but the mat was barely large enough for martial arts sparring.  Since there was not much room for retreat, sparring sessions were usually brief as combatants were forced to face one another at close quarters. 

A Chief Warrant Officer for the Weapons Unit oversaw the area for workouts, enforcing the usage rules and making sure the equipment was stowed properly between sessions. Crew members had to reserve time slots to use the equipment. It was usually crowded with people using all the stations, crew members lingering to socialize as they recovered from their workout, and those waiting for their time spot to open for a station.

When Song arrived, Gray was already standing next to the exercise mat where several crew members were doing stretches and calisthenics. With Senator Mitchell making the lounge unavailable, the exercise room was  more crowded than usual. Gray stared at the crew using the mat, making it clear she wanted to use it, expecting that they would cut their sessions short. She held two quarter-staffs, but had not brought out the standard protective equipment used in sparring. As soon as the exercisers picked up on her impatience, they hurriedly left the mat.  

“Thank you,” Song said apologetically to them. “So you want to spar without any protective gear?” Song said.

“Come on Song, these staffs are padded, and they bend.”

Song shrugged. “There’s a reason we usually wear protective gear, but I’m up for it. The padding on the staffs doesn’t really cushion a good slap. And that thin exercise suit you have on won’t dull a whip much.”

Gray rolled her eyes. “You have to be kidding. To hit me takes getting through my defenses. I’m not concerned about possible discomfort. Are you?”

Song shrugged. “There’s a reason we usually wear protective gear.”

As soon as the mat cleared for them, Gray bound onto it. Song stepped on after her. They dressed for their martial arts workout completely differently. Gray wore a unitard exercise suit that showed off her physique. Song wore traditional martial arts garments, a loose fitting jacket and pants, with a belt securing the jacket closed. 

They also warmed up in different ways. Gray stretched, ran in place, did pushups and some handstands and front flips, exercises that warmed up her muscles for strength.  Song also stretched, but also went through a martial arts sequence that emphasized balance and reflexes. Their warmups attracted a group of spectators. Some crew who had finished their workouts started to linger longer than usual to watch the two of them spar. Gray acknowledged the crowd, nodding to some of the marines who were there.

The sparring quarter-staffs were two meters in length, held with both hands in the middle with their ends coated in a thin layer of spongy padding that was tight to the staff, and provided little cushion. Sparring partners usually wore protective guards for the chest and abdomen, upper legs, and forearms, along with a helmet, though head shots were not typical in friendly sparring. The padding on the staff helped decrease the likelihood of a laceration from a blow, but without protective body equipment, a hard enough blow would leave a deep bruise at the least. 

“You really have it out for me,” Song said matter-of-factly. She looked at Gray without emotion. “I don’t understand why.”

“We are officers and know how to maintain control in our sparring. I hate the restriction of the padded guards, don’t you? Ready for some warm up cycles?”

“Of course,” Song said. They started by exchanging blows with their quarter-staffs in a choreographed pattern, each move part of a prescribed routine. This was the major exercise of the sparring session, as the motions called for quick reflexes and maintenance of the reactions taxed endurance. Bystanders looked impressed with the speed with which they sparred.

After about  five minutes, the only discrepancy from a normal sparring session was that Gray’s blows were not light and loose as they should have been in a mutual warmup. She hit with considerable force, knocking Song backwards on the mat repeatedly. 

“Is this the way marines ‘warm up’, working to knock their partner off the mat?” 

“To command the platoon, Song, you’ll  need to learn how we approach combat, including hand-to-hand combat.” Gray said. 

“Oh, this is combat? Maybe they’ll have to learn something about sparring from me,” Song said. 

With that comment, Gray charged directly at her and hit the middle of Song’s staff with her own. She applied all of her strength and the blow caught Song off guard, knocking her backwards several steps, but without disrupting her balance. A murmur went up from the spectators.

“I take it, warmup is over,” Song said with a smile that hid her concern over Gray’s intent in this match. Song’s fighting style called for bending and redirecting blows, but there really was not enough room to move with the fluid responses she usually used.

Gray’s method was to move directly at Song to lock their quarter-staffs in the middle and push her backwards, finishing with a rotation of her staff in a spin to sweep Song off her feet. It was easy to defend as long as she moved to prevent Gray from pushing her backwards against the wall. She let Gray approach her this way again and again. 

You have to have more maneuvers than this. Or is your strategy to just wear me down?

Song pivoted sideways and met her thrusts. Gray tried to slide her staff down Song’s to clip her hands, a maneuver that could have injured her fingers were she not prepared. But Song was able to disengage. They exchanged blows without making body contact. It was like a boxer pummeling a punching bag, a rapid exercise that could not be kept up indefinitely. You just want to wear me down. Or break my staff with your blows. Sweat streamed in rivulets down Song’s face and neck and spotted her jacket and pants. Grey’s movements threw off droplets from her soaked exercise unitard.

Gray flipped her staff to hold it by one end, then spun and, in a sweeping motion, tried to trip Song.  The move was easily blocked. Gray’s eyes blazed with malice. She clearly needs to win this exchange to put me in my place. Is this about the Action Information Center holding the summons for Hall? Song frowned.

“Do you want to quit?” Gray said.

“No. I’m sure we both have something left in us to get out.”

 Let her win, but not too obviously. She’s working through the Marine’s Seventh Protocol which she does not expect I know. Pretty simple. I can pick an exchange to  falter in and let her get through.

Song executed an unnecessary jump spin, opening herself up to a blow to her thorax. Instead of slapping her with a blow, – the kind that would have cut her in half had the staff been a laser blade- Gray shifted and plunged forward with her staff. She hit Song in the stomach with the end of it using all of her strength. Despite reflexively contracting her abdominal muscles, the blow felt as if she were hit by a sledgehammer. Song staggered backwards off the mat. With the wind knocked out of her, she slowly started to rise from the mat, Gray swung a barely restrained blow across Song’s head. She collapsed to the mat, seeing stars, her limbs feeling like leaden putty. Some spectators gasped.

She stayed down, not wanting to risk another blow. Gray seemed enraged, but even so, she could not possibly hit her again with so many of the crew watching. 

Gray knelt down next to Song and lifted her up under both of her arms. Straddling her Gray yanked her to a kneeling position.

“That’s not necessary, Commander,” Song barely squeezed out. She tried to shake out of Gray’s grip, “Leave me be.” But Gray held her firmly under both arms and nearly pulled her up off her knees.

“Good match, Song. A bit short, but you don’t look like you can continue. I need to get back to the watch, anyways.” Gray let go of Song abruptly, Song wavering and nearly falling down to the mat except for another crewman quickly stepping in to brace her. Gray stood over Song. “You look to be in good hands. I’ll go now.”

 I guess she really did have it out for me and wasn’t interested in a workout. Does she realize how this looks to the crew? 

Her vision still skipping sideways, Song heard Gray leave. “Commander, are you all right?” a crewman said. “That was quite a blow you took. Two blows.” She gently steadied Song by one shoulder.

Song waved the crewman off who slowly let go of her shoulder allowing Song to roll into sitting, bent forward holding her stomach, trying to get a full breath. It took a few minutes for Song to regain her breath and clear her head. She stood up, drawing herself up with shoulders thrown back. The spectators had hurriedly cleared out of the exercise hall. Only the concerned crewman had stayed along with those who stayed on machines during the match and were curiously over-concentrating on their exercise without looking up.

“It looks like people are uneasy with the results of our sparring.”

“That looked like it was more than sparring, Sir. Are you going to get checked out for that headshot?”

“Thank you for your concern. You’re in AIC, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Gillian Artmore. I just offered you help before we left earth, looking at the videos of the crash.”

“There were marines here?” Song said.

“Yes. I think so. At least three.”

“Song shook her head. “It’s not good to show weakness in front of them.”

“The news from this match will get out, and it won’t be good for Commander Gray.” 

“Why’s that?” Song said.

The star sailor looked uncomfortable, hesitant to answer the question. Song raised her eyebrows inviting an answer.

“It looked like Commander Gray was not sparring. Like she was in combat. Looked like she wanted to do damage. And…”

“Yes?” 

“And the head shot was so unnecessary. A cheap shot, if you consider you’re supposed to be sparring.”

“She was pretty intense. I guess she was making  a statement.” 

“Yeah, that’s one way to consider it, Ma’am. You need to get checked out, in my opinion.” The crew that was left in the workout room continued to ignore them.

“I’ll get checked out in the Medical Bay. Whew, what a way to start this mission. Thanks.” Song stood up, wobbled, and then took a step. Artmore stepped up and helped her, respectfully contacting her shoulder just enough to steady her. 

“May I accompany you,  Sir?”

“That would be nice. You know something, Gillian? This will not ever happen again. I’ll let you know the next time we spar.”