FLORIDA Chapter 7
The men had smuggled the pony keg on base and wasted no time
tapping it. They sat around in a
loose circle, glad that the day and the week were over. Most had ditched their uniform shirts
and wore the tight olive tshirts or tank tops that were part of their kit with
their fatigues and boots. Some sat
on crates or barrels, surrounding the makeshift ring they had created. They all had liberty this weekend and
it was starting off right. Cold
brew, shooting the shit, some testosterone induced fighting in the form of
their Staff Sargeant taking on their Captain.
The men had taken to Staff Sargeant Grady pretty quickly, he
was obviously tough as nails but also a friend who gave good advice and was
right in the thick of things with his men. There seemed to be some tension between him and Captain
Stark; several of the guys had seen Grady go into Stark’s quarters every
morning early, and more than once Grady had come out looking grim. Maybe that’s what this was all about,
to settle things and clear the air once and for all.
Nobody expected this to be a fight to the finish; rather,
just a good natured session to give the two alpha males a chance to poke and
punch and see just how tough each other was. Sure there would be some blood and bruises, but no broken
bones or anything that needed a serious visit to the medical facility. That would mean paperwork and the MPs
sniffing into what had gone down.
Nobody wanted that since it would mean the men might lose their liberty
for the weekend, but it was a risk they were willing to take.
Fighting on base was strictly forbidden outside the
organized matches held each year, and the open containers were a violation as
well, so they were keeping it pretty quiet and had set everything up at the far
end of the open space behind their barracks, where it was unlikely anyone would
see what was going on.
Grady came out of the barracks and a cheer went up, paper
cups of beer raised in toast.
Obviously the sentiment was that they wanted Grady to emerge victorious. Grady shushed them, grinning. He immediately peeled off his shirt and
tossed it aside, demanding, “Where’s my beer?” to the assembled men. They quickly got him a full cup of cold
beer as he flexed and preened and showed off his hard muscled torso.
Inside, Nick likewise had already ditched his shirt. He wasn’t trying to hide his age, so
the thick pelt of dark chest hair swirled over his pecs, down his flat belly
and fanned out as it disappeared into his fatigues. Nick was a skilled fighter, and after several broken fingers
over the years he had learned to tape them before any fistfight. Nick sighed. It was time. In
more ways than one. He retrieved
the framed picture of him and Scott out of the drawer where he kept it hidden,
and set it in front of him on the desk.
Similarly he opened the bottle of whiskey kept in the same drawer, and
poured himself a healthy slug. He
locked his eyes on the image of Scott, and in his way tried to close the door
and say goodbye, as he downed the booze.
It burned on the way down and a warmth spread through Nick’s insides as
he put the bottle and the picture away.
He rose and went to the rear door of the barracks. Looking outside, he saw his opponent
laughing and fitting in with the men, one of them. He was uncertain of Ty’s skill level, he assumed it was
higher than his. He also knew that
Ty wouldn’t go all out and end it quickly, or even kick his superior officer’s
ass as severely as he probably could.
If Nick put on a good show he would be happy. Quit selling yourself
short, he thought to himself. You were base hand to hand fighting champion
three years running and could probably show Grady a thing or two. Who are you kidding, this kid has been
doing covert black ops as recently as the last few months and you’ve been
parked here training grunts for longer than you care to remember. His final thought to himself was, let’s get this over with and then he
added one more… and have fun.
They men cheered again when Nick pushed through the
door. Damn, the man has an
impressive body, Ty thought. Ty
knew that opponents sometimes underestimated his own physique, and he used that
to his advantage. Neither man was
modest, but Stark carried himself with the ease of man completely at ease with
himself. The two locked eyes
briefly as is to confirm, ‘showtime’, then Ty stood and approached his
Captain.
Nick was a couple inches taller and more ostensibly
muscled. Ty was leaner and every
inch of him toned and hard. Both
men had dogtags on above the waist and nothing else. Nick turned Ty to be next to him, and threw an arm over his
shoulder in solidarity. “OK men,”
he started, “this is to be a fair fight, and provide you slackers some
entertainment before your weekend of liberty. Maybe you’ll learn something about hand to hand combat as
well.” Ty nodded in agreement,
slipping his arm around Nick’s waist, a move that felt all too familiar and
comfortable, since that’s how he and Zane often slipped into a casual
embrace. “No blows below the
belt,” Nick continued, “and no cheap shots to the head. We don’t want any medics involved, and
it’s best if the bruises don’t show too much.” Nick grabbed Ty’s chin playfully and continued, “and we
don’t want to mark up either of our pretty faces,” which brought a loud laugh
from the assembled men. “Especially if your Staff Sargeant wants
to have a chance of getting laid this weekend. Me, you all know my right hand gets a workout ever night
anyway, so no loss there.” The men
howled at Nick’s self deprecating raunchy humor, and with that Nick pushed Ty
to face him, and the two clasped hands, nodded and backed away from each other
to begin.
Both men took up defensive stances, but Nick had a trick he
used that never failed, and it didn’t with Ty. Nick immediately feinted left, leading Ty in that direction,
then quickly twisted his right leg up and slammed it into Ty’s unprotected left
flank. Ty grunted, and his eyes
narrowed as the men reacted to the blow with sympathetic groans. Ty lunged for Nick, who easily dodged out
of the way. Fucker’s putting on an act, Nick thought, I know he’s smarter than that. Two can play at that
game, he thought as Nick backed up a couple paces and put his hands on his
hips. He beckoned Ty forward with
a ‘bring it on’ motion with his hand.
Ty grinned and complied, dancing forward then retreating, bringing Nick
in range for Ty to land a powerful blow on Nick’s bicep; the smack was audible
to the audience, who cheered for Ty landing a blow in retaliation for the
wicked kick. Nick spun and sent a
roundhouse kick Ty’s way, but it was easily dodged. As Ty pursued his advantage, Nick twisted out of the way and
buried his fist deep into Ty’s stomach, which felt like it was made of steel,
but Ty still sucked air and doubled over a bit. Acting again,
thought Nick as Ty barreled into him, chest to chest, the two of them tumbling
to the ground. Ty’s nostrils were
flaring as he pinned Nick to the ground, but Nick easily used his heavier
weight to flip him over and pin Ty in return. Nick relaxed his muscles, stood, and offered Ty a hand
up. As Ty stood, the two put their
heads close together for a brief moment.
“When you are gonna start actually fighting, Grady?” Nick asked. “When you show me some moves worthy of
the effort,” Ty responded. Now that
they were warmed up and knew where each other stood, it was time to get
serious. This time, they circled
for a good couple minutes before Ty saw his opening and sent a powerful blow to
Nick’s upper pec. Nick grunted and
took it, staying in his defensive mode.
Nick identified Ty’s main weakness; he didn’t protect his
belly. He took fierce advantage of
this over the next few interactions, with Nick taking blows on his pecs and
biceps, and Ty getting some abuse to his abs. They felt rock solid, that must be why he didn’t bother
protecting them. Both men were
sweaty and dirty at this point; it was only a matter of time before someone
slipped with one of their blows.
Ty got a glancing strike on Nick’s shoulder, and the strength behind it
coupled with Nick’s slick sweaty
skin let the force of Ty’s swing continue and Nick took a nasty blow to his
left cheek. He stumbled back and
shook his head. “Shit. That hurt,” he said. Ty dropped his stance to peer
close. “Sorry, Stark. Accident.” Nick nodded and got back into position. Ty mirrored him and they started the
dance again. Next slipup was a
glancing blow to Ty’s chin, splitting his lip.
After another 10 minutes, the pony keg was empty, the
cheering got louder, and both combatants were struggling to get their breath,
slick torsos bruised and knuckles bloody.
“Call it a draw?” Ty asked.
“Hell no,” was Nick’s grinning reply.
Neither combatant saw it, but the noise had drawn attention
in the form of two MPs approaching, led by the base commander. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?” Major
Douglas bellowed. Some of the men
tried to hide their cups, and Nick and Ty separated. Nick took responsibility by answering, “Just a friendly
demonstration of some fighting skills, Sir.” Douglas walked through the assembled men, right up to Nick
and Ty. He was tall and lean,
almost eye to eye with Nick. “I
can smell the bullshit coming out of your mouth, Captain.” Then he looked around. “Drinking in the barracks, open
containers, unauthorized fighting, fraternization…” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Stark, you’re not setting a good example here.” Ty spoke up to defend Nick and their
bout. “Sir, I think if you…” But Douglas cut him off. “Not one word out of you, Staff
Sargeant. I know you’re new here on
my base, so you might not know how I like run the show around here. But the Captain here certainly
does.” Nick wasn’t hanging his
head in shame or anything, rather just bracing himself for the verbal dressing
down he assumed was coming. Again
Douglas shook his head and sighed.
“I can’t overlook such a blatant breach of the rules.” He nodded to the two MPs who he had
brought with him. “Men, detain the
Captain in the brig until further notice.
Noone except myself is authorized to release him.” The men groaned at the base commander
ruining their fun. Ty narrowed his
eyes, watching intently. Nick took
a step backward, a bit surprised at the strength of the reaction. Douglas had always looked the other way
before when Nick bent the rules to entertain his men. But he steadied himself and put his arms back, chest out,
eyes forward and barked “Yes Sir.
Sorry Sir,” as the MPs approached.
One of them nudged Nick’s arm as he went behind him, “Arms behind your
back, Captain. You know the
drill.” Nick obeyed without hesitation. Douglas roamed his eyes over Stark’s
bare torso, the muscles tensing as he complied with the order. The MPs grabbed Nick by the biceps, one
on each side, and started to march him off. Douglas took a few steps forward, then turned and looked
around the assembled men, halting his gaze on Ty. “I expect things to shape up in this unit, Staff
Sergeant.” “Yes Sir,” was Ty’s
easy answer, as his eyes followed Stark being led away. Something was damn peculiar here but as
usual his expression gave nothing away.
At least the base commander hadn’t canceled their weekend liberty, if he
was even aware of it.
Nick was seated on the cot in one of the cells in the base
brig. They were basically small
prison cells, each with a toilet, sink and cot. Mostly used for drunk and disorderly Marines to sleep it
off, occasionally an officer was held here. In such cases, the end cell was always used, to give the man
a modicum of privacy. He hadn’t been
booked, just escorted down the hall to the end cell and locked inside. He had been ordered to turn his back to
the MP so his cuffs could be removed.
Now, the medic was seated in an upright chair between Nick’s spread legs
going over his wounds. “Ow!” Nick
jumped back as the medic wiped the abrasion on his cheek with a disinfectant
solution. “Easy there Captain,”
the medic replied, “this is for your own good.” The man could smell the battered Marine Captain, and was
impressed with his musculature.
Nick hadn’t been offered, or asked for, a shirt. “Lean back,” the medic prompted,
pushing on Nick’s chest. Nick
leaned back with his arms stretched out behind him, holding his torso up. The young medic poked at his taut
stomach muscles, examining the bruises, then moved up to his pecs, one of which
was already sporting a vivid bruise.
“I hope the other guy looks worse,” he joked. “About the same,” Nick replied. It was unusual that no ranking officer had come back to
review the charges against Nick; he was hopeful that that meant Douglas had softened
up a bit and wasn’t going to throw the book at him. Nick was perfectly willing to spend a night in the brig in
exchange for nothing going on his record.
Besides, Ty was leaving tonight to reconnoiter with Zane at his hotel,
and then tomorrow the plan was going to be put into action to try and flush out
the kidnappers. But Douglas knew
that, so why had he stuck his nose into the fight? As Nick was looking down the hall thinking through this, he
missed the medic prepping an injection.
He jerked his head back around and moved his hand to his stomach as the
man was pushing the plunger down, the needle buried in Nick’s thick
abdominals. “What the hell are you
giving me?” Nick asked, angry at being caught off guard. “Just a booster in case any dirt got in
your wounds and causes infection.”
Nick felt the effects immediately, and the medic stood and gripped
Nick’s shoulders firmly, easing him down.
“Why don’t you lie down, Captain, while it takes effect.” Nick tried to respond, but his neck and
throat felt tight. The medic bent
and lifted Nick’s legs to lie him down fully on the cot. Nick looked down his body, seeing his
pecs, his belt, and his boots. He
focused on his boots. The laces were
going in and out of focus. He
looked up at the medic with a puzzled expression. “I have to go now,” he said quickly, packing up his
equipment. “You just try and
rest… go to sleep, Captain.” Nick nodded weakly, glad to have been
given an order that he could obey without question. His handsome head fell to the side, eyes closed, before the
guard was done locking the cell behind the medic.
