Author: J. Slater

Publisher: CreateSpace

Published: 2015-06-17

Total Pages: 352

ISBN-13: 9781512068542

In the Military, if you screw up, you either get busted or promoted. Sergeant Phelan Oscar Piran, formally of the Galactic Council Marine Corps, discovered that both can happen. If it wasn't enough trouble being the oldest Ensign in the Galactic Council Navy, call sign J-Pop, he's getting pulled back into the Clan's business. He's not a Druid, having failed the Ritual, but he is a member of the Clan. "Piran right?" Keitaro asked while cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, "You know that my Commander on the docks is pretty pissed at you." "Along with a lot of other officers," I replied, "He'll have to stand in line." "I don't think so," he said moving so fast I didn't have time to block the jab to my chin. My head snapped around and his fist in my ribs dropped me to my knees. Perfect, because his knee caught my chin, I flew back, and landed on the hardwood decking. Now I had a splitting headache, hurting side and there was a ringing in my ears. "That enough for your officer?" I mouthed not sure if the words actually came out. "Not near enough," Keitaro sneered. I think, I mentioned that he was a sadistic fighter. "Get up, I haven't even worked up a sweat yet." He stood back and I climbed to my knees trying to clear my head. In a hand to hand contest, he out classed me like a thousand to one. If I stood, he'd put me down again. The young sailor from the gel track finished and quickly gathered up his stuff. When he passed the nearest exit, I was puzzled. He looked familiar but I was too fuzzy to place his face. "I haven't got all night Marine and there are a lot of moves I need to practice," my assailant said. Well, it wouldn't matter if I showed up at the trial a beaten mess. Before I could push off the deck, a pair of fighting sticks came sliding to within an arm's length from my hand. The young sailor had done me a favor. The fighting sticks were made of heavy wood. There were two of them and while not cutting weapons, they were hard hitting. Did I mention that my parents were Druids? from an early age, our Clan's kids played with fighting sticks. "Hello friends," I said scooping up the heavy sticks. "I'm not your friend," Keitaro said misunderstanding my words. "Not you," I said standing. I swing the sticks around in a pattern. He lowered into a fighting stance while I increased the speed of my motions. "There are nine angles of attack," I said stopping the movement. "Head strikes, left and right," I said demonstrating. "Elbow strikes again left and right," I continued by showing the strikes to the elbows of an invisible man. "Knees, left and right. Vertical up strike to the center of the body followed by a downward strike also to the center of the body starting with the head." He was bouncing now getting ready to launch his attack. From this distance, I figured it would be a kick. His right leg shot out snake quick but I'd been waiting for it. I stepped into the kick so it just brushed my hip. I drove the point of my right stick into his stomach. "Basic strike nine is a jab to the center of the body," I said. He was muscular so the jab didn't do any damage but it did back him up a step. Perfect, two quick strikes to his neck disrupted the blood flow to his head. Then, I was all over him with basic strikes before he could recover. As he moved left, I hit him on the right, he dodged right and I hit him on the left. I had a lot of bottled up issues that night and I should have ended it quickly. Instead, I began a series of patterns, quick strikes that flowed from one stick to another with almost no time between hits. The faster I moved the more blistering the damage to my opponent. I've got to give it to him, he didn't go down fast and so he absorbed a lot more then he should have. Finally, he dropped into a fetal position and screamed, "Stop, please stop." I stopped, leaned down and said, "Are you sure, I haven't even broken a sweat yet?" "Yes, enough." Did I mention that my parents we