Chapter 15

We were dismissed and our commanding officer left the room. I watched him leave and that was when I noticed a group of Corporals at the door.

“Gentlemen,” Warrant Officer Rickly said. “Divide yourselves into groups of five. When you are set, get the attention of a Corporal and he will conduct you to your next orientation station.”

I looked over at Charles Wagon, both of us nodding in agreement. Now who would our next three be. A stocky man with a ruddy complexion approached us.

“May I join your merry band?”

“Of course,” I said extending a hand. “Mick O’Dell.”

“Charles Wagon,” my friend said extending a hand as well.

“Roger Caruthers, Lieutenant.

“Same for Charles and myself,” I said as four men walked over to us.

“Excuse me,” the tallest of the men said. “If you’ve not chosen a group, we’d like Lieutenant O’Dell to join us.”

“I’m honored, gentlemen, but my two friends and I have sort of bonded.”

“Damn,” the tall man said.

After several minutes, groups of five had left the room led by a Corporal. The three of us stood there and after scanning the room it became apparent that the two men who were to complete our five, didn’t want to join us.

The big guy scowled and walked towards us, his partner following behind like a small puppy.

“Well it looks like I’m stuck with you three.”

I squared myself a few inches in front of him and spoke plainly and without bravado.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?” he asked, looking confused.

“To town! You’re a pompous ass and a son of a bitch. I think you need to get your shit in order and I’m the guy to shuffle your deck.”

“Fellas, I don’t thinking fighting is going to be accepted here,” Charles said.

“Fine,” I said with a smile. “I’m Michael Paul Rory O’Dell. My friends call me Mick. You pick the place and time, and I’ll adjust your attitude at your convenience. Don’t take too long or my friends here will think you’re a chicken shit as well as an incorrigible asshole.”

I waved at the last remaining Corporal and Charles, Roger and I took off for the door. Leaving a stunned big guy and his puppy behind us. The Corporal turned right, and we fell in behind him. After a fairly long walk, featuring many turns and finally a flight down of stairs, the Corporal led us into a room with padding on the walls and floor. And there in the middle of the room was a smiling Warrant Officer Rickly.

“I should have guessed. Mr. Bonham. No one wanted anything to do with you, eh? That is customary for the last group to form. So let me guess, you and Mr. O’Dell need to have a conversation?”

I smiled and nodded to the Warrant Officer, but the Warrant Officer was no longer polite and treating us as officers and gentlemen.

“Through that door all of you! Change into the gear you find there and get back out here. Quick step!” he bellowed.

I headed for the door and found a locker room. At each of the many single lockers with names on them. Inside there were sets of sweatshirts and matching pants. I was a bit amused to find a supporter with a metal cup for protection of the family jewels among the equipment. Each of us found our locker, the big guy and his puppy had lockers far from us.

Once dressed, we returned to the exercise room where for the next hour, the Warrant Officer beat the living hell out of us. He was quick, decisive, and efficient in the manner in which he dispatched each of us. In all cases, he taught, as he demolished each of us. Finally, after almost an hour he stopped all activity.

“Mr. Bonham. Mr. O’Dell step to the middle of the room.”

We did as ordered.

“The loser gets no lunch. GO!”

Mr. Bonham must love his lunch, because he pounced on me and it was only my past training at West Point in wrestling, and the quick study I made of the Warrant Officer’s teaching, that enabled me to ward off Bonham’s initial charge.

I dodged as he passed and I grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling him up and off his feet and then directing his momentum to a crashing thud on the floor. Two quick hammer-fists to his solar plexus, completely deflated him. I stood and back away so I would not be surprised by a leg sweep. No sweeps of any sort were to be coming however, as Mr. Bonham lay there trying to inhale.

“Stop!” The Warrant Officer ordered. “Winner, Mr. O’Dell. Gentlemen, dress and follow the Corporal to the next station.”

Everyone returned to the locker room, except for me and Mr. Bonham. I stood over him and then offered a hand. He looked at me like I had two heads and slapped my hand away. I went to the locker room leaving him lying on the mat.

After showers and dressing, the four of us were gathered with the Corporal waiting for Bonham to dress and join us. During that time we found that the puppy’s name was Clive Brown. He was English. That gave us two Yanks and two Brits.

“Fred is Canadian,” Clive offered, regarding Bonham. So his name was Fred. Well I wasn’t planning on leaving the unit, that meant that he was going to join us or get out. When he finally rejoined us, I stopped the Corporal.

“One moment please,” I said before turning to Fred Bonham. “Fred, we are either in this together or one of us is out. You don’t seem to be trying to fit in. I’d offer to go back in there and settle this but there isn’t time. The other option is that you stop giving everyone the opinion that Canadians are assholes. I’m willing to shake and get along if you are.” I held out my hand.

He took it, squeezed as hard as he could and sneered at me, while trying to twist my arm into a position where he could break my wrist. I doubled my grip, twisted his wrist and stepped under his arm. Then I drove an elbow back and into his solar plexus. He fell, I went down with him and put my weight on his arm, breaking it. He screamed out in pain as I released his hand.

I looked down at him and bent over to speak quietly to him.

“You had the options and the choices, asshole. The O’Dells will not be trifled with.”

I stood back and let the medics get to him. I looked at the Corporal and the rest of our group.

“Should I wait here for the MP’s?”

“I’m sorry sir? MP’s?”

“Sorry. American Army. Military Police.”

“No sir. But can we go to the next station now, we are behind schedule.”

He turned sharply and walked, we all followed along, leaving Fred Bonham laying on the floor.

As we made our way to lunch after our third station of the morning, Clive looked at me.

“Was that judo?”

“No, Clive. It was me being very angry. I offered to make peace. He made war. He lost. It’s all pretty simple. And by the way, I have a question for you, and I don’t want it to be taken poorly. Why were you following Fred around like you were?”

“What do you mean?”

“Clive, everyone saw you. The only thing missing was him having a leash to keep hold of you. What are you going to do in combat, wait for someone to lead you on?”

He got quiet as we took seats at our table.

“I’ve never been very assertive, I guess.”

“Well, my friend, you better get that way, or some big bad German is going to shove a knife up your ass. The guys and I will help you as much as we can, but we won’t do things for you. All right?”

He sat in silence for a bit and was about to answer when the Private came to take our orders.

“Clive, why don’t you order for us. I’m still not used to this food. I’m afraid I’ll order the British equivalent of Rocky Mountain Oysters.”

“What? Never mind.” Clive then ordered a very nice lunch for us and we all dug in after a rather vigorous morning.

“Mick?” Roger asked. “What are Rocky Mountain Oysters?”

I smiled and looked at Clive, who looked lost. However, Charles Wagon was about to burst. His face was red, and his cheeks blown out.

“Go ahead, Charles. You know you’re dying to tell him.”

Charles Wagon, Texan, looked at Clive and Roger and blurted out almost at the top of his lungs. “Bull testicles! Bull balls.”

Clive blushed red, his hands going to his mouth. “You bloody colonials, eat the balls of bulls?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said trying to slow the roll. “Clive in some areas, especially cattle country, it is considered a delicacy. They are sautéed in garlic and butter and, if you’ve developed the taste, they’re not half bad.”

Just then Warrant Officer Rickly came to our table.

“Gentlemen, when you are finished with your meal, the commanding officer would like to speak with you.”

“Yes, Warrant Officer. Do we meet him here or do we go somewhere?” I asked, since I knew this was going to be on me.

“Just remain here.”

We ate in a companionable silence, with only requests for salt, pepper, or butter breaking through the quiet. We remained seated while other groups were led by a Corporal to their next station of the day.

Lieutenant Colonel Aubrey-Smythe walked in after the last of the men not in our group had left the mess. We stood and saluted. He returned the salute and pointed to our chairs before he pulled up a chair of his own and sat down.

“Gentlemen, when I made my earlier statement, it was not with the intent that you would go off and begin to cause severe bodily harm to the other members of the unit. That being said, no one I’ve spoken to, cared in the least for Captain Bonham.”

“He was a Captain!?” I blurted out.

“He was and is. And according to the Canadians he was one of their best.”

“Best what?” Charles mumbled.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Wagon?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve met some of those Canadian soldiers and they are a tough as nails bunch. He was a bully and acted as if he was better than everyone here. Lieutenant O’Dell made an open offer of peace and an offer to work towards building our team and he ... well sir, he got what he asked for.”

“Yes, that is what the witness said. Warrant Officer Rickly also said that Lieutenant O’Dell threw him down and disabled him in less than four seconds. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir it is,” Roger added rather quickly.

“Lieutenant?” The Commander looked at me.

“I wouldn’t know, sir. He attacked, I responded, and it was over.”

“What method did you use?”

“Method, sir?”

“Yes. Fighting style. What did you use?”

“Sir, I wrestled a bit at West Point, and everyone knows that a couple of shots to the solar plexus will pretty much stop a man in his tracks. But there was no style per se.”

“Teach your group how to fight like that. You are responsible for their progress.”

With that he stood, we stood, we saluted, and he returned it and left. When he left the mess, the four of us let out a collective breath.

“Well, teacher. When do we start?” Charles asked with a big smile.

“Right now if you start with that shit!”

“What?”

“Look, like I said. There is no style. I just do stuff.”

“Well you now have a style,” Roger said quietly. “And you have to teach it. I guess we should name it.”

“Name it?” I asked.

“RMO!” Clive announced.

“What?” Roger asked.

“The fighting style is RMO. Rocky Mountain Oysters. Cross us and we’ll feed them to you.”

Clive looked so damned proud of his idea I didn’t have the heart to quash it. We all got up, laughing and walked to the door to find our Corporal waiting for us.

“Sorry, Corporal.”

“I understand. Follow me.”

He led us to a small classroom, where we spent the next two hours looking at maps of German held territory and countries that had active resistance movements. We talked about general targets, like bridges and factories. We talked about areas controlled by the SS and those controlled by the Gestapo. Then they explained the difference between the two and why we should kill everyone that we could find, unless we were in an area where the locals were killed if Germans were killed.

After two hours, we were led back to the gymnasium and Warrant Officer Rickly watched me lead the members of my group through some stretches and then some basic wrestling moves. Then I spent about thirty minutes going over the point on the human body that would cause the most damage. At that point, the Warrant Officer joined in.

“Gentlemen, all that Mr. O’Dell has told you is true. I would like to add that there are some locations where a strong blow will kill your target almost instantly. And remember this in a fight. There are no rules. Biting, eye gouging, and anything else that will defeat your opponent are usable. Hopefully, you will be able to do all of your killing from cover.”