Chapter 22

Coach Douglas was very receptive to Alan joining the team, especially after seeing him run. He wasn't just fast, he was deceptive. I thought our defense was good, but nobody on the team could keep him from getting open. We had guys who were faster, but nobody that could fake and change direction as well as he could.

Coach promised him there would be a jersey with his name on it by the next day. He didn't promise that Alan would play on Friday, but I thought there was a good possibility he would. Learning the plays would take a while, but he'd play. He was too good not to. Coming from a pro-set offense, he had a lot of work to do. I promised to help him learn the play book, since he was staying at my place.

I saw what Alan meant about guns, when we started unloading the plane. Guns definitely weren't in short supply. I didn't know what half of them were, but they looked impressive. There were a bunch of other things that went to the practice room. On the first trip, I noticed there were some crates and long tubes already stacked there. I figured they were the things Claude picked up while we were in school.

The obvious turned out to be correct, as I discovered when we began to set up the area. The long tubes turned out to contain staffs of different length, construction, and material. The racks we put together held those, and a variety of strange swords. Those, I had to ask about.

"They're Katanas", Claude explained. It's what I know, so that's what you'll learn. It will probably be unusual where we're going, but the difference may be a help. They're lighter than the average sword found in our middle ages, but made stronger. That will give you added speed and agility. You might handle a larger weapon well, but some of the ladies would have trouble."

He went on to explain that while the Katanas were light, it didn't mean that the swords in our history had been all that heavy. "It's a myth", he said. "Actually the average sword in that time weighed between two and four pounds. They might look heavy, but they weren't too bad. A well made sword is light, and balanced. Folks in that time did tend to use them more like clubs than what you'll learn, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous."

The two last crates made me happy. They contained bows, crossbows, arrows, and bolts. "It's a hobby I share with Alan", he remarked as I gaped at the beautiful weapons. "We made every one of them by hand, and they work as well as they look. We won't be using those for at least a month, though. When I judge that your concentration level is where it needs to be, we'll begin to show you how to use them. It helps that you can shoot well, focusing on the target is half the battle."

We quickly learned that Claude was a strict taskmaster. Training began that very evening, right after we ate. He had us dress in loose clothes, and started us out by stretching. Ann, Denise and I were used to that, from our sports. Bernie didn't have any trouble either, but the rest needed some work on their flexibility.

He then showed us some "forms", as he called them. It seemed kind of strange, but he assured us that they were the foundation of what we were to learn. "Without the forms", he explained "the rest is useless. These are the movements you will need to commit to memory until they seem like natural reflex."

He was the expert, so I wasn't about to question him. He and Alan did them right along with us, and seemed a lot more natural and fluid in their movements than what I knew I looked like. It was like comparing a gazelle to a rhino, the contrast was that stark. It was obvious we had a long road ahead of us.

I was shocked when he acted pleased after we finished. He actually said we did better than any beginning class he'd taught in the Marines. He brought us back to Earth with the finish of "Half of those maggots flunked, though".

I asked what we were to learn, and he demonstrated some of by having a sparring contest with Alan. They were both a blur, as we watched in awe. Claude was obviously better, but Alan was no slouch. I told myself to never piss him off. He would most certainly kick my ass.

They took a short break, and then took up some bamboo practice swords. I could see the comprehension dawning on the girls, as it did on me. I could see bits of the forms in the movements they made. There was a lot more than what we had been shown so far, but it was there. Now, I knew why he had staged the sparring session. I, for one, became even more committed to learning.

Thursday went much the same, but Friday was our day off. For some of us, anyway. At least one of us had other duties to attend to. Glencross gave it their best shot, but it was a dud. Alan enjoyed what little playing time he got. He ran four routes, and had three touchdowns to show for it. Not bad, for his first game. I was sure he'd get a lot more time, real soon. He wasn't the only one that caught a touchdown pass. Even I got in the act. Coach put me in at fullback in the fourth, and Glencross pretty much ignored me after I left the backfield. I was wide open, and the ten yard pass turned into a sixty yard touchdown.

After the game, Claude got his first taste of the Pietto's cooking. It was love at first bite. We all cracked up when he found out Cheryl was their daughter and immediately asked "Can you cook?"

The weekend was constant training, broken only by brief interludes for meals and one reasonably long ride. We had a competition shooting from horseback, and I got the only victory over Claude that I would probably ever receive. I made sure to thank Diablo, since it was just because of him. There wasn't a horse in existence that could manage a gait as smooth as he could. He seemed pretty smug about the whole thing, especially when the Wirtz's complimented him.

Monday started the regular routine. Get up, do chores, eat, go to school, football practice, go home, practice, eat, practice, sleep, repeat. Alan quickly picked up the plays, and began to start at receiver. He became the "go to guy" from the first. If nobody else was open, I looked his way. He always was, and if he could get even a finger on the ball, he caught it.

We cruised through the rest of the season, but we all knew the real challenge was ahead of us. We managed to get seeded second this time, probably because we were the defending champions. Close games were expected, and that's what we got. The first round game wasn't bad, we won that one thirty-one to fourteen. The next one was a nail-biter. It took a defensive stop on our two yard line to win by four at the end of the game.

The dream of a repeat came to an end in the semi-finals, but I didn't see it. It wasn't a sack, so the offensive line's promise was kept. It was a pass play, but I was the receiver. They told me later that I held onto the ball. I held it so well that they had to pry it out of my unconscious fingers. It was a helmet to helmet hit, and we were both carried off of the field on stretchers.

I woke up ten minutes later, and healed the concussion I found. By that time, I was on the way to the hospital. They refused to turn around, and I figured coach wouldn't let me back into the game if they had. I resigned myself to the trip, and hoped the team pulled it out. When I went out, we were down by three but driving. I knew I had been on about our opponent's twenty when I caught the ball, so I was confident we would score. There was only three minutes left in the game, and I figured I'd get good news when I got out of the ambulance. I was wrong.

A couple of hours later, some of the players came by to check on me. They brought some shitty news with them. We had only managed a field goal, to tie the game on that drive. Tremaine proceeded to move the ball down the field after receiving the kick, and scored a field goal of their own with two seconds left on the clock. We lost thirty-four to thirty-one. The only positive thing, was that the guy who hit me was going to be alright, too. He'd just have a pretty intense headache for a while.

I was released in the morning, and we made the long drive home. I was pissed about being knocked out. That was the one thing, outside of something really bloody, could take me out of a game. You can't heal yourself unless you're coherent enough to know you're hurt.

The girls were concerned that I had been hurt, but they knew me well enough to not make a big deal out of it. Bernie was the only one that said a whole lot about it, and that was mostly bitching because they stopped her from getting to me before I was on the ambulance. I agreed with her. Hell, I probably would've only been out for a couple of plays if she had gotten to me.

We enjoyed our late Thanksgiving feast as much as we could. Alan helped me more than anything else. His old team had been good, but he knew what it felt like to lose. I didn't, because this was the first time it had happened to me. He told me something else that made me angrier than losing.

"They quit, Paul", he told me. "They just quit. I swear, when you got carried off of that field, it was like letting the air out of a balloon. It was like they expected to lose, after that. It wasn't just that they didn't gain a yard after you got that first down, either. That was the first time since I've watched our defense, that they looked disorganized. I've never seen so many missed tackles as I saw in the last three minutes of that game. It sucked!"

If I was pissed then, I don't know what you'd call the coach at Monday's meeting. Volcanic might come close, because he erupted. He started with "I've never seen such a bunch of pansies in my life! This is a TEAM! When one man goes down, it's the JOB of the rest of you to pick up the slack! Instead, what did I see? I saw a bunch of guys who just LAID DOWN AND LET THEMSELVES BE WALKED ON! I thought we had some LEADERS on this team. Instead, all I saw were a bunch of LOST LITTLE PUPPIES!"

He took a deep breath, and let some of the redness dissipate, before he sighed "Get out of here, before I say what I really want to. I want you to reflect on the display you put on over the off season, though. Think of what was there for the taking, and how you blew it. When practice starts in the spring, any of you that are even remotely satisfied with the way this season ended might as well not show up. Dismissed!"

I'd never seen anyone so mad in my life. Half of the team was actually in tears as they left. Several of them actually apologized to me, for letting the team down. It must have been even worse than Alan told me.

On the way home, he verified the suspicion. "I think Ernie, Dave, and John, were the only ones playing defense at the end. Tremaine didn't take long to figure that out, and went to short passes, screens, and sweeps. They couldn't do anything up the middle, but they could everywhere else. Think 'The Keystone Cops meet Laurel and Hardy', and you'd be close".

It sucked, but we put it behind us. There wasn't exactly much free time to reflect on it. Our class had moved on to weapons and hand-to-hand combat. The Bo seemed pretty natural to me, but the sword took some getting used to. Not that I was actually using a sword, yet. The bamboo practice sword was supposed to be about the same thing, and I was still using that. I had to spar with Alan, because I seemed to be progressing faster than the ladies. Maybe I should have slowed down, because he wiped the floor with me on a regular basis.

Even though he was kicking my butt, he was teaching me. Still, it was almost two months before I got even one hit on him. In my defense, it was getting harder for him to leave all of those red welts all over my body. I still got them, though.

A month after I started working with Alan, Bernie joined us. A week later, Denise and Ann moved over. Over the next month, the rest "graduated" to our level. The reunion was short-lived, though. Bernie and I moved back over with Claude, while the rest stayed with Alan. We would be using the actual Katanas, now.

We took two days off for Christmas, and I found out I wasn't as sly as I thought (again). I had slipped my shopping list to mom, and had her pick up the gifts for everyone. The girls had done the same thing, but with dad. Claude and Alan looked overwhelmed, when they saw the load headed their way. One of the presents for them had hooves. We gave them the mounts they rode all the time, complete with new saddles and tack.

Everyone else got new saddles, too. Dad said the saddler gave him a funny look when he described what I wanted, but he took the sample and made just what we needed. I thought carrying a staff while riding would be a pain, but now we could attach them to a simple quick release mechanism that was on the side. Our swords would be on our backs, so those wouldn't be in the way either.

After the holiday, it was back to work. First, there was a refresher with the Bo, and I was reminded I had a lot to learn yet. I could hold my own with Alan, but wasn't even remotely in Claude's league. The only consolation was his confidence that I could defeat a pretty good opponent.

"You have to remember", he said. "I've been doing this shit for thirty years. You'll do fine, trust me."

At this point, the only opponent I was on an equal footing with was Bernie. Even that was a challenge. That girl was sneaky. Her favorite tactic was a reverse and a jab with the end of the staff. It ended up in my stomach when it worked, and hurt even through the pads.

The Katana work wasn't against a live opponent, for safety reasons. I know Claude said the practice swords were supposed to feel the same, but I could tell the difference. It seemed like the bamboo was just "dead weight", while the steel felt alive.

When I finally said something, Bernie agreed. Claude grinned, and said "I thought you might say that. I feel the same way. I think you two might just end up being pretty good."

The praise came with a price. I think he worked us harder after that. We started to get more company, as the others moved up to our level. As before, it meant more advanced training. Since we had more people, they had Bernie and me face multiple opponents. That was when I first resorted to "cheating".

I knew I couldn't beat even two of them at the same time, so I used a spell. The results were impressive, and I was forced to explain. Claude was perplexed, and asked why I hadn't done it before now. When I explained my reasoning, he scowled.

"Paul", he sighed, "I thought we were clear on this being a life or death situation. In combat, there is no fair, and there is no cheating. There is only win or lose, and losing means you are dead. Now, I can't vouch for this personally, but I've been told that dead is not a good way to be. You use everything at your disposal, when fighting. Are we clear on this?"