Chapter 16

September 9, 1945 P.D. 1900 hours

McKeon Avenue Auditorium

The coup de vitesse teams gathered around the fight areas, chatted, and stretched. Rachel used Matt as a prop as she stretched her calves and thighs.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"Nope. This is fun."

"As I've pointed out, you and I have different ideas of what constitutes fun."

Hipper chittered and signed.Is fun!

Rachel nodded politely at the Marine team and focused on Honor when she spoke to the team. "Use your strengths. Watch their eyes, watch the directions their shoulders move."

She looked at Rachel and rested her hands on her shoulders. "Along with that misdirection jab you picked up somewhere, you also have that unexpected, wicked fast right leg sweep."

They glanced at the Navy team. "I'm not about revenge, but I am about object lessons," Honor stated.

Rachel nodded, took a sip of juice, and bounced on her toes to keep warm until her match. Honor saw Sergeant McDonald observe his charge, then glance at the Navy team.

"This isn't much fun for you, is it?" she asked him.

"No armsman likes to see their charge do this sort of thing, but she is skilled and enjoys it. If she's matched with a Navy opponent, I'll truly enjoy it," he stated.

"You were a college boxing champ, correct?" Honor asked.

"I was, m'lady."

"She's moving more efficiently, and her jabs are different. Would that be your tutelage?" she asked.

"Perhaps, m'lady."

She chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

—

The first match was a brown belt match between a male Army corporal and a female Mayhew Steading Police Lieutenant. The police lieutenant won two points to one.

The second match was a black belt match between a Grayson University professor and Sergeant Major Ledger, who won two points to one.

Rachel was slated for the third match. Her opponent was an intelligence analyst from the Office of Planetary Security. She won and a medic had to help her opponent from the mat. Rachel didn't know the last time he fought, or how prepared (or not) he was, but it didn't matter. If someone stepped on to the mat, they better be prepared to fight.

"I almost feel bad for him," Rachel said as two friends helped the man to a chair.

"I don't," Matt and Robert chorused.

The matches continued. Teams were eliminated, some had to forfeit due to injuries, and the Elway Steading team was kicked from the tournament for "conduct unbecoming."

The tournament wound down the first, second, and third place matches of the night. Rachel made it farther than anyone else reckoned, the second-place match. And wouldn't you know it, her opponent was Lt. Hardin, from the Navy. She watched the third-place match between an Army corporal and Grayson University professor. No one would have ever thought that such a soft-spoken Economics professor would be such a beast on the mats. However, the corporal won a hard-fought match two points to one, and his friends had to help him from the mat.

Rachel took a sip of juice, paced, and rolled her shoulders while she waited for her match to start. She mentally reviewed Lt. Hardin's moves she observed during the matches. They were roughly the same size, but as a male he was stronger. No matter, she had faced that plenty of times. She knew he would try to use that to his advantage. He was right-handed, so he often employed misdirection with his left to distract his opponent. He did have a tell, though. If he was aggravated, he clenched his fists and rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. And for some reason, he was slower than he should be on follow-throughs when he rolled someone to the mat.

"He's slower on follow-throughs, and watch his hands," Honor whispered.

Rachel nodded in acknowledgment.

—

During the match announcement and acknowledgments to sponsors, Lt. Hardin analyzed his opponent. Ensign Mayhew didn't look anxious or cocky, tired or beat up, but ready. They were the same size, but he was stronger, but in coup stronger didn't always mean a win. He still didn't believe in hitting a woman, but she had been tagged a few times and didn't seem worse for wear. He could forfeit due to his beliefs, but how embarrassing would that be? He looked back to Lt. Everly and PO3 Schmidt and they shrugged. The referee directed them to the mat. They bowed to each other and stepped on to the mat. The ref held up a hand, looked at the two, and let his hand drop.

Lt. Hardin wasted no time and charged, which was just what she wanted. When he was three steps away, she saw his left arm prepare to feign a swing, perhaps. She hopped into the swing for momentum and pushed it away, and then blocked his expected right elbow strike while she kicked away his attempted left knee strike. Not one to waste an opportunity, she followed up the blocked knee strike and immediately wrapped both of her legs around his offered leg. She crouched to collapse his leg and gave him a sharp jab to the solar plexus when he tried to wrap his arms around her.

"Point!" the ref called out.

She immediately let go and backed off.

He stood, rolled his shoulders, and adjusted his gi. She was faster than he thought and stronger than she looked. Women! Always keeping a man guessing! He wondered how she picked up on his misdirection when she charged first and to his surprise, dropped to her elbows and rolled. He had to hop over her to avoid hyperextending his knees and turned around, but she was still on her elbows. What was he supposed to do with someone that was already on the mat and knew that he was coming?

She saw him crouch and interrupted him to perform a scissor kick at his belly to distract him, and it worked. Mid-kick, she wrapped her arms around his left leg and rolled, which made him lose his balance. She felt the jab to her chin and heard, "Point!"

Lt. Hardin stepped back. Aggravated at herself, she slapped the mat and hopped up. She saw Aunt Honor give her a subtle calm down motion and she took a deep, calming breath. The next point would win the match. She rolled her shoulders and they both pounced with flurries of kicks, jabs, and elbow strikes. He was trying to wear her down, but she was blocking it all, and Robert had been doing foot work with her. The crowd was on its feet, cheering them on.

He saw that she subtly kept her left elbow closer to her side and turned ever so slightly so that she presented her right side more than her left. Was she protecting her left side?

She did have a sharp twinge below her left rib cage. She saw that he glanced to her left side. Was he reckoning that it would slow her down?

He hopped to her left and she stepped into the hop to interrupt whatever he was planning. He again feigned a left arm strike (that didn't fool her) and then made a split-second footing mistake when he attempted to follow up the feint with a right arm and pivot. In a blunder a ten-year-old would make, he stepped on his right foot with his left. The split-second hesitation was all the time she needed. She performed her unnaturally fast right leg sweep, and then all he saw was the red fabric of her gi when her knees (firmly but not painfully, he noted) gripped both sides of his head and flipped him to the mat. He landed facedown with a grunt and felt the side of her hand on his throat.

"Point! Mayhew wins!"

The crowd went wild, while the competitors were stunned into silence. Honor, sitting on the Harrington bench, was doubled over with cheers and laughter. Rachel got to her feet and held her hand out. Lt. Hardin took the offered hand, stood, and bowed. They left the mat and returned to their benches. Lt. Everly and PO3 Schmidt stared at him in disbelief, and if wasn't mistaken, amused sympathy.

"Did that takedown hurt?" Everly asked.

"Surprisingly, no," Hardin replied and carefully patted his tender right cheek. He had no choice but to be graceful about his loss. It was his fault, due that idiotic footing mistake and underestimating her. Her quickness and flexibility, combined with innovative and unexpected techniques, resulted in a decisive win.

"I've never seen that move," Everly noted and gave him a cold pack.

"It could take someone's head off," Schmidt added.

They looked to the Harrington bench where her intended, that Goodson fellow, kissed her while he held a cold pack to her left side. Her treecat signed at her and furiously flit his tail. Her armsman looked at them, crossed his arms, and smirked.

Sergeant Major Ledger won his match and the trophies were awarded. The sergeant major held up his first-place trophy, Rachel her second-place trophy, and the Army corporal his third-place trophy. The winners posed for photo opportunities with the trophies and congratulated each other on their solid fights.

—

"M'lady," Robert said and held out her chiming uni-link.

She put the link in her ear. "Hello?"

"What a match! Such an exciting win!" Ben exclaimed.

"Thanks, dad."

"Now Lawrence wants to learn to throw people around a mat," Ben said. "Will you be visiting Saturday?"

"Yes, mom said the invitations arrived yesterday, so we need to start addressing them."

"They did?"

She laughed and her breath caught.

"Are you all right?"

"Just after match aches and pains. It'll be worse in the morning."

"Well, get a good night's sleep and take something for the pain. See you Saturday."

"See you then, love you, bye."

She ended the call and Matt held up a hypospray. "Pain relief, you need to get ahead of it."

She stood and flinched. "It's already here."

He pressed the hypospray to her neck and the fwishdelivery was heard.

#

The next morning, she thought to bring her tournament trophy for her workspace but decided against it. She made a very clear point the previous night, and didn't need to rub it in their faces. A man's pride could be a prickly thing.

"Ensign Mayhew?"

She turned and saw Lt. Commander Purcell at his office door.

"Sir?"

"Step into my office for a bit," he requested.

She rose slower than she normally would have and stood outside the office until he waved her inside.

"I watched the matches last night, I reckon you're glad not to be wearing a harness today," he noted and glanced at the bruises on her face.

"Admittedly, it would have been uncomfortable. I'm sore everywhere," she said.

"Commander Kimbrell approved of your scrubber idea, and he met with Commander Seagram over at repair and refit to see what he thought of it. Your precis and sketch were sent to the main office, and now they want you to present it to Admiral McCann and the LAC jocks," he said.

"Me?"

He nodded. "Friday at 1000, at the LAC hangar. With the replica there, you'll can better explain your idea. Take the time until then to clean up your precis and sketches for a formal presentation. Commander Kimbrell and I will look it over Thursday and tweak it if necessary. Questions?"

"Not now, but I'm sure some will come up, sir," she said. "I had no idea that something like this would attract attention! It's just LAC scrubbers."

September 12, 1925 P.D. 0945 hours

LAC Command, Yanakov Hangar

Rachel stood behind a lectern and looked at the adjacent Katana-class cut-away replica LAC. She was dwarfed by the 71 meter long and 20-meter-high craft, and she wondered what it was like inside the craft during action. Hipper was perched on the pilot's seat and Robert was at the end of the hangar, looking up at those hanging on the dome frame. She took a deep breath, looked back down at her memo pad, and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Take a deep breath and relax," Commander Kimbrell suggested.

"Just go over the presentation as rehearsed with us," Commander Seagram added.

"And if they ask questions, give straight answers based on what you know," Commander Kimbrell stated.

The hangar office doors opened. Admiral McCann, the Head of Office of Shipbuilding, and his deputy entered first. They saw Hipper on the LAC seat and their lips twitched. Robert took a position on the wall adjacent the lectern, next to Commander Kimbrell's armsman. Next, Admiral Moreno of LAC Command and his Alvarez Field deputy, Captain Betts, entered the hangar. Two Marines and yeoman accompanied the group.

"Well, he looks ready to go," Captain Betts said of Hipper, who flicked his ears in greeting from the pilot's seat.

Admiral Moreno spoke. "All right, Ensign Mayhew, let's hear what you have to say."

"Aye sir."

She cleared her throat and began. The audience followed along on their memo pads, and a single eyebrow rose on Admiral McCann's face when he saw the fading bruise on her cheek, wrist wrap, and brief hesitation when she turned to the LAC. He beckoned Commander Kimbrell to him.

"How was she injured?" he murmured, and Admiral Moreno listened in.

"Coup de vitesse tournament, sir," the commander replied.

"I see, thank you," the admiral said.

Admiral McCann was inclined to approve the idea and set it in motion. The weight of the scrubber frame was nominal, but the potential of improved conditions inside the craft couldn't be overlooked. Out of the mouths of ensigns!As he listened to the presentation, he could clearly see her father in her: confident but not cocky, well-spoken, and knowledgeable about the subject at hand.

"…and that concludes this presentation. Thank you for your patient attention, gentlemen," she concluded and slid her laser pointer into her pocket. She glanced to the commanders, and they gave her a nod of approval.

"Ensign, if you don't mind my asking, where did you get this idea?" Captain Betts asked.

"During my midshipman cruise, I spent some time in the ship's LAC bays and heard some of the comments and concerns of the pilots," she explained. "I was up on the frame last week and a shop discussion popped into my head, sir."

Admiral McCann spoke. "Thank you for the presentation, ensign. Carry on."

She came to attention. "Aye aye, sir."

#