they think they…”
I never got the chance to finish. She was on her feet like a cheetah, and again staring icicles upwards into my skull.
I gulped. It was the only thing I could do as I stared back into her overwhelming beautiful, but currently frightening, eyes.
“So?” I asked, trying to stay brave. “Anything to say?”
The words were barely out of my mouth when her fist connected with my right eye socket, pitching me backwards into my locker. Stars flashed in my vision and the rest of the world went black when my head slammed into the locker behind me. When my mind cleared seconds later, I shot my right hand to my face, wishfully hoping to delay the inevitable swelling and darkening.
Speechless, I just stared at her, completely confused and taken aback by her assault. I wanted to yell at her and hit her right back, but it was probably a good thing that I kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself. She might kill me.
I checked my hand to make sure my face wasn’t bleeding, which thankfully came back clean. Risking one last look at my attacker, I turned for the door and began to head away from the crazed woman who had hit me for seemingly no reason. She was already back at work cleaning her gun, oblivious to our encounter.
Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but smile.
***
The multiplex was eerily silent when I returned to the common area. Everyone, save McDougal, had gathered in the mess area and was in the midst of socializing and chow. Noticing my approach, they all stopped what they were doing mid motion and turned to look at me. Santino had a glop of noodles hanging from his mouth, while Bordeaux had paused as he sipped a steaming drink.
I stopped in front of their table, hands on my hips, and looked each man in the eye. Each wore a passive expression and for a few moments the five of us did nothing but stare at each other before all of a sudden, the four men at the table burst out in playful laughter. In the midst of their laughter, I couldn’t help but noticed Wang pass a few Euros to Vincent.
“Something I should know, gentlemen?”
Santino was the first to stop laughing, but he had to catch his breath before explaining the situation.
“Jake, man, it’s nothing personal, but before you got here, all of us, including Miss Van Strauss,” he said the name, emphasizing it in a haughty and disrespectful manner, “had lunch, chit-chatting. She told us how she had just broken up with some longtime boyfriend of hers or something because he’d cheated on her when her time in the service kept them apart. Sad, right? Well, here’s the funny part. She said she’d kill the next guy she saw that even remotely pissed her off. I guess it doesn’t help that you kinda look like how she described him. Tall, wavy brown hair, broad shoulders, dashing good looks, as soon as I saw you I knew there would be trouble, especially considering your awkward way with pretty girls,” he paused. “I’ll never understand how that works by the way.”
I continued to stare at him stoically.
“Vinnie over there won the bet.”
I glanced over at the aging priest accusingly who merely shrugged, smiled, and continued to eat.
“He said she’d throw a punch. I said she’d knee you in the balls, and the boxing twins over there thought she’d go easy on you, but I knew you’d do something stupid to get her all worked up. So what happened? Strike out swinging?”
My response was delayed as the group noticed our female comrade exit the armory and head directly towards another set of doors, opposite the ones she emerged. She spared a single, distant look in our direction, glowering.
“Didn’t even make it to the on deck circle,” I reported as we all watched her leave.
Santino stood up, placing a hand sympathetically on my shoulder while some of the other guys snickered at me.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Maybe it’s still the off season.”
***
Grabbing a tray of food, consisting of Salisbury steak, tater tots, and an unknown gelatinous substance, I joined the rest of the team at their table. Needless to say, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten anything since before I left for Washington, at least twenty four hours ago. I continued receiving jeers from my teammates, but took them in stride, knowing that the “Strauss” situation had been a good ice breaker.
The guys were conversing as I ate my meal, but I started growing restless not knowing a thing about them. Popping a few tater tots in my mouth, I decided my stomach was full enough to start a conversation.
“So, Wang,” I started, mumbling with my mouth full, “what’s your story? How long has your family been in England?”
Wang waited until he finished chewing his food before answering. It may have seemed like a culturally insensitive question to, but those in the military didn’t take such things personally. In the American armed forces, any given unit may be comprised of an African American from East Harlem, an upper class white guy from New England, and the product of illegal parents from south of the border. In these units, each of those men became brothers, trained to care for and do anything they could to protect each other. Sure, racial slurs and ethnic jokes ran rampant, but everyone shrugged them off, fully aware that they were only meant in good fun.
If only the rest of the world was so culturally accepting we wouldn’t be here.
Mouth clear, Wang leaned back in his chair, and spoke in a heavy Welsh accent.
“My grandparents fled the Great Cultural Revolution in 1966 and made their way to England with my father. My grandfather ran a dojo in a quiet countryside, but when local Red Guard members came to the area, he knew it was time to leave. My grandparent’s life was a quiet one, and they despised the Communists and their hope to wipe any memory of old China from the history books. So they took up residence in Cardiff, Wales, and opened a new dojo. My father took over when my grandfather died a few years back.” He paused, and took a quick drink from his mug. “And, aye, before you ask, my father married a local lass and I was but a wee product of both worlds.”
He smiled, “and a jolly good product at that.”
I chuckled at his intentionally overdone accent, and quickly determined I liked Wang. He seemed level headed and dedicated, but a little cocky, typical for elite operators. A good man to have at your back.
I glanced over at the large Frenchman. “What about you, big guy? Any interesting stories?”
Bordeaux put a hand over his chest in a sarcastic gesture. “ Moi? But, of course. I have many stories. Besides McDougal and Vincent here,” he said pointing at the aging priest who was sipping a cup of tea, “I almost have more years on me than any two of you combined, with plenty of stories to go with them.”
I inspected the man’s face, but couldn’t find any evidence to prove he was any older than thirty five. Remembering what he looked like with his shirt off, if he was as old as he claimed to be, he must be immune to aging. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind sharing his secret.
“And what about you, mon ami?” He continued. “We’ve all had some time to get to know one another, but we know nothing of you.”
“Me?” I asked, as I realized pathetically that there wasn’t much to tell. “I’m just a country boy, I guess. Born in the Midwest and raised by hardworking, but well-to-do parents, I enjoy very bad movies, long walks on the beach, and love good 80s music.”
The guys smiled at the lame and cliche attempt at humor.
Wang coughed politely into a fist. “I hate to break it to you, Hunter, but there’s no such thing as ‘good 80s music’ as you call it.”
Santino leaned back in his chair and pointed at me like a child. “See, Jacob, even the Brits don’t like it. I’ve been telling you that since I’ve known you” He turned back to Wang. “He even likes Duran Duran. Who likes them?”
Wang turned to look at me and shook his head very slowly and completely deadpanned.
