mobility.
The second man, in red trunks, fought like an experienced martial artist, well-schooled in hand to hand combat. He utilized jabs, chops, kicks, counters, and stayed extremely mobile, dancing in and out, and side to side. Despite his fluid grace and obvious fighting superiority, his opponent just shrugged off his blows and continued to rain his own clumsy shots with little success.
After about five minutes of constant fighting, both men sweating profusely, the man in red trunks finally found his opening. As the man in blue threw a powerful right hook towards his opponents face, the smaller man easily spun to the attackers right side, twirling beneath his upraised arm. Now at the man’s back, it was easy to pull off a spinning leg sweep that took the big man to the mat, and the smaller man’s elbow to his neck.
After a few heartbeats of an intense stare down, the big man started laughing and allowed the other to help him up.
“I thought I had you there with that last hook, but you are too damn quick, mon ami. How many shots did I actually land in that fight? Three? And those barely connected, as if you knew they were coming. How do you do that?”
“I’ve been studying martial arts since I was able to crawl,” the smaller man replied. “It’s not just about fighting, but learning how to anticipate your opponent. Read them. But don’t worry, you’re doing better. I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”
The two continued to chat when McDougal cleared his throat.
“If the two of you are finished, I’d like to introduce you to our final member. This is Lieutenant Jacob Hunter. Hunter, let me introduce Lieutenant James Wang,” he said indicating the smaller man, “and this rather large brute is Lieutenant Jeanne Bordeaux.”
I nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”
Bordeaux offered a smile and goofy wave, while Wang bowed slightly and offered a very British, possibly Welsh, “ello.”
To say Bordeaux was a large man was an understatement. His legs were the size of tree trunks and his arms like honey baked hams, while his shirtless upper body was just as intimidating. In all my time in the military, I can’t remember many men who matched him in size. Yet, despite his massive frame, his features were oddly gentle. He had a thin face, with a chiseled jaw and cheeks, and a slightly pointy nose. Sandy brown short hair, and scruffy facial hair gave me the impression he was pretty successful at pic king up women at night clubs.
His boxing partner, Wang, was the polar opposite. Only five and a half feet tall, I estimated even the woman at the sniper range was taller than he was. Not only was he small in height, but also thin in girth. That said, even if Bordeaux hadn’t known what kind of fighter he was, he would probably think twice about getting into a fight with him. His thin body was ripped with muscles in places I didn’t know you could have them. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if I learned he could out-bench me.
He had a round face and narrow eyes that appealed to his surname’s ethnicity but his nose and his mouth had a distinctly western quality to them.
I was about to inquire into their backgrounds when the man previously using the chest press bench came into view. The man, wearing shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, was well muscled, and bore a striking resemblance to Father Vincent from my car ride in. It wasn’t until he came around the last corner to face me, that I realized it was Father Vincent.
“Father Vincent,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”
The priest smiled, “I’m part of the team, Hunter. Indeed, I am a man of the cloth, but prior to taking my vows, I served in the Swiss Guard, and before that, the Swiss military.”
“Really?” I asked skeptically
He rolled his eyes. “I was a soldier before you were even in school, but when my term of service was up with the Guard, I discovered a higher calling. I was ordained and came to serve here at the Vatican, where until recently I served as both priest and Pope Gregory’s personal bodyguard, cleverly hidden as a fellow servant of God. Currently, I serve as the team’s liaison with His Holiness, but don’t worry, I still know how to handle myself in a fight.”
I was still trying to process this new information when he continued.
“When I’m on duty, you may refer to me as Vincent, or Vince, as my mother used to call me I suppose. I don’t want my position to add any undue stress and distance between us, but while I wear my collar or preside over the team, I am once again Father Vincent.”
I glanced at McDougal, who confirmed Vincent’s story with a nod. “Captain Vincent’s story is all true, lad. He’s been a soldier longer than I have and will serve as my XO and take command should he need to. You’ll receive more details at the briefing, but let’s introduce you to our final member first, and have you perform a quick inspection of your gear as well.”
That sounded like a reasonable plan to me. I was not only looking forward to meeting the last member of the team, but to have the familiar grip of my beloved rifle in my hands once again. With a quick nod to Vincent, and with Bordeaux and Wang once again sparring in the ring, we made our way to the range where the woman was retrieving a second target. The large sheet of paper had but a single small hole, dead center-mass. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the hole was really the culmination of multiple shots all fired almost directly upon one another, an extremely impressive feat, even if the distance between shooter and target had not been as great as before.
She spent a few seconds studying the target as we approached, but her head jerked in our direction when we got close. I wasn’t entirely surprised she noticed us, but many snipers were notorious for sever tunnel vision due to the constant use of their scopes. I knew this because it was something I suffered from slightly myself. It was a good indicator of what to expect out of her, but I didn’t really have long to think about it. When the woman completed her turn and I finally had the chance to get a good look at her, all I could focus on were light green eyes, so bright and piercing that they bordered on a color meant only for those deemed clinically insane.
They were mesmerizing.
I found myself starring into them so I blinked before I came off like a creep, and noticed that the rest of her features were also as complex as they were beautiful. Her facial structure reflected European ancestry, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and sharply curved eyebrows. Her mouth was wide and her lips full, but perfectly proportionate with her face and angled chin. However, her dark olive skin, as though she were permanently tanned, did not seem to match the rest of her features. Nor did her hair, which was as black as the night. It all combined to make her a rare beauty, and her near six foot frame gave her the air of an Amazon.
Which was exactly why I spent so much time analyzing her looks. Attractive servicewomen were not an uncommon sight in the armed forces, but this woman was the kind of beautiful one would be very hard pressed to find anywhere. Had we been a more covert unit like Santino’s Delta Force, there was no way she would be here. It wasn’t a question of sexism, but of reality. Attractive women simply couldn’t blend in and remain anonymous in the field. A mark would pick her out of a crowd in seconds.
But in this room, she was still gorgeous, even if the look she was offering me in return was as fierce as they came. Her green eyes betrayed little but she didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me. McDougal must have noticed the tension and cleared his throat before making introductions.
“Hunter, this is Lieutenant Helena Van Strauss. Strauss, this is Lieutenant Hunter.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” I said as I took a step forward to shake her hand. It was only mere attempt at walking; however, as my left foot tangled over my right and I nearly fell right into the stoic woman.
Just like high school all over again.
I had little luck with girls as a teen, except for my neighbor Suzie Lu, of course. Dates usually ended with an awkward kiss on the cheek and a couple of stumbles down the porch stairs just to ensure she wouldn’t call me back. Even in college after I started working out, and grew in height and into my features, I still found myself mumbling and tripping around girls. Luckily at that point most girls found the whole routine somewhat cute and charming and ensured the night would end on a good note. Over the years, the whole process became ingrained in my “game,” as my friends called it, and even though I wasn’t intimidated by pretty girls anymore, I still got the butterflies and stutters.
When I regained my composure, straightening my Hawaiian shirt as I did so, I smiled at her awkwardly. Her expression remained stoic and she fixed her eyes to mine like twin ice boring lasers drilling into the back of my
