Battleship

to show ’em they figure wrong.

The ball descended toward him, and he braced himself, ready to propel the ball at the goal and himself into glory, or at the very least his team into overtime. Suddenly he heard a grunt, though, and a body hit the ground. He barely had time to register that it was Tompkins before Nagata was suddenly in front of him, facing him with a grim smile.

With a roar, Hopper came at him, but Nagata didn’t wait. Instead he performed an astounding backflip with the intention of catching the ball in midair and kicking it downfield.

Because of Hopper’s lunge, however, Nagata’s foot didn’t quite come into contact with the ball. Instead his foot struck Hopper full in the face.

One moment Hopper had been preparing for the ball, and the next he was hurtling through the air, landing with a heavy thud some feet away. There was a collective gasp from the crowd of onlookers. Even for the level of violence to which this hard-fought game had escalated, this was pretty bad.

And in the startled, momentary silence that followed, Hopper heard a familiar female voice cry out, “Hopper! Oh my God!”

Hey, he thought happily, Sam came. She said she wouldn’t be able to make it but she came. How nice.

Then he started to black out.

No. Oh hell no. You are not going to give that son of a bitch the satisfaction.

He fought his way back to consciousness before the darkness could completely overwhelm him. The world came back into focus, one piece at a time. First the concerned muttering of his teammates who were standing above him, and then the brightness of the sky overhead against his closed eyelids. From the things they were saying—“Should we get him a doctor?” “Do you think he’s dead?”—he gathered that only moments had passed since he’d gone down.

He also became aware of the throbbing in his shoulder. He’d landed on it fairly hard when he’d hit the ground. It was hard to decide which hurt more: that or his face. Hopper decided to push himself all the way back to wakefulness and sort it out later.

His eyes snapped open, taking in the concerned expressions of his teammates. “Didn’t hurt at all,” he said, lying through his teeth.

They must have known he was full of crap, but no one was about to call him on it, although Stone was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. His older brother looked inclined to leave Hopper lying right where he was, presumably while he went to get a medic for his prone brother. Beast, however, kept his priorities firmly in order and reached down to Hopper, gripping him tightly by the arm. Unfortunately it was the arm with the injured shoulder, and it was all Hopper could do not to scream at the top of his lungs as Beast hauled him to his feet. His face went white as a sheet, and he gasped repeatedly in order to get enough air into his lungs.

“Alex, you sure—?” Stone said.

Hopper managed a nod and forced a wry smile. Preferring to double down on the lie rather than admit to it, he said, “Never better.”

Apparently this latest overaggressiveness had been the final straw for the refs. Or at least it was for the American ref. The Japanese ref was angrily protesting, but his counterpart was shaking his head as he shoved his way through the crowd of onlooking American sailors. “Penalty kick. End of injury time. This is it.” He leaned in and looked into Hopper’s eyes. “You in shape to take it, son?”

“Oh, I can take it.” He raised his voice to make damned sure the Japanese players heard him. “I can take whatever they dish out!”

This was all that was required to get the Americans psyched up. Shouts of “U.S.A! U.S.A!” rose from the onlookers, mixed with chants of “Hopper! Hopper!” The Japanese, meanwhile, were trying their best to keep their expressions carefully neutral. But Hopper was sure that he saw growing nervousness in their eyes. They were aware that the tide was shifting against them, and that Hopper could single-handedly tie the game and force them into overtime. Furthermore Hopper was convinced that when that happened, the Americans would have the momentum to run roughshod over them.

He took a few steps forward on his own and then pain ripped through him. It wasn’t his head or his legs; instead it was his shoulder, which was hurt worse than he’d thought. His arm was hanging at an odd angle; it had been dislocated.

He looked toward the sidelines to see if Sam had noticed, since she was the one he was most concerned with. She knew his body better than anyone except himself, so if anybody was going to be aware of the level of damage he had sustained…

Yup. She sees it. I’m boned. She was standing next to Vera, pointing to her own shoulder as an example, and Vera’s gaze shifted from Sam’s demonstration to Hopper’s actual right shoulder. She saw the damage that Sam was indicating and there was real concern on her face. Sam started gesturing for Hopper to remove himself from the game, but he simply shook his head and turned away from her. She wouldn’t understand. It was a guy thing.

“You want someone to take it for you?” said Stone, referring to the penalty shot.

“I got it,” said Hopper.

The ref flipped the ball to him and Hopper fortunately caught it with his left hand. He brought the ball over to the penalty line and dropped it at his foot. The goalie was watching steadily. He slapped his gloved hands together and then spread his arms wide in a defensive posture. Hopper could see the sweat beading on his forehead. “You ready to kiss the donkey? Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” Hopper muttered.

No reason to hurry. That’s what the goalie wanted him to do. He wanted him to rush the shot, and Hopper had no intention of accommodating him. Instead he stretched his legs, buying a few more moments to get his head together.

As he did so, Nagata took a moment to cruise past him. Hopper didn’t bother to ask if he was there to apologize for his cheap attack. There was no quarter being asked or given.

“Two kinds of idiots, Hopper,” said Nagata in a low voice. “One looks where he kicks. Other looks where he doesn’t kick. Which idiot are you?”

Hopper had no idea what he was talking about. Nagata was trying to get into his head and Hopper wasn’t about to let him. “I’m the idiot who’s gonna kick the ball through his face.”

Nagata simply gave him one more contemptuous look and moved on.

It had all come down to him. He closed his eyes, took a deep, cleansing breath. Then he backed up several steps, preparing to make his final charge at the ball. People were screaming themselves into a tizzy from the sidelines, shouting encouragement. Pain continued to throb in his shoulder and he pushed it away so it wouldn’t distract him.

The goalie was slowly drifting from side to side, looking at Hopper challengingly. He was practically daring Hopper to drive the ball past him.

Hopper was more than happy to oblige.

He took one more breath, and then charged. The ball was sitting there waiting for him, inviting him. The goalie was prepared to obstruct him, expecting Hopper to try to get the ball to one side of him or the other.

Screw that. Hopper knew exactly what was going to work. Why go to one side or the other of an obstruction when you can go through it, and exact a bit of revenge at the same time? Send Nagata and his people a message that they couldn’t get away with that kind of crap.

The kick was perfect. He sent the ball spiraling directly, and with full force, at the goalie’s face. In Hopper’s mind, the goalie stood there with a stunned expression, caught completely flat-footed. The ball smashed directly into the target, knocked him flat and sent him sprawling to the ground. It rolled past him into the net. The crowd went wild, the game went into overtime, the Americans won, and a triumphant Hopper was hoisted onto his teammates’ shoulders and paraded around the field.

In reality, however, the goalie judged the ball perfectly. Rather than flinch, he reached up and caught it on the fly. The solid thump of the soccer ball into his hands was the death knell of the Americans’ hopes as the game ended with the victorious Japanese swarming onto the field, pounding one another on the back in triumph.

Hopper stood there, staring, his jaw twitching as his mental image of what would happen crashed up against