“I also studied krav maga with a Mossad agent when my dad was on an exchange tour with the Israeli Air Force. And I have a black belt in judo. Oh wait, I almost forgot. I was on the US Taekwondo team at the last Olympics. But if you're willing to wait, I'd be happy to try and find a guy who’s more qualified to lead this class.” The young woman crossed her arms and glared at the diminutive man. “Sir.”
The general's face flushed with anger. His pinched expression left no doubt he didn’t appreciate being embarrassed in front of the class. “That won't be necessary.” His eyes narrowed. “Proceed, Miss…?”
“I’m Capt. Cyndi Stafford. I'm a missile combat crew commander and instructor here at F. E. Warren.”
“Are you now?” He looked Cyndi up and down like a piece of meat. “That means you serve under me, if I remember correctly how the chain of command functions.”
“I work for you; that’s correct.”
“Your name is Stafford?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you related to the infamous test pilot Brock Stafford?”
“He’s my father,” she responded proudly.
McNeil stroked his chin and nodded slowly. “So…you’re in the Air Force, Stafford is your father, yet here you are, a missileer. Interesting.” A smarmy grin formed on his face. “He must be very proud.” His last word was soaked in sarcasm.
Cyndi felt like lashing out but held her tongue.
His annoying grin evaporated. “How is the old bastard enjoying civilian life these days?”
“He’s dead.”
Chapter Three
An awkward silence fell over the room.
A strained expression crossed the general’s face as he searched his mind for some way to save face after her unexpected response.
“Why don’t we get started? Then you can decide if my class is what you have in mind,” Cyndi volunteered, giving the one-star an out.
“You can count on it. You have my permission to proceed.”
Cyndi paced the mat with the confidence of a model working a fashion runway in Paris. She looked out at the group. “I’ll begin by demonstrating how to handle the two situations you are most likely to encounter. The first is when someone is rushing at you—being on the defensive—and the second is when you are the aggressor.”
Men in the class were more gawking at her than listening to her self-defense instruction.
She looked at McNeil. “I’ll need a volunteer for my first demonstration.” Cyndi paused for a beat then lifted her hand, pointing at the man standing directly behind him. “How about you?”
“Me?” The man looked around, positive Cyndi was talking about someone else.
“Yes, you.” Cyndi had chosen the biggest guy in the room. “What’s your name?”
“First Lt. Terrance Washington, ma’am. But I think it would be better if you choose someone else.”
“Don’t worry, big man, I won’t hurt you.”
He chuckled. “It’s not that, ma’am. I played linebacker for the Bulldogs in college. I outweigh you by a hundred pounds, and well…”
“Well…what?”
“I’d hate to mess up your lovely makeup, that’s all,” he said smugly.
The class snickered at his misogynistic remark.
McNeil turned and joined in.
Cyndi waved him forward. “Come on up, and let’s see what you’ve got.”
He shrugged. “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Washington strolled confidently onto the mat and squared off ten feet away from Cyndi.
She turned her back to the man. “I want you to run up and grab me from behind. Pretend I’m a quarterback scrambling out of the pocket, if that helps.” Cyndi spread her feet shoulder width apart, equally distributing her weight. She crouched slightly.
The big man rushed at her like an angry Brahman bull.
Cyndi ducked, spun to the left, and swept her right leg across his shins.
The cocky former jock went airborne. He slammed face-first into the mat with an embarrassing thud.
Cyndi knelt next to him, snatched his right wrist, and pinned it back against his spine. She yanked his wrist higher and higher until he let out a sharp yelp. Payback delivered, she released his wrist and stood up. “As I’ve just demonstrated, skill and surprise—not size or gender—are what counts against your opponent. When you find yourself up against a person who is bigger and stronger than you, using their momentum against them is a highly effective countermove.” She reached down and held out a conciliatory hand. “How’s my makeup?”
The big guy reluctantly took her hand and got on his feet. “Fine, ma’am,” he mumbled under his breath. He slinked back to his spot, pinching his bloody nose.
Cyndi held back a smile as she continued. “Next, I’ll demonstrate a move to incapacitate your opponent when you are on the offensive. General McNeil, would you like to volunteer?”
McNeil was incensed at Cyndi having the audacity to challenge him in front of his troops. But having given her permission to teach the class, he couldn’t risk looking like a coward by refusing to spar with her.
All eyes were on the one-star.
“I’ll volunteer.”
McNeil turned to see the man standing next to him raising his hand. Relief coursed through his tense body. “Since I was raised to never hurt a lady…”—he waved the man up toward the mat—“I’ll let this fine young man stand in for me.”
“I guess you’ll do,” Cyndi said, disappointment evident in her voice. “What’s your name?”
“Second Lt. Lance Garcia, ma’am. Dallas, Texas.”
He was a native of the Lone Star State and felt it imperative that everyone knew that.
Lance had a lanky build and stood six feet, two inches tall. He didn’t have any problem getting dates. His rugged, handsome looks and deep brown eyes had already earned him the starring role in two Air Force recruiting commercials during his short tenure in the military.
Lance nervously approached the mat. “Where should I stand?” he asked, swallowing hard.
Cyndi pointed. “Stand there and put your hands up in a defensive position. I’m going to come at you, and you try to stop me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lance stood straight legged and put his
