The Black Guard: Book II: Evolution (Black Guard Series 2) (26 page)

"Do you really expect marines to duplicate that
performance?" Berger asked.

"I expect the First Talon team to work toward that
goal. It may take a year or two, but that is the goal."

* * *

The group had target practice every morning, and in the
afternoon we spent time talking about their boarding experiences, and I talked
about various methods of entering a room or area. Most of the options were team
efforts with two or three members involved. Three weeks into the training, I
introduced them to our flash stars.

"You have to do more than just close your eyes. The
light from one of these will burn through your eyelids and blind you almost as
effectively as if they were open." I said, knowing at least half of the
remaining fifteen candidates didn't believe me. We were currently inside a
large compartment on a merchant ship.

"Close your eyes and count to ten." I threw a
flash star at the wall as I turned away and covered my eyes with my arm. I
counted to ten. "Open your eyes, but don't rub them. Rubbing makes it
worse." I watched everyone blinking their eyes and wanting desperately to
rub them as water streamed from them. "Sorry, but better here than when
you are facing an enemy."

Two weeks later after a meal at the officer's club, I
was half way to my assigned quarters when six marines suddenly confronted me.

Staff Sergeant Fierro stepped forward.

"Recognize me, Captain?" he said, his lip
curled in a sneer. "I'm one of those you didn't think good enough to be in
your
teach the marines to be men
class. Personally, I think the Black Guard are cowards who were scared to be
marines, so they kissed the instructors' asses so they would be transferred to
the Guard. Why? So they could stand around guarding doors and hallways and
shoot innocent intruders rather than have to face them in honest combat. In
fact, I've bet these real marines a thousand credits I'm right."

He waved at the three men and two women standing a few
meters behind him.

The looks on their faces varied from excited to curious
to nervous.

I had expected something like this and had felt
fortunate that to date it had mostly been snide comments and even those had
lessened over time. But Staff Sergeant Fierro felt insulted when I had
dismissed him and two others. They were too aggressive which caused them to be
careless and to rely on firing in bursts to hit the kill zone.

"Since I imagine the wager is one way—you
agreed to pay them if I'm not a coward—why don't I just admit I am and
you win?" I said, wanting to get back to my quarters and to bed. The
training exercises each day were long and tiring.

"See! She's dying to draw her weapon but knows she
can't. She's scared shitless." He laughed, his voice growing excited.
"Here's the deal, Captain." He reached down and drew out a standard
twenty-five centimeter survival knife out of his boot and took a crouching
stance. "You either engage me hand-to-hand proving you aren't a coward, or
you draw your laser and prove you are." He stood there waving the knife
back and forth and smiling, eyes wide with excitement.

I emptied my mind as I did for a Wuji match, with no
thought of winning or losing.

He approached slowly; his smile fading as he neared and
I hadn't moved. He gave two quick slashes toward me—face then
chest—which I ignored as they were obviously feints several centimeters
short of touching me. As the slashing across my chess finished waist high, he
stopped the downward strike and lunged at my groin.

As he did, I twisted right. My right arm extended
downward to keep his thrust from changing direction.

But he moved with the speed of a seasoned marine. His
knife ripped through my clothing and would have cut me if it hadn't been for my
protective underwear.

As I twisted right, my left fist slammed into his
temple.

His momentum carried him forward two steps before he
stumbled to his knees.

I picked up the knife he had dropped when he fell.

"Tell Sergeant Fierro he can retrieve his knife
from Colonel Berger in the morning," I said as I continued walking toward
my quarters.

The five parted quickly to give me free access.

* * *

The months came and went without further incident. At
the end of three months, I got with Colonels Berger and Odelia and Captain
Yarden.

"I believe the current twelve candidates have
passed the class and qualify as a Talon Team. They need improvement, but that
will come with practice and time. I've put together a manual of the training
and think Captain Yarden and Gunny Alaniz could teach the next course. And I
think Commander Wexler would be willing to send down a Black Guard to do the
shooting demo for the candidates."

Berger and Odelia agreed and invited General Lerman down
for a demo the next day. And that night the First Talon Team threw me a going
away party—more like a roast where they shared their thoughts and
comments and curses during the training. It was a fun time. They had become
close family over the months.

"General Lerman and the JCC are very pleased with
the First Talon Team, FIST for short, and the class you developed. Everyone
agrees it will save lives. The JCC has authorized a FIST on each Jax cruiser.
From some of the comments I've heard, it has also eased some of the natural
tension marines have toward the Guard." Wexler sat back, awaiting my
response.

"I just hope it saves lives. The boarding teams are
courageous and talented, but they rely too much on automatic weapons and
overwhelming force. It works but results in too many casualties."

"Yes, it's too easy to dismiss the casualties as
necessary because it achieves the goal. Even I questioned your separation of
duty
and
tradition
." He smiled, then handed me a folder. "These
are the specifications for the new Black Guard shuttles. Captain Blatt wanted
you to review them before he gave them his final approval. I think the Black
Guard shuttle is a perfect show of inter-service cooperation: the navy will
maintain it, the marines will crew it, and the Black Guard will use it."
He laughed. "He knows you were involved in its design with his and Colonel
Gerber's people but felt you should have one last chance to comment before it went
into production."

"Have you reviewed it, sir?" I asked, feeling
he should be the one to approve it, not me.

"Yes. I like it. A wolf hiding in sheep's
skin—comfortable but deadly."

"If you have no objections, I'd like to discuss it
with the other dragons. They might see something I missed."

"Good idea. Never hurts to get as much input as
possible."

* * *

Hada was on assignment, but Tzadok and Dobrin loved the
idea and dubbed it the Black Widow. They had a few suggestions which I thought were
useful. Not only wouldn't they impact the overall design, but they also would
be easy to incorporate.

After Hada and my last after-action leave, I had taken
to exchanging video messages with the monk Abhaya and decided to spend a few
days with him in Tagar City where he presided over a Buddhist Church. I wasn't
sure what I hoped to accomplish or what I was searching for if anything, but I
enjoyed my conversations with Choje Abhaya. He had a serenity that I could feel
when in his presence.

"What are you seeking, Rivka?" Abhaya asked as
we sat eating a vegetarian meal he had prepared for us. I had attended his
daily services and spent hours talking with him about life.

"I think I'm seeking to see life clearly, to be at
peace with the world," I said, not sure what that meant exactly. It was
just a feeling.

He laughed.

"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you. I think that may be
every Buddhist's dream—to be enlightened. You walk a difficult path with
some dexterity, Rivka. Before meeting you, I would have said it was impossible
for someone in the Jax military to be a Buddha—enlightened—yet you
are making remarkable progress."

"What about Hada's father, Jian?" I asked. He
had spent most of his youth in the Guard.

"He's a good Buddhist and teacher, but he is torn
in too many ways to become enlightened. In the military he tried to convince
himself killing was all right if it wasn't done in hate, or enjoyed or for
revenge. In retirement he is distracted by family."

"But I kill—"

"But you aren't compromising. You have no conflict.
You willingly kill to save innocent lives. That may violate the Percept about
not killing but that doesn't create the same conflict it does for others. Maybe
your path is as a monk," he said, which was the last thing I would have
expected, yet somehow I wasn't shocked. "If you ever decide that is your
path, I would gladly take you as my disciple."

* * *

When I returned to Sasser Mountain, I was informed that
Wexler wanted to see me, so I went directly to his office and was ushered in.

After my traditional low bow, he waved me to sit.

"I have what appears to be a relatively traditional
assignment for you but with significant ramifications. The Draco Alliance is
having its biannual Draco War Games next month. Although the games are not
violent, hundreds of billions of credits are wagered on the results and
accidental and non-accidental deaths are common. In fact, they were so frequent
two decades ago that the rules were changed. Now, if a contestant is killed,
all wagers on that contestant are forfeit to the Draco War Gaming Commission,
WGC, until the guilty party can be determined. If it can't be determined, the WGC
keeps the money. The purpose is to ensure that the guilty party isn't rewarded
for its action. Of course, that doesn't guarantee the guilty party doesn't
benefit, but there is little else they can do. And they have initiated strict
security measures over the years, but deaths still occur—although with
less frequency. In desperation, they have asked for the Black Guard to provide
the security for the XLVIII Draco War Games."

"That could be embarrassing," I said, thinking
an event like that, which was approaching a hundred-year anniversary, attracts
contestants and wagers from the other inhabitable sectors and creates
unprecedented visibility.

"Yes, like all of them, this is a contract that could
enhance or destroy our reputation," Wexler said, confirming my previous
thoughts. "Look this proposal over and then we'll discuss it. The JCC wants
an answer by the end of the week. Here is the Draco War Games official manual,
which describes the selection criteria and game rules as well as providing information
about the facility. Get back with me when you feel ready to discuss a contract.
The JCC wants us to write the initial draft for them."

* * *

The War Games were a very advanced game like chess—if
you substituted cruisers, marines, and planets for the current pieces and made
the game four-dimensional. Sixty-four contestants were selected based on ratings
earned at local competitions during the intermediate year. The competition was
in the form of an Olympic system tournament where the loser of each bracket was
immediately eliminated—six rounds to produce a winner. The contestants were
housed in a secure facility. Each contestant could have three people in their
party: usually a trainer, servant, and security guard. Staff at the facility included
cooks, servers, security guards, and referees.

After reviewing the material, I felt it was obvious why
the WGC was unable to provide adequate security. The question was how could the
Black Guard? I estimated the facility would house almost four hundred people,
any one of which could be a potential assassin.

I decided to ignore the problem and instead spent the
next two days helping with the third and fourth phase candidates and reading.

On the third day, Wexler send word he wanted to see me.

I bowed low when I entered.

"At ease, Sapir. Get something to drink, since I
suspect this will take some time."

"Yes, sir." I made a cup of hot tea from the
sideboard as he watched me in silence.

"You don't seem to be interested in this assignment,
judging from your activities over the past two days," he said, frowning.
He didn't sound in a good mood.

"The odds of success are zero even if Draco were
willing to pay for a hundred Guard. If the JCC has to accept, then I'd state we
would arrive for the start but would not accept responsibility for the
contestants until after the second round, and we would need a minimum of thirty-six
Guard," I said. That had been my initial conclusion, and two days to mull
it over hadn't changed my mind. "We could guard eight designated
contestants until the end of the second round."

"Interesting. That could cut the number of people
in the facility by two-thirds. Still a nasty problem but certainly easier to
manage." He nodded. "I wonder if not thinking about the problem for
days is a dragon thing or whether that would work for me?"

"I find stepping away from the problem sometimes
helps my mind to organize my thoughts, whereas obsessing on the problem tends
to focus on the problem rather than the solution."

"Alright, let's put a draft together for the JCC
and tentatively select the team members.

* * *

I boarded the War Horse with the largest team I had ever
commanded: Lieutenants Elijah and Ceder; four senior sergeants, Mintz, Judt,
Catz, and Cerff; and four nine-person teams. Yet, I couldn't help but feel I
had too few for the task at hand. There would still be close to one hundred
fifty people, including staff, to watch, and any one could be a paid assassin,
including the contestants.

When I exited the shuttle, a lieutenant came to
attention and saluted. "Captain Sapir, Colonel Wolfson sends his regards.
Quarters have been arranged for you and you troops. Sergeant Phillips will
escort your enlisted troops and I will take you and your two lieutenants.
Colonel Wolfson would like to invite you to have dinner tonight with him and
Captain Hwang."

"Tell the colonel I'd be honored." I said,
knowing it was a business meeting but dinner would make it feel more like a
family meeting and an honor, because both men's ranks were more compatible with
Commander Wexler's.

I waved the lieutenants to me.

"Elijah, Ceder, tomorrow morning I want a meeting
with you and the senior sergeants. The trip to Draco will take more than five
days. In that time, I'd like to consider various options for protecting the
contestants."

I liked getting the troops involved, as it was part of
grooming them for the next rank and for me to consider alternative
approaches—there was no guarantee I had the best solution or that a
combination of two solutions wasn't better than either alone.

Although space was tight, I had been assigned a single
room with its own restroom—quarters reserved for senior officers. Even I
was confused, so I shouldn't have been surprised other people also were. I took
orders from no one except Wexler and the JCC, but I commanded only small
details one would expect of a senior lieutenant or captain in the army or major
in the marines—they had no captain rank—or a lieutenant commander
in the navy. I didn't plan on complaining and enjoyed a hot shower and a short
rest with reading material I had loaded on my Mfi.

The same lieutenant knocked on my door a few minutes
before nineteen hundred hours and led me down the hall to the captain's dining
room. Inside, the lieutenant led me to a tall thin man with long black hair
tied with a rope. His eyes evaluated me as I approached.

"Captain Hwang, this is Captain Sapir of the Black
Guard," the lieutenant said, appearing ill at ease calling me
captain
.

I gave a moderately low bow out of respect.

Hwang returned my bow.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Captain Sapir.
One hears your name mentioned often. Outside of the Jax you are called cold,
ruthless, and heartless; however, within the Jax you're well liked."

"To many people, my actions
are
cold and ruthless—and even heartless," I said.

"You agree?" A small smile played on his lips.

"If I kill your son or father or another person
close to you, isn't that cold and heartless?" I asked. An interesting
question to a captain to was probably responsible for hundreds of deaths.

"Yes, Dragon Sapir, we kill in the name of duty,
but that does not negate the fact that we took another's life and impacted still
others in the process." He pointed to a middle-aged petty officer.
"Carlson will get you whatever you want to drink."

"Hot tea please, Petty Officer."

"I believe you already know Colonel Wolfson from
your assignment on Halo," Hwang continued as Carlson disappeared to get my
tea.

I bowed to Wolfson. "Yes, Colonel Wolfson and I
have met, although it has been some time."

"Yes, several years. You appear to be the JCC's
troubleshooter. A position I do not envy you."

"Nor I," I said with feeling. Those
assignments seemed to require too much killing.

"Draco like the Angels of Death on Nizara are the
type of contracts the JCC should refuse but can't without losing
credibility," Hwang said, sipping from his tea cup with its old Chinese
dragons and calligraphy. "We have been directed to support you, although
it is not part of the contract." It wasn't a question but I
sensed—how—hung unsaid.

"By knowing we have family orbiting overhead,
wishing us fair winds and calm seas, and ready to help if they can." I
said.

Hwang raised his cup and Wolfson his glass in salute.

* * *

Every day, I met with my detail and discussed the
upcoming assignment, reviewing the information we had been given about the
facility, contestants, staff, and rules of the game. Most evenings, I ate with
Hwang and Wolfson, discussing assignments we'd had over the years. In the end,
I was happy to be in the Black Guard, where I felt I had better control over
the exposure of my troops. And my nights I spent reading material Abhaya had
given me. More and more, I found my life compatible with the Buddhist way and
at peace.

* * *

When we landed, we were given a tour of the War
Cathedral, the facility where the games where held. It was really three
buildings, each with its own entrance and no access to the others, although a
high-speed rail car circled the campus and stopped at each entrance. Our tour
started in the War Games building, where the contestants and their party were
housed and where the actual competition took place. The building had all the
facilities of a luxury resort including restaurants, spa, and luxury four-bedroom
units. The second building was available for spectators with elaborate rooms
and lounges. Monitors hung on every wall and even the ceiling—each alive
with live scenery, advertising, and scenes from other systems. When the games
started they would show the actual games, betting odds, interviews with
contestants, and other game-related news. The third building held the people
and machines that kept track of the betting—which had started months ago—and
the staff that managed selecting the contestants and hiring staff and security for
the games.