Girl Takes Up Her Sword by Jacques Antoine Read Free Book Online Page B

made contact. Once again, she leaned out of the way of the jab, ducked under the right and slapped the hook harmlessly across his chest. Before he could untangle himself, she nailed him with a reverse punch to the soft spot just below the center of his ribs, just below the ribs. Staggering backwards, he struggled to catch his breath, and watched helplessly—it felt almost like he was outside his own body—as a crossover side kick struck the same spot. The force of the blow practically lifted him off his feet. Laid out on his back a few feet away, he tried to pull himself together. Her outstretched hand came into focus and he looked up into her eyes.
    “You okay, Jerry? I hope I didn’t hit you too hard.” A little dazed, his breathing eased up as he listened to her voice. “You done? Or you wanna try again?” At those words, he picked himself up and stood across the ring from her. “Good. Can we play for reals now?”
    He laughed.
    “Fair enough. I deserved that.”
    Marine hand to hand training is quite conservative, much like the Israeli Krav Maga . Emphasis on sharp inside punches, a few low front kicks. No long range kicks. Jerry stepped in with a right hand feint, then kicked to her knee as he jabbed to her face. He was sparring for reals now. The kick was good, fast. It would have made contact if she hadn’t kicked his shin first, before he could lift it very far. She slapped his jab aside and smacked the side of his headgear with a light backfist as she spun behind him, striking him several times lightly on the back of his head. His shin smarted, but she’d gone easy on him everywhere else. It was like getting spanked in public.
    They stood opposite each other again. So far, she’d let him initiate things. He would have preferred responding to an attack. That suited his way of thinking. She seemed to understand this about him, and clearly wanted to show him something. A sharp glance into his eyes and he flinched. A quick, low kick struck him lightly just below the knee. His block got there too late: a roundhouse kick had already tapped him on the side of the head. The delicacy with which the ball of her foot touched his headgear was a gentle mockery.
    “Ouch,” said Connie reflexively.
    Jerry was confused. Had she really beaten him? She’d “won” all the points. But it was just sparring, and he didn’t believe all these soft touches would mean much in a real fight. He wanted to try again, maybe not worry so much about hitting her. She nodded. He made himself small behind his gloves and circled around to his right. She turned to follow him, but didn’t appear to be giving him her full attention. It seemed like she was more focused on her breathing, as if she were doing yoga. He looked for a way to initiate a combination of kicks and punches. She dropped her shoulder, almost as if to oblige him. It must be a trick. But he couldn’t resist it. He leaned in with a left jab, which would be followed by a sharp kick to her knee and then a right uppercut to catch her chin as she bent to block the kick. He would finish her with the left hook again.
    It was a beautiful combination, would be decisive if she allowed him to initiate it. She stepped just inside the jab/front kick pair and nailed him with another reverse punch to the center of his chest. Before he quite knew what was happening, she spun through a series of strikes to his face, throat, arms and chest, all contained completely within the narrow space between his shoulders. More than a dozen strikes landed in the space of a few short seconds. Even with limited force, it was completely bewildering. Each strike set up the next, and blocked any counters from him. “This must be what drowning is like,” he thought dimly. “Nowhere to turn to catch my breath.” He was helpless and completely at her mercy. In the end, he found himself on his back again, contemplating the blue of the sky.
    Everyone around the ring was speechless, even Ethan and Connie.