Part 20: The Bold and the Beautiful
09 Jun 2018S. Hodkin
March 3297Basic training was all but over, and the shore leave was most welcome for both myself and my fellow Recruits. Asher and I were now strong friends, with mutual interests including casual mockery of superiors behind the back; attempting to better the other in weapons training, and the occasional browsing of the local scenery whenever a bar of public house was being patronised.
This was one of those nights where the latter was being partaken of, in part as rotation had been taking place within the divisions and ranks. Those excelling promoted, those with disciplinary problems being discharged or quietly transferred elsewhere for another unfortunate officer to deal with; and of course, those coming the other way for whatever reason.
Needless to say that a lot of the new contingent who had transferred over and were in the bar that night happened to be women, and many of my division were, as is typical of the male psyche, viewing the scenery with more than just a glance in some cases. It also couldn’t be denied that I was also scoping the bar for anyone worth striking up a conversation with. And then she came in..
Within a few moments, the newcomer was being instantly surrounded by fellow sailors. She was no more than 1.6m in height, but what she lacked in stature she made up for in shapely curves that seemed to be hugged liberally by her flightsuit. Her dark hair and complexion implied immediately that she was of Hispanic origin, and the attention she was getting was more unwelcome than desired. Asher was chatting up one of the younger bartenders, so I saw fit to walk over to the commotion to try and diffuse any possible tension.
No sooner had I begun to walk over that the proverbial touchpaper had been ignited, as fists had begun to fly both among the interested men as well as between them and the woman. Although not apt in any form of martial arts, I saw fit to focus on defence as the best form of attack, blocking and parrying most blows until an elbow made swift contact with my gut, winding me and causing me to retreat in order to try and regain my breath, coughing for air as I leaned against the bar to do so. This was a bar where fights usually diffused themselves and where the station forces weren’t usually required to take any action or even be called. This was likely to be one of those self-policing situations.
As I kept my groans of pain and discomfort silent, and satisfied that I could breathe without difficulty, my view was drawn immediately to a stocky bloke who had been more assertive with his advances, and a rather unpleasant man to look at all things considered, with his built arms contrasting with a midsection that implied he had been at all of the ration packs in stock. Light reflected off a sliver of metal peeking from a waist holster, a serrated edge suggesting a blade rather than a firearm. He had also taken to pinning the shorter woman towards the bar with his weight, knowing I would need to take action as soon as the blade was drawn. Not helped was the fact that the knife looked incredibly blunt as it pressed into her back.
I could hear his voice, deep and threatening as he used incredibly derogatory and misogynistic terms in Spanish while making his intentions clear. As soon as I heard the term puta being uttered, my restraint was expired, as I let my magbooted foot slam squarely into the side of his kneecap, hearing no sound of bones breaking or dislodging, but providing enough force for him to grunt in pain and drop the blade. As soon as his grip had been released, the woman allowed her own right foot to shoot upwards, the heel moving with momentum into his crotch, stymying the scumbag for enough time to be turned around and pinned against the bar.
He also appeared to be waring Naval insignia, those of a fellow cadet who clearly ought to have known better than act in such a manner. My tone was low and would be deemed threatening with my Northern Hydrian accent. “Listen you fat bastard, if I ever ‘ear you speaking to anyone with language like that again, or force your sen on any lass like you own them, I’ll be sticking a knife so far up yer arse it’ll pick out any tiny brain in that skull of yours, and you’ll be eating through a tube from me fucking up your mouth. Got it?”
I moved my weight off him as he clearly wasn’t accustomed to the threat being received as opposed to being inflicted upon by him, and he and his friends left the bar in short and very jerky movements As I turned back to the woman, the familiar stinging of a slap had been inflicted upon my cheek.
“I can fight my own battles...” was her response, however her facial expressions didn’t seem to imply anger, nor were her brown eyes emitting any sort of metaphorical flames so to speak. Her hand then rubbed where the light slap had landed, a momentary lapse of annoyance perhaps. “But you did me a favour there. He’s been following me for weeks.” She continued, even breaking a small smile.
I was eventually over the initial sting of the slap, the cheek rubbing being something I was less accustomed to, and being glad that I wasn’t blushing when in front of such a beautiful looking young woman. Instead, I extended my hand outwards. I noticed the insignia of a Petty Officer on her shoulder but didn’t change my stance. “I’d do the same for anyone Ma’am.” I addressed more formally in reply, still bound by the strictures of rank even while off duty.
“We can drop the ranks, it’s evening after all.” She answered with a wider smile than before. “CPO Sunset Díaz, formerly of the 8th Solar, from Mexico on Earth no less, and you are?..”
“Cadet Sam Hodkin, 11th Division and Medic, I’m one of the Beta Hydri conscripts, think of that what you will.” My tone was a little dismissive, fully mindful of the stigma associated with conscription, especially among Martian and Terran personnel who treated those who were forced to serve as if they were animal excrement on their boots, and moreso when they found out you were a B-Hydrian, bad blood having persisted between the systems for decades.
“I see no fault in that, provided you’re not going to be a cabrón under my watch, I’ve just transferred into your division. And especially if you’re buying.”
Clearly this was going to be start of a good working relationship..