Fitz cleared his throat and pushed his way forward. “Look. I was a Shareholder. Once. But now I’m a private the same as the rest of us, in the same army as the rest of us. I’m part of A Company, tent 17. And I’m damned if I’m going let my squad mates bleed for me. I’ll fight you one at a time or all together, first. Any one of you got that kind of guts?”
The pack had come hunting, expecting the prey to run. This was something entirely different. But Bennett wasn’t going to back off. “Sure. This is going to be a pleasure. An education for you, namby-pamby Shareholder.”
“Don’t do it, Oink. He’s a killer,” warned Ewen.
Fitz just took off his shirt, assessing his opponent as he did. Bennett took off his shirt too, in a deliberate camp mockery of Fitz. The man had more body hair than your average gorilla, and muscles that would have done that creature proud, too. He would probably weigh in at two hundred and forty pounds against Fitz’s one-eighty.
“Watch out for his head,” said one of Fitz’s squad mates, taking his shirt. “He likes to close and head-butt. And watch out for your eyes with those thumbs.”
Fitz nodded and stepped forward. He’d been in camp with these men for nearly six weeks now. He was no longer naive enough to believe his martial arts skills would simply overwhelm Bennett. The dojo was quite unlike real fighting.
But he was unprepared for the suddenness and unpredictability of the assault. He had no intention of getting into a clinch with the man. And then he was. Bennett had managed to grab him and was pulling him in by the shoulders, his forehead coming down to smash Fitz’s nose to pulp. Desperately Fitz ducked sideways. Bennett’s head cracked against his eyebrow-ridge instead.
Bennett threw Fitz over his hip.
It was a foolish move. Had the big man kept Fitz in the clinch, things could have ended nastily and very quickly. As it was, Fitz rolled clear and was back on his feet as Bennett landed, hard, on his knees, where he’d expected Fitz to be.
“Get him while he’s down, Fitzy!”
“Kill him, Oink!”
Fitz stepped back instead. Blood was trickling from the cut above his eye. “Get up, Bennett,” he said, keeping his voice cool. The man could plainly fight and fight dirty. He was fast and had the weight advantage. Taunts would mean nothing to him. Disdain however . . . might make Bennett mad. And hopefully that wouldn’t help his fighting or his judgement.
Bennett lunged forward. Fitz danced aside, and gave him a sweeping kick that assisted Bennett’s forward progress. The man sprawled again. “Up, Bennett. I’m not finished with you.”
“I’m gonna rip your damned Shareholder head off.” This time he stood up slowly, expecting Fitz to wait.
Fitz did not oblige. He found himself, to his alarm, enjoying the fight. He’d had weeks of abuse and this was the first time he’d been able to plan to strike back at anything. There was none of the aseptic, sterile, and controlled atmosphere of the dojo fights here. This man would kill him if he could. And the crowd too, were hungry for blood. Still, the sensei’s advice was as clear as a neon sign. Never do quite what the opponent expects. And make him pay for each breath, while you keep your own breathing steady. Bennett’s stomach muscles were like iron.
But no one’s kidneys are that well protected.
“Up, Bennett.”
This time his opponent was more wary. He expected attack. He was watching for dodges and kicks. He lunged, arms wide to catch the expected leap. Fitz stood right where he was and hit him. Punching for a point on the other side of Bennett’s face.
The man had a jaw like an ox. But he wouldn’t be smiling for a while. Not without pain.
Fitz kept hitting him. Keeping out of the reach of the shorter, heavier man.
“Break it up,” hissed someone from the doorway. “The captain and Lieutenant Belsen are coming across. Break it up now or we’re all for it. Grab both of them.”