“The final bout will be between the commanding officers of the competing groups. For the Red Eagles of the Regular Army, Major Matthew O’Donnel … and for the Space Legion, Captain Jester!”
“Go get him, Cap’n!”
“LEGION!”
The cheering section at the other end of the gym was obviously wound tight as a drum, bellowing out encouragement in their excitement that would be more appropriate at the opening of a boxing match than in a fencing meet. O’Donnel noted, however, that his opponent seemed oblivious to the racket as they moved onto the strip and hooked their body cords into the spring retrieval reels at either end. Saluting each other and the director, they donned their masks and stepped up to their respective on-guard lines.
“Fencers ready?”
“Ready, sir. “
“Ready!”
“Allez! Fence!”
Judging from what he had seen before, both this evening and this afternoon, the major had expected Jester to be an off-the-wall, unorthodox fencer, relying on weird, unexpected moves to score his points. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see his opponent take a conventional, textbook guard stance as they began to jockey for position.
Fine by me, mister. By the book it is. Let’s see how good you really are.
Unlike foil and saber, where the hits are usually scored “deep” to the body in flashy, driving attacks, épée is more of a sniper’s weapon where the touches are made with sudden quick jabs to the arm and hand-and, rarely, the leading foot-of one’s opponent.
Silence slowly descended on the crowd as the two men edged back and forth on the strip, watching each other for the slightest opening.