Chapter 37

As Mutellip, Norbert, and I walked into the Mess Hall for breakfast, we were intercepted by Gunny Owens.

“Badzinski, come talk with me for a moment.” He and I walked off to the side and he explained why he stopped me.

“I got a call from First Sergeant Blake. Your training slot has been changed to an hour after the Duty Day in the boxing gym. It’ll be on Monday’s until the tournament begins. Meet me there in PT gear.”

Without another word he turned and walked away. Things were getting odder and odder by the moment.

We found out that the week after Rifle Qual, we were going to have to qualify with our SMAW launchers. We were going to spend the week training and performing maintenance.

After the Duty Day, I was waiting outside the gym for Gunny Owens. He got out of his car and walked over. Before he got halfway over to me, there was another guy walking my way wearing a green Marine Corps sweatsuit. He stopped next to Gunny Owens and began talking before anyone else could say anything.

“So, this is the Marine that is causing all the drama. Knowing on paper his stats just doesn’t prepare you for how big of a bastard he is in real life.”

This was the first time I’d ever met 1st Sgt Blake. He wasn’t an overly large man, about six feet and probably a hundred and ninety-five pounds. I could tell he carried himself in a way that he didn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone.

Going into the gym, fortunately it was empty as I didn’t relish the possibility of encountering Gunny Ortega. I started my stretching routine, and they joined in. They kept up pretty well and then I moved on to my normal work out. Speed bag, heavy bag and shadow boxing.

I was walking around a bit to cool down after finishing. 1st Sgt Blake stepped in front of me.

“Let’s get in the ring and see what you’re made of.”

What the hell was going on? I turned and looked at Gunny Owens. This seemed to piss off 1st Sgt Blake.

“Don’t look at him.”

This could only go horribly. I went and found two pairs of eighteen-ounce sparring gloves. After handing 1st Sgt Blake a pair, I entered the ring,1 put on my gloves and waited.

1st Sgt Blake got his gloves on and looked over at me.

“So, how long do you normally spar for?”

“We’ll do three, three-minute rounds mimicking the actual fights with a minute in between rounds. Do you have a mouthpiece First Sergeant?”

“No, I’ll be fine, though don’t you dare take it easy on me. I know you were thinking of taking it easy on the old man.”

It was true I’d been thinking that. I had to reign him in a bit.

“First Sergeant, when getting in with a new sparring partner we hold back and only go at about half power. It’s about not knowing each other and wanting to protect each other. I don’t need to get hurt before the tournament due to an errant punch or hurt an unprepared sparring partner.”

He just looked at me.

“Alright. Gunny, start the timer.”

He started coming out of the corner, so did I. As we came to the center, I let him take the lead. 1st Sgt Blake could throw a punch in the way the Marine Corps taught. He was even more of a brawler than I was. It was like watching the Toughman Contest show on FX during the early 2000’s. I was able to slip almost all his punches as they were completely telegraphed. I kept peppering him with jabs. That’s pretty much how the first three minutes went.

1st Sgt Blake was a little winded, slightly breathing heavy. I decided to poke the bear. It wasn’t the smartest move.

“You want to call it First Sergeant? You’re looking a little bit winded.”

“Let’s get going.”

We met in the middle of the ring, and he started slinging punches. One got through. I was probably going to have a black eye. More importantly, I shot back with a left hook to the body. It wasn’t flush but had enough behind it to drop him to a knee.

I stepped back as he looked at me. Well, now I was really fucked. He kept looking at me as he got up.

“What the hell was that?”

I then explain the principles behind the liver punch. We decided to call an end to the session. I was left to clean everything up as 1st Sgt Blake and Gunny Owens left.

“I truly hope I don’t see you at Captains Mast.”

After cleaning up, I went back to the barracks to grab a shower. As I was getting ready to walk over to the Mess Hall, Norbert walked into the room.

“So, what chick knocked the shit out of you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The shiner that’s starting to form.”

“Oh that. Your mom accidentally kicked me as I busted a nut all over her face.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Asshole.”

Sitting at lunch, I was perusing the classified section of the Honolulu Advertiser. I was looking for something I could make some money off. Buy low, sell high. I hoped that I could come across some items that I knew would increase in value in the future.

I finally found what I was looking for, a bankruptcy auction. On the fifteenth there was a public auction for the bankruptcy of Storm Salvage. I wasn’t sure what was being auctioned, but I was sure I could find something.

We spent the afternoon working with the SMAW trainers. Norbert had made strides in being the assistant gunner. I talked with Cpl Rosario about maybe getting him an extra turn or two at firing the SMAW. He said it might be possible but would be dependent on how he qualified in January.

Judo was a breeze; it seemed we were doing a review for the whole month. Everybody was going to be tested for belts after the new year.

Wednesday and Thursday of the week were spent doing more training for SMAW Qualification. We would have three days practice during Qual week.

Walking up to my Japanese lesson, I could only hope that I would be passably fluent. It made me think about just how I thought Mr. Fujioka would react to me. I didn’t think that he’d be all that receptive. I just hoped that they wouldn’t make this really hard on Kiku. I didn’t want to be the cause of that.

Ms. Miwako pronounced me ready, though we’d keep meeting. I figured another two years before I’d need to find another language teacher. I’d need to find an Arabic teacher to be ready for Iraq. I was still holding out hope that I could come up with something to stop 9/11 from happening, though I was still at a loss at how to keep that from happening.

Kickboxing was good. Master Chutimant kept giving me pointers towards the end of class. I felt I was in a good position physically and mentally, though I needed to do what I could to keep from getting hurt before the tournament. At this point the only thing I needed was a really good game plan.

Friday’s Duty Day was extremely light. As such, I decided to spend a couple of hours before dark trying to pay down my debt to Henare.

This time I didn’t have a lot of success. It was a new area that I hadn’t scouted before and it just wasn’t teaming with fish. I ended up with one fish and a lobster. Tomorrow I would move back to my normal beach, though about a hundred yards further down than normal.