Champion

Chapter 24

Thanking the man, David took the bottle and glass to a table in the corner, hoping it was very powerful. He hadn't had a drink since he left the states; and after the s**t-show he had just left he wanted to make sure they had to drag him out from under the table in the morning.

As he took his seat he noticed four men enter the tavern. Three wore dark cloaks with their hoods pulled low, and took seats in the opposite corner from him, where the lighting was soft and the shadows deep. The fourth man wore a more colorful cloak with the hood thrown back, and he was greeted warmly by the owner. The newcomer placed an order for the group, and then joined them in the corner.

David kept an eye on them for a while. Something just seemed off about the group, but eventually his bottle convinced him that they were no threat. About an hour, and three-quarters of its contents later, the bottle also convinced him that drinking heavily with an empty stomach and a body that had abstained from alcohol for half a year was a bad idea. He grabbed the bottle and staggered out the front door, barely making it to the side of the building before expelling the liquid contents of his stomach onto the ground.

He remained bent over in the moons-lit night for another minute, cursing his foolishness at drinking so much on an empty stomach. He should have ordered dinner as well. But the owner's words about payment had reminded David he had neither money, nor even any idea what they used for money here. Trying to decide if he could make his way to the temple's kitchen and scrounge something without seeing the priest or the w***e, he almost missed the scuffling of feet behind him. Almost.

Turning he saw the four men from earlier charging at him in the partial darkness, and at the last moment he stepped out of the way of the lead one, staggering slightly. The man's missed swing threw him off balance, and the stranger slipped in the puddle of sick, falling to the ground.

Shit, am I gonna have to fight four guys when I'm piss drunk? He thought in exasperation.

Contemplating dropping the bottle in his left hand, he instead used it to block a poorly timed haymaker from the second attacker. Then he stepped in and struck the man in the throat, the fingers of his right hand curved at the second knuckle, and clenched into rigidity to transfer the greatest about of force with the small striking surface.

As the man fell to the dirt gasping and desperately trying to breathe through his damaged airway, David assessed the situation with his drink addled mind. Four on one was normally bad for the one, especially when that one was as drunk as he was. But he wasn't a normal target.

These assholes have no idea what I can do, David thought with a malicious smile. Thanks again Mr. West.

[A short side story about David and Mr. West:

The middle-aged man who owned the farm next to David's parents had always been nice to him as he was growing up. Trying to run his farm alone was hard on Mr. West, and David often volunteered to help him when he could. Mr. West was thankful for the help and David was happy for the free soda pop and candy that Mr. West always gave him when he visited. It wasn't until one day in his fifth grade year that David learned Mr. West had not always been a farmer.

David had gotten into a fight at school; although 'beat down' was a more apt descriptor for what the three older boys had done to him. When he got home he went to Mr. West's house hoping that he could stay there until it was dark so his mother wouldn't see the bruises on his face. She hated fighting, and always told him violence never solved anything. So he snuck over to Mr. West's farm, leaving a note for his parents to let them know where he had gone. But when he arrived the farmer was not pleased with David's condition.

He insisted David tell him what had happened, and grew upset as he learned that the boy had been assaulted by three older attackers.

"Didn't your Daddy teach you how to fight?" he asked the boy.

"No sir," David replied nearly in tears, "my momma doesn't believe in fighting, and my daddy says hurting other people is wrong."

"David, I love your Momma and Daddy. They are good people, and they are raising you to be a fine young man," Mr. West said. "But they are wrong. Violence solves quite a lot. And letting yourself get beat on just so some punk can feel better about himself is not the right answer. If you can keep it a secret from your parents, I'll teach you how to defend yourself," the older man offered.

David didn't like the idea of keeping a secret from his parents, but he hated the idea of getting beaten up the rest of his school career. So he nodded his agreement, and that day they began martial arts training that lasted until the day he left for college. He never learned the names for any of the moves the man taught him, but what he learned ensured that no one attacked him again without paying a very steep price.

Later, after he had returned from college and eventually decided to join the military, Mr. West came past the house to talk with him again.

"David, you know how I would never tell you where I learned all the stuff I taught you?" the now much older man asked him.

"Of course Mr. West," David said with a grin. David had constantly asked the man how he knew so much and where he had learned it, but the old man would never tell him. Eventually he had given up, and accepted that he was just lucky to be able to learn from the farmer.

"Well, I hear you are going to join the Army. And I think it's time we finally had that talk," Mr. West explained.

As they sat in the kitchen of his mother's house, the old farmer told the young one his story.

James West had been drafted into the Navy in 1970. Hardworking and studious, the country boy got the attention of a new unit that had formed less than ten years earlier called the SEALs. They only accepted the best, and were both respected and secretive. James was allowed the chance to join them, and after successfully completing their grueling selection process he found himself amongst the ranks of the navy elite.

Years passed, and James had decided to stay in the Navy after his draft time finished. He liked what he did, the people he worked with, and as tough as his job was it was still easier than working on his parents' farm. Plus, they taught him a lot of interesting things he could never learn anywhere else.