Dear Diary,

So yesterday morning on the Practice Yard, Lancaster laid me out with a throat punch.

I came to with a wet face, Saffron leaning over me, eyes closed and dripping, swearing under her breath, and duBois' thunderous voice reverberating through the paving stones beneath me.

"WHAT PART OF RULES OF ENGAGEMENT DO YOU NOT FUCKING UNDERSTAND, LAURENCE?"

I'm not sure how Lancaster responded, but half a breath later the paving stones shook again.

"CRUSHING SOMEONES TRACHEA IS A KILL SHOT. BRACING SOMEONE SO THEY CANNOT ROLL AWAY FROM A THROAT SHOT IS A DELIBERATE KILL SHOT."

Despite a certain vicarious thrill at hearing Lancaster reamed out by the Marshall, I felt obligated to intervene at this point. Also, I had the beginnings of A Plan.

"Marshall?" I called out, my voice cracking a little as I did so.

A moment later he was just there, filling every part of my field of vision that Saffron didn't. "Diaz. Can you breathe okay?"

I raised my left arm, the one Saffron wasn't clinging to, and croaked out, "I could use a hand up."

He lifted an eyebrow, but grabbed my hand in his own and heaved me to my feet. I grabbed at Saffron as I came up, fending her away enough I didn't plow through her on the way, but keeping her close enough to lean on if I felt dizzy. I took a few seconds to clear my throat as noisily as I could, eventually hawking up an impressive mass of spit and mucous. I smudged it across the stone with my boot until I figured it wouldn't be a tripping hazard, then looked Lancaster straight in the eye and spoke loud enough for everyone in the Yard to hear me. "Marshall, can I have the next match?"

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He frowned at me. "I'm expecting you want another go at Lancaster?"

"No, Sir. I'd like to go against Rosen."

He stared at me, his expression just short of a glare, but after a solid ten count nodded and said, "Lancaster, back in formation. Rosen, get up here."

Now, where Larry is on the short side for a guy without being stupidly short, that puts him about my height, since I'm tall for a girl without being stupidly tall. Call it maybe five foot eight inches, maybe five nine. Rosen, on the other hand, had to be at least six four, and not a spindly, lanky six four, but the kind of six four that Clark Kent is usually depicted as. Beefy. The kind of guy who you wouldn't be surprised if he punched a cow in the head and it dropped unconscious. I came up to maybe his chin, and while I didn't have bad shoulders at all, I swear I could hide behind him without turning sideways.

We stood across the 'ring' from one another, and he held his hands in a low guard, almost like he expected me to go for an immediate nut shot the moment duBois said 'Begin'.

But I had a secret weapon. Two, really. First, as part of my misspent youth watched way too much pro wrestling and superhero flicks. Second, when duBois grabbed my hand a Mimic Skill (Y/N)? had come up, and I picked yes faster than a fuckin' junkie grabs at a fix.

The man himself spoke now, addressing both of us. "Okay, to spell it out again, the Rules of Engagement are as follows: no kill shots, no maiming beyond what the Infirmary can fix in five minutes, and no attacks after either party has submitted. Are you both clear on that?"

Before Rosen could reply I shouted out, "YES, SIR!" in my best parade ground bellow. I didn't have enough bass to rock the paving stones, but I got a decent echo from the walls of the Yard. Rosen's kinda subdued "Yes, Sir." barely registered on me or anyone else, but I saw his lips move.

DuBois called out, "Begin!"

Larry took that moment to shout out "Teach that bitch a lesson, Gary!" because he is, and I stand by this, deeply mentally deficient. Everyone else ignored him, because the moment duBois said 'begin' I leapt into motion. I feinted toward his crotch and he flinched, bringing his knees together and his hands down to cover his groin. I leapt into a flip, my thighs slamming down onto Rosen's shoulders, my no-padding-having ass hammering into his sternum. He went over backward as I pivoted around him until the back of my knee covered his neck. I absorbed most of our impact on the paving stones with my hands while I locked my other knee over my shin behind his back.

There's a reason the 'legs around neck' style submission hold is popular in movies. Okay, a reason other than having a guy's face shoved into a woman's hoo-hah. It's because no matter how bulked up a guy's arms are, not only are they probably not as big as a woman's thighs, arms really are made for pulling, not pushing, and they don't have the best leverage when it comes to pushing or pulling apart a scissor lock.

I clamped down, careful to keep my knee bent enough to avoid collapsing his throat, but not giving him the slightest bit of give beyond that. He tried to roll, but couldn't get the traction to roll over me, and when he rolled away from me, I folded my arms over my face and took the brunt of the impact with my forearms, never letting up on his neck. After that didn't work, he pushed himself up onto hands and knees, and I thanked my PT for my abs of steel as I twisted myself up onto his back before he could lay a hand on me. I even got a little creative and reached back to poke my fingers into the backs of his knees; when he bent his knees trying to kick at my hands, I grabbed his ankles and yanked. That drove him back onto the paving stones, where my knee kept his nose from breaking.

Hurt like a bitch from the impact, but kept his nose from breaking.

After about a ten count where his flailing got weaker and weaker, he flailed one hand at the ground.

"Was that a submission?" I called out.

He slapped the ground with a tiny bit more force, and duBois said, "Looks like a submission to me. If it's not, you're brain damaged enough to need the infirmary, Rosen. Good Work, Diaz."

The moment duBois had said, 'looks like a submission', I'd unlocked my legs and rolled away from Rosen. After the dressing down Lancaster got, I didn't think he'd try anything quite like that, but I didn't feel like being within grappling range of a big assed dude who'd nearly passed out. Once I got to my feet, I walked over and carefully rolled him over, then helped him to his feet. He didn't pull any of Lancaster's bullshit, and when I met his eyes, I saw exactly what I wanted.

Fear.

"Marshall?"

"Yeah, Diaz?" he responded.

"Can I have the next match?"

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"Lancaster?"

I shook my head. "Rider."

He sighed, then snorted. I guessed he'd just figured out my plan, but if he objected, he didn't say it. "MacConno!"

"Yes, Marshall?"

"Escort Rosen down to the Infirmary, then get back up here on the double."

"Rider! Front and Center!"

We both lined up in the 'ring', and the Marshall repeated the Rules of Engagement. After we both confirmed we understood them, this time with Rider copying my ear-splitting volume, he called out, "Begin!"

Rider copied my side-on stance, and I limped a little, favoring the knee Rosen slammed into the stones. She didn't make the same obvious mistake Rosen had, either, assuming I'd go for the cheap shot. Instead she kept her guard up the way we'd been shown, kept her knees bent but separated, giving her solid footing. Almost a match for Rosen in terms of size, she had a little less muscle mass, but a lot less stupid.

I feinted at her a couple times, but other than half steps backward and slight hand motions, she didn't flinch much. I maintained eye contact and jumped forward, prompting her to try a right jab, left hook combo the Marshall showed us last week. I took the jab on my shoulder and grabbed her right hand in my right, then spun toward her, pulling her down so her hook hit my arm instead of my head or torso. That stung like a bitch, but after weeks of PT with duBois, my arms had nothing but bone and muscle. I'd ache tomorrow, but right now adrenaline had me riding high. I grabbed her left hand with mine, hopped up, and slammed my heels down into her feet.

If you've never had someone really stomp on the tops of your arches, here's my advice to you: don't. If you're not ready for it, it can shatter some really delicate bones in your feet. Even if you're two hundred pounds of muscle in a girl suit wearing stupid tough boots, it's going to hurt like a bitch.

She yelled, "FUCK!", and right in the middle of her yell I jumped as hard as I could, not just pushing down on her arches more but slamming the crown of my head into her chin. My ears rang a little, but I think I heard more than one crunch as her teeth slammed together hard enough to crack enamel. I didn't stop to think or acknowledge the ache at the top of my skull; I let go of her hands as she yanked them away to cover her mouth, grabbed the left lapel of her jacket with my left hand, and spun around to slam my right into her left side just below the ribs. I hammered that spot twice, then moved as she lashed out at me, backhanding me across the face. I spun with the impact and used the momentum to plant my left shin into her right side, then put a left hook in the same spot for good measure.

She swung another backhand at me, but her heart wasn't in it; she clutched at her bruised sides with her hands, and I went to town, snapping punch after punch into her gut. She tried to swing at me, but couldn't get any good leverage, tried to push me away, but had the same problem, and finally tried, I shit you not, a fuckin' kirkoff maneuver.

You know the one, I've seen it in every cheesy action flick from the sixties and seventies. Because when you live in the hood, you might not have the best internet service, but goddamn you're gonna have some aunties with VCR and DVD collections to shame the Library of Congress. The kirkoff is that thing where you ball both of your hands into one big fist and then bring your elbows, forearms, and fists down on your opponent's back as hard as you can? Yeah, that one.

The one that spreads the impact all across your opponent's back. The place where she's least likely to feel that kind of widespread impact.

I just kept hammering at her gut, punch after punch, and credit where it's due, she kept slamming her arms into my back until she just gave out and devolved to slapping at me. At that point I hooked a foot around her ankle and shoved, catching one of her flailing arms just before the back of her head slammed into the ground. I'd seen a kid die that way once, catching the base of his skull on a bit of concrete jutting out at just the wrong angle, and while I might be a bitch, I'm not a stupid bitch who ignores the Rules of Engagement. Before I'd even let her down to the ground gently, she slapped at the pavement a bunch of times, and duBois called out "Good work, Diaz. Rider, do you need to visit Sister Siobhan?"

To her credit, she wheezed out, "No, Sir. Just need a sit down, if that's okay."

He just nodded and waved her off, so she staggered to the side of the ring. Before she got there, I leaned close to duBois and said, "No offense, but she really ought to have Sister Siobhan check her out. I really don't want to be responsible for her dental bills later in life." Not to mention the kidney punches, but, well, I wasn't going to mention those if he didn't.

"Rider! I don't like the way you're limping. Have Sister Siobhan check that out. Driver! Escort her down there!" While I watched Bill move over to Rider like a tugboat escorting a supertanker, duBois turned to face the rest of the Cadets. "Quick lesson there; any of you who graduate will, at some point, have to push through pain, push through injury, push through maiming, push through shit that would kill a bear to get the job done. I'm gonna do my best to train you up so when that happens, you'll have a well of tough to draw on. But, and I say this having learned the lesson the hard way, if you have Healing available, avail yourselves of it. You'll recover faster, heal stronger, and avoid lifelong injuries that make you easier to stop the next time you need to push through."

He raked his gaze across the Cadets, meeting every eye before saying, "Got it?"

He got a good solid chorus of, "Sir, Yes, Sir!", and then I raised my hand.

"Diaz?"

"One more, sir?"

He sighed. "Lancaster. Front and Center."

Lancaster strutted forward, failing to bleach the fear from his voice when he shouted, "That bitch is going to try to kill me!"

Before duBois could respond, I hollered, "Marshall, if I kill him, I'd be breaking the R.O.E., right?"

He raised and eyebrow and said, "You would be."

I continued with, "If I break the R.O.E. his family's probably gonna fuck me over out of spite, won't they?"

He sucked at his teeth and said, "Most likely."

I looked Lancaster square in the eye and said, calmly but loudly enough every Cadet in the Yard could hear, "Only one guy whose name starts with L gets to fuck me over, and it's not you or any of yours, Larry."

"Like duBois would let his golden child be ruined," Larry sneered.

"Marshall, I don't really think he gets what an ROE is."

DuBois heaved a huge sigh and turned to Lancaster. "Cadet Lancaster, should Cadet Diaz break the ROE, deliberately or not, and kill you, reversibly or not, I would be unable to defend her against any repercussions."

"Why should I risk it?"

Now duBois swelled up, reminding me even more of a bear. "Because, Cadet, risking their fucking lives to do what needs to be done is what makes a fucking capital H Hero a fucking capital H Hero. If you're too much of a cowardly prick to even get into an unarmed sparring match, you can go tell Headmaster Miles that and see how fast he kicks your ass to the curb. Do you understand me?"

I don't know what Lancaster saw in duBois eyes, but whether out of fear of duBois or fear of what his family would do if he didn't make the cut due to chickening out, Lancaster said, "Yes, Sir. I'm ready to spar, Sir."

"Excellent. Rules of Engagement are unchanged. No kill shots, deliberate or 'accidental', no damage the Infirmary can't fix, no attacks by either side once someone submits. Are we clear?"

Lancaster finally got into the spirit of the thing as we both called out, "Yes, Sir!"

The moment duBois said, "Begin!" I dropped my hands to my sides and just walked toward Lancaster, staring him right in the eye the whole time. In the back of his eyes I saw the same thing as I'd seen in Rosen's. Fear sparkled, rapidly swamped by bravado as he jabbed at my unprotected face. I leaned aside just enough that he clipped my ear rather than mashing my nose, then grabbed his other hand as he tried to follow up with a hook. I spun, lifting him over my hip to throw him, then shoving him up as hard as I could rather than completing the throw.

He went up, flailing, and I dropped low, bringing my fist up from the ground, my whole body behind a punch direct into his gut. I followed through, shoving him back up into the air. He flailed, and I grabbed his ankles, spinning in place like a dancer, keeping him just high enough his head didn't scrape the pavement at its low point each spin.

You watchin' this, boss? I thought.

You have my attention, my Patron's voice filled my skull.

With a final heave, I chucked Larry into the air. I slammed one foot into the ground to keep from stumbling away, then launched myself after him. Just before he tumbled to the ground, I hammered my knee into his gut with the full force of my lunge, and the last air in his lungs came out with a retching cough. I got one arm under his head just before it hit the ground, slamming my own knee into the ground painfully to break our fall. I let him slide off of my knee and roll onto his back with his arms under him, my knee on his chest pinning them in place under both our weights. I looked him straight in the eye with one hand still cradling the back of his skull, pulled my other hand back behind me in a full on round house punch wind up, and grinned my evilest grin as he struggled feebly to free a hand to slap the ground, tried desperately to get air back into his lungs to scream out his submission.

When the fear in his eyes eclipsed every other thing in them, I swung , bringing my hand around with every bit of force I could muster in my hips. Lancaster flinched, his eyes closing as I screamed, "CLEAR!" right in his face as my fully charged Stabilize discharged into his sternum.