Battlefield: The Gate

For a night on the town, all Pam had to do was go through the gate

By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

At first glance she didn't look like a martial artist. She stood 5'5" with waist length brown hair, and a hefty figure, consisting of wide hips, thick thighs and calves, and large breasts. All made muscular (except the breasts, of course) through regular exercise and her sumo training with her stable during the regular season. At 186 pounds, she was a force to reckon with in the heavyweight class. During the previous season, she had her best record ever.

It didn't matter to me though; I still hated her anyway.

My name is Pam. You could call me Pamela like my mom does. However, if you want to have a regular conversation with me, call me Pam like my dad and my friends do. The few friends I have anyway.

I've been told I have a rebellious streak, and I can't stand listening to anyone in authority. That's not true . . . completely. I did graduate high school and college, so I obviously paid attention to somebody.

Anyway, as time went on, I found an outlet for my so-called suppressed rage through learning the martial arts. Karate was my particular item, with board breaking and all that. I have awards from tournaments too. My sensei was a laidback fellow who let us do our own thing. However my restless soul desired another challenge, and I found it, at Mistress Cynthia's Martial Arts Camp. When the good mistress was out of earshot, some of us would call it Crazy as Cyn's Studio of Pain.

The camp taught mixed martial arts. Not the ones you see on TV with the UFC, WEC, and all those. Besides, they only use Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, judo, boxing, and wrestling. At Cyndi's camp, you name it, there's a good chance they teach it, even a few of the lesser known ones.

The camp basically was the boot camp from hell. They wake you up in the morning, lead you through some exercises, then you have your choice of instructors to work with that day. And if you meet someone, don't get too attached, for you may be facing off with him or her the next day, or even later that same day. Mistress Cyndi believed that learning a new technique meant nothing if you couldn't utilize it; so the days and nights would be filled with sparring, challenges, dares, etc. No wonder we had to sign a small pile of forms waving any possible injury we might receive so they won't get sued.

And this camp lasts all summer. After that intense a course, even someone who knew nothing about fighting would come out being someone people shouldn't mess with.

On the first day, Mistress Cyndi would stand up and address the crowd. She'd say, "For the next three months, your butt is mine."

I was not too crazy about that.

Oh, and to add to the fun, we were not allowed to leave the campus for any reason short of death, pregnancy, or your arm falling off. That would be no problem, except a few blocks away from the camp, there were a few decent restaurants, some fast food joints, a discount movie theater, and some other nice places. The food at camp was good, but what I wouldn't give for a few belly-bombers. All I have to do was go through the gate, which was the only way in or out.

Apparently in the past, the camp had a problem with people sneaking through the gate for some late night goodies. What they did about it was rather unusual. They didn't lock the gate, they didn't pile on a list of punishments for those who snuck through the gate, and they didn't even hire some security guard to stop anyone with an inkling of eyeing the gate. What they did was a little more cold-blooded.

Every night they would appoint a student to be a "Guardian of the Gate." That man or woman's job was to prevent their fellow students from leaving the gate by any means necessary. I know what you might be thinking, and they make sure the person they choose is a loyal student. As you can imagine, this had led to a few more confrontations, some quite painful. So far, no one had passed through the gate since.

Now what does all this have to do with this woman I disliked so much? Let's start at the beginning.

Belle ' that's her name ' is one of those people who does what they're told. What's worse, she does everything right. She never objected even once to what Sensei Cyndi required of her. And she gets praise for it. I know a number of ways we could improve on our drills, but does anyone ever ask me? Of course not. But who is one of the few people the sensei asks for an opinion? Belle, who does everything they want, like a good puppy dog. I guess she liked the abuse as well. I'm told she comes every year. I never had the chance to spar with Belle, but I have been dying to. She has two big targets in front of her that I'd love to zero in on.

We were a month and a half into the program, and things went as well as could be expected. I met a cool guy named Ken who was as much a rebel as I was. He was a karate person too, with a little judo thrown in. He considered the program similar to a prison camp, and the constant sparring we do was similar to slave labor. He didn't like Belle either: he thought her "T's and A's" drew too much attention. Oddly enough, I never thought about that.

After one day of instruction, demonstration, practice, and sparring, sparring, and more sparring, we returned to our quarters pretty wiped out. As night fell, there was a tapping on my door. It was Ken with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Hey Pam," he said, "how would you like to get some belly bombers?"

My cravings spoke for me. "Yeah!" Then my mind settled into rational thought. "Wait a minute, isn't there a guardian guarding the gate now?"

"Yeah, but they're not going to fight two of us. If they do, they're in trouble." He struck a pseudo karate pose, and I laughed. I grabbed my shoes, and off we went. Ken was cocky and arrogant, two things I liked about him.

Despite the carrying on I did, we crept quietly toward our goal. We really didn't know why, the gate was the only way out. Maybe we'd get lucky, and the guardian for that night might've forgotten to appear, or fell asleep at their post. But we were nowhere near that lucky.

There was a guardian, and she was ready.

And it was Belle.

On the other hand, this might not be too bad, I thought to myself. This might be a chance to satisfy myself and impress Ken at the same time.

She stood there before us blocking our way. She was dressed in a sleeveless black leotard and shiny gray footed tights (she always seemed to have a fondness for hosiery for some reason. Even during our downtime, she would wear pantyhose or tights, but no shoes). She gave me a concerned look.

"Pam, Ken, what are you doing here?" She asked. Belle was originally from Tennessee, and though years of education and travel had tamed it, there was still a slight accent that highlighted her words. It helped add to my dislike.

"We had a craving for some belly bombers," Ken proclaimed, as if what he said was enough to earn us a pass. It was not.

"Now you both know the rules; it says clearly that no one goes off campus at any time, barring certain exceptions." It was almost like she swallowed the rulebook, and spouted it out verbatim. I had enough of this.

"Yeah, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" I said.

"Excuse me?" Belle asked.

"Yeah, I've been watching you. You're little Miss Perfect, always doing what you're told. "Yes massa,' "Okay massa,' "Anything you say, massa.' And all the staff loves you for it. I'm surprised your nose isn't brown."

Belle stood there for a moment, then replied, "Well at least I treat the rules as rules, and not suggestions."

I was caught off-guard for a moment, and wasn't sure how to respond. Belle smirked, and continued.

"Yes, I've been watching you too. Your form and technique would be so much better if you heed your instructors' advice, instead of regarding what they say with rolling your eyes, and mouthing remarks behind their backs."

How did she know that? I never told anyone but Ken. Belle and I don't even train in the same groups. Now I was torn between finding out what she knew, and tearing her apart. Ken responded before I could.

"And what about me, huh? What have you heard about me?" He demanded.

"What about you?" Belle replied matter of factly. "I haven't heard anything great, but you're not doing her any favors by hanging around."

I think Ken was more hurt by the fact Belle hardly if ever heard anything about him than the fact that she wouldn't let us go.

"Let us by," he growled.

"Now I don't want to hurt you. Just go back to your quarters, get some sleep, and wake up to a hearty breakfast in the morning," she said, I think more to me than Ken.

"I don't care what you say, I'm getting through that gate." Ken's nostrils were flaring.

"And I am authorized to stop you by any means necessary. Stand down, now."

Ken didn't reply, nor did he have to. He shifted into a ready stance. Ken's fighting style was mainly about power. He had no desire to check out the softer forms. Whatever it took to blow his opponent away, that was his method.

Now from watching Belle a number of times, I practically had her basic stance and steps memorized. Her hands would fall to a neutral position midway along her body as she slightly bent her knees. Her stocking foot, the left one this time, would turn to the left as she shifted her weight back on the right. When it was time to attack or defend, she would slide or glide across the ground, gaining speed. From this stance, she used five basic moves, that's all. During our downtime, I've told Ken about her limited moves. Surely he was thinking of a power move that would crush her defenses. Just the same, I murmured "Remember" to him. He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

The scene reminded me of those old westerns I would see on TV between two gunslingers. Neither one took their eyes off the other, waiting to draw their guns.

Then Ken exploded, firing two straight punches to Belle. Both blows were destined to deliver a knockout blow. In that second or so, I learned a valuable lesson. It's one thing to know how your opponent may move, yet it's another thing to be able to do anything about it.

Belle threw two circular blocks, one with each arm, her standard defense, and then moved in close and delivered a right palm heel blow under his chin. I've done karate for years, and yet I barely saw her move. The blow hit Ken like a brick, but he didn't have the luxury to step back and recover. Belle spun around so her back was in front of Ken. The reason for this soon became apparent to me. When she spun, it was to deliver first a left elbow to the ribs. She seemed to have cracked a few. Next, she grabbed his right arm and delivered an over the shoulder throw. Ken hit the ground hard. Even worse, she held on to his arm. The shock from both made him cry out. For a final touch, she placed her foot on his throat and pressed down, choking him.

Snapping out of it, I cried, "Belle, stop! Have mercy!"

Belle looked up at me, and with cold eyes said, "If I was merciless, I would've used a stomp." There was a story floating around that Belle almost killed an armed attacker by using a stomp to the throat. It was only because there happened to be paramedics nearby that the thug was saved.

I took a second to take in what happened. Ken was down and almost out, while Belle stood over him, staring at me. The look on her face seemed to say to me, don't try it. However, I have always been a person who would act first and ask questions later, so I didn't heed her unspoken warning. In fact, I was running the battle scenario through my mind. At 5'8", I was three inches taller, so I had a longer reach, and though I was taller, I had a slimmer figure, so I would be faster, and my hair was much shorter than hers, so there wasn't that much to pull if it came to that. Most of all though, I knew her five basic modes of attack and defense, and how to counter them. I spent my idle time at night analyzing and taking them apart to prepare myself for whenever we sparred. Well that time never came, but this was better, because this time there's no rules and no holds barred, and baby, I was going to let loose.

I had a grim grin as I fell into my ready stance, hands held high, and my weight on my toes. Belle stood the same, except she took her right foot and turned it slightly outward, weight on the rear foot. Those tai chi moves weren't going to work on me, I vowed to myself. With a battle cry, I jumped forward to deliver a crescent kick to her chest.

Up to that moment I had her moves pegged. Besides Belle's basic sumo, she displayed tai chi, and a smattering of kung fu with a little judo thrown in. At that moment, I discovered she had one more, aikido. She spun away from where my kick would've landed, but not before sending a sharp blow to my thigh. Boy, that woman was strong! Later I saw she left a nice black bruise where she hit me. At that moment, I didn't have time to process it as she grabbed my forearm and threw me.

You ever see those aikido exhibitions where the sensei just grabbed a person, and the attacker would just throw themselves to the ground? There's a good reason for that. That's to save themselves from injury. If not, the mere momentum, your own momentum would practically rip your arm off. I saw some girl, five foot nothing, and skinny as a rail, dislocate the shoulder of some beefy, 6'5" MMA guy who boasted that if he didn't see it used in the ring, it wasn't potent. It didn't take long to make me a believer.

Since I liked having my arm attached, I took the fall, slapping my hand on the ground to dispel the energy of the throw. I never saw that move coming; she never used it before tonight. Before I could scramble back to my feet, Belle had yet another move to deliver. She fell upon me, pinning my arms to the ground, and whipped both her legs around my head, trapping it in a head scissors.

It felt like having two marble pillars pressing on each side of your head. Belle's legs may be thick and seem like they should be on some poster for the war on cellulite, but they are all muscle. I tried to free myself, at least an arm to land some blow, but she had a firm grip on my hands, and you try to think clearly while your head is being caved in.

Finally I took my foot and stomped it on the ground. That was as close to a tap out as I could manage. I was beat. Belle recognized my wild kicking and loosened her thighs.

"Do you submit?" She asked in a polite voice.

I was wheezing and shaking my head to get the blood flowing again. "Yeah," I spat out.

"I told you, both of you, that you couldn't leave, but you wouldn't listen to me. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Where did you, you come up with . . ." I uttered. "Those new moves?"

"They're not new. You should always carry a full "toolbox' with a few extra "tools.' If you paid attention to your instructors, you would've known that."

I groaned. "Could you let me go now?"

"No. I need to tend to your friend. Right now, I need to put you to sleep."

"But I gave up! You heard me!" I protested.

"Yes you did, but if you don't listen to your teachers, how can I trust you to listen to me?"

Before I could answer, she tightened her legs again, this time putting pressure on my neck, particularly the carotid arteries in my neck. My protests fell on deaf ears as I went under.

When I came to, I found myself lying on one of the cots in the infirmary. I had a raging headache, like someone had taken batting practice with my head. It was quiet, because no one else was there at that time of night. At least not until I turned my head. Belle was standing at my side, watching me. She had an oversized gray sweatshirt pulled over her outfit. Obviously her shift was over.

"Ah good, you're awake. I hoped I didn't squeeze too hard," she said.

Squeeze too hard? It made my head hurt just thinking about it. "Where's Ken?" I asked weakly.

"Ken is right now in the emergency ward of the local hospital with a concussion and cracked ribs," Belle said with a sigh. "I guess I hit him too hard. But it looked like he got his wish and got past the gate after all."

A concussion? Just how strong was this woman? Ken was a little taller and bigger than me. If she laid him out, I don't want to think of what she could have done to me if she actually hit me.

"Your friend was thrown out of his dojo back home, did you know that?" She continued. "His sensei reprimanded him for bullying the younger and lower ranked students, then Ken sucker kicked him. A roundhouse kick to the back of the head. Of course he's been bragging to those who would listen and not know the real truth that he beat his teacher during a sparring lesson. I see from the look on your face that he impressed you with that tale too, eh?"

I didn't want to believe her. Yet his story did sound a little too fantastic to be believed in some parts. I mean, are there actually sensei who call out their students and challenge them to a duel? Come to think of it, the sensei bowing down and admitting his student is the superior fighter and the sensei was not worthy to teach him anymore, sounded a little farfetched and too good to be true. I think his dazzling smile made me believe anything he said.

Now I feel stupid.

"Just go away," I moaned, turning my head away.

"Not just yet. Tomorrow, I'm going to go to the instructors, and ask them if I can be your tutor."

I snapped my head back around, despite the slight wave of pain, and said, "What?"

"You heard me," Belle replied.

I felt like cussing her out, but that might have been painful to my head in more ways than one. Instead, I asked, "Why?"

"As I said before, you have so much potential, and your form and technique would be so much better if you didn't have an attitude. Excuse the old clich#, but once I was just like you, except it was sumo, not karate that I was involved in. I had natural talent, and I'm pretty strong, but I thought I was the baddest thing on two legs in the ring. One day, I was crowing about how great I was, when my coach, a 5'2" lightweight invited me into the ring to show her how great I was. She threw me out of the ring three straight times, more than enough to teach me a lesson.

"I did receive a second lesson though, and it was at the hands of a sixty-year-old tai chi practitioner. Watching her routine, I said it was pretty, but it wouldn't work in a real fight. She just grinned and said, "Attack me.' So I did; and I got a whoopin'. After she helped me up, I begged her to teach me everything she knew. And as you have guessed, I learned some things from a few other masters too. Not too much, yet enough to use.

"So I'm going to take you under my wing, and tutor you to maximize your skills; and I know you'll listen to me."

The tone in her voice on the last part of her statement brooked a challenge. This time I knew better. I was a black belt in karate, I was told how awesome I was, my sensei once said I was so good, I could take on karate students more experienced than I was in tournaments and win, and I was taken down in seconds by this woman. Me and another karate guy. Suddenly I thought of a valid argument to use.

"How do you know they'll let you do this?" I objected.

Belle smiled. "Because at this camp, I always do what I am told, remember? And obedience reaps a number of rewards. You think about that while you lie there. As soon as you are able, go back to your quarters and get some sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow." And she turned and left.

When the throbbing in my head finally settled down, I rose from my cot and staggered out of the infirmary. Obviously from the events of this night, I found out I needed some improvement regarding my choice of men as well. I felt like I needed an overhaul on everything.

As my head hit the pillow in my own bed in my quarters, I finally got some much needed sleep, but not without thinking about the next day, and what my new tutor will have in store for me.

If you have any comments, suggestions, or story ideas, email the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.

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