I’ve never seen a James Bond movie. Yeah, I know, Oh the humanity. And this is apropos to what, exactly? See, here’s the thing, I like James Bond in theory, but in actuality, not so much. This would be irrelevant except that I conceived Pussycat Death Squad as a James Bondish, sexy action-filled romp. Not really sure I’ve hit my mark. You be the judge.
Lelia leaned forward to help her sparring partner off the floor. “Private, you’ve got to watch for the leg sweep. It’s very basic. And if you do find yourself on the floor, you have to take that opportunity to bring your opponent down too. Do you understand?” she asked quietly.
The recruit nodded, springing quickly into starting position again, then she faltered, her widened eyes signaling to Lelia that someone had approached from behind. In a movement almost too fast for the human eye to discern, Lelia had the person in a throwing hold. Before the weight difference could register, she had flipped him over her shoulder, and stood over him her legs braced apart in a fighting stance.
She gasped as she realized that the man had to be one of the Marines assigned to train with them.
“I’m sorry Gunnery Sergeant,” she said recognizing his rank insignia, “I thought you were one of my Guard. I train them to always be prepared for sudden moves.”
Patrick peered up at her from his position flat on his back on the training mat. “Interesting training method. That must play hell with troop retention.”
Full of contrition, she reached down to help him to his feet, only to find herself tossed aloft, as he made a counter motion using her own momentum in the throw. Saved only by years of training from complete humiliation, she used the energy from the fall to propel herself up from the floor. The Gunnery Sergeant sprang up as well, and caught her in an elbow lock. She countered with a blow of her own, and the sparring was on.
They punched and counter-punched, neither willing to give quarter. The soldiers and Marines gathered around to watch the impromptu session. Lelia had no doubt that she’d never fought anyone nearly as good, and just when she thought she’d have to give in, she saw an opening in his guard. She moved as swiftly as her exhausted muscles would allow, but at the last possible moment, he countered again, sweeping them both to the mat once again. They sat there, appraising one another; clearly neither was interested in resuming the match.