Cyclone - Test of Objectives

Samuel spat the dirt out of his mouth, as he pushed his body up from the dirt. Brushing off the mud and dust caked onto his clothes, he swept up the wooden pole from the ground, gripping it tightly with two hands. Looking up, he saw the smug face of Spartan Francis Kamara through his jousting helmet, wielding his staff with ease and ballet-like precision, letting the cheers of his squadmates adorn his ego further.
“Two to nil! Kamara’s advantage!” the referee called.
Samuel looked back to his squad. The ones who were supposed to be supporting him. Dominik was trying his best not to start laughing, as he hid his mouth behind his hand and turned away, with a guilty look on his eyes. Bailey was smiling, silently telling Sam to keep going. She swept back her short brown hair from her face, and her stare showered the Spartan with expectation. Yvette and Daniel, however, were glaring at him. Yvette moreso than his squad leader. They knew he had done better in sparring competitions than to be simply beaten 3-0 by a challenger. A Spartan-IV, too.
“You won’t get sympathy from me,” Daniel said matter-of-factly. For that, he earned a sharp elbow to the ribs from Bailey, who shook her head in exasperation. “You got this Sam!” she cheered, giving a fierce stare to the still-recovering Daniel, with his hands placed on his chest.
“Yeah, what she said,” he managed to say. “You’ve beaten better on Argus, so show us again.” Samuel turned back to the older soldier, who had returned to form, with two hands placed evenly along the pole. A grin flashed over his face.
“I knew you guys were kids, but I really would’ve thought they would’ve trained you better,” he teased. Samuel heard Daniel take in a sharp breath, and step forwards, but Samuel raised his hand back to Fireteam Cyclone.
“Don’t worry. He wants to talk shit?” he said, staring Kamara dead in the eyes. “He better be packing a bigger stick.” Kamara roared with laughter, as he changed his stance into a more upright, ready pose. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he yelled. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready since I got here, Kamara.”
The referee blew her whistle. “Engage!”
Samuel charged towards the Spartan-IV, holding his stick out in front as if a medieval knight in a jousting competition. The distance between the two was twenty metres, but Samuel covered it in four seconds. A little slow, but he was still warming up. Kamara stepped aside, and brought up his pole to connect with the side of Samuel’s. Knocking it back, Kamara then went on the attack as Samuel managed to stop himself in time to defend.
A sharp crack came as the two poles collided, and Samuel broke his attacker’s swing. Holding his weapon two-handed, he thrust forward to Kamara’s stomach, but the Spartan jumped back, and brought his pole up for a strike downwards. It would have hit Samuel’s helmet if not for his reflexes, as he dove out of the way and brought his staff down to hit Kamara’s legs.
The Spartan was fast, but not fast enough. Samuel’s pole hit the right boot of Kamara, knocking him with enough force to tip him over and land his back on the ground. Recovering from his desperate roll, he quickly brought his pole back up to his torso, and stood up with his weapon pointed directly at Kamara’s face-plate.
Kamara looked down the length of the pole, and chuckled. “Damn, I thought I had you beat.” He said. Samuel sheepishly shook his head, and withdrew his pole back to his body. Offering his hand to the downed Spartan, he pulled him up, and the two withdrew back to the edge of the ring.
“Two to one! Kamara’s advantage!”
“Ready, Francis?” Samuel called, as he took a deep breath and zoned in on his target. The other Spartan shrugged, and nodded towards the referee.
“Engage!”
This time it was Kamara who took the offensive. Running around the side of the dirt ring, he made as if to sweep at Samuel’s legs. But Samuel knew better than to believe that was anything more than a feint. Raising his pole to his chest, he caught Kamara’s pole as it was on the upswing towards his head, before pushing the staff away and attacking with a thrust of his own. The head of the pole narrowly missed Kamara’s rapidly retreating helm, as he scampered back on his hands and feet. Jumping back up, and placing his pole in his more natural spear position, Kamara re-engaged.
But this time it was Samuel who made the first move, sweeping his pole in a clockwise motion at Kamara’s chest before bringing the staff back in a vertical position, pre-empting Kamara’s counter strike to his arms. With another sharp crack of the poles, Samuel pushed back again, forcing Kamara to withdraw, lest he get caught too close to the Delta Company Spartan.
A thrust. A parry. A strike. A counter strike. A reverse sweep, followed by a vertical parry and a quick jab. The fight continued on for several minutes, as the two tried everything to break each other. For every lock Samuel would trap Kamara in, he would step back, compose himself, and go in for the next barrage of attacks. And for every reversal Kamara would pull on Samuel, he would simply dodge, either by side-stepping or rolling out of the way. A quick look to the sidelines would show all of the other Spartans watching intently, as several more passing by stopped to watch. The sparring was getting heated.
Returning to the combat, Samuel would watch as Kamara’s strikes became sluggish, taking more time to rest before returning to the offensive. After allowing several more of his attacks to land onto his pole, he would use the opening made by the older soldier’s fatigue to slam his pole into the Spartan’s chest-plate, connecting with a hefty thud as Kamara staggered backwards. Retracting his pole, Samuel then jabbed towards his stomach, knocking the Spartan-IV onto his back once again.
“Two to two! Advantage lost, match point!”
A sharp round of applause came from the side of the ring, as the new visitors applauded Samuel’s skill. Fireteam Cyclone was standing there, albeit in a different posture than they were several minutes ago. Bailey’s infective positivity seemed to have seeped into Yvette and Dominik’s mindset, as they were all clapping and cheering for their squad-mate. Daniel, whilst not always the enthusiastic kind, did have a smile on his face, and gave an approving nod to Samuel.
Turning back to ring, Samuel saw Kamara stand up, pole in one hand, and water bottle in the other. Noticing the younger Spartan’s gaze, he called to him. “One minute break! Your last strike winded me a bit.” He said. Samuel gave him a thumbs up, and did the same to the referee. He retreated back to his fireteam, as they smiled at him as he approached.
“You’ve certainly improved since the first two rounds,” Daniel said. “You were getting your ass handed to you, but you’ve brought it back. Good.” Samuel clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Appreciate it, boss.” He responded.
“Show the rest of the people around here that you can spar, and spar well.” Yvette commented. Dominik nodded. “Remember the jousting we had to do on Argus V?” the team’s designated marksman asked. Samuel bobbed his head in agreement. “Remember how you almost won, but got beaten by Kimiko?”
“Don’t remind me, Dom. She cheated! Her pole was-“ he was stopped by a hand from Dominik.
“Blah blah blah, I don’t care, you still lost. Anyway, remember how no one expected you to make it that far? You proved them wrong. Kamara and Fireteam Spooky didn’t expect you to beat Kamara, so prove them wrong.”
“That’s the plan,” Samuel replied. With a clap on the back from Daniel and Bailey, Samuel returned to the ring, to be greeted by Kamara. Picking his pole up from the ground, he steadied himself, and looked towards the younger Spartan.
“Let’s end this,” he stated. “Agreed,” answered Samuel. With a nod to the referee, the shrill of a whistle, and the confirmatory yell of “Engage!”, the final bout commenced.
Neither Spartan made the first move this time. Both were cautious, aware of the other’s strength and skill with the kun. Circling the ring with their intent known, Kamara held his staff in a line extending from his chest, offset so he rested in next to his ribs. A ready position, allowing him to extend it quickly to either defend or use an opening to his advantage.
Samuel, on the other hand, had his extended in front of him, his two hands grasped firmly over the narrow cylinder. The two sides extending from his hands were equal, allowing for a great amount of balance in his swings and attacks. But Samuel’s plan wasn’t to be balanced. No, he wanted to end the fight quickly, and he knew that Kamara was getting tired.
Samuel was too, but he was motivated to keep pushing, unlike Kamara. For him, it was just another Delta to beat. For Samuel, this was another chance to prove himself far above the expectations and ranking placed on him at Argus V. A mid-level candidate, who would never amount to anything. He would prove that ranking and those statistics wrong.
Gripping his pole tensely, he charged towards his opponent, twisting his left hand forward as the pole came up to Kamara’s right arm. He deftly blocked Samuel’s vicious swing, as the Delta spun and layered another attack onto Kamara, this time to the left. He blocked it again, as Samuel went in again, at the right. The cycle continued, with Samuel attacking one side, Kamara blocking, and Samuel attacking to the other side.
Kamara was getting slower; he could see it in his parries. But so was he. If he didn’t end it now, there was a larger chance that Kamara could get in a finishing hit, and win the sparring match. He couldn’t let that happen.
One more jab to the right, blocked by Kamara. But this time, instead of another, he paused, and stepped back. Gathering up any last remnants of his strength, he stepped forward, and feinted to the left. Kamara blocked, too late realising he had been tricked. Samuel’s staff thumped into Kamara’s right shoulder, knocking him in the head. He withdrew the pole, and hit again, as Kamara’s weapon was still rotating to defend. This hit knocked the older Spartan in the thigh and knee, taking him down to a knee.
Samuel dropped his pole to his waist, and held it right next to Kamara’s head. Pausing, he stepped back, still keeping the staff above the other Spartan’s shoulder. Grinning, he stared at the defeated Kamara, as the cheers rose to new heights and applause came in from the sideline.
“Two to three! Spartan-D094 wins!”