Traveller Inceptio

The combatants sprang into action, each vying strenuously for the advantage. Bamboo swords, called jukdos, clacked with the attack and parry. Without warning the smaller of the combatants directed a kick to the solar plexus of the larger, a blow that would have been disabling but for their protective armour. Yet the blow did not land accurately as the target dodged to deflect while his elbow shot forward with a blow that would have smashed a nose. The small combatant quickly tilted his head so the blow hit the tip of his mask, knocking his head with a shock while bruising the elbow of the attacker, who cursed.

Blows rained upon each other but there was not a victor’s clean cut, so the bout continued. As there was no time limit, the combatants knew to conserve their energy, but the minutes passed and they began to tire. One would attack, then the other. Some of the moves were spectacular, bringing cries of admiration from those who watched, and still the combatants fought on.

The referee’s sharp command finally ended the bout. The armoured opponents bowed to each other and then to the guests before they removed their masks.

Morris was so red-faced, that with his white hair and his flowing moustache, his face looked purple. His opponent and best friend, Leishman, had barely removed his mask when he received a congratulatory pounding on his shoulder for a bout well fought. As much as their armour would permit, they literally staggered, arms around each other’s sweaty shoulders, from the matting.

Harrison nodded his congratulations and glanced to their special guest, Kim Ja-kyung, who knelt on the tatami and nodded, impressed. Short and wiry, Master Kim’s neat crew cut was iron-grey and he carried himself with a power and authority that spoke of military discipline and years of experience in martial arts. Hunter and his comrades knelt, clad in traditional armour, ready for their own bouts.

Harrison had earlier informed the men they were to receive a special training visit by an esteemed Korean sword expert. Hunter and Hurley knew he must have been important as Harrison, who was an arrogant prick at times, ran around after the mysterious Master Kim and bowed enthusiastically whenever he could.

Anderson commented laconically, “That Master Kim had better watch out. If he bends over too far, Harrison will pucker up and tongue-kiss his ass.”

Master Kim had the bushiest eyebrows Hunter had ever seen on an Asian man. He was accompanied by a shy, petite and pretty Asian girl.

Harrison had been embarrassing as he gushed his welcome. “Master Kim, we are grateful for the honour to have you visit us. Just to remind the gentlemen here that Master Kim is a legend in the martial arts world and was exiled from his native North Korea for his heroic disagreement with the totalitarian regime. He’s world renowned for his passionate preservation of Korean culture and history and is a martial artist with few peers.”

Hurley groaned, “Oh God! What a suck-arse.”

They looked a scruffy lot. Hunter wondered what Master Kim had been told, but it seemed not much had been divulged as he looked self-important and a little impatient. Harrison gestured to the young woman, introduced as Mae Ja-kyung, and looked meaningfully at the men as if they should know who she was. Typical to many Koreans Hunter had met, she looked deceptively young and cultivated the long, dark-haired, pretty ‘little girl’ look Koreans seem to favour. Hunter gathered she was a daughter or squeeze for the old man and her dark eyes flashed angrily as the men appraised her.

Though not barred from having relations during their training, the men had little time to dally. Except for Murdoch and a couple of most unappealing mature-aged women in the Welbeck administration, few, if any, women were ever seen in the facility. To gaze in appreciation at Mae was natural—to them anyway.

Harrison described Master Kim as a master of Haidong Gumdo. The sword style differed significantly from the traditional sword skills of Kumdo and Kendo they had been learning, and it was said by some it was the native Korean ‘battlefield’ style of sword combat. Critics described the style as too showy. Hunter knew Harrison was showing off his students like they were performing monkeys and he grudgingly admitted perhaps they were. The team had experienced some frustration in accessing the relevant sword skills that could train them for real conflict. Most of the trainers they had seen were inadequate to the task and none realised they trained men who fully expected to kill with a sword. While exercises and sparring was as helpful, no one had any idea what to expect if confronted by someone wielding an axe or spear.

“Your fears could be well founded,” suggested Professor Taylor at one of their meetings where they evaluated the skills needed for the mission. “But remember the average Viking was a full-time farmer or fisherman and only a part-time soldier or raider. They may not be as proficient in combat as we fear.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before the Londoner McAlister spoke for them all. “With all due respect, Professor, we’re the ones wholl have to survive. We have to be the best that we can be. When we train in Hostage Rescue, we shoot so close to the hostage they feel the breeze as the bullets hit their kidnappers. We can’t suppose we’ll be any better than anyone else when we get there. Fookin’ dancing about like fairies won’t help us!”

With that in mind, the men eschewed traditional rules of martial art combat and tried to use every skill they had harnessed. Though protected by armour, their trial combat was often brutal.

Harrison called up the next combatants, Hunter and Hurley. This was an eagerly anticipated bout as the two were superb in their techniques and incredibly fast. In hand-to-hand combat, Hurley had the irritating habit of dropping his foot down the front of a competitor’s face, well timed and executed so that noses were left intact but one had the impression of the dirty, sweaty sole of the foot that left an unmistakable taste on the inside of the bottom lip. Hunter had the vicious habit of sweeping the feet out from under a combatant so, before you knew it, you were on your back, winded and vulnerable.

This battle was faster than the previous, if possible. Fists and knees struck while bamboo swords were parried. At a pivotal moment, Hurley was disarmed. Far from being beaten, he avoided the well-aimed sword blows from Hunter and they soon ended up on the floor, masks cast aside as they struggled for supremacy. No quarter was given.

Master Kim stood suddenly and applauded the combatants with gusto. He walked onto the matting and helped them to their feet in a gesture that, if Mae’s astonished expression was anything to go by, was most uncommon. Hurley stood unsteadily, sporting a bloody nose, while Hunter had a blooming graze on his forehead. Red-faced and barely able to stand, they followed protocol and bowed to Master Kim, to Harrison and then to each other.

The delighted Master Kim gestured briskly to Mae. She immediately stood in a graceful, fluid motion and left the room.

Hunter exhausted and sore, bruised even through his protective armour. They all knew the limitation in such combat situations was to keep to rules that prevented major injury, whereas in real life there were none. Vulnerable spots such as knees and necks were ignored in their practice, yet would be targeted in the real world. As he sweated, Hunter was quietly relieved he wouldn’t have to fight Hurley for real.

Mae re-entered the room and took to the floor. She had changed from jeans and jacket into traditional Korean flowing silk robes with baggy sleeves. She carried swords, real swords. They had the gently curved look of traditional Japanese Katana, though one of the swords was straight.

Harrison took a moment to explain breathlessly. “We will have the rare honour of a demonstration of sword skills by the honourable Master Kim Ja-kyung, and then by his daughter, the famous Mae Ja-kyung. Just so you might know, such an honour is normally only offered to heads of state. You’re in for a rare treat.”

Master Kim took one of the swords and then, with unimaginable grace, slowly demonstrated the weapon. His pattern of fluid moves became faster, more complex and disciplined until the blade was little more than a blur. With a concluding cry, he ended with a stylised pose with the sword pointed to the heart of an imaginary foe. Hunter looked at Hurley with eyebrows raised in surprise as Master Kim bowed to their applause.

Master Kim introduced Mae, his daughter, with only a nod and flourish. Her long, dark hair had been tied back except for bangs that hung either side of her face in a style reminiscent of an Asian comic-book heroine. A thick red sash secured her black outer robes and white inner robe with a bow under her small breasts. Her pale feet were bare. She held two swords as incongruous accessories, the gleam of the cold steel contrasting with the silk and her slender hands.

Mae stepped to the centre of the matting and began to move in precise, delicate swirls, the swords cutting the air while her silk flowed around her like water. She was no longer an ornament to her famous father, but was the main act and a skilled martial artist in her own right. Her slim body was hidden by the voluminous robe that twirled as she guided the swords in their deadly arcs, where immense skill was hidden under a veneer of showmanship.

Hunter was certain that each of the men fell in love with Mae at that moment. Her looks, grace, and blend of feminine frailty and aggression were compelling. He glanced around him as the group of hard-assed Special Forces professional soldiers looked on like lovesick teenagers. Hunter saw the humour of the situation, even as his emotions were also entwined by the silken apparition.

Mae completed her patterns with a pose of exquisite grace, signalling the end of her performance and of the formalities. After the applause, Master Kim met each of the team, shook hands and praised them for their dedication. Mae was more reserved and appeared a little daunted by the attention, as each of the men seemed determined to shake her slim hand at least twice. Hunter imagined how they must appear; stinking, longhaired, oversized westerners with hairy faces. Later, as they gathered in the cafeteria, each appreciated that for once, the joke was on them.

The only ones who didn’t appear overly impressed were the Americans: Anderson, Leishman, and Kitchener. “I don’t trust them is what I’m saying,” stressed Anderson. “We’ve had experience with North Koreans on a number of occasions.”

“In North Korea?” asked Hurley with interest.

“Well, can’t say for sure,” added Leishman. “Certainly in Africa.” He frowned as he sipped his herbal tea. “Master Kim and cute little Mae might seem harmless, but they aren’t. Let me put it this way; when someone’s trying to kill you, they lose much of their appeal.”

Anderson nodded, and in his classic southern drawl added, “I like Japanese, South Koreans and hell, I even like Chinese, but those North Koreans are sneaky sons of bitches. They smile at you and tell you all’s well while they knife you in the back. When you shake their hands, you count your fingers after, ’cause they play by their rules, not anyone else’s.”

However, the next day when Harrison jubilantly announced that Master Kim and Mae would train them, despite their reservations the Americans agreed, at least until they could evaluate their usefulness. Like all trainers, Master Kim and Mae were never told of the group’s real interest in sword skills. So for ten days the men were educated in Master Kim’s philosophy of Shimgum; the unification of the mind, body and spirit through the sword. Hunter surmised it was a blend of Japanese Bushido, the Samurai Art of War, and Kim’s own thoughts and theories based on Korean historical tradition.

Through their training, the nationality of their sword skills blurred. They practiced with real swords in a range of Korean, Chinese and Japanese philosophies. One of their training skills included Tameshigiri, the Japanese sword master’s practice of cutting rolled straw mats, a technique that demanded absolute speed and precision with the strongest possible blade. They also experienced the pleasure and pain of sparring with Mae and soon discovered that the delicate little blossom was a viper in disguise. After a particularly gruelling bout, Hurley admitted his grudging admiration. “Don’t mess with that woman in a dark alley. She would cut you in two with that weapon. If you were to survive an encounter with Mae, you’d be a lot shorter for the experience.” Hurley, of all of the men, seemed immune to her charms but not immune to conceding respect.

It was generally agreed Mae had anger issues, so each, in their own way, attempted to win her over and even romance her. Tales of how they crashed and burned became a continuing source of amusement. Osborne, the big Australian, had a face only his mother would love, yet he refused to give up. He brought her flowers and champagne, a classic move that was the cause of hilarity. Even the youthful Johnny Depp look-alike, Poxon, had been unsuccessful. In the end, only Hurley and Hunter hadn’t made any effort. Hurley inexplicably called her a ‘waste of fucking time and effort’, while Hunter decided that if the others, particularly Poxon, had failed, why bother. Not having seen any great success in romance, he decided Mae’s tastes might range somewhere other than rugged Special Forces hairy men. That was until, after one brutal session, Hunter had Mae actually smile, a rare occurrence that lit up her pretty face. In an impetuous move doomed to failure, he successfully extracted a promise of a clandestine meeting at the nearby Welbeck village. It wasn’t the most romantic location, but was a welcome break from the halls of the old abbey. Mae insisted on meeting at the only café for a cup of tea. While the locals were used to visits by the strange men from Welbeck, Hunter was sure any casual observer would have thought the hippy man with the big moustache as an odd companion for the petite, beautifully dressed Asian girl. She was typically shy and laughed politely with her hand over her mouth, and after their tea suggested they leave in her car. Hunter enjoyed her company, but was aware of the imperative that any relationship with the Koreans was to be handled in a sensible and sensitive manner.

He was therefore unprepared when she drove to a local Bed and Breakfast and, having already signed in, led Hunter to a classic, white-laced bedroom. With little preamble, Hunter was thrown to the bed as Mae hungrily tore at his clothes.

Their wild and passionate sex lasted for most of the night.