Fisher watched as Sam left the room, "Alright, If you have any questions, I'll be in my office. Feel free to take food from the kitchen, spar with each other, work out, and shoot at the range." With that, fisher left the commons and went to his office, sat down, and turned on a TV.
Damien turned to Drake. "Hey, mind sparring with me? I might fly up in he sky, but I still need to stay on top of my game." Here he grinned. "That, and I've always wanted to try my technique against a hand to hand expert. So, feel like a few rounds?"
"Aw hell yeah, time for some chow," Black blurted out, hopping over the couch on his way to the kitchen. "Let's see, they give us the good stuff?" Digging through the cabinets, he found the flour, salt, baking soda, brown sugar, vanilla extract, and chocolate chips he'd been looking for.
"Thank you, Uncle Sugar." Tossing them on the counter, he dug through the fridge for the eggs and butter he needed, and got to work mixing in a couple of bowls.
God, I'm working with children. I've shot at my new boss before, nearly died a hundred times, I've even provided support for one of the worlds greatest war heroes while he tried to finish a mission meant for an entire team by himself, and now I'm stuck with a bunch of spies thinking they're James Bond and some fly boys thinking they're Maverick. Hell, even the other Ghost think they're hot shit. Maybe that Taylor guy, but the rest are privates, if that. Mike thought as he leaned against the wall.
Mike noticed Damien asking Drake to spar. "Say, fly boy, I'll go a few rounds with ya'." Lutner offered.
Cheryl had slipped into the Commons, placed herself against the wall next to the door, and watched quietly as the group dispersed and mixed up. Everyone found themselves something to do. One even started cooking.
It wasn't until their CO and Sam had left--Drake would probably take the pilot up on the offer--that she realized how out of places she was. She was used to shipping out with the Cells and being around them in-between deployments, but she would always have something to do. There was little time for nothing. While the clock ticked away the minutes until they would move again, Cheryl spent her time making sure that things would continue to run smoothly. Even when there might be an opportunity to just hang back and enjoy whatever local scenery there was, Cheryl had not once taken it.
And now she stood amongst a group of soldiers and found herself with a little too much time on her hands.
She fidgeted while she contemplated what to do, then decided to start by fetching her things from the car and reserving herself a bunk. She figured their CO wasn't inclined to reveal any more details about the OP until they'd crossed that bridge, so there was no point in chasing him down and asking. Maybe she'd just abuse the computer he'd mentioned instead.
Having made up her mind, Cheryl slipped out the Commons, ducked her head slightly, and headed for the factory exit.
"Not before me, you can spar with what's left when I'm done" said Drake as he replaced the slide on his SOCOM with a satisfying click. He smiled as he replaced the pistol in his belly strap and stood from the table. He rotated his neck and listened to the many pops and clicks before responding to his challenger.
"Well we gonna do this fly-boy?"
Without waiting for an answer he exited the common room and proceeded towards the gym. Once he arrived he removed his shirt and did a few complex stretches before whaling on punching bag.
His chest was a mass of scarred muscle with a few minor scars that resembled stab wounds, dotted primarily around his abdomen but further up the scars all possessed the distinctive look of bullet wounds.
Once he was all pumped up he proceeded to the mat where he removed his glasses, revealing a pair of ice blue eyes and jogged on the spot while he awaited the fly-boy.
Cheryl fished her shoulder holster from the trunk and fitted the rig over her shirt. Then she went and slid into the passenger seat. She retrieved her 1911, which found itself back in the holster resting against her left side, and added her wallet and smartphone into the customized pouch on her right.
And that was it. The car was perfectly empty aside from that. Well. Except her jacket. She snatched it from the neck guard on the passenger seat, flung it over a shoulder, and went back inside.
The computer in the quarters began to sound more and more tempting.
Sam had discovered the range and pulled out his pistol.
There were various objects such as bottles and cans, but there were several practice dummies and positioned bags hanging from walls as well.
It wasn't as fancy nor cool looking as anything from the base, but it was old school so he liked the feel of things.
Gripping the gun in his hand, he squeezed the trigger again and again, driving the bullets into the bottles and dummies.
He figured he'd also get some excercise going so he stripped his shirt to reveal the muscles and got down to do some push-ups before practicing melee fighting.
Damien smiled. "Alright, let's see how long I can take it." He took off his shirt as well, showing a giant diagonal slash stretching from just below his left shoulder to nearly his right hip. He walked to the mat, stretching his muscles every now and then. Damien slid his right foot back, put his left hand down in a fist, and his right hand cocked by the side of his head in a claw. "Ready when you are." Damien said.
Drake smiled and cracked his neck once more before he began to pace sideways around Damien, other than the tenseness he displayed in his overall posture, he was still in a completely neutral position with his eyes locked on his partner, his gaze unrelenting but not one normally expected of a combatant. It was more the look of a scientist about to dissect some unknown creature, coldly observing him before he slid the scalpel through its flesh.
Without warning he stepped in and looked as if he was about to deliver a snap kick into Damiens right side, however he simply withdraw the kick a good distance away and resumed his posture. He had observed the small, involuntary reactions that Damien had displayed when the kick had been incoming and noted his position.
Where did he shift his weight?
Did he flinch?
How did he react and could he deliver a solid kick without reprisal?
He considered all these questions as he continued to pace around his target, damn it was good to be sparring again.
He repeated this exercise twice more before following through and delivering a solid kick to the thigh of his opponent. He quickly withdrew his leg and locked gazes with his opponent once more.
Damien just barely avoided the last kick, throwing his weight in the opposite direction to negate the blow. "Damn, that's one hell of a kick. I'm gonna have to react faster if I want to counter that sucker." He saw Drake go for another kick. Just as he shifted his weight, Damien lunged forward with his long left arm and pushed Drake, making him fall on his back. "Watch it. When you go for a kick like that, your body shifts the center of gravity from midway down your thighs all the way up to the chest. Get the timing right, and you can knock anyone down. It's actually a football technique." Damien was not the best in normal hand to hand combat; no, his specialty was counterattacks.
Drake smiled and he let the momentum carry him backwards, back onto his feet. He had a decent push, it was a bit predictable however and he would have been easily countered with a Sambo lock if he hadn't been interested in gauging Damien's power.
Still the kids intuition was sound and he could no doubt hold his own in a real fight. But heart and intuition only got you so far, when you were against a Russian solider that would scream blue murder and alert an entire compound to your presence in the batting of an eye, you needed something else.
After a few more moments of pacing Drake suddenly sprinted towards him and when he was within 'counter distance' did and unexpected roll, crashing into Damien with a large amount of force. Not giving his opponent time to recover, he quickly wrapped his legs around Damien's right arm in a complex series of loops until they almost resembled a pretzel and stiffened, extending the arm to the very limit of its natural give.
'If only I was against that Ghost that sassed me, there could be a training accident'
But it was not, it was against this flyboy that Drake held nothing against. He would play it fairly and try not to debilitate the kid. He patiently waited the tap, for there could be no other resolution, his legs were wrapped around Damien in a well practised, vice-like grip and he was facing the wrong way to be able to hit Drake unless he dislocated his shoulder or did something equally drastic.
Damien sighed on the floor. "Arm bar, huh? Been a while since I've countered one of these." He took a deep breath and spread his shoulders as far as possible. He then tried to pull his arm up, waiting for that jerk back down. "There!" Thought Damien. He then brougt his right leg up, hooking it inside the elbow of Drake's arm. It wasn't much, but it gave Damien the smallest of chances to get out. Slowly but surely, he used his leg to try and remove one of Drake's hands. The second Drake lost his grip, Damien would be able to pull out.
"Come on flyboy, give it up. No point in you being here and flying those nice jets if you cant move your arm" said Drake as he tightened the grip with his legs, leaning back slightly to minuimise the force Damien could muster from his foot being there and applying a touch more pressure on to arm. He was going into dangerous ground now, a few millimetres the wrong way and there would be a crunch, followed swiftly by a stiff reprimand.
The reprimand didn't send the shivers down his back like it was supposed to however. No, too many tellings off for 'doing what had to be done' had negated any affect that could be achieved on him with these petty chewings out.
However the thought of wrecking the career of the kid struggling vainly to free his arm stung slightly. He hoped it wouldn't come to that but he also wouldn't shy away if it was necessary, the way he did most things these days if truth be told.
Damien sighed. "Damn, I hate this." He tapped twice on the ground. He then got up, stretching his arm slightly to relieve the pain. "Yeah...I hate the ground. By then, I'm probably already dead though, so I haven't done much in training for that. Mostly just taking away knives or guns." He shrugged. "Damn, and I thought I might last a little longer at least." He smiled. "Nice job, though."
She was bored. And Cheryl didn't like being bored.
The field runner had occupied one of the top corner bunks with her ID (placing it on her pillow), before dedicating a little of her time to the computer. Then she'd started pacing in the empty quarters, until finally deciding to rejoin the pot.
Her gun still rested in the holster, and as she made her way through the commons she wondered if she should be putting some rounds downrange.
Though before that she'd follow the call of duty.
She walked to their CO's office and rapped her knuckles against it.
"please, call me Sam. I need you to tell Drake that he is no longer in commabd of the Splinter Cell team. I am, and I will be heading out to the field with you 3." He said
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