Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein Page B

what I think happened: The two moved out on each side of our company commander until they had him completely flanked but well out of contact. From this position there is a choice of four basic moves for the man working alone, moves that take advantage of his own mobility and of the superior co-ordination of one man as compared with two—Sergeant Zim says (correctly) that any group is weaker than a man alone unless they are perfectly trained to work together. For example, Zim could have feinted at one of them, bounced fast to the other with a disabler, such as a broken kneecap then finished off the first at his leisure.
    Instead he let them attack. Meyer came at him fast, intending to body check and knock him to the ground, I think, while Heinrich would follow through from above, maybe with his boots. That’s the way it appeared to start.
    And here’s what I think I saw. Meyer never reached him with that body check. Sergeant Zim whirled to face him, while kicking out and getting Heinrich in the belly -- and then Meyer was sailing through the air, his lunge helped along with a hearty assist from Zim.
    But all I am sure of is that the fight started and then there were two German boys sleeping peacefully, almost end to end, one face down and one face up, and Zim was standing over them, not even breathing hard. “Jones,” he said. “No, Jones left, didn’t he? Mahmud! Let’s have the water bucket, then stick them back into their sockets. Who’s got my toothpick?”
    A few moments later the two were conscious, wet, and back in ranks. Zim looked at us and inquired gently, “Anybody else? Or shall we get on with setting-up exercises?”
    I didn’t expect anybody else and I doubt if he did. But from down on the left flank, where the shorties hung out, a boy stepped out of ranks, came front and center. Zim looked down at him. “Just you? Or do you want to pick a partner?”
    “Just myself, sir.”
    “As you say. Name?”
    “Shujumi, sir.”
    Zim’s eyes widened. “Any relation to Colonel Shujumi?”
    “I have the honor to be his son, sir.”
    “Ah so! Well! Black Belt?”
    “No, sir. Not yet.”
    “I’m glad you qualified that. Well, Shujumi, are we going to use contest rules, or shall I send for the ambulance?”
    “As you wish, sir. But I think, if I may be permitted an opinion, that contest rules would be more prudent.”
    “I don’t know just how you mean that, but I agree.” Zim tossed his badge of authority aside, then, so help me, they backed off, faced each other, and bowed.
    After that they circled around each other in a half crouch, making tentative passes with their hands, and looking like a couple of roosters.
    Suddenly they touched—and the little chap was down on the ground and Sergeant Zim was flying through the air over his head. But he didn’t land with the dull, breath-paralyzing thud that Meyer had; he lit rolling and was on his feet as fast as Shujumi was and facing him. “Banzai!” Zim yelled and grinned.
    “Arigato,” Shujumi answered and grinned back.
    They touched again almost without a pause and I thought the Sergeant was going to fly again. He didn’t; he slithered straight in, there was a confusion of arms and legs and when the motion slowed down you could see that Zim was tucking Shujumi’s left foot in his right ear—a poor fit.
    Shujumi slapped the ground with a free hand; Zim let him up at once.
    They again bowed to each other.
    “Another fall, sir?”
    “Sorry. We’ve got work to do. Some other time, eh? For fun . . . and honor. Perhaps I should have told you; your honorable father trained me.”
    “So I had already surmised, sir. Another time it is.”
    Zim slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Back in ranks, soldier. C’pnee!”
    Then, for twenty minutes, we went through calisthenics that left me as dripping hot as I had been shivering cold. Zim led it himself, doing it all with us and shouting the count. He hadn’t been mussed that I could see; he wasn’t