Marshall asks Ron, “You think we will be anything like that.”
Ron answering, “You know we probably will, maybe not that fast.”
Helen coming to the door asks, “What’s the problem?”
Sam still complains, “I got soap in my eyes, Daddy is no help.”
Pushing her way in, Helen pushes me aside saying, “Men, you just are no help for little girls in the shower. Now go on and get out.”
The three of us retreat, taking lot little pride we have left. My father in law chuckles before he says, “Being the father of girls I know what this feels like. Don’t worry it usually passes.”
Ron asks, “You mean your daughters grew out of it?”
The Coach chuckles and says, “No, I just got accustomed to it.”
Two hours later finds us dressed standing at the reception line for Sergeant Major Sampson, I shake his hand and look at the Silver Star he just received for his last tour of duty. His dress uniform has an impressive amount of metals, and I believe he earned every single one.
I get a picture of him and Sam, a second with him and Ron, one with his family, and one with the commander and him. Kathryn had packed my camera with all my lenses and the better of the two flashes I have. The picture should be very good, and judging from my display, they are.
Sam gets our attention, and a heavy rain has started. She directs Ron to a man standing apart from everyone else. She tells me it is time the man comes in he will be wearing a raincoat. I will be able to see the shotgun from under it. I walk to the door, as Helen and the coach stay near Sergeant Major Sampson and Sam, Sam does just as she promised. Well three steps away from the door it opens, the man that comes in has trouble written all over him. You can see how tense he is; feel his anger even from this distance.
I do not hesitate; immediately I closed the distance an open palm strike to his rib cage forces the air out of his lungs. As he is moving backwards from the strike, I strike again this time to the nerve that runs down the arm, it does not do any lasting damage but his arm goes limp instantly. The shotgun falls a couple inches and I catch it, pulling it out from underneath the raincoat. My offhand strikes hitting him on the chin knocking him out for at least half an hour and he crumples to the ground.
I break the shotgun down and remove the two shells before moving to the bar and handing it to the bartender. She is shocked at what just occurred and how quickly it ended. Looking over my shoulder, I realized the room has gone silent. Until the Sergeant Major shouts, “Time to disarm .4 seconds.”
The bartender looks at me smiles and says, “We get a couple fools who try that. It’s usually takes a second before they stand down realizing their badly outgunned.”
Turning back towards the door, the bouncers already have restraints binding his hands and feet. The bartender says, “The police should be here in a minute or two.” One of the bouncers gently pulls a hand grenade from a pocket on his raincoat. He places it out of reach of the man. I realize how much damage something like that could do in this crowded restaurant.
The room breaks out into the normal volume of talking, bar orders shouted, as everything was five seconds before it started. I walk back to the Sergeant Major who now holds Sam; he says to me, “That was well done.”
I call to Kathryn, and I explain, “That everything went perfectly, no one is hurt and we should be coming home on time.” We exchanged our love, and goodbyes.
Ron was right it does not take a few minutes more before someone challenges me on the punch omanic. They let me go first; I got a feeling because they do not want to show their technique. There’s a square painted on the floor in front of the machine, and you are supposed to punch from within the square. I stand in the square facing the machine. The distance gives me enough room for about nine inch draw on my punch. I ready myself the same way I would do before breaking the two by fours. Putting that same energy into my punch, I release and pushed through the target. Many in the crowd had turned to watch in the noise level had dropped quite a bit. The police had just arrived and revived the armed robber. As I make contact with the machine it forces a padded arm that measures the impact backward, when my punch stops the machine through a loudspeaker announces, “Killing blow.”
The room goes completely silent for a few moments, and then Sam shouts, “Yeah Daddy.” There is wild thunder of laughter that fills the room, and I watch as Ron collects his winnings from several people.
Mitch turns out to be a really cool person. He and Marshall hit it right off and I can tell I have just added a friend to our circle. Mitch a bit uncertain about joining us before our meeting, but now seems at ease with it.
Two more times I received challenges, on my last challenge I let them go first. They come charging at the machine and launched their punch from within the square but they were already moving. The loudspeaker announces, knockout for each of the two challengers. Again, I stood in the square using a bill to measure six inches, taking a third off the distance I had to throw the punch. My two challengers shook their heads thinking I handicap myself.
One of them points out, “You did not use your fist on our unwanted guest, I bet you cannot hit as hard with an open hand.”
What he did not realize I practiced for years not with my fist but using an open hand for my attack, the one time I actually broke six two by fours was with an open hand. I usually do not hit as hard with my fist because I know I can break the smaller bones in my hand that way. I smile and ask, “What do you want to bet?”
What he says surprises me. It causes a cold chill to run down my spine. His reply is, “Sam.”
I look at him straight in the eye before I say, “I would bet you ever cent I have before I would bet you my daughter. Hell, I would bet my own life first.”
His friend look shocked too; looking at me, he asks, “What makes you good enough to raise Sam?”
The stupid machine has a timer on it, and it began counting down through the loudspeaker. As it begins at ten seconds, I say, “Because I have killed to protect her, I risked my life to do that, and if it requires me to give up my life to protect her I will.” With my open hand six inches from the machine I release my strike on the count of two, the machine announces killing blow instead of saying one.
Turning back to him I say, “I risked my life more than once, to keep Sam safe I would do it again. If you have to ask why it is simple, I love her; she is my green eyed Princess, my daughter.”
Sam comes running through the crowd jumping in mid-flight she shouts, “Daddy catch me.”
My arms open I catch Sam with a loud thud. There is more than one chuckle from around us. I ask, “What is the matter Sam?”
Sam quickly says, “Uncle Marshall is going to get me.”
Chuckling I say, “Did you take his cookie again? If you did you know he is just going to tickle you.”
Sam defends herself by saying, “Aunt Misty told me not to let him have too many.” There is more than a few laughs from around us as Marshall stopped him seeing me in my stance throws his hands up and spins around he retreats.
Putting Sam down I say to her, “You are going to have to apologize, and explain why you take his cookies.”
Sam looks down and gives pouting face that is just too cute for anyone to stay mad at her, even though I never was. Sam says, “Okay Daddy I will.” There is a few more chuckles from around us.
The man who question my ability to raise Sam gives me a smile before he says, “Hey Sam’s Dad.” He tosses me a unit coin; it bears the insignia of the US. Army on one side and his unit on the other. He says, “If anybody ever asks you that stupid question again just show them the coin.”
The next day we bring the bicycles early in their loaded in the plane. We meet them just before 9 o’clock at security with our flight information. A Stewart from our flight explained to security about it being a chartered flight and no boarding passes issued. When our group identified from a list, they are ushered through with minimal checks.
The first thing Sergeant Major Sampson says to us “Now that I’m retired I want you to call me Charles from now on.” Jokingly he explained, “I’ve had twenty-four years of my life where people referred to me by Sergeant, it’s going to be nice to be reminded my first name isn’t Sergeant.”
They are slightly confused, expecting boarding passes when we lead them to a gate with no flight number. Looking at the rather large aircraft at the gate Sam says, “That’s a really big airplane we’re taking home. It’s a lot bigger than the one we flew here on.”
I tell Sam, “We had to get a larger plane, because we have four more people and their household goods.”
Jane Sampson who looks a little shocked at first but recovers quickly smiling she says, “You mean I’m not going to have to wait weeks for my stuff to arrive.”
Ron shakes his head no. Marshall says, “Reese worried herself sick waiting for this big guy to show up. I think JJ was just as bad, that is why we planned this. No waiting for you. Charles doesn’t have to drive a truck for a day straight.”
Chuckling at their expressions Ron says, “You can think Reese when we arrive. JJ covered the plane out here, but Reese is paying for this one.”
Sam giggles, “Daddy wanted to pay for it, but Reese made Daddy take the money.”
Charles laughs, “Reese can be very persuasive when she wants something.”
Joining in the laughter Ron says, “You better believe it, I just learned to give her anything she wants. I figure if I keep her happy, I will be happy too.”
Jane looking at her husband says, “Told you he was smart, he’s been married less than six months and already figured it out.”
Marshall says, “He had a pretty good example in JJ.”
Everyone’s attention turns to me and I say, “I just followed along with what Dad was doing with Helen. I figured he was doing something right, she has eight kids, looks great and seems to be happy with him.”
Helen giggles and then says, “Most of the time I am, but he has to figure out how to know when I’m not.”
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