"Hii Yah!"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

June 7, 2006 (2397)

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Hii Yah!” – Part 1

 

<<<<<<<<<< Marine Combat Training Lvl. 6 >>>>>>>>>>

<<<<<<<<<< Old Earth Military, Marine Elite Recon, V.1 >>>>>>>>>>

<<<<<<<<<< Combination Program - Bo Staff, Hand to Hand, Training Dojo >>>>>>>>>>

 

An Old Earth soldier stood calmly, twirling a Bo staff expertly, as he sized up his current target. He was in his early to mid forties, weather beaten features, tall, about 155 pounds; thin build with toned muscles, sandy colored hair shaved into a high and tight, just starting to gray. Forest camo cargo pants and a black tee shirt completed the look.

 

His target was a 24th century Caitian female, a representative of Starfleet, literally worlds apart from her training holo-partner. Kansas wore her black uniform trousers and the blue gray short sleeved uniform under tunic. Her gold uniform tunic lay folded on a nearby bench, the delta shield comm badge symbol of the Fleet gleaming in the holodeck program lighting. She also held a rattan recreation of a staff weapon and also gave her opponent the once over.

 

Resulting from a rather interesting star base altercation, JoNs had been ordered by Lt. Commander Robair to some extra hand to hand combat training sessions, one program a day. Marine based combat training sessions.

 

If the Agincourt were a Rihan ship, she would suspect the Chief of trying to knock her off.

 

Kansas would never vocalize this, but she was highly irked by the fact she was ordered to the extra training sessions like some errant second year cadet. She already had the dang basic and advanced combat security training, and passed in the upper percentile! And the few times over the years she had needed to resort to hand to hand combat, she had been fine!

 

A low growl echoed across the holo deck, earning her an “odd look” from the holo-marine. “That better not have been directed at me Fuzzy.”

 

Oh gods, of all the programs, she gets the chatty ground pounder.

 

Kansas answered “No Sir” just to be on the safe side, holo program or not. Don’t tick off the recon marine speaking softly and carrying the Big Stick.

 

Of course, Robair had explained the reasons for the added training, and it did make logical sense, and she completely understood. Personally, she knew her hand to hand fighting had always leaned toward the brawling style, more so in the last few years, mainly due to her natural claws, fangs, and ingrained feline fighting abilities. The incident with the drug dealer on Travae had been the perfect example of this preferred brawling method. She had roughly manhandled him, charging, completely sapping her strength; what if the away team backup had not been there? The other reason for the assignment was, well, a clear message from Robair; don’t mess up on his watch and go start a brawl on a star base, and use your better judgement at all times.

 

There was a certain finesse to be learned from hand to hand combat, and this was what Kansas was doing here; she needed this extra marine based training in order to learn how to better use her environment and upgrade her methods, and learn which best hand to hand method was to be used for varying situations, and do it without exhausting herself completely.

 

Irked or not, Kansas had tackled the training assignment with her usual gusto. The marine training programs started at level 6, and went up to level 18, totaling 24 programs in all. Her perusal of the extensive programs had showed that each new training level started with a one on one session like the one she found herself in now, with either non firing training weapons employed or full on hand to hand contact. Then, the participant moved onto the second half of each level, usually set in some sort of pre rendered scenario (urban, jungle and the like), with several combatants, in which you had to find the best combat method to keep yourself alive and diffuse the situation quickly.

 

Oh….Joy. Kansas had a feeling she would be worshipping the Gods of Painkiller before this was all over.

 

“Begin!” barked the elite Recon marine as he rushed at her, his staff zinging at her head.

 

Kansas danced backwards out of the range of his swing and dropped into a low crouch, circling toward her left. High and Tight circled in the opposite direction. The environment was confining, but it was up to the Caitian to handle it and make it work.

 

She suddenly lunged and then feinted her staff, testing to see his preferred direction of choice. He tensed and quickly dropped his left shoulder, bringing the right section of his staff up slightly, an indication that he was right handed.

 

Kansas suddenly moved, charging and bringing her staff out and up for a quick swipe toward the holo marine’s neck. He ducked the blow, allowing her momentum and the arc of her staff to carry her past him. His own staff swished through the air to connect with a resounding thwack across the Caitians lower back.

 

A pained yelp pierced the recirculated air of the holo deck. The safety protocols didn’t always cover everything.

 

High and Tight quickly reached out and grabbed Kansas by the scruff of the neck before she could, oh, say, collapse onto her knees from the stinging pain. He gave her a little encouraging shove of direction back over toward her side of the mat.

 

“Let’s go Fuzzy. I have all the time in the world, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend it staring at your furred mug. What branch you in girl?” he asked, pointing his staff at the bench where her uniform tunic lay.

 

Kansas answered through gritted teeth. “Security. Starfleet.” She thought a moment, remembering some history classes from the academy. “The ‘Fleet has its roots in the Old Earth Navy.”

 

High and Tight grinned slyly. “The Navy huh? That explains a lot actually.”

 

Kansas stared at him and then grinned ferally. “Frag you and the Fvai you rode in on. Sir.”

 

He whooped. “I like that! That phrasing is now added to my programming. I’ll be sure you get credit. You’re ID log on reads as Lt. JoNs, correct?” The sly grin remained.

 

Her grin disappeared. The Caitian was suddenly treated to a mental image of Robair reviewing the exercise and Harper, Day, Rieve, Sisson, Borel or Merril being informed “…oh yeah, that phrase is from that lieutenant kitty, JoNs…” and almost dropped her staff.

 

Oh gods, she gets the chatty, continually advancing AI ground pounder with the sense of humor programmed in…

 

“Wait! Let’s not be hasty now…”

 

“Begin!” he barked again, launching himself at her and beginning the exercise anew.

 

<<<<<<<<<< training sessions to be continued >>>>>>>>>>

 

Lt. M’rrett Sh’aow “Where’s My t’Advil” JoN’s

Chief Tactical – Assistant Security Officer