The dust settled as he pulled into what appeared to be a parking area for speeders.

Shutting down the engine of his KC-2019 Motorcycle he leaned back. Slowly, muscle by muscle he worked the kinks out after such a long ride. Years of training kicked in automatically as he scanned the area noting places of interest, rises in the ground that could hide a small squad, a fallen tree that would take six seconds to reach. Part of his brain noted at it and stored it away without even realizing he was doing it.

Road dust covered his body, his black shirt and pants were more brown now then actually black. A helmet designed to keep whatever brain he had inside his skull covered his head.

Being a Storm Trooper he had been told many times he did not actually have a brain, looking back at some of the things he had done in the line of duty made him wonder if they might be correct. Some of the things he did because they had to be done, others, he just wanted to do.

Removing his helmet he looked over at a group of troopers, a mixture of fresh faced cadets and mission hardened veterans. Men and woman of various ages mingled together as they waited for some Sergeant to show up and apparently kick their asses around for a few hours.

Joamer had heard of him, but never of his name for some reason. He did not find that odd, few things happened he found odd anymore. Roughly half the class was here to get a refresher course on close combat, the new folks were here for the first time. He had stopped arguing with those higher in the food chain than him over classes he should take. He had decided it was a good thing to keep up to date on new ideas that came along.

Swinging his leg over he got off the bike and set his helmet on the gas tank. Noting a few curious eyes looking over, not at him, but at the bike he had rode in on. Few used such old school technology these days, and those that did were usually instantly branded as being odd. Joamer fit the profile of odd perfectly.

"Morning meat sacks." A shadow leaning against a tree said a few minutes later. The group settled down, the more experienced in the bunch moved away from each other to gain room to move. The Sergeants reputation had spread far and wide it seemed, Joamer was one of the ones that moved. He figured what was going to come next, a few seconds of movements and a few people would be on the ground. He did not have to wait long.

The shadow moved forming into a unremarkable man, his body was crisscrossed with old scars, his eyes held a depth of knowledge that far succeeded most peoples. He walked closer to the group, the newer people not knowing what to do exactly stayed their ground, the others continued to reposition themselves. His uniform was unremarkable, Academy Officer standard, however the twin small daggers in front of his belt were not. Nor was the none regulation blaster pistol resting behind his back.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight in close quarters. No blasters, no explosives, no ships. Just simple, everyday, up close and personal." The Sergeant said. Joamer breathed slowly, he saw the Sergeants very small shift in position, then it began.

In the blink of an eye the man was gone, replaced by a whirlwind, no daggers, no blaster, just hands, feet, body. He moved throughout the crowd as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Joamer caught some of it, an arm thrown around a cadets neck, as his arm was pulled out of socket. A left knee to the groin, as a fist was brought crashing into someones forehead. A sweep of the legs, and a elbow to the stomach of the fallen woman. It was quick, clean, and over very fast.

The Sergeant stood in the center of what used to be the cadets, they lay in various stages of groaning or mercilessly unconscious. "Good, now that that is over. Time to move on to the wannabe big shots." He said as he stepped clear of the bodies. "Medic!" He shouted like he suddenly remembered.

Everyone who was still standing had formed a large circle surrounding the man. Their eyes never leaving him. He walked slowly, forcing the circle to move away from the downed men and woman.

"That was a crash course in what can happen. Once they recover enough they will begin what constitutes book work around here for a few days. I've found showing them what can happen is a lot better right off the bat. What I'm going to do to you lot will be more difficult. It's tough to fill a cup that is already full, and by your records a lot of you are way past arrogant." The man said slowly.


The group continued to move together, keeping the same distance between them and the whirlwind. Everyone kept their hands away from whatever weapons they were carrying, but every ones fingers twitched once in awhile wanting to grab hold. Years of training and missions had instilled into them a sense of danger. This man constituted that fully.

The Sergeant just slowly walked, moving the group further out into the wooded area. Minutes passed as people began to stumble over the uneven terrain, a few came close to being within reach of the man but somehow managed to very quickly move away. An impatient silence filled the surrounding woods. Troopers waited for the inevitable they all knew was coming, yet no one wanted to volunteer for the honor of being first.

The man stopped suddenly, sighed once then tossed both of his daggers. One went into the left leg of a woman, the other into the right hand of a man trying to climb over a fallen tree trunk. A split second later twin screams, he was not even aware of drawing his DL-44, switching to stun and firing at the man who started to mercilessly beat the men and woman around him. He was not the first one to start firing, a sudden pain in his right shoulder caused him to look down. One of the Sergeant's knives was sticking out of his chest, the last thing he remembered before he head struck a tree trunk was of how quick the guy was.


----------

Opening his eyes he glared at the sky. The sun was setting, the small clearing was a slight bee hive of activity as medics worked on the men and woman in various stages of health. His right arm was in a sling, and his head pounded. He hated being knocked on conscious, his head always hurt for days afterwords.

He sat up slowly, giving his brain a chance to relocate. The Sergeant was standing in front of him, a few other bodies were on the ground still. One was even snoring quite loudly.

"The others won't be waking up anytime soon, so I'll start talking and you listening. You have one free hit on me for what I did. I've learned that it's quite effective to put a man, or woman, down hard so they will listen a bit better." His eyes never left Joamer's, he was still astonished the amount of wisdom they carried.

"Close combat is simple, you use what you have, or what you can find and put your enemy down as quickly as possible. My classes are always brutal. In the six years I've been doing this I've had two fatalities, but those were in the much higher echelons. You will now be paired up with someone, then fight till one of you falls. The victor gets to leave, the other stays behind till they are a victor."

Reaching down the man helped Joamer to his feet, his right shoulder throbbed where the knife had entered him. He figured no pain meds had been given him, more of the brutal treatment.

"You arm was bandaged quickly, no pain meds. You might be able to use it, you might not, it's all up to you. It can either be an advantage or a disadvantage. The sooner you put someone down, the sooner you can get out of here."

Walking over to the sparring area Joamer watched the groups fight. It was a no holds bar as each person tried to nearly rip the other ones head off. Looking over, the area was surrounded by guards with blasters. He figured it anyone came close to death the guards would stun both of them to be safe. Even though accidents can happen.

He was rocked forward suddenly by a punch to the back of the head, spinning around he saw a young man bouncing back and forth waiting. Grunting half to himself he pivoted on one foot then brought his left arm around in a wide swing. The man dodged it, and returned with a hard kick to Joamer's stomach.

The man was quicker, but Joamer had more experience. Moving around he dropped to one knee and lashed out with his right leg, sweeping the man off his feet. A second later his left elbow came crashing down on the man's chest. Rolling over him he got back up as the man coughed for a minute before standing up.

Joamer watched as the guy reached down and picked up a two foot long stick, he swung it a few times before attacking. The blows came fast, but not very hard. Just enough to keep. Joamer off balance. He waited, and ignored the pain coming from his right shoulder. He had kept his arm pressed to his body for just this moment.

Moving quickly he grabbed the man's left wrist. Pulling him in he brought up his right arm and smashed his knuckles into the man's nose. Blood shot out, as he dropped the stick and stepped back. Moving again Joamer began a quick series of hard blows to the man's face and upper torso. Kicking his legs out from under him he brought his fist down on the man's mouth, he went limp a second later.

Falling back, he closed his eyes and worked to get his breathing under control. He heard bodies rushing over to check on both of them. His arm was lifted, and reset as he had dislocated it during the fight. A moment later blessed numbness began coursing through his body.

He felt someone help him to his feet so he opened his eyes. The Sergeant stood in front of him and nodded once. "Good job, you should come back for the higher levels one day. What you know now will keep you alive, but to really be a master of this art requires many more years. You are free to go."

The dust settled as he pulled into what appeared to be a parking area for speeders. Shutting down the engine of his KC-2019 Motorcycle he leaned back. Slowly, muscle by muscle he worked the kinks out after such a long ride. Years of training kicked in automatically as he scanned the area noting places of interest, rises in the ground that could hide a small squad, a fallen tree that would take six seconds to reach. Part of his brain noted at it and stored it away without even realizing he was doing it.

Road dust covered his body, his black shirt and pants were more brown now then actually black. A helmet designed to keep whatever brain he had inside his skull covered his head. After surviving the Thyveck campaign, deciding to go back into the insanity and still keeping the position of Squad Leader he was more convinced now than ever he lacked that particular organ.

Being a Storm Trooper he had been told many times he did not actually have a brain, looking back at some of the things he had done in the line of duty made him wonder if they might be correct. Some of the things he did because they had to be done, others, he just wanted to do.

Removing his helmet he looked over at a group of troopers, a mixture of fresh faced cadets and mission hardened veterans. Men and woman of various ages mingled together as they waited for some Sergeant to show up and apparently kick their asses around for a few days. Problem was Joamer knew he was going to kick his ass kicked, only the ones who had years of close combat under their belts were given a posting such as this.

Being in previous squads that dealt with infiltration he knew the basics of close combat, though they were always told to not let it come to that. The few times he did end up in hand to hand fights he survived by luck, and the small training he had received. Now this Sergeant Lynch was going to really teach him. Out of all the other classes he had to retake this one was one he was looking forward to.

Joamer had heard of him, a vet of ten years. Half retired to teach a class on how to survive close quarters combat, weapon improvisation, and disabling without killing an enemy. The other half of his time was classified. He did not find that odd, few things happened he found odd anymore.

Swinging his leg over he got off the bike and set his helmet on the gas tank. Noting a few curious eyes looking over, not at him, but at the bike he had rode in on. Few used such old school technology these days, and those that did were usually instantly branded as being odd. Joamer fit the profile of odd perfectly. His black uniform designated him an officer, but the stripes on his arms said only First Sergeant. The patch on his other arm read Squad Leader, so by that title he was allowed to wear a black uniform. Probably a breach of protocol somewhere down the line, but no one had yelled at him for it yet.

He was not the highest ranking person among the group that he could see, but he was the only Squad Leader. The others were in the spec ops community, a scout, part of the armored core, or ones who had no designation. Those were the ones that would really put this training to the test, and probably the ones who would take the toughest beating.

"Morning meat sacks." A shadow leaning against a tree said a few minutes later. The shadow moved forming into a unremarkable man, his body was crisscrossed with old scars, his eyes held a depth of knowledge that far succeeded most peoples. He walked closer to the group, his steps slow his body always in perfect balance. It was not something he had to think about, it came naturally to this man. His uniform was somehow even darker then Joamers, no rank cylinders could be seen, but everyone knew this man outranked everyone here by a fair margin. The twin small daggers in front of his belt were not regulation, nor was the blaster pistol resting behind his back. All three were custom designed.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight in close quarters. No blasters, no explosives, no ships. Just simple, everyday, up close and personal." The Sergeant said. Joamer breathed slowly, he noticed movement along the tree line as other forms walked up slowly. "I'm not going to bore you to death about just how good I am, instead I want to see what each and every one of you has got."

It happened quick then, the figures ran out from the trees straight into the group. Everyone here had some form of close combat experience, so no one went down right away. That, however, did not last long at all. He felt the air shift behind him, ducking a half second later he felt the hair on top of his head move as an arm entered the space he had just vacated. The figure behind him went off balance, stumbled for a moment but regained his feet. New recruit. The voice in Joamer's head said. Stepping forward he slipped his left foot behind the man's and punched him in the chest.

"Form up into fire teams, don't let them single you out!" Some other man from Joamer's group shouted a moment later.

"Not all of them are the experts." Joamer added as he joined up with a small group. He watched as the real experts moved throughout the group. His tried to slow his breathing as his group moved to confront one of the experts. Instead of taking him head on they encircled him, forcing him to keep moving. At a silent hand signal all four rushed him just as Lynch shouted halt.

His momentum had him by the time the order reached his ears, he swore as he watched the expert smile and duck down. He felt the man launch himself into the air just as Joamer crashed into him. The sky above him seemed pretty as his back crashed into the ground. After a moment the man walked over and held out his hand with a smile on his face.


-----------

Location unknown - Ten Klicks from the speeder parking lot. Two days later.


Anyone who thought the first day was the hardest was mistaken. They were allowed to see a medic after the first group sparring session if they wanted too. Two men had broken bones, only one of them from the trainees group. Someone had gotten a lucky hit off on one of Lynch's men, no one faced charges. In fact the man was going to receive a commendation, that only existed at this class.

After the medics looked everyone over they were loaded into trucks with the windows blacked out and sent off to a unknown location. Here they were given course materials, including four books to read. All of was from years ago, well known generals of the past. All of it detailing battles in which close combat played a heavy part.

He shook his head as he forced his eyes open. Their days were spread out into sections, eight hours of course work, eight hours of training sessions, four sparring sessions at random times during the day five hours of endurance running. After the first day no one seemed bothered that their seemed to be more hours in a day then normal.

"Battle of Tannhauser Gate." Lynch said as he sat on a desk in a small room. The words sparked a memory in Joamer, but it vanished before anything solid could be remembered. "A few years before the start of the Clone Wars, why is this battle significant?"

"One of the largest air, land, and sea battles in history. Nearly a quarter million from both sides were dead within ten hours." A young woman said after a few moments.

"Aye, I'm not talking about that though. I'm talking about what happened before it, does anyone know?" Lynch asked, no one shook their heads. His eyes did not fall on Joamer thankfully. "A group of four individuals were sent in to scout an area believed to hold a high value target. Three men were killed betrayed by a contact. The last was captured, and tortured for a month before he escaped. Twenty two guards were killed, and not a single alarm was raised. To this day, no one knows his identity."

The class continued as normal, no further mention of the long past battle was ever spoken of again. It had been used as a way to get everyone thinking of what a single person could do if the situation called for it. The sparring sessions increased in pace, now they had one every three hours on the dot. At first they lasted only seconds, but now that everyone was more accustomed to how each other fought they lasted much longer. Sometimes they ended up in both sides yielding, as both opponents got the other in such a lock that nothing could be done.

During the last day everyone was given a simple job. The class would face off one on one, lots were chosen to see who would face off against whom. Everyone was told to take careful notes on what everyone did, this would be their last chance before the class was over with.

At mid afternoon Joamer's name was called. He stepped forward off the bleacher and walked into the center of the small sparring area. A young man who seemed vaguely familiar, no doubt from another storm trooper squad in the army stepped up in front of him. Lynch motioned for them to proceed, as they both bowed once before stepping away from each other.

Neither rushed the other for several minutes, as both were evaluating their opponent. No one in the audience talked either, everyone was paying close attention as they had been doing all day. Every little thing learned here would someday, possibly, mean the difference between life and death.

They moved in at the same instance, each seeing an opening and taking advantage of it. Soon they became one bundle of arms and legs, each fighting for a quick and decisive end but neither allowing for it. Joamer went for a jab to the young man's throat but found his hand blocked by an elbow to the face. Using his weight he brought his left knee into the man's stomach and head butted him a moment later. He shook his head as he tried to clear it, he found his vision blurry for a moment he saw the man retreat a few feet.

"Frak me, you have cybernetics don't you?" The man said as he starred at Joamer's arms. After a moment Joamer nodded once before rushing the man again, he used the moments hesitation to his advantage and tackled the man to the ground. He started to use his superior strength to force the man into a tiny ball but instead saw a rock crash into the side of his head before he could complete the procedure.

Opening his eyes a few minutes later he saw Lynch and the younger man standing over him smiling. After a moment Joamer said "I really hate rocks." The young man held out his hand and helped him to his feet. "Let that be a lesson for both of you. If you come up against someone who is by far stronger, fight dirty."

The sessions lasted right up until dark. With Lynch himself taking on one of the older members of the trainee group. Everyone expected the fight to be over with in an instant, but everyone was wrong.

The minutes passed by as both opponents time and again sought to gain a hold on the other that would allow for a quick end. Neither Lynch, or the woman he was up against allowed for that. He was larger by far, had more experience. Though she had a felines grace, and the speed to match. Joamer watched as she would duck inside his defenses, get a hit or two in at a pressure point and back off. Having years of experience Lynch would counteract the pressure point and not allow himself to go down.

The fight lasted a minute longer, Lynch rushed forward using his body weight to crash into the woman. Joamer knew she had allowed the man to take her to the ground, using his own momentum against him she rolled them both over, using her legs and whatever body weight she had she forced the man into a position not easily gotten out of. She held him there for a long few seconds as he recovered from the fall, after a moment he nodded his head once and tapped the ground.

"Who the hell are you?" Lynch said as she helped him to his feet. "Professional fighter it looks like."

"No, not me. My oldest brother was though, I was his trainer for a long time. You might of heard of him. Marx Yuenm." She said as she dusted off her clothes. Prize fighter, inner rim. Head injury at his last fight, died two days later. The voice in Joamer's head said slowly. He remembered watching the fight on the comnet a few years ago.

Lynch nodded as he dusted himself off, Joamer knew the woman would be offered a job as a trainer now. By the look on her face she would probably take it. Breathing slowly he nodded his head once, the three days of hell were finally over.