MATT HELM: The War Years Read Online Free PDF Page B

free things up around the action."  I finished as he watched in interest.
     
    "Where did you learn that?" he finally asked.
     
    "I picked it up as a kid.  I always used to be crazy about guns.  And knives and swords and all the rest of the stuff that tickles a kid's bloodthirsty imagination.  That's probably why they picked me out of the Army after a couple months and put me into this outfit."
     
    I slipped the bolt back into the rifle and shot another five with the 150-grain load.  Satisfied, I sighted it in three inches high at a hundred yards.  That'd put her just about on the button at two-fifty.
     
    I could tell he was impressed.  Regardless of any small friction between us, we were developing a healthy respect for one another.
     
    By the end of the fourth week Vance was satisfied with my "wake-up-ready" responses - he'd vary the time and occasionally skip a night or two - and let me sleep uninterrupted.  Not that he actually said anything - he just stopped waking me up and after a few days I assumed he was satisfied.  This was a welcome relief because I needed all the sleep I could get at that point - we were into hand-to-hand combat and I was sore all the time.
     
    It turned out Vance's specialty - aside from pistols - was a particularly lethal sport called Okinawan Karate , as distinguished from the more stylized and less deadly Japanese variety.  It was several centuries old and not well-known in the U.S.  He told me an immigrant sensei - teacher - from Okinawa had established a Karate school, called a dojo , in his home town and he'd spent several years learning the sport, eventually earning a Black Belt.  It was an interesting combination of offense, defense and concentration - which probably explained his success at trick shooting.
     
    Vance had added a few variations which, he said, would have dismayed his sensei , an essentially peaceful man.  Apparently, the original form of Karate, while deadly to various boards and bricks, was less damaging to human beings  - you were supposed to "pull" the blow and not actually touch your opponent, in training at least.  The version Vance taught was based on the theory, "no pain, no gain."  Oh, he pulled his punches, just enough not to really break anything while still getting the point across.  For a while I had quite an assortment of bruises, but I learned, in self-defense.  I learned over a half-dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands and at least twenty bones that could be broken with just the edge of my hand.
     
    I think to really get into the hand-to-hand stuff, you've got to start as a kid.  I'd always been big enough to avoid most of the fights kids get into - not that I had that many opportunities, being brought up on a ranch outside town - and my father discouraged fist-fighting in any case.  I really didn't think I could do much damage to anyone with any training, but I could handle any 90-pound weakling who wasn't looking.  Apparently, Vance felt the same way.  The last thing he said, disgusted, at the end of that phase of training was, "For Christ's sake, Matt, the idea is to disable or kill your opponent, not just get him pissed off.  We'd better teach you to use a knife."
     
    And that's what we did next, fortunately for my ego.  Even from the start, Vance was no match for me with a knife - any kind of knife, even the long ones.  Toward the end we had reversed roles and I was teaching him the finer points of fencing.  Although I tried to conceal it, he could tell I was pleased with myself.  What he said at that point stayed with me.  "Matt," he said, "Don't worry about hurting my feelings.  I learned a long time ago, when you come across a real expert who wants to help you, don't be proud, let him.  Or her.  En Garde."
     
    I still think that the most important things Vance taught me had to do with attitude, not skill.  Well, maybe that was the idea.  We might never really be friends, but if he ever wants to tell me