Flynn nodded. “I can’t argue with that.” Then he smiled. “But I checked your records. You took the combatives instructor course and aced it a few years ago.”

Takirak shrugged. “Well, that’s because I learned a long time ago that wishes are one thing, and reality’s another.”

“Want a chance to brush up on your techniques before we run classes for the rest of the team?”

Takirak matched his smile. “Just the two of us, Captain?”

“Yep.” Flynn picked up a pair of gloves and some headgear. “If I’m going to get dumped on my ass getting back up to speed on this stuff, I’d just as soon not have it happen in front of witnesses.”

“Same here,” Takirak allowed, starting to unzip his parka.

A few minutes later, decked out in protective sparring gear, they circled each other on the mat. They were each in a fighting stance, with chins tucked in and hands up, ready to strike or parry. Flynn eyed the other man cautiously. He had the longer reach, but the noncom was solid muscle and his reflexes seemed lightning-fast. “All set?” he murmured.

“Any time you are,” Takirak assured him.

“Then . . . fight’s on,” Flynn called out, using the Air Force term to signal the beginning of a training engagement. He moved in fast, closing the range. The other man did the same.

The next moments flew by as they both delivered a flurry of blows and kicks with incredible speed and precision. Twice, Takirak got in past his attacks and defenses and slammed him down onto the mat. Once, Flynn broke free and reversed the advantage—setting up a choke hold that the older man had to acknowledge. The second time, the noncom swept his legs out from under him and then batted away all his attempts to get loose. This time, it was Flynn who had to slap the mat in surrender.

Shaking off pain and fatigue, they scrambled back to their feet and started circling again, each looking for an edge and not finding it. Another series of rapid-fire arm and elbow strikes and kicks left them both gasping.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

The timer Flynn had set on his phone went off. He held out his hand and spat out his mouth guard. “Call it a draw, Sergeant?”

Panting slightly, Takirak nodded. “Sounds fair to me, sir.” He shook his head with a quick smile. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who did well in the instructor course.”

“I survived it,” Flynn agreed. He eyed the other man. “I did get the feeling a couple of times that you were holding back a little, Andy. What was that, respect for my rank?”

Takirak shook his head. “No, sir. If I did, it was only natural caution. I always heard it was good tactics to keep a reserve—just in case the enemy’s got something up his sleeve.”

Flynn nodded. The other man was right. Which was why he’d done the same thing himself. He grinned, mentally calculating how the next couple of days of combatives training were likely to go. The rest of his team—younger, stronger, and bigger though some of them were—were about to learn the hard way that they were no match for the combination of greater experience and guile.