“Okay, let’s try the come-along again,” shouted Randolph. “And do it right, this time. Ready? One!”
Serge took Andrews’ wide hand at the count of one but realized that the come-along hold had vanished in the intellectual darkness that fifteen or more laps temporarily brought about.
“Two!” shouted Randolph.
“Is this the come-along, Andrews?” whispered Serge, as he saw Randolph helping another cadet who was even more confused.
Andrews responded by twisting his own hand into the come-along position and wincing so that Randolph would think that Serge had him writhing in agony, hence, a “proper” come-along. When Randolph passed he nodded in satisfaction at the pain Serge was inflicting.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Serge whispered.
“No, I’m okay,” smiled Andrews, baring his large gapped teeth.
You just can’t hate these serious ones, Serge thought, and looked around the sweating ring of gray-clad cadets for Plebesly. You had to admire the control the squirt had over his slim little body. On their first physical qualification test Plebesly had done twenty-five perfect chins, a hundred sit-ups in eighty-five seconds, and threatened to break the academy record for running the obstacle course. It was that which Serge feared most. The obstacle course with the dreaded wall that defeated him at first glance.
It was inexplicable that he should fear that wall. He was an athlete, at least he had been, six years ago at Chino High School. He had lettered in football three years, a lineman, but quick, and well-coordinated for his size. And his size was inexplicable, six feet three, large-boned, slightly freckled, with light brown hair and eyes—so that it was a family joke that he could not possibly be a Mexican boy, at least not of the Duran family who were especially small and dark—and if his mother had not been from the old country and not disposed to off-color chistes they might have teased her with remarks about the blond gabacho giant who owned the small grocery store where for years she bought harina and maíz for the tortillas which she made by hand. His mother had never put store-bought tortillas on the family table. And suddenly he wondered why he was thinking about his mother now, and what good it did to ever think of the dead.
“All right, sit down,” shouted Randolph, who didn’t have to repeat the command.
The class of forty-eight cadets, minus Roy Fehler, slumped to the grass happy in the knowledge that there was only relaxation ahead, unless you were chosen as Randolph’s demonstration victim.
Serge was still tense. Randolph often chose the big men to demonstrate the holds on. The instructor was himself a medium-sized man, but muscular, and hard as a gun barrel. He invariably hurt you when applying the holds. It seemed to be part of the game to toss the cadet a little harder than necessary, or to make him cry out from a hand, arm, or leg hold. The class got a nervous laugh from the torture, but Serge vowed that the next time Randolph used him for a onesies on twosies demonstration, he was not going to stand for any rougher than necessary treatment. However he hadn’t decided what to do about it. He wanted this job. Being a cop would be a fairly interesting way to make four hundred and eighty-nine dollars a month. He relaxed as Randolph chose Augustus Plebesly for his victim.
“Okay, you already learned the bar strangle,” said Randolph. “It’s a good hold when you apply it right. When you apply it wrong, it’s not worth a damn. Now I’m going to show you a variation of that strangle.”
Randolph took a position behind Plebesly, reached around his throat with a massive forearm, and hooked the small neck in the crook of his arm. “I’m now applying pressure to the carotid artery,” Randolph announced. “My forearm and bicep are choking off the oxygen flow to his brain. He would pass out very quickly if I applied pressure.” As he said it, he did apply pressure, and Plebesly’s large blue eyes fluttered twice and bulged in terror. Randolph relaxed his hold, grinned, and slapped Plebesly on the back to indicate he was through with him.
“Okay, ones on twos,” shouted Randolph. “We only got a few minutes left. Let’s go! I want you to practice this one.”
As each number one man got his arm around the waiting throat of number two, Randolph shouted, “Lift the elbow. You have to get his chin up. If he keeps his chin down, he’ll beat you. Make