"Hare and Hound"
"Hare and Hound"
A Vorkosigan FanFic
By Roger Stenning
Based on the characters, situations, and universe created, set, and owned by
Lois McMaster Bujold. The contents of this story are for personal, non-commercial
use only. Any use of Lois McMaster Bujold's copyrighted material or trademarks
anywhere in this story should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights
or trademarks. This disclaimer must remain as an integral part of this file.
The material in this story may be used/abused by other FanFic authors, provided
that credit is given where credit is due - "Turnabout is fair play"!
Copyright 2011, Roger Stenning.
***
This FanFic was inspired by the usual methodology:
A visit from The Insane Plot Bunny™...!
***
Many thanks as usual, to my Beta Reading Team,
Coalboy, Jekni, Philomytha, and Sharaith,
without whom, this story would not have proper grammar or spelling,
and would probably still be stuck on the keyboard!
***
The alley was dimly lit, damp, and smelled of raw fish, naturally. Roic didn't pause, he charged on in.
Hot pursuit was like that, you didn't think, you trusted your instincts, and leapt on into the lion’s mouth. Roic couldn't explain it, he just knew the would-be assassin had charged pell-mell into the alley. Only problem for the idiot was that it was a dead-end alley. No way out. End of line. A termination point, as firefighters tended to call such things. Where the hell had that one come from? Oh yeah, his brother, the firefighter.
Rounding the blind corner to the left in the alley, Roic began to skid to a halt, his warning instincts screaming at him as he reached for his heavy stunner, which he'd holstered in the madcap scramble down the outside escape ladder of the hotel. The suspect was waiting for him though, and never gave him a chance to draw, leaping on Roic from his left, and trying to get an arm round his throat. Roic never gave him the opportunity to complete the move, dropping like a rock to the ground, his legs scissoring out under him, his left elbow sweeping back in a short arc to come crashing into the stomach of his attacker, who grunted, but hung on. Not good.
Roic had one last chance, and used it. He grabbed the man’s right arm, currently wrapped halfway round Roic’s throat, and doubled up forwards with all his upper body might, while twisting slightly to his left. The Hail Mary worked, and the assailant flew over Roic to land in an undignified heap in front of him. Didn't do much good though, the man was fast, and used his legs to spin him around while on his back, then back-arced and flipped back onto his feet. The man was trained, no doubt about it. Roic was better though, had expected the move and, with his feet by now under him, lashed out with an extended forward snap kick to the guy’s happy sack.
It was like the bell sounding at the end of a boxing round. All the fight left the guy in an instant as he folded down very nicely, thank you, not with a bang, but with a somewhat high-pitched wheeze, his hands clasping his groin rather tightly, and his eyes visibly watering and about five times the size they should normally be, before he came crashing to the ground on his knees whimpering, his face now beetroot red and screwed up like a balled up and discarded newspaper.
A whistle blew far above from the roof of the Training Area, and that was that, exercise over. The biannual refresher courses for Advanced Close Protection personnel - both Military Personnel and Civilian Armsmen - were a mandatory feature of the job. They allowed skills to be kept up-to-date, while allowing for new skills or knowledge to be learned regularly, refreshing the knowledge base for all Qualified Personnel, and making sure that they were at the top of their game all the time. It also allowed their Protection Licences to be kept up-to-date as well, which was the other side of the coin. ImpSec were nothing, if not thorough.
Roic leaned down to help the man up.
"Did you HAVE to kick me there, you damned municipal madman?" He was shaking his head, and it was more a wheeze than a sentence, but it was said with feeling. And not a little pain.
Roic shrugged. "You were wearing a box. I saw you put it on in the locker room, Corporal. Oh, and that's ten Marks you owe me. Toldja you'd never get away from me, didn't I?"
The Corporal was softly bouncing up and down on his toes, as if trying to get a certain part of his anatomy to drop down again. Roic noticed something on the ground behind him, and picked it up, offering it to the Corporal. "You may want this, I think. Looks like it fell off in the scuffle."
The man glanced at what Roic was holding, took it, and replaced it on the hook-and-loop strip on his shoulder, to match his other shoulder’s Ranger tab.
"Thanks. Christ, that's absolutely the last bloody time I'm the hare, with a Vorkosigan Armsman in these refresher courses. You lot don't seem to know when it's for fun or not, I tell you no lie. Next time I'm the sodding hound. I want to have a family some time this century!"
Roic grinned mercilessly, and chuckled. "Tovarisch, if you couldn't take a joke, maybe you shouldn't have signed on for the Advanced Course?"
That earned him an exasperated look, and a rather wet raspberry blow. They both grinned, even if one of the grins was a little weak and strained.
"C'mon, Oleg. The bar's open by now, and I reckon you need a beer."
Oleg was still wincing, and replied with heartfelt honesty. "Bugger the beer, I need some ice!"
Fin