Max Part 10

"Say it."

"Oh. Okay. Yes, sir." Gazzy looked pleased with himself.

I had a question. "Why does the name Pearl Harbor sound so familiar?"

The lieutenant colonel's eyes narrowed. "Pearl Harbor is the most famous U.S. military base in the world," he said crisply. "It's the only place on U.S. soil that has been attacked in a war, since the Revolutionary War."

None of this was ringing a bell, but you already know I'm totally uneducated.

Gazzy leaned over to whisper, "It was a movie with Ben Affleck."

Ah. Now I remembered.

The lieutenant colonel turned back to the whiteboard. He wrote, The Basics: Personal Defense. Weapons Use. Outdoor Survival. Covert Operations.

Let's cast our minds back, shall we? The flock is, well, somewhat talented in the area of self-defense. Most weapons we were already pretty familiar with - though, granted, I'd probably need some coaching in launching air missiles. Outdoor survival? You mean, what we'd been doing for the past two years? The desert rats, the cactus smoothies, the hobo packs made of whatever we could steal from Dumpsters? I think we're good there. And of course, covert operations. That was going to be fun. I could hardly wait till they saw Fang disappear right before their eyes.

I figured we could knock this course off by about four o'clock this afternoon, if we took a short lunch. Then we could get on an official U.S. Navy vessel and go spring my mom at long last! go spring my mom at long last!

Then I was going to take Mr. Chu apart, one piece at a time, and feed him to the weirdly enthusiastic seabirds that seemed to hang out here.

34.

I LEANED OVER the instructor, looking anxiously at his face. "You okay? Sorry. Didn't mean to slam you against the wall that hard. Nose not broken? Good."

The guy in the white karate gi, his black belt marked with eight level lines, was still trying to catch his breath. He'd already tried jackknifing to his feet, only to slide slowly sideways as his brain realized that his lungs didn't have any oxygen in them.

We stood around waiting, along with the rest of the cla.s.s, which now stared at us as if we were freaks. Oh, wait - that was because we are are.

So far in this cla.s.s, there had been ten minutes of watching the instructor chop, flip, throw, kick, and punch just about everyone in the room. He'd ignored us until I'd stepped right in front of him, ready to take my turn in line.

"You can just watch for now," he'd said briskly.

I shook my head. "Let's get it over with."

So he'd explained what he was going to do and how I should block it or evade it, but I was already thinking about lunch and didn't really pay attention. Then he'd come at me, and I dodged to one side, under his arm, then kicked his knee out from in back, making him sag.

He started to spin, but I gave him a two-handed chop on the shoulder, trying not to break his collarbone, then jumped and did a spinning back kick, right into his chest. That was when he'd smacked up against the wall and slid down like a raindrop.

He looked a little better now, wheezing slightly and sitting up.

"I told ol' Palmer that we had a pretty good handle on this, but I guess he didn't believe me," I said apologetically.

His eyes narrowed as he slowly stood up, a good six inches taller than me, and I'm five-eight. He probably outweighed me by about a hundred and forty pounds. "That was a fluke," he said. "I was going easy on you because you're a kid. But if you want a fight, I can fight."

I guess this gets filed in the bulging folder of Max's Nongirliness, but my heart gave a little jump. I'd been worried about getting soft, losing my razor-sharp survival instincts. And what do you know, this nice navy guy was volunteering to help me brush up on them.

"Yeah?" I said, trying not to look too excited. Behind me, I heard Fang snort, saw Gazzy and Iggy start to calculate odds and exchange money.

"Don't hurt him too bad, Max," said Angel, smothering a grin as fury crossed the instructor's face. He rolled his shoulders, walked about ten paces away, and cracked his knuckles. The other students looked nervous and backed away from us, edging toward the door.

He stared at me with cold, cut-me-no-slack determination, then got into a fighting stance, holding one hand out, beckoning me.

"I saw that movie too!" I said. "It was like the coolest movie of all -"

He launched himself at me.

That was when his day really went downhill.

It didn't last that long - maybe four minutes. Which can feel like a long time when someone's whaling on you. Not to malign the U.S. Navy or anything, but he didn't land a single blow. Maybe he was having an off day. Finally, we resumed our earlier position: me leaning over him as he gasped on the floor.

"It's not your fault," I said, not even breathing hard. "I'm genetically enhanced. And, you know, ruthless. Plus, of course, meaner than a rabid wolverine. Are you okay?"

After a long pause, he nodded silently.

I jerked a thumb at the rest of the flock. "Do you want to try it against any of them?"

Everyone except Fang failed at not looking hopeful. The guy shook his head no.

"Good choice. Then how about you give us a checkmark saying we pa.s.sed the self-defense part of the BS? Okay?"

He nodded again.

I looked at the others. "Is it lunchtime yet? I'm starving."

Iggy felt his watch. "It's a little past nine. In the morning," he clarified.

I groaned. "Okay, let's find some vending machines. I need, like, about a million Twinkies."

It looked like we might be finished by four, after all.

35.

Q: You're presented with a smooth-faced, eight-foot-high wooden wall. Your objective? Get over it. To, like, save comrades or something. How to accomplish this?A: Take a running start, brace one foot against the wall, throw one hand to the top, try to hang on long enough for a comrade to either grab your hand at the top or for another comrade to push your b.u.t.t over from below. It takes teamwork! Take a running start, brace one foot against the wall, throw one hand to the top, try to hang on long enough for a comrade to either grab your hand at the top or for another comrade to push your b.u.t.t over from below. It takes teamwork! BKA (bird-kid answer): BKA (bird-kid answer): Or, you could just, like, Or, you could just, like, fly fly over it. over it. Q: Twenty yards of dirt to crawl across on your belly. The catch? Rows and rows of barbed wire, strung eighteen inches off the ground. How do you get across without being snagged? Q: Twenty yards of dirt to crawl across on your belly. The catch? Rows and rows of barbed wire, strung eighteen inches off the ground. How do you get across without being snagged?A: Do the "sniper" crawl. Be sure not to raise your b.u.t.t or shoulders or head too high. Ouch. Do the "sniper" crawl. Be sure not to raise your b.u.t.t or shoulders or head too high. Ouch. BKA: BKA: What can I say? We've been crawling like rats and slithering like snakes for years. How else to sneak up on each other, hiding beneath the bed frame to grab Iggy's ankle when he gets up for a drink of water? Plus, we're really thin. If we keep our wings tucked in tight, no worries. What can I say? We've been crawling like rats and slithering like snakes for years. How else to sneak up on each other, hiding beneath the bed frame to grab Iggy's ankle when he gets up for a drink of water? Plus, we're really thin. If we keep our wings tucked in tight, no worries. Q: Is there anything a bird kid can't do? Q: Is there anything a bird kid can't do?A: No. Apparently not. No. Apparently not. BKA: BKA: Well, we still totally fall down in the table-manners department. I'm just saying. Well, we still totally fall down in the table-manners department. I'm just saying.

Rope swings over quicksand, wading through rivers while holding weapons above our heads, balancing on spinning logs, climbing ropes, running fast, crawling through tunnels - we were starting to seriously depress our fellow naval cla.s.smates, all of whom were older than us and had already been in training for a while.

Explaining that we'd been designed to be strong, fast, and light didn't really cheer them up. They just saw us kids beating the socks off them. We were barely panting when our cla.s.smates were bent over at the knees, throwing up from exertion. Heights don't bother us. (Duh.) We've already been in awful, to-the-death fights. We've already been chained in dungeons. Locked in dog crates and experimented on. We've crawled through miles of air-conditioning ducts. Been pushed to our extreme limits physically, psychologically, emotionally. All of this BS training was just kind of a picnic after that.

Is that what Jeb had meant when he said everything that we've gone through was just a way to train me for the future? I would so so hate for him to be right. hate for him to be right.

"This is fun!" Gazzy exclaimed, shoveling down the food at lunchtime. "That obstacle course reminded me of that time when we were jacking the car from the chop shop, remember? And we had to climb through all those piles of car parts without making a sound? Pa.s.s the ketchup."

I pushed the ketchup his way.

"I gotta hand it to the navy," said Iggy. "They know how to keep the chow coming." He got up to get fourths, easily threading his way through the tables and the crowd, picking up a fresh tray and starting again at the beginning of the line.

"Okay, are we done yet?" I asked Fang. "It's almost one o'clock. My mom has been tied up on a sub for almost two days! Every minute counts here!"

"We've gotten through self-defense, the obstacle course, and outdoor survival," said Fang. "We've still got weapons use. We'll probably be done by five or so."

"What's next?" Angel asked, starting on her third hamburger.

Fang checked our list. "Covert ops."

Angel smiled.

36.

"TAG! YOU'RE IT!" Gazzy tapped the navy guy on the shoulder, causing him to jump about a foot in the air and stifle a shriek.

I have to admit, it was almost fun being set loose in a patch of heavily palm-treed terrain and then having to get past guards to get to "home base."

Fang pretty much just walked past the camouflaged guards, taking slow, quiet steps, pacing his breathing, and simply blending in with the trees.

Iggy and I had been forced into more stealthiness, actually ducking behind trees and the occasional huge volcanic boulder. All the same, despite the wide-eyed alertness of the sailors on guard, it really wasn't too hard to slither past them in a big circle.

Gazzy had relied on the element of surprise, as he often does. First, he'd perfectly mimicked a bird call, making a guard look up. Gazzy had tagged that guard. Then, when the guards were in pursuit, he'd utilized his other - well, I refuse to call it a skill. In fact, I think of it as a huge design flaw. Despite how hilarious the guys think it is, Nudge and Angel and I are simply more evolved than that. We try not to encourage demonstrations of his mastery of the gaseous arts.

Suffice it to say that Gazzy incapacitated the guards, leaving them coughing and gagging, gasping on the ground, their eyes watering. Then he raced through the trees, cackling in triumph, and burst out into the clear meadow where the lieutenant colonel was waiting with a clipboard and a stopwatch.

Iggy and Fang gave Gazzy high fives just as Lieutenant Colonel Palmer's nose turned up, and he frowned at the woods.

"It'll dissipate in a couple minutes," I said, flopping down on the gra.s.s. "It always does."

Palmer turned a ferocious glare on Gazzy. "You were forbidden to bring or to use antipersonnel weapons!"

"That's the sad thing," I said, just as Angel trotted out of the woods. "He didn't. I mean, his name name is the is the Gasman Gasman. We're not just whistling Dixie, there."

"Am I the last one?" Angel asked as she got near. "Sorry. Got sidetracked by some wild orchids." She handed me a small bouquet of creamy flowers.

"Ooh, thanks, sweetie," I said, inhaling their delicate scent. "So. Time for weapons cla.s.s?"

The lieutenant colonel glared first at me, then at Angel. The two guards staggered out of the woods, still holding their rifles, but with their helmets askew and their camo gear trailing behind them.

"Ensigns Baker and Kipowski!" Palmer barked. "All five of these recruits exited the woods within four minutes! Did you see them?"

Looking dazed, the ensigns tried to straighten up. One of them cleared his throat. "We didn't see the tall dark one, sir, or the tall blond one, or the oldest girl. We saw the younger boy, but he... incapacitated us."

Palmer just stared at them.

Gazzy stifled a snicker. "Burritos for lunch," he whispered, and Iggy and Fang tried to hold in their laughter.

"What about this one?" Palmer pointed his pen at Angel, who gave him a sunny smile.

The guards looked at her, and confusion crossed their faces.

I tried not to groan.

"I think I saw her," one said slowly. "I don't remember."

"You don't -" Palmer seemed speechless. I knew it couldn't last.

"I might have seen her," said the other guard, his eyes on the ground. "I just - it's all - I don't know."

I stood up and brushed off my khaki b.u.t.t. "I guess it's time for weapons cla.s.s," I said pointedly.

Palmer was still staring at the two guards. I went over to him.

"Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "Can I call you L? No? Well, look, it's not their fault. They probably would have caught anyone else. But we're good at this stuff. As I keep telling you."

"She's a child!" Palmer burst out, gesturing at Angel.

"She's a sneaky and devious child," I explained. "Plus, you know, I think she zapped the guards. With her mind. She can hear people's thoughts and sometimes control them. It's weird, it's scary, but there you go. Your guys never had a chance."

The lieutenant colonel seemed less comforted by my explanation than you might think. Finally, he let his clipboard dangle at his side. "Weapons cla.s.s," he said. But you could tell his heart wasn't really in it anymore.

37.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL PALMER, still looking tense from the demoralizing covert ops training, stood at the front of the cla.s.sroom. He opened a case on the desk and took out a James Bondlike handgun.

"This is the Beretta M9, a semiautomatic pistol," he said, being careful not to point it at anyone. "It's one of the safest and best-designed handguns in the world and is standard issue for several branches of the U.S. military."

Gazzy raised his hand.