The Samurai and the Saber

The world warped ‘round the edges as it tunneled in down the length of the bridge; tri-ple-tap’s recoil pounding against my shoulder–

–the air blurred like a thermal and something hit me like a futon wrapped around the bumper of a Mack truck. For a long moment I floated free – then came crashing to earth with bone-jarring impact. For a second there was only the dizzy shock; my mind skipping away down the road like a driver hurled through the windshield. I woozily lifted my head and looked between my feet to see a sleepy suburban road. With a grunt I rolled onto my belly to face the other direction; rifle canted sideways so the magazine wouldn’t get in the way. My opponent was struggling to take a knee as I sighted in. I took up the trigger slack and fired again; the loud clack of the action distinct above the muffled report – and then there was only a deafening muffled roar as I slid back a few feet on my belly; another blast of hurricane-force wind buffeting me and flipping my NVG’s back up through pressure alone. I kept firing, clack! clack! clack! as 300 grain subsonic rounds hurtled downrange. She shielded, palm thrust towards me as the runic magic etched into the bullets exploded furiously against her magical barrier – and then there was a deafening flash-bang of thunder; the afterimage of burning jagged bolts lingering on my retinas as vaporized water shrouded the opposite end of the bridge in an instant fogbank.

I found my feet and charged; plucking a flashbang from my vest and hurling it towards the fog hard as I could; turning my head aside, trusting the electronic earplugs against the blast. The fogbank churned and swirled, the banger went off and a blast of wind like a freight train roaring past six inches above buffeted me as I dove for asphalt. I rolled and tumbled up to one knee, facing the other direction, as the woman turned to face me. This time I saw her move; borne towards me like a missile riding a rippling distortion-wave of pure wind. The gun emptied; magic bullets exploding en-masse against her shield; churning it into a bright hemisphere of dueling energies֪–

–she crashed into me shield-first. The world spun like a top and a breath later I found myself staggering upright again, her doing same not ten paces distant. She charged, knowing my weapon was empty, and the Colt sprang from my holster and spoke in the same breath; firing from the hip. Her blade blazed bright blue-white as it flashed through my sight-line; molten lead splattering off her silken robes – and then the killing blow met the trigger guard of the Colt – and stopped.

Her eyes widened; slate-gray and utterly baffled – and then I whipped the barrel of the Colt towards her face. She jerked back just in time, sword flashing in her two-handed grip as she came up and over, sparks flying as I blocked with the bayonet in my left.

She disengaged; springing back a few paces with ethereal agility. Her blade – a katana – hovered between us in a middle guard; the waxing moon’s light seeming to linger on the polished steel, such did it glow. The tip quavered slightly in her two-handed grip as she heaved for breath; storm-gray eyes sizing me up carefully.

I holstered the .45 and took a neutral stance, square-on with the bayonet guarding close, right hand hovering low by my belt.

We stood there a moment; sizing each other up, sizing up each other and our own battered bodies, weighing the odds. But with her massive reach advantage, there was only one conclusion. She finally charged; long dark silken robes with orange accents seeming to swirl and flow like a kaleidoscope of monarch butterflies; concealing her footwork as she closed for the kill.

She blurred with the speed of her attack; reality smearing ‘round the edges to match as I watched the blade approach – then the full-body change of motion; barely glimpsed through the loose robes. My right hand tightened and fire exploded in my fist.

It surged through me like live current; blazing bright and almost painfully hot as the wire-wrapped hilt seared my hand; flowing from the scabbard and into the strike as I slashed into her attack. Steel criss-crossed in air with a burst of blue-white sparks, throwing her blade wide to my right as I let my own recoil into a full overhead twirl to slash down from the upper-right. She stepped in; blade snapping upward to slide along my own as she pushed it up and away – but I’d stepped in too, our hands rising together till my crossguard locked against her tsuba. I threw a left on pure instinct, completely forgetting it was wrapped ‘round the bayonet, and I felt her resistance collapse. I launched into it, pushing off the ground as she fell backwards – the briefest sensation of a soft touch deflecting my offhand blow; a smell like a spring meadow – and then I was flying overhead, tumbling into a headfirst roll. My blade slashed out behind me; aimed from the corner of my eye – but she’d aborted her attack; the distance too long.

For a few heaving breaths we sized each other up again; her sharp gray eyes riveted on the military saber that’d appeared in my hands from nowhere. Like her katana it was long, a good thirty-six inches, and only slightly curved. But the similarities ended there – and from her expression as she stared at the plain carbon steel over the length of her blade; glowing with faint radiance and lightning-white kanji characters, she wasn’t much impressed.

I hit the quick-detach on my sling to let the short-barreled-rifle fall to asphalt before I rose. She eyeballed my bayonet and pulled her scabbard from her obi. We took our stances; I bladed towards her with saber out front; bayonet back and tucked close to my chest, her square-on with sword and scabbard crossing before her. My hand tightened on the wire-wrapped grip, blazing heat surging anew through my veins; thundering heartbeat in my ears deepening into an unmistakable drum cadence in my soul. We edged closer, points circling warily as we prepared to clash.

I thrust and she intercepted with remarkable agility; blades darting and windmilling ‘round each other briefly again and a third time before I backed off; our blades and skills too similar for either to feel confident in a quick thrusting duel. I let my saber twirl and twirl before stepping in with a sweeping slash from the shoulder; her intercepting in the fork of crossed steel and wood; instant ripostes deflecting from my guard as I recovered each time; both of us feeling each other out. The moonlight lingered affectionately on her blade; vivid against her dark robes and the night’s veil. The black scabbard followed its motions like its shadow; appearing when moonlight gleamed in the shiny lacquer. The saber stood between us; dull steel neither sprite nor shade; battle-worn bayonet lurking behind it.

I committed; coming in overhead. The saber balanced a bit forward; less than a dragoon’s but more than a footman’s, wanting to lean into its slashes. She caught in cross and when the dark scabbard snapped at my face I let the bayonet dart forward to catch it. Our blades were equally long and I only had a few inches of height on her, but she trusted the crossed blades to cross and counter, more wary of my strength and the heavy saber than my reach. We surged to and fro; my attacks into her simultaneous catch-and-counters into my follow-up block and riposte. I trusted to the saber; letting my moulinets widen and fall like thunder, riding their momentum around and through, raining blows and cross-cutting into her attacks as I trusted the bayonet to catch the follow-ups. She trusted to her speed and technique; dull steel striking sparks from the quicksilver sword as the ebony scabbard clattered against the faded parkerizing of the bayonet’s steel.

We broke apart; both of us heaving for breath.

“Uzai yarō,” she spit at me.

“Screw you too, sweetheart,” I hissed, advancing to attack–

–a flash of crimson cut the air between us and a deafening CRACK! filled the air, echoing off buildings across the river. Standing in a half-crouch, holding an impressively long red-bladed katana she’d just buried in the bridge’s surface, was–

“Karasawa?” the swordswoman said. “KOITSU–”

“DAMARE!” Ruriko snapped. She stared at the ground, hands gripping her weapon white-knuckled, and finally turned her head towards me.

“What, the hell, are you DOING?”