Read Dawn of the Knight: The Lance Rock Chronicles Volume 1. Page 44

  Chapter 27

  As I entered the building, a wave of fatigue washed over me. While deeply sighing and finding a place to sit down and rest, I glanced down at my watch. It read 2:00 AM. Time to re-call the cavalry, I thought. I took Keith's smartphone out of my pocket. It was off and would not turn on. I sighed again, rose to my feet, and then cautiously opened the stairwell door. I peered inside and then I quietly made my way up to the top floor.

  Carefully opening the door to this floor also revealed no apparent threat. There didn't seem to be anyone here. I quietly walked down a hall to a second entrance which had light coming in through its window. This door provided access to a large, well-lit, unfinished room. While again using caution, I slowly and quietly opened this second door and then I carefully glanced all around. No one was in sight, so I hurried over to the corner of a wall and peeked around it. There was yet another door that led to what I surmised to be a final room. If anyone was in this building, they were in it. I rechecked my guns. I decided to try to quickly run over to that entrance. As I stepped around the corner of the wall, I suddenly came face to face with a man!

  The individual now standing 10 feet away from me and aiming a QSZ-92 9 mm pistol directly at my chest was attired in the dress uniform of The People's Liberation Army Special Operations Forces. He held the American equivalent rank of Colonel and his name tag read Chang. I also noticed he was wearing a Master Level Unarmed Combat Instructor’s Badge as well as several meritorious decorations. I studied his face. I estimated him to be in his early 50's. My guns were at my side. He had gotten the drop on me so easily it was shameful! I glanced around the room and then up at the ceiling. He had been concealed up there, positioned between the joists. I shook my head in amazement. I hadn't even fathomed that someone would hide there.

  "Go home, boy," he entreated in English with a thick Chinese accent. "Leave, now."

  I slowly laid my guns on the floor. Then I put my right fist into the palm of my left hand and I extended it toward him at waist level while also bowing. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then slowly returned my bow, all the while keeping the gun trained on me.

  "Sir," I replied in Mandarin Chinese, "I cannot leave. I have sworn to protect the girls who are being held captive in the room you are guarding."

  Again, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and then replied in the same language, "I have no desire to kill you.”

  "And I have no desire to die. Neither do those girls. I see that you are an instructor in wushu. Would you honor me in combat with an empty-handed fight? Would you accept a challenge from me?"

  He studied me for a moment and then remarked, "It will be of course, a fight to the death."

  "So… be… it," I slowly replied with resignation in my voice. "It will be… a fight… to the death."

  "Are they worth your life?"

  "They are as family to me."

  He nodded in acknowledgment and then he holstered his gun. Next, he stripped down to his waist and laid his uniform and gun belt against the back wall. His body was as defined in musculature as Sifu Lu-Tang. I sensed that his martial art skill was going to be as good or better, too. In the truest sense, this would be the most challenging fight of my life! He began to stretch and warm up, and I did the same. It was a hot, humid night, and we were both shortly covered in sweat. Then we engaged each other.

  For the next 10 minutes our battle raged. It was punch or kick, block, counter-punch or counter-kick, block—with the occasional blow slipping through on both sides. His hits were like hammer strikes, and welts and bruises soon plastered my body. As a result of my attacks his body too, was covered in much the same way. I tried to get a lock on his limbs but he was too quick, agile, and intuitive. He continually evaded my grasp. Of course, he was trying to do the same to me with identical results. One of his grabbing strikes sideswiped me and he ended up ripping my tee shirt off.

  I began to succumb to frustration and fatigue. I launched a furious attack but he countered it, and then threw me back hard onto the floor. My fingertips came to rest against the barrels of my two guns. Shoot him, came the thought into my mind! No, said my conscience. He could have easily shot me from the beginning, but he chose not to. He wasn't as cold-blooded or callous as Gunther's other men. This was an honorable fight and I was going to keep it that way, win or lose. I pushed the guns away and then I stood up. I stared at him. He was breathing hard. Sweat was dripping off both of us. I surveyed our surroundings and I noticed something on the far side of the room. Then I glanced down at his dress boots and came up with a plan.

  I attacked him at an angle that forced him to retreat into an area where the tiled floor was covered in a soft, thin layer of brick dust. He began to slip and he soon realized that his sure footing was in jeopardy. However, it was too late. I feigned an attack and while countering it, he lost his balance for a split second which provided the opportunity I needed. I quickly grabbed his right arm in a lock and with all my strength, twisted it. There was a popping sound as the bone snapped and broke. He cried out in pain and then slowly dropped to one knee.

  I had done it! I had defeated him! I couldn't believe it! I had beaten this martial arts master! I stood over him, now feeling invincible! I really am Superman! I thought. I would spare his life. I wouldn't kill him. I turned to retrieve both his gun and mine and as I did, his left fist shot up with blazing speed—connecting with the right side of my chest. The blow felt like a cannonball fired at point blank range! It was the single hardest punch that I had ever received and it shattered three of my ribs! Sickening pain overwhelmed my mind and body as I dropped to my knees and everything went black.