Celtic_Tiger's blog

Nothing but blaring white halogen lights existed now for Gunther Haase as semi-consciousness trickled back into his mind. He felt the stiff, unresponsive aches of his torso and lower jaw now and his legs were like someone had dipped them in quick drying cement. His sweat laden body, a strong muscular physique of bronze like skin dark brown body hair and vividly defined tattoo work was splayed out now on the canvas. His arms were splayed out and the black leather gloves on both of his hands were now limp as if any life had been drained from them. His left eye, which was swelling a bit less than his right opened fully and the lights began to ebb away to reveal someone standing over him and others just outside of his peripheral visions range. His opponent stood a few feet away with his gloved hands folded across his broad, gym defined chest and thick arms. A younger man in his late twenties. His squared jawline raised cheeks and stub nose gave this man almost a rottweiler type quality in Gunther’s opinion. Green eyes and arching medium brown eyebrows accented the smirking mouth below. The most distinctive feature however was the “Eagle, Globe and Anchor” tattoo on his right forearm and the “American flag” just below it. His hair style, the “high and tight” might otherwise be mistaken for that of the Royal Marines of England but there was no mistaking this man was in the USMC. Gunther, who was of comparable physical size, was not however of compatible boxing skill or mental focus and from the first-round bell he was on the defensive, taking hard punches and his stoic German disposition was changed into a visage of pain and heavy disorientation very quickly. Finding himself trapped up against the ropes and travelling around the ring while the Marine before him landed well timed multi-punch combinations.

“Hey there, you are just about full woken up kraut?” There was snickering from somewhere over to his left now beyond the red, white and blue ropes of the ring. Then a voice chimed in, also speaking with an American accent. “Oh yeah, more like “sour” kraut eh, look at that face now John, you really fucked that guy up” Gunther hated that expression and pure humiliation coupled with physical dysfunction only added to his embarrassment. Sergeant John Ingles wasn’t looking for a sparring partner. He was looking to just lay a good beat down on the poor chump who responded to his inquiries around the local pubs of Boeblingen where his Marine Corp. Base Panzer Kaserne was stationed. So, he posted a flyer stating that he was looking for local sparring partners within his weight class. Gunther was his first victim. Clearly, after the first bell rang it was not to be a competitive spar but an actual bout. Pushing up on his forearms, Gunther sought to see if he could get to his feet but before he was able to try, John moved quickly to plant the flat bottom of his red and gold boxing shoe on the older man’s upper chest, and he shoved him down hard back onto the canvas. “Whoa their kraut, you took a nasty fall. Getting up too fast now might lead to more serious complications.” The two men who were out of view to the side of the ring and who weren’t present during the fight now got into the ring with them.

Also, Marines, Lance Corporal Thomas Dover was slightly smaller in build but just as strong looking. He was of English descent and his dark brown almost black hair was accented by his stone-grey eyes. Looked more like some magazine cover boy to Gunther then any solider. Beside him, a man of thicker muscles but even shorter stature was Corporal Adam Highwood. A mutt of Irish, Dutch and Scottish background he was a hard looking guy. Someone who knew how to handle themselves. He took out his phone and took a few photos of John pinning Gunther down. “Good, want to have something to remember this chump by.” Leading down now he made eye contact with Gunther and admired the work his fists had done. Swollen left cheek, fat lip and a partially closed right eye made Gunther look like he was a candle at the end of its life. He had a wicked shiner around his left eye and some blood sat on the tips of his nostrils. “Thanks for responding to my flyer buddy. Maybe if you have the balls you will train up and come back to give me a better challenge next time.” John smirked and then looked at both of his buddies nearby. They nodded. He then proceeded to draw back his right fist, the old-style brown glove creased as he balled it up into an oval shaped fist and then he struck Gunther’s chin perfectly dead center to render the German man fully unconscious again. The three men then proceeded to strip him of all but his jock strap and take him from the gym area out to the yard in front of the small rental building. It was late on a Saturday evening and usually very quiet outside. They were able to get him into the back of John’s jeep along with a black garbage bag containing his clothing and wallet and dropped him off several blocks away just off to the side of the nearby medical clinics front entrance. Wearing only his jock strap and boxing shoes. Laughing they hopped back into the Jeep and took off.

It wasn’t long before a passerby found him, and he was admitted to the clinic. The remnants of his gym gear were replaced by an open back gown and his other belongings were placed on a chair near his bedside. Although he was conscious fairly soon after being admitted he was stone silent. How he was left and in what condition had emasculated him completely and being a German facility, stoic faces were all he got in response to finding any sympathy for his situation and all he dreaded now was that his elder brother Wolfgang would find out what happened. He was the more experienced boxer in the family with two professional fights in Germany and one in Poland under his belt and he had won all three of those by way of knock out within three rounds time. Gunther always looked up to his brother who had only started boxing in his early thirties and was already showing great potential. That night however no one came, he was given medication for pain and ice for his eye and fell asleep. The nurse in charge of his room was able to find his contact information and left a voice mail at the apartment he and his brother shared. Wolfgang was asleep at the time as he had an early regiment of roadwork and exercise on his ‘non training” days to perform so he got as much rest as possible. Any plans that next day would be knocked out much like his brother had been once he heard the voice mail and rushed to the medical facility to see what had happened. The caller didn’t mention anything about boxing just that Gunther had been badly beaten and left outside of the facility doors. Wolfgang figured it was a mugging and it would have to be several men to have gotten the best of his little brother who he himself had taught to fight from an early age. Hastily getting dressed in his running gear he left the apartment.

John had a reputation among the other Marines stationed here at the Panzer Kaserne as being the best boxer out of the number of active Marines that engaged in sparring. He had taken on all comers for over two years and his speed, accuracy and powerful fists had defeated every single one. Some of these went to the final bell and the victory was mutually agreed upon, those watching playing de facto judges and others ended in the undisputed type, by way of knock out. His signature finisher was his left hook or as it had been dubbed “Leatherneck Kryptonite” by his closes buddies Thomas and Adam. One of his more noted accomplishments was his knockout over his former Drill Sergeant at Paris Island who had been briefly stationed here in Boeblingen. The older man nearing his 40s was a one time internal-corps champion so this defeat at the hands of a lower ranked soldier was humiliating. John bragged that it wasn’t difficult, and he expected a better showing from a Sergeant Major. He spent a lot of time during his daily training admiring himself in the wall mirrors. A mix of Irish, Scottish and Italian on his fathers’ side he had gotten the darker skin tone from him. His thick, rugby like build was from the Scottish and he had gotten his boyish face from the Irish as well as his quick punching.

For all of his experience though he had never had a competitive bout. In his mind, being able to best any of the Marines he was stationed with was pretty much the equivalent of being the “local champion” and now he had access to taking on any of the krauts in the area who might think they were tough enough to best him. Adam and Thomas both had been defeated by him several years earlier and they got him a proper title belt that sat in a glass case in the gym. It was custom made silver plated, adorned with the USMC logo, US and English flags to honor the Marines of both countries with the word “Local on the above the central design and “Champion” on the bottom. There was a photograph on the wall nearby of him wearing it, his red and gold Marines themed boxing gear on like he had just beaten the current Champion. Once a day he would admire it then return to his bag work. He was unaware that his skills were going to be greatly tested very soon.

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Wolfgang signed the visitor log and made his way into the elevator and up to the third floor where his brother’s room was. An orderly who was sharing the ride seemed to recognize him but didn’t say anything. Anyone who followed the local professional boxing scene would know who he was. He wasn’t the type to make a spectacle about it though. His trainer for the last three years reinforced humility. Reaching the room, he had to wait for a nurse who was exiting from the doorway before he could enter himself. His brother had just been asleep but was awake the woman told him. Entering the room, he took in the sight of his brother’s battered face. Hot anger welled up inside the pit of his stomach as if it were some types of blacksmiths kiln being fired up to forge weapons. His “wolf-like” piercing grey eyes looked into his brothers’ blue ones and then rage shifted over to concern. Gunther looked at his brother now and felt the strength of his presence. Just about six feet tall and just shy of 195 lbs. he was a bull of a man. His oval face, beak like nose and tight lips were framed by a thick, broad jaw and cleft chin. His forehead shaped by the thick skull beneath was accented by a tight buzz cut of medium blond hair. His torso was covered in a flat, wave light pattern of brown chest hair some of which could be seen from the opening of the vinyl jacket he was wearing. He shut the door now and pushed the nearby chair over to talk to his brother. Gunther’s shame was evident. “Who did this?” Wolfgang fixed his brother will a stare that told him he better answer. A minute or so passed and then Gunther motioned to the pair of black cargo pants he had been wearing that were slung over the back of his chair. Wolfgang retrieved them and began to fish through the pockets. It didn’t take long to find the folded-up flyer in the back right pocket. He looked it over. It was in German but clearly written by a non-native writer of the language. “Sparring Partner Wanted at Panzer Keserne” Wolfgang looked down at the floor in disappointment. “You have one right here, your brother. So, you went there and the Marine you fought did this to you?” He pointed to his brother’s face. “Left you on the sidewalk like a bag of garbage.” Wolfgang’s belly refilled itself with the burning sensation of anger. His eyes flared with it. Gunther couldn’t look him in the eyes. Shame had locked his gaze to the ceiling. “I understand why you did this but now I will be the one to handle this American bully.” he clenched his fists. He placed his hand on his brothers’ shoulder and squeezed it. “Your only job dummkopf now is to rest. I will return when I have given this Marine what is coming to him.” Gunther nodded. He relayed to his brother the location of the base gym and the guard house he signed in at. Wolfgang kissed his brother’s forehead and jammed the flyer into his left pants pocket. . The temperature in the room dropped with his departure. Gunther had only seen his brother get truly angry once and it was a scary thing.

Wolfgang returned home and took the flyer out of his pocket. Punching in the number into his mobile he hit dial and waited. After several rings the call was answered by the voicemail. A brief recorded message instructed him to leave his name and number and expect a text message detailing the time and location. English wasn’t his preferred language, but he was fluent in it and could pass for an American born German. Leaving a message that he was looking to come do some sparring he hung up the phone and waited. Less than an hour later he received a text message, an address only two blocks from the clinic where his brother currently was admitted and the time of nine o'clock that evening was returned. Pulling out a wide footlocker from underneath his bed, he undid the old lock and exposed the contents. Packed right on the top was a black satin boxing robe, with red trim and a yellow belt to tie it closed. In German on the back were the words “Der Sagnagel (the coffin nail)” This footlocker belonged to his late father, a former military boxer who had several post service bouts for money and taught both of his sons how to defend themselves. Below the robe was a pair of high-top black leather boots with yellow and red laces and a pair of 10-ounce black Paffen Sport boxing gloves. The gloves were the only piece of gear that weren’t his fathers. These were the first pair that Wolfgang brought Gunther when they were younger. Taking his gym bag out from under the bed next he fished out his mouth guard and satin trunks made to look like the German flag but there was no writing on these trunks. He was hoping that he would be a complete unknown to American who had beaten Gunther and left him stripped of his clothing and his dignity as a man. He shoved his hands in to the gloves and raised them chin level. He then proceeded to bang them together, hard enough to fill the entire apartment with the sound of thunder to come.

John, Adam and Thomas converged at the small rental space building where their “private” ring and gym equipment was kept. It was close to 8 o'clock now and the next victim would be arriving at nine. Concealed throughout the gym were hidden cameras that sent their data wirelessly back to a storage medium hidden in one of the small lockers that were left behind by the previous renter. It was already used as a gym space with a shower and bathroom built in. A side room held benches and several other lockers for changing. John liked to do pad work with Adam but then use the gym solo while his two buddies hung out int he back of the changing area usually playing cards or smoking cigars. Tonight, was no exception, and the adherence to routine would prove to be a big mistake. John geared up for the fight to come and while Adam wrapped his hands, Thomas massaged John’s shoulders and arms to loosen them up. It was an unspoken practice that none of them would ever admit to enjoying. Next the legs and thighs would get a good rubdown while he stood up and did some stationary pad work. John would mouth the punches he was going to throw but not fully out loud, like a mental exercise. Sometimes Adam would imagine that these fights were taking place naked. Both men fully nude in just gloves. He hadn’t ever seen John’s nude, but he wanted to.

While the three of them worked on the per-stretching and bag work to follow, Wolfgang was putting his skills from his early years in private security to good use. The device attached on the roof was transmitting the signal from within the building, instead he put it to be carried over to his laptop which would be set to record. He had a nice long intro planned of the “change room” portion of the night’s events. He didn’t need to be told who he would be fighting, the man with the USMC & American flag tattoo on his arm. A squared jaw brick of a man and soon he would begin his warm up and give Wolfgang a great view of just how he moved, his power and what he would probably open the fight with. A perfect read on this preening peacock that he was about to defeather. Carrying his gym bag and laptop with him, he bypassed the doors lock with a small device a former co-worker had made for him years ago. A small blind spot on the camera system at work where they would go to smoke and take unscheduled breaks. It worked like a charm. Entering the small facility, he moved silently closer to the back door leading to the inner change area. A lone locker stood in the hallway and made a perfect place to place the laptop. Then he got into his gear and pulled a tight, form fitting black nylon mask over his face that hugged just below his chin line. When he entered the change room, the black ten-ounce gloves he had brought to do battle were around his neck, his wrapped fists would suffice in taking care of the first two.

It was sudden, Adam was struck easily six times to the side and front of his face mostly the jaw area before he was knocked out. No amount of bravado or military training helped stop the swift, power filled hits of a professional boxer. Thomas’s knock out was initiated with body shots as the opening. One such uppercut cut off his throats wind in its suddenness barring his ability to signal John they were in trouble. The last thing he saw was the colors of the German flag and then darkness came. Wolfgang used some nylon jump rope to bind the two men’s hands and feet. He could hear the sound of John using the speed bag and his assault had gone undetected by the way the loud tat tat tat sound masked any others. Getting his gloves on now, he used Velcro bands to secure them. His single layer black mouthpiece already being gripped by his teeth, tightened. His speech would be somewhat muddled by it wouldn’t matter. Walking out into the gym area itself, John had his back to him working on the speed bag across the room. Wolfgang couldn’t wait for some proper round-based fight to occur. His brother’s damaged face was flashing before his eyes now. He banged his gloves together and the thundering sound was sufficient enough to be heard over the sound of the other bag work. John stopped hitting it and turned around. He was surprised to find his opponent had a black mask covering his face. His German flag gloves and trunks looked professionally made and his old vintage boots were from a different era of professional boxing. He laughed. “You worried about people finding out a boxer or something?” John proceeded to pick up his own gloves off of a nearby gym mat on the floor. Keeping one hand free to get his own mouth guard in. The masked figure was in top shape, definitely not the usual dough boy that John’s gloves had tenderized like so much prime beef. This was a man who had prepared. “Fuck it, lets forgo the ring and just box here on the mats.” The masked man nodded slowly 'Yes Ami, if you want to dance then start the music.” Between his mouth guard and his thick accent, it sounded a bit strained the words.

John nodded and smirked. “Good, I like that someone finally answered my flyer who just might box worth a” He couldn’t finish the full sentence because the man had already closed eighty percent of the distance between them. John read the body language as an incoming jab to the face, so he pulled his guard up tight to absorb the shot. Tight till impact was made then on the fly they could be loosened to part for his counter punch. Gross miscalculation saw a right-handed straight punch batter his solar plexus area just at the point where his stomach met his chest area. His diaphragm buckled from the power and his lungs were knocked into a momentary pause. Both of his legs locked up now. Zero time between the first punch landing and the next four that were a digging left hook to his ribs and heel lifting uppercut to the pit of his stomach. His eyes opened almost further than humanly possible when a thick clot of air was forced up from his stomach and out of his parting lips. Locking his back up. Wolfgang’s power turned John into a human punching bag easily. Next his angled right hook met the Marines chin and John’s head smacked into the nearby speed bag from the angle of connection. Somewhat of a metaphor for how the following punches seemed to make his head a lot like a speed bag too. Wolfgang battered him with jabs, two hooks, a big right cross and a left uppercut that tucked under his chin line and levelled his eyelids closed.

John wasn’t seeing full details now. The room had gone blurred around the edges and both of his ears had popped and then lost sound. His feet instinctively moved him away from Wolfgang toward the ring itself. His mind had absolutely no time to process what was happening. Body punches dug into him hard, and he went down from a left hook near the edge of his rib cage. His right arm and shoulder smashing into the mat before his head tapped it next and bounced. A stringy rivulet of Sylvia dripped past his mouth guard and it was slightly mixed with blood. It touched the black mat below. Wolfgang stood waiting. “Get up, you are weak.” John’s head cleared enough for him to hear each word. “Up Ami, get up, I will even let you strike me first.” the taunt was like a new punch to John’s face. He did get up fast though. His mind reverting to its training on pulling its focus together in a moment when needed. He raised his gloves into a fighting stance. “You got me down your kraut piece of shit, but you didn’t get me out, I’m going to fuck you up now.” Rushing forward, he feigned like he was going to the body and at the last moment switched his posture to connect a right uppercut to the German’s chin. The glove found its target and instead of snapping the masked man’s head back, it deflated upon impact. Like hitting one of those tear shaped uppercut bags in practice gyms. John’s punch had hit what must have been a chin made of steel. Wolfgang’s jawline, his skull dispersed the power of the shot. It was unpleasant but nothing that would prove a problem. He grinned and shook his head. Moving with the speed of a cobra, he struck John below his squared jawline with his own right uppercut, then a left millisecond afterwards. The force of both shots reeled John’s neck and head backward and he flew with it hard into the side of the boxing ring.

His vision fully blurred over after the bright, white lighting-like flash had filled both of his blue-Gray eyes. His fallen arms from the impact of the punches and his body hitting the side of the ring began to rise as he recovered, and they were at about chest height when several big uppercut pairs collided with his gym hardened abs and ignored them as the leather sank in deep, he was forced to grunt from each and every punch. The German flag filled his field of vision like he was being made to understand its dominance. A big left straight shot pounded in his nose and mouth area. A right-handed power shot hit and left the center of his partially hairy chest so quickly it seemed almost like a hummingbird had been there. Another grunt came out. Hooks from both sides started colliding with the side of his face, twisting up the cheek area and pouting his now swelling lips. Wolfgang’s punches ping-ponged his head now and he was too dazed to react. His head rocked like a boat on rough waters and Wolfgang began to connect exclusively to his right eye now working it from a lump to a shiner to a proper overcast, a swelling mass that would close it. It took very little time to produce the desired result. More punches struck John’s face now. Splitting his lip, swelling his left cheek, adding a thick black clot under his good eye. From his side, it was a soundless, jarring, German flag filled haze of impacts and disorientation and from Wolfgang’s side it was a complete rush of adrenaline.

The biochemical raced through his German body now. He felt like he could knock John’s head completely off his shoulders. However bad John had beaten Gunther, it was a minor inconvenience in comparison to the damage being dealt now. John’s battered, swollen, blackened and for all intense and purposes broken looks hung there against the lower rope. Wolfgang’s final punches could be thrown without any rush. The Marine was already so out of it from the pummeling he wasn’t able to defend. His limp arms hung at his sides now. Wolfgang almost thought he saw the tattoos seem to droop to. The American flag sure had in his imagination. The eagle had a small ring of stars around its head like it had taken some of the punches too. Wolfgang began to rock from side to side building up momentum. A technique called “The Dempsey Roll” seemed fitting to use a famous American boxers’ technique to finish off this Ami here. Then like two bolts of lighting striking the same target, he lashed out with a quick but compressed left-handed straight shot that connected dead on with John’s cleft mark. Then his whip-like right-handed punch struck the same spot with even more power and without the ability to fall backward, John’s body twitched violently against its confines and his head jarred up then down and before he toppled forward, his mouth guard fell from his mouth in a small river of reddish coloured spit as the plastic white mouth guard with the American flag in the center had split fully into two pieces. The mess and two parts struck the mat below and tumbled into directions. At the same time this was happening, both of John’s eyes rolled back in the sockets and Wolfgang watched the light of consciousness flicker out of them. A perfect knockout. Stepping back, he let the limp body of his opponent fall and watched as John’s cheek skid slightly along the mat and his chest met with the spit puddle waiting.

John’s arms were tight now to his slightly sweaty body and his gloved hands were turned inward and limp like his gloves had lost their mojo. His swollen shut eye was facing up toward the sky. A sudden and rhythmic jerking filled his body as his brain had been met with a sudden power surge. Wolfgang walked to the middle of the room and looked up at the camera. He removed his right-handed glove and dropped it to the mat below. He used his German flag wrapped hand to pull down the front of his waistband and proceeded to begin jerking off his fully erect penis. Minutes passed before he turned around and walked back to where John was still lying. He proceeded to ejaculate all over John’s hair and along the man’s neck and back. He then took out his guard and spat down onto the man’s cheek and walked out of the gym area, the door slowly closing behind him.

The video would run for another ten minutes before suddenly cutting out, but the final minute of the feed was a split screen view of John knocked out by the ring and Adam and Thomas tied and gagged in the change room area, now awake and clearly shaken by their ordeal.

~ The End