by James Hooper

Saigon 1970

He sat at a back table of the little run-down bar. His back was to the wall. He had made enough enemies in his life to be cautious. The air was filled with smoke from cigars, cigarettes, and other more noxious or pleasant substances depending upon your wants or needs. It was still early in the day, but the bar was almost full; filled with people who were tired of the war or tired of their pathetic lives and were trying to run from it. He was one of the latter.

He swirled the brown liquid within the dirty glass before drinking it down with a single gulp. He signaled the waitress for another drink. It was that odd girl he had noticed a few weeks before. She didn't carry herself like a waitress or a prostitute. She had a sense of pride and confidence that she carried about herself that shielded her from her surroundings. She smiled at him in recognition and headed towards the bar. For some strange reason her recognition of him and her smile brought him some small joy, but that passed quickly. He began thinking of the pathetic excuse of a life.

He was Jacques Duquesne, better known to the world at large as the Swordsman, Master of the Blade, in a day and age when people fought guns, missiles and other weapons too terrible to think about. By most he was regarded as a villain, and a mercenary. Whoever had the money or power, he worked for. He had worked for everyone from would be world-conquering dictators to street criminals. He had been a thug and an assassin. He had also been known as a hero, an Avenger. He had been kicked out in disgrace when they believed that he had tried to betray them to the Mandarin. The truth be told, he had decided not to kill them and turn on the Mandarin, but they hadn't believed him.

Now he was working for a crime lord here in Saigon, Monsieur Khruull. This was one of his establishments where his girls could ply their trade. Word had worked its way back to Khruull that this establishment was going to be hit by a rival gang. In response, Khruul had sent the Swordsman here to guard it and deal with any unwanted visitors. Khruul felt his hired "hero" could easily thwart any attack.. The Swordsman didn't feel his confidence.

The arrival of the waitress interrupted his introspection. He looked up her and his heart skipped a beat.

"This one thinks you are drinking too much. Are you not supposed to be guarding the bar?", she said as she set the drink on the table.

He snorted. "The day the Swordsman cannot hold his liquor and defeat hordes of foes with his unsurpassed skill is the day I will give up both the blade and the bottle", he boasted with a confidence he did not feel.

She smiled in reply to his boast. "Perhaps that is true. I guess we will see." She turned and walked away.

He turn his attention to the drink in front of him. He picked it up and viewed as if were a magical oracle that would give him all of the answers to his problems. He tilted the glass to drink from it. It was then that chaos ensued.

The sound of fighting from outside of the bar started and finished quickly. The body of the man left at the door to keep out the undesirables came flying into the room and landed with a sickening thud. His neck was broken. Six figures walked slowly in through the door. They were all heavily armed with automatic weapons and knives or machetes.

And dressed in black from head to foot. Their faces were covered with black hoods. One of them stepped ahead of the rest.

"This bar is now closed. If you all leave now you will not be harmed. Resist at your own peril. This is your only warning."

The bartender made an attempt to grab the M-16 he kept under the bar for situations like this, but found a knife in his throat. A knife thrown by one of the six. Only the Swordsman had been able to follow the draw and throw. He slowly got up and walk towards the group., his hands well away from his weapons.

"It seems we have a difference of opinion here. You say that this bar is closed and yet, I am quite sure that it is still open. How are we to resolve this inconsistency. I know. You will all surrender to me and I will take you to receive the merciful justice of Monsieur Khruul.." He stopped and smile broadly, "Oh dear, I seem to have made a pun."

The leader looked at him. "Who are you?"

"That was about to be my question to you. I am the Swordsman and this bar is under my protection. Surrender now and I will not be forced to kill you."

'You want us to surrender to you??" The leader and the group broke out laughing. "we outnumber you six to one. You should surrender to us."

The Swordsman surveyed the group and appeared to be counting. "Yes you are correct. There are six of you. That hardly appears to be a fair fight: Six of you and one of me. I know. You must go out and recruit a few more thugs and meet back here. Then we will have a fair fight." He smiled. Confidence he didn't feel exuding from him.

"I have another idea. You will die.", the leader snarled as he drew the pistol from his belt holster.

A flash of silver lightning filled the air between the Swordsman and the leader. The leader screamed in pain. On the floor laid the gun and the hand which held it.

"My hand!! You cut off my hand!!"

"Be glad that I didn't take your worthless life." , the Swordsman answered, his voice cold. He then turned to the others and was suddenly upon them.

He dodged and weaved among the startled invaders. He slashed and cut until he stood behind them. Suddenly weapon and ammo belts dropped to the floor. He had left them their knives and machetes. They all turned slowly towards him. In the background, their leader was still screaming that they should kill him. They drew their weapons and advanced upon him.

He met their charge, catching a machete on his blade. His opponent screamed in pain as an electrical discharge ran from his sword into the machete. He dropped like a stone. The Swordsman pivoted around the falling body, his hand reaching for his belt. There he drew a pair of throwing daggers and launched them at his next opponent who himself was drawing his arm back to throw a knife. The daggers struck him in the upraised hand and the same shoulder. He dropped the dagger and bolted from the room. The Swordsman turned to face the last three. The had backed away from him. One was reaching for the fallen weapon belts. The Swordsman shook is head "No" and turned his blade towards him. A sudden rush of gas was heard. It enveloped its victim who immediately fell the rest of the way to the floor. The other two looked at him warily. They then looked at each other and launched themselves at him. The Swordsman laughed and leaped into the fray. The attackers were highly skilled with their weapons and very quick, but the Swordsman met every thrust and slash with a parry, laughing the entire time. The pace of the battle began to slow as his opponents tired. The again rushed together, their machetes raised for a strike. A quick slash from the Swordsman found them weaponless and his blade easily sliced through the blades. They stopped in wonderment and fear and then immediately fled through the door. The Swordsman let out a triumphant laugh and cleaned and sheathed his weapon in a single motion. He turned and found himself staring down a gun barrel held in the off hand of the group's leader.

"You may have defeated the others, but I will now kill...." He never finished his threat as the waitress stepped next to him and chopped him in the neck. He dropped soundlessly to the floor.

"Ladies and Gentleman, the bar will stay open. Will someone please clean up this trash.", the Swordsman said as he stepped over the body. He turned towards the waitress. "I believe that I owe you a drink and a thank you."

"That will not be necessary, but this one will take it anyway." She smiled in return.

They turned together and walked back to the table that the Swordsman had occupied before the altercation. They sat and waited on their drinks.

"You were magnificent!!", the waitress told him a sparkle in her eye.

"It was really nothing", the Swordsman told her. "I should have been able to finish it earlier. I was too slow and I left an opponent able to almost kill me. If it wasn't for you, I may have died."

"You are wrong. This one has never seen anyone fight like you did. Where did you learn to fight like that."

"It is a long story and you would not like to hear it."

"You are wrong. This one would very much like to hear that story."

He looked at her for a moment and saw the eagerness in her face. He smiled back. "Okay, I will tell you my story, if you tell me yours and where you learned to fight like you did."

Her smile broadened. "I will do that, but I wish to hear yours first."

"Okay. Well, .. Wait I don't even know your name. What is your name?"

"This one is called Mantis."

"Mantis? That is a strange name. Anyway, Mantis it all started......