Training the A'den Fighting System

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Jubar Bavvet
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Training the A'den Fighting System

Post by Jubar Bavvet » 2012-06-25 15:23

(OOC: For more information on the A'den Fighting System, click on the words)

Dantooine
Grand Garang Imperial Base (GGIB)
54:6:19



The Voice of Reason broke through the atmosphere over Dantooine smoothly. There was only a slight bump and a shift as the Lambda-class shuttle made micro adjustments to the artificial gravity. Jubar glanced out the window to right. Beneath, and carrying on into the horizon, was the incredible sight of the GGIB grounds. The Grand Garang Imperial Base was a monster, spanning 500,000 square acres, and still growing. The NIF spared no expense when it came to training its soldiers.

Directly below him was the GESCS, or Grand Enclave Storm Commando School. It would be his home for the next three weeks. Off in the distance, flying high over verdant green fields, were numerous TIEs, the windows of each one glinting in the swift morning sunrise. “Most people never get to see this, sir,” said his pilot.

Jubar spoke to him while still gawking out the window. “It’s a sight. That’s for sure and for certain.”

The pilot started to say something else, but just then a Dantooine air traffic controller chimed in over the loudspeaker and asked him for his authorization code. Already they had passed through several checkpoints, since they were a civilian aircraft, and had been promised they would go through at least two more before landing. Jubar understood the need for such tight security; the GGIB had been under construction for years, ever since Dantooine had been taken over. Several ruins, including those left from the historic time of the Jedi Exile (which Jubar knew next to nothing about but had spent the last week reading up on—fascinating stuff), had been used to create the basic starting point for the campus.

They gained clearance and moved around the Sandral Citadel, perhaps the most striking part of the entire GGIB, because the architecture reflected that of a variety of species, all interwoven in harmony, another way for the NIF to demonstrate an acceptance to cultures besides just Human, thus differentiating itself from the Old Empire. The Sandral Citadel was surrounded by glimmering towers with reflective transparisteel windows, which reflected Dantooine’s sun, Dina.

“Hang on, Senator,” said his pilot. “We’re making our final approach.”

The Voice of Reason touched down on the duracrete landing pad of the GESCS, situated near the old Jedi Enclave. All around them were dozens of squads of the latest stormtroopers to be churned out by the powerful and effective new system (according to most reports) of NIF military training. This had become the principal military training centre for ISIS commandos.

As soon as the pilot started flipping the cycle-down switches, he looked back at Jubar and said, “How you feeling?”

“A little nervous, I suppose,” he admitted.

“Yeah? What about?”

What do you think? Jubar thought.

The pilot read his mind, and smiled. “Take it easy, sir. I think it’s gonna be just fine. They probably won’t throw you into the mix with the tough boys.”

“Actually,” he said, “that’s exactly what they’ll do, because that’s what I’ve asked them to do.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I need to train like my life depended on it.” Because it just might, he thought to add.

A little over a month ago, he’d nearly been kidnapped by Talon Karrde, Mara Jade, and the rest of their crew. He’d managed to turn the tables on the infochant and smuggler, but only narrowly. A lot of it had been luck, mixed with considerable desperation on his part, and he’d made a snap decision. It could have ended his life, as well as that of his assistant, Hanna Sweruy. Now, Karrde and his crew were captives of the NIF, and Jubar counted himself lucky to be alive.

His determination to never allow himself to be put in such a helpless situation again manifested in the need to learn how to handle himself. Jubar had made a few calls to some contacts in both the political and military spectrum, and came up with the names of some pretty elite self-defense instructors, all of which cost more than 100 credits per hour, and were probably worth it, and most of them were Teras Kasi experts.

Then, he’d gotten in contact with an ex-Special Forces man named Jor Alurum, who said that, though he’d spent his life training both soldiers, law enforcement, and bodyguards Teras Kasi and Udas Kasi, he was most interested now in a new system that the NIF military had created and were using to overhaul how they dealt with CQC (close-quarter combat), and all squad-based tactics. Alurum had only mentioned it in passing, and when Jubar had shown interest, Alurum had advised him against it. “It’s brutal,” he had said. “From what I understand, it can be very hard on the body. It’s very aggressive, so if you’re not up for—”

“I need aggressive,” Jubar told him. “I don’t just want a series of simple escapes from simple wrist grabs, like I’ve seen on all those HoloNet vids. I need something that actually works, and I need something that I can continuously train and feel fairly confident that nobody who doesn’t train regularly can deal with me in a fight.”

“This new is system is vicious,” Alurum had said, trying further to convince him not to do it. “Biting, tearing, head-butting, hammerfists, striking with the shoulders, the elbows, grabbing hold of one another, tossing each other around. It’s based off of the Mrag Fighting System, but even more refined, focusing on multiple opponents and putting you in the mix. Punches aren’t pulled nearly as much.”

“What’s it called?”

“The A’den Fighting System,” Alurum had said. “Or AFS for short.”

“Where can I learn it?”

“Right now, only one place I know, and that’s from NIF military instructors themselves.”

Jubar had gotten the necessary information from him, called around some more, and contacted any and all political pals (what few he had left) who had some pull with the military. They told him about GGIB, and how it had only been in full swing of operations for about six months. It was from here that the A’den Fighting System had been created, he’d learned, and it was here that most of the training was taking place.

When the ramp opened, Jubar stepped off onto the duracrete landing pad, feeling the sweltering heat of Dina, combined with a high humidity. Walking towards him as the GGIB’s Commandant, Brigadier Morinth Kapal, flanked by two stormtroopers. The Commandant was a tall Human, with shoulders and arms like a Wookiee, only with better posture. His jaw was as square and chiseled as a statue’s, as though he’d been carved out by the NIF military for just this job. Who knows? Jubar thought. He might even be a machine. Who knows what’s going on here at GGIB beneath the surface? He’d heard of special warfare scenarios and advanced R&D projects that were launched from here, but those might only have been rumors from some of his political pals with overblown imaginations.

Commandant Kapal stuck out his hand and shook Jubar’s unsmilingly. Unsurprisingly, Kapal had a handshake like a pair of pliers, with a similar ability. “Senator Bavvet,” he said briefly. “A pleasure.” He said it with a stony face that indicated it wasn’t necessarily true, but he was polite enough, Jubar supposed.

Politeness isn’t necessary when running a military training centre, Jubar figured. “Commandant Kapal. Thank you for having me, sir. And thanks for making room for me.”

“Not a problem. Do you have your own gear?”

“I do.”

“Do you need any of my people to unload it for you?”

“No, sir,” Jubar said. “I can get it myself.” Jubar grabbed his personal gear bag from the Voice of Reason and returned, saluting the Commandant, realizing he probably should have done that the first time he met Kapal moments ago. “I’m ready, sir.”

The Commandant nodded to his two stormtroopers, and they turned around and took the lead as Kapal led Jubar down the duracrete steps on the side of the platform. “I understand you’ve have problems with something called Naranger’s disease?”

“Yes,” Jubar said, hollering over the whine of multiple TIE engines passing overhead. “I, uh, I had my assistant forward all my medical records so that your people could review them, make sure they’re all in order and so you know what’s going on with my body. But I recently had surgery to nullify—at least temporarily—the effects of Naranger’s.”

“You have synthetic arms and flesh?”

“I do for both my arms and legs, sir, yes.”

The two stormtroopers opened a door up ahead and stood to one side to let Jubar and Commandant Kapal pass. Kapal was saying, “Sounds like you’ve had a rough two years, Senator. And considering what you did in the Senate, I’m honestly surprised you had anybody left willing to do you a favor like this.”

Jubar smiled. Though the man was hard and forthright with that kind of talk, he was very glad Commandant Kapal was so blunt with his honesty. It was refreshing, and something you didn’t get much when you spent a life in politics. And so far, Kapal hadn’t looked at either Jubar or his gear bag askance. Jubar appreciated that, as well. “You and me both, Commandant.”


* * *


“Here’s your bunk,” the Commandant said, waving him inside. It was a little 12x12 room, made of solid prepoured duracrete, including the bed and the toilet. Thankfully, a bedroll and a pillow were neatly rolled up on top of the solid bed. There was a holoprojector for entertainment purposes. “The holoprojector can also be used for advanced training vids. You’ll have access to our vid library, at least for those classes you have authorization to train in.”

“Wow, you’ve got quite the set-up here,” Jubar said, tossing his bag onto the floor. “Your soldiers can study around the clock, huh?”

“We encourage it, yes,” Kapal said. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served in the Mess Hall. You’ll find directions to everything in Grand Garang on the holoprojector. If you need anything else, there’s a button on the wall there that will call a protocol droid to your bunk, but it’s advised that you only do this if it’s a genuine emergency of some kind.”

Jubar nodded, then turned to look at the Commandant. “Listen, Commandant, I just want to thank you for this opportunity. I’m looking forward to training AFS. And I’d like you to know that I don’t expect to be treated any differently than your soldiers. Don’t take it easy on me just because I’m a senator and because I have Naranger’s.”

For the first time, Commandant Kapal cracked a smile. “You don’t have to worry about that, Senator. It’s my job to forget about everyone’s rank and place in the galaxy. When you step inside GGIB, you’re mine.” He stopped smiling. “Dinner is at nineteen hundred hours. Make sure you make it or you’ll do without.” With that, he turned and left Jubar alone in his bunk.

Jubar shut the door, looked about his room in silence, then stripped off his clothes and started his stretching regimen. Ever since he’d been told that he was approved for AFS training, he had asked himself again and again, What have I gotten myself into? Did I bite off more than I can chew? He’d immediately started stretching and working out, doing ten sit-ups, ten pull-ups, and ten push-ups every fifteen minutes throughout his day. He also tried to run at least two miles every day to get his cardio up. It was all he could do to prepare himself for the training ahead.
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Re: Training the A'den Fighting System

Post by Jubar Bavvet » 2012-07-13 18:18

Dantooine
Grand Garang Imperial Base (GGIB)
54:6:20



The call-to-breakfast was loud. Three sharp, shrill blasts on a horn that came through the speaker on the ceiling of the room. Jubar had read the rules and regulations on his datapad the night before, had gone over the codes for conduct, as well as the training schedule. He had been expecting this, and got himself up out of bed and dressed. He stepped outside and filed in with the rest of the grunts making their way to the Mess Hall. He wasn’t sure how many of them knew who he was—so far, none of them seemed to recognize him. It was impossible to know just how far the rumor of a senator come to play with the soldiers had spread.

The Mess Hall was like the rest of the GGIB—it was grand. Large and expansive, though, like most things in the military, it was not decorative. Jubar figured any sort of complicated décor might only prove distracting to the recruits and the soldiers who were returning to GGIB for advanced training. The message was loud and clear: eat your meal, and then get out.

Jubar noticed that most of the men had already collected in groups around certain tables, and most of them appeared to already know one another. He filed in line with all the others, collected his tray and his meal, and then took a seat at the first table he saw with an available seat. To his great relief, no one told him to move, or shouted at him that that seat was meant for somebody else. In fact, he got a couple of companionable nods from the soldiers all around. We’re all on the same side here, he thought. It’s not like school, where we’re all competing for popularity. Here, solidarity and teamwork mean everything.

It was kind of a relief, but also kind of a big gut check. Jubar was here to train in order to defend himself, but these men would be off to war. Off to the very same kind of battles that he had seen, the ones that had brought him here. In a way, I have more field experience than many of these men. The new guys have never seen a battle outside of a holovid, but I have. It was the only thought that brought much comfort.

Somebody patted him on his back. Jubar turned to see a much younger guy taking a seat beside him. He was a tall, thin, blonde-haired man who wore a smile. He bent over his tray, took a big whiff of his food, and said, “Ahhhhh! And they say the military can’t cook!” He took a bite, and then looked at Jubar. “Name’s Bachel. Guys call me Numbskull. You?”

Jubar decided not to lie. “Bavvet,” he said. “No clever nickname for me,” he joked.

Bachel smiled. “You must not have been here long, then. You just get in?”

“Yeah.”

“Where you from? Wait, wait…don’t tell me. With that accent, you gotta be Corellian.”

Jubar smiled. “Nailed it.”

Numbskull smiled and dipped his biscuit into his gravy, swallowed it whole. “I have some family on Corellia. Me, I’m from all over the Outer Rim. Been here, been there. My folks were originally from Tatooine.”

Jubar nodded. “We mostly stayed on Corellia my whole life.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

Jubar picked up his biscuit and scooped up some mashed potatoes on the end of it, took a bite. “We, uh…my mom wasn’t around, but my dad was good to me. He and I made Whyren’s Reserve, the illegal kind.”

“Brewers, huh? You guys had your own still, I take it?”

“Yeah, we were distillers, all right.”

“That’s far out, man.” Bachel took a sip of his water, looked Jubar up and down, and said, “If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, you look a little older than the normal new recruits.”

Jubar smiled, took another bite of his meal. “Yeah, well, I’m just here to train like everybody else, and hopefully learn something that’ll save my life, if the time comes.”

“I heard that, brother,” said Numbskull. He raised his cup of water in a mock toast, and Jubar smiled and clanked his own cup with Numbskull’s. They both sipped. “I guess you’re ready for a day of hell and hijinks, huh? They say this A’den Fighting System is, like, hell on wheels when you get started. We’re gonna do a lot of hitting, and also take a lot of hits. I’ve seen some of the guys from the advanced courses walking away from their training—they’re all battered and bruised, some of them bloody.”

“AFS was designed to be more destructive. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

“It’s getting to be a far more brutal galaxy out there, I guess we need to advance ourselves in any way we can. Still, as brutal as it is, I’m excited.” Bachel looked at Jubar. “You ever taken any self-defense or martial arts type stuff before?”

Jubar shook his head. “Not really anything that counts. A course here and there on basic counters to grabs, a course on situational awareness, but not enough to matter. Nothing that I’d say counts.”

Numbskull nodded. “Same here. What training group you with?”

"Group 277," he replied. Commandant Kapal had actually assigned Jubar to a specific group, though he wasn't required to check in. It helped minimize his exposure, even though they both knew it was only a matter of time before he was found out.

The two of them finished their meals, chitchatting about where they were from and what other experiences in life led them here—Jubar was honest, but also left out the part about being a member of the Imperial Senate. He doubted most people could identify even the senator from their own system. Still, Jubar had received some press coverage for the vote of no-confidence he’d called for in the Senate, and he knew he was bound to be recognized by someone.

The horn blew again, and the men quickly dumped their trays and shuffled out of the Mess Hall. Jubar knew the schedule, and Numbskull said that they would be training together at GECSC. Numbskull had already passed through Phase One, which was basic soldier training, and probably assumed (wrongly) that Jubar had done the same.

The gymnasium was up ahead. It was three stories tall, and covered 12,000 square feet just on the bottom floor. Soldiers were hustling there, mostly in a line. Jubar fell in behind Numbskull and a few of his buddies. They walked in a single-file, orderly fashion. Meanwhile, drill sergeants were standing by the doors or walking up and down the lines, shouting at the “maggots” to remain in line, that they had better not slip out of order or they’d be doing push-ups until the sun came up the next day. They didn’t sound like threats, but promises.
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Jubar Bavvet
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Re: Training the A'den Fighting System

Post by Jubar Bavvet » 2013-04-10 02:16

Dantooine
Grand Garang Imperial Base (GGIB)
54:6:30



The first five days were training the basics from sunup down sundown. Jubar was learning the importance of the buy’ce position (“buy’ce” was the Mando’a word for “helmet”). It consisted of placing both hands firmly on top of the head, and rotating the elbows around and around the head, like rotating horns. Jubar learned that it wasn’t good enough to let the hands hover over the head; the hands had to be firmly placed so that if at any moment he needed to ram into an opponent, or if at any moment he needed to defend a random punch that came at him out of nowhere, he could.

Jubar learned how load his body, and to keep a low stance. His thighs and calf muscles were killing him by the end of the first day. After five days of it, though, it wasn’t so bad. Over the next three days, he learned to throw punches after loading them. The last two days had been training hammerfists.

Each day ended with about an hour of the “predator drill.” Jubar’s training partners, who were stormtroopers-to-be, surrounded him, all of them wearing pads, and they smashed into him, buffeting him with countless blows until he could hardly tell how many opponents were around him, or where they were. He was pushed and pulled so that he could get used to being knocked around, shoved off-balance, and randomly tripped. They stomped his feet, and he stomped theirs return.

When the whistle blew, Jubar, sweating and panting and ready to puke, stepped out from the middle and grabbed his own pads. It was his turn to beat on somebody in the middle.

Sunrise to sunset. This is how it went. Whenever he felt like giving up, he recalled the look on Mara Jade’s face when she so confidently came to abduct him, and the look on Talon Karrde’s face when pulled that blaster on him, and so easily pushed him onto the Wild Karrde. Also, thanks to his Isk Maega training, his breathing was actually more controlled than many of the younger SF men and women around him.

Jubar always climbed back to his feet, and he finished every single day of training, never shirked it, and always got up early each morning to return to service. Knees quaking, arms shaking, muscles tense, and sometimes his head pounding.

One day bled into the next.

The first few nights, his meals were brought to him by a droid. For the last couple of nights, Jubar was determined to eat in the Mess Hall with the rest of the grunts. Some of them gazed at him, muttering under their breath. Commandant Kapal came over to his table, and asked only one question. “Is it what you expected?”

“Not exactly.”

Kapal snorted, and moved on.

At the end of the week, Numbskull joined him for a meal. He whispered, “Why the blazes didn’t you tell me who you really were?”

“What?”

“You’re, like, a freaking senator? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me…I shouldn’t even be eating with you right now.”

“Why not?” With shaking hands, Jubar dipped his spoon into his stew. He nibbled at his kibi and patat panak.

“Friend, I’m just a grunt. You’re—”

“Hardly a warrior, I get it. But don’t feel like I’m somehow superior. I’m a politician. I’m a talker, you’re a doer. You’ve got more guts than I or any of my colleagues will ever have in our lifetimes.”

“Sithspit,” Numbskull muttered into his mug. “I know who you are now. I’ve heard what you’ve done and what you’ve been through. That mess on Sarapin, and how you stood up to Talon Karrde after they kidnapped you, and those droids on Patch-4! That’s…that’s an insane amount of action for not even a full year in politics, Senator. More action than any of us have ever seen.”

“I wasn’t actually in the Battle of Sarapin, and I wasn’t exactly a holovid action star when I escaped Karrde and Jade—”

“Doesn’t matter. Matter of fact, it counts twice was much to guys like me.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because. No training? No experience in combat? And you still stood your ground like that? Not only that, but you ran a campaign in the blessed Cademimu sector based on anti-organized crime? The Cademimu sector! Stars, man, you’ve got some stones.”

Jubar smirked, and looked at the other faces around the Mess Hall, some of their eyes lingering on him. “Yes, well, when your back’s against the wall…”

“Like the A’den Fighting System,” said Numbskull.

“How’s that?”

The soldier winked at him. “Never back down. Never give up. Never stop fighting.”
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