CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Constable Shaka geared up the young cadets and lined them up against the boxing ring, each rookie displayed a number from one to six and the watching crowd of police officers , most in uniform, started to size up the fledgling aspirant cops and then place bets on who they thought would win. After the final tally was taken by Officer “Clever” who was also the station bookie the odds on favourites were either Jan or Piet, the farmers or “the boers” as the chalk board now read. Steven Dlamini was the second least favourite to still be standing after the 15 minute round of boxing was over.
“Gentlemen” said Night “at the sound of the bell you must begin to fight as if your life depended on it. Almost the entire Norwood front line is here to watch you, and believe me they are judging you. The man left standing at the end of the 15 minutes will ride on the streets of Johannesburg today as an officer of the law, as one of us, as a brother. If after 15 minutes, more than one man is left standing, which has never happened before and would in itself be a failure, then another 15 minute round will commence until only one man is victorious. Apart from all the usual rules associated with boxing there is one rule that you must follow and if you do not you will be disqualified. And that rule is aggression in action. You must display real, raw unadulterated aggression in every action, without emotion, without hate for your enemy, you must be emotionless but fearless and committed to destroying your enemy. Understood? Good luck gentlemen. Dlamini, don’t let me down boy, I have a thousand rand riding on you!”
“No problem General, I will knock these square heads on their asses. It’s time to ride the lightning!!”
“What the hell did he just say?” asked Stanislov.
“I think he said it’s time to ride the lightning?” answered Night.
“I thought so. That’s one strange kid!”
Ding Ding!
The cadets stood still in the ring. Facing each other in a semi-circle.
“FIGHT!” shouted the crowd “FIGHT!”
Steven Dlamini needed no more encouragement and leapt in to action striking first, he lunged at one of the other cadets, Jonathan, who was rated third most likely to win, and punched him under the chin, catching him clean with a well-directed and powerful uppercut, Jonathan’s mouth guard flew out of his mouth and out of the ring into the crowd of police officers. He stammered, dazed, confused and off balance. Night and Stanislov looked at each other both mentally asking each other the same question. “Will Steven Dlamini hesitate, will he show mercy.” He didn’t, he followed up his initial attack with a vicious blow to Jonathan’s face, a straight hit, following through with his body. Jonathan’s head snapped back against his spine, the sound reverberated around Section Four, the crowd held its collective breath momentarily, how could the third favourite, a man nearly twice the size of Dlamini, have been defeated so quickly, so viciously, his body turned on the spot and then collapsed to the ground, out cold.
The Boers had commenced their attack at the same time going for the weakest of the bunch the man voted least likely to win, Ben. He stood no chance. Jan and Piet fought him together as one. As Jan faked a jab and Ben put up his hands in weak defence Piet would strike a blow on the opposite side, it took only three attacks from the powerful young men and Ben was on the floor, down and out.
Zak, cleverly stood back and watched what was happening and timed his attack perfectly. He waited for Steven to deliver his final blow on Jonathan and as Jonathan hit the ground, Zak hit Steven, clean on the side of his cheek, hard. He put so much into the punch that his entire body followed through and he passed in front of Steven after delivering the side strike. Steven’s eye flared up and he could be heard to swear, calling his attacker a coward, he turned on Zak and rushed him, anger filled his body and he charged, rugby tackling Zak up onto the ropes. Once there he let loose a torrent of upper body blows, left, right, left, right at an incredible rate. Zak, who had his hands up protecting his face made the mistake of moving them down to try and stop the bombardment of pain against his kidneys and chest. Steven was waiting for this. He pulled out of the upper body attack and went back in - this time aiming higher, striking at Zak’s now undefended head, he delivered a dozen powerful blows, left and right, in under four seconds. Zak didn’t stand a chance. His body gave up, his brain stopped transmitting signals to his legs and arms and he fell to ring floor face first. Out cold.
The two brothers stood side by side and faced Dlamini. Steven turned and met their gaze.
Steven’s eyes had changed. He looked possessed. He looked dangerous. The two brothers noticed this and turned and looked at each other. This pause was enough to allow Steven to rush in. He grabbed one of the brothers by the arm and ran him into the other. The brothers fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Steven followed up by delivering an illegal knee to the face of Jan. Jan’s eye opened up from the jagged blow and blood squirted out of the open wound, spraying blood on his brother and the ring floor. Jan screamed in pain and rolled himself out of the ring holding his bloodied eye.
Steven stood back and allowed Piet to stand. Piet squared up to Steven and could be heard calling him a cheat. Steven replied that boxing was a one on one competition and that he needed to take out one of the brothers, some way or another or the fight was already lost.
Piet waited, calm and confident in his strength and stature and called Dlamini forward with his hand, goading him to attack. Steven took the bait and surged forward aiming a blow to Piet’s head. Piet skilfully dodged the attack and struck hard, landing a crisp hammer strike to the tip of Steven’s nose. It broke instantly and blood flowed and Steven fell to the mat, dazed and confused. Piet smiled and walked away from Steven now lying on the floor seemingly defeated.
Piet pranced around the ring and raised his large arms in victory, his ego drowning out the desperate cries from the crowd. He faced them basking in his glory. But the cries grew louder and louder until he finally heard the unified call that was now one chant, “FINISH HIM, FINISH HIM!” The gambling men who wanted to see a return on their wager by seeing their man win were also professional South African police officers and they knew the golden rule of always making sure one’s enemy was well and truly defeated.
By the time Jan had realised what the crowd was trying to communicate to him and had turned around Steven was already on his feet and coming in hard. Dlamini unleashed a hell fire of punches as he had done so before and didn’t stop until Piet was on the floor well and truly defeated and until he was on top of him and Night had pulled him off.
“It’s over Steven. You won, he’s finished. Today you ride with November Whisky Fifty!”