Chapter 4 - THE FLIP ON THE PARADE DECK
Brock’s right fist cut through the air with violent velocity. To any untrained observer, the large male officer was about to physically overpower the smaller female officer in a brutal display of brute force.
Avery did not retreat an inch. She did not flinch, dodge backward, or raise her arms in a frantic guard.
The instant Brock’s fist crossed her lead shoulder, Avery stepped inward—moving straight inside his radius of attack. Her left hand shot up like a striking cobra, her fingers wrapping around his right wrist with a iron grip, while her right palm smashed upward into his inner elbow, deadening the joint's kinetic power.
Before Brock could process that his strike had been intercepted, Avery pivoted her hips smoothly on her lead heel, dropping her center of gravity beneath his belt line. She leveraged his own forward momentum, pulling his wrist down over her hip with flawless, fluid mechanical efficiency born of elite close-quarters combat training.
THUD.
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The air rushed out of Brock’s lungs in a violent gasp as his heavy body flipped entirely through the air and slammed flat onto the hard asphalt of the parade deck. The impact rattled his cover off his head, sending it rolling across the blacktop.
The entire formation gasped in unison. A heavy, collective shock reverberated through the rows of thousands of service members, every single officer standing frozen in place as if time itself had stopped.
