John could tell they were Special Forces—Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. The ODSTs had the traditional tattoos burned onto their arms: DROP JET JUMPERS and FEET FIRST INTO HELL.
    “Helljumpers”—the infamous 105th. John had overheard mess hall chatter about them. They had a reputation for success … and for brutality, even against fellow soldiers.
...
	The big ODST pushed through the ropes and the others gathered to watch. “I’m going to rip you to pieces, meat,” he grunted through clenched teeth.
	John sprang off his back foot and launched his entire weight behind his first strike. His fist smashed into the man’s wide chin. John’s left hand followed and impacted on the soldier’s jaw.
	The man’s hands came up; John stepped in, pinned one of the man’s arms to his chest, and followed through with a hook to his floating ribs. Bones broke.
	The man staggered back. John took a short step, brought his heel down on the man’s knee. Three more punches and the man was against the ropes … then he stopped moving, his arm and leg and neck tilted at unnatural angles.
	The three other men moved. The one with the bloody nose grabbed an iron bar.
	John didn’t need orders this time. Three attackers at once—he had to take them out before they surrounded him. He might be faster, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head.
	The man with the iron bar swung a vicious blow at John’s ribs; John sidestepped, grabbed the man’s hand, and clamped it to the bar. He twisted the bar and crushed the bones of his attacker’s wrist.
	John snapped a side kick toward the second man, caught him in the groin, crushing the soft organs and breaking his target’s pelvis.
	John pulled the bar free—whipped around and caught the third man in the neck, hitting him so hard the ODST was propelled over the ropes.
	“At ease, Number-117,” Chief Petty Officer Mendez barked.
	John obeyed and dropped the bar. Like the pin, it seemed to take too long for the impromptu weapon to hit the deck.
	The ODSTs lay crumpled on the ground, either unconscious or dead.