Once over the second wall, a bald man with a goatee stands in the center of a 40-foot square with a white circle painted close to its edges. The man’s wide shoulders and barrel chest quickly angle down into a thin waist, like a muscular triangle.
“You gotta push me out of ring, if you want to move forward.
His English was good but the accent would indicate possible Turkish decent. He moved to the center of the ring and 
planted his feet into the ground, slapping his forearm against his chest.
Slaughter's voice rung out from the catwalk area.
Meet Taurus. Former Interpol. Demolitions Expert. And an Olympic finalist for Turkey back in '72. Wrestling. If there was a question.
Sarge paused for a moment. There was an audible sigh. Then he bellowed over towards the other side of the course.
Footloose! Grab the Doc, we got one down already. The rest of you insects keep moving.
Slaughter grabbed a rope and swung down into the barbed wire area, where Juice had already passed out in the muck.