Chapter Three
Matt shivered in the predawn darkness and pressed close to the man in front of him as the dude behind practically hugged him in an attempt to stay warm.
No more homophobic remarks, huh? Priority’s shifted from acting macho to trying not to freeze to death.
“Report,” Salazar demanded.
“One hundred and two men assigned, Instructor, with eighty-nine present. Nine DORs, four in medical.”
“Your class lost nine men in one day. They decided this training wasn’t for them, and we haven’t even gotten to the hard stuff yet.”
Right. The “not hard” stuff had already put four guys in medical. Matt couldn’t help but glance at Shane, fury blasting through him at the memory of the day before and the smug look on Shane’s face as he’d rested while Matt rolled in the sand.
Hope you enjoyed that, ’cause it’s not happening again.
Salazar ordered them all into the pool to get wet, then divided them up into smaller groups. Two groups at a time were bound hand and foot and tossed back into the water for drown-proofing exercises while the rest of them huddled up on the deck, teeth chattering.
“The key to this is not to panic,” Salazar called out as the guys in the pool bobbed up and down, gasping for air, other instructors wearing masks and fins circling around them, ready to help in an emergency.
“You have to be comfortable in the water. To a SEAL, water is a haven, a refuge, not something to be afraid of.”
Matt’s heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest when it was his turn. He took deep, calming breaths while his hands and ankles were zip-tied together, and he sucked one last gulp of air in and held it as he was unceremoniously shoved into the deep end.
He sank to the bottom like a stone, completely disoriented, some of the students nearby thrashing around and bumping into him.
Guys were panicking right and left, and Matt rolled to his side and tried to wriggle away from them.
His own panic lurked along the edges of his consciousness but he beat it back, getting himself upright as he’d been instructed.
He stood on the bottom as long as he could, and then, lungs burning, shoved upward and took a measured breath of air, trying not to gasp, before sinking back down.
Matt did this two or three times until an instructor jerked his head at him, ordering him to surface. He was cut free and he pulled himself from the pool before sprawling out, grateful for being allowed a minute to recover.
“Good job, Alphabet Soup,” Salazar called. Matt gave him a weak nod and a thumbs-up.
Shane exploded from the pool and flopped on the deck next to him like a huge, golden fish. He lay there with a shit-eating grin on his face, eyes wide with adrenaline.
“Having fun?” Matt asked caustically, shaking his head in disbelief when Shane chuckled.
“Yeah, that was awesome.” He sat up and linked his arms loosely around his knees. “Water doesn’t scare me.”
“Well, good for you.” Because it scares the shit out of me.
Shane blinked at his rudeness, but all he said was, “The key to underwater swimming is to go deep early and stay there so you can hold your breath longer. Just a little tip for later.”
He started to get to his feet, and Matt grabbed his forearm to stop him, yanking his hand away immediately at the arousing feel of hard muscle under damp skin.
“Why does that work?” he demanded, aware of how gruff he sounded but unable to stop himself. Jesus, he had to get a motherfucking grip. He took a deep breath, modulating his tone. “Please. I wanna know.”
Shane regarded him for a moment before giving a half-shrug.
“Something about the way the pressure compresses your lungs. All I know is it works. Also, don’t panic.
Push past the chicken-necking.” He mimicked the motion of a chicken’s head bobbing.
“It’s your body trying to force you to breathe and it’ll pass. ”
This time when he stood, Matt let him go, muttering, “Thanks, man.”
“No prob, swim buddy.”
Elias trotted over and grabbed Shane in a headlock.
“Holy fuck, that was scary. Do I have anything on my pants?” He let Shane go and turned around to display the seat of his trunks.
Laughing, Shane slapped his ass, hard, and jostling each other, they headed toward the queue waiting their turn for the underwater swim.
Matt followed more slowly, envying their easy camaraderie, the level of comfort they already had with each other.
His own roommate had quit after the first round of surf torture the day before, Dropped on Request. Matt had stumbled back to his room at dusk to find it empty, no trace that Jerrold had ever been there.
At the back of the line Matt waited quietly, tuning out Shane’s and Elias’s jokes, their good-natured trash talk. This swim was crucial, a pass/fail, and they only had two chances to pass it. Already the guys who’d failed the first one were seated along the Wall of Shame, their heads hung low.
The men shut up as they moved inexorably closer to the pool. Rescue swimmers wearing oxygen tanks circled in the water like sharks, and an ambulance idled nearby, corpsmen at the ready.
When Shane’s name was called, he turned to face Matt. “You can do this, Soup. Remember what I told you.”
“Hovland!” the swim instructor called impatiently. “Get your ass in here.”
With a loud “hooyah” Shane jumped into the water, hyperventilated a few deep breaths, then disappeared under the surface.
Less than a minute later he was back, hand touching the wall.
Instructors were there to help him from the pool if he needed it, but he lifted himself out easily, that same ridiculous grin on his face as he glanced at Matt, his expression saying, “Now beat that.”
Matt did his best to sneer at him even though he was shaking from head to toe. The sound of his name being called made his heart leap into his throat. Do this or you’re out, he told himself fiercely. All the instructors did it. Shane just did it. You can, too.
The swim wasn’t timed, and it was just twenty-five yards down, twenty-five back.
“Easy peasy, Knytych,” the lane grader said, motioning Matt into the pool. “Now get away from that fucking wall. No pushing start. Gimme a good forward roll, and you’d better not let me see you surface or you fail.”
The cadre let him take his time getting ready, and with one last huge breath, Matt went into a forward roll. Immediately water went up his nose, and he choked, losing some of his precious air. Still, he dove straight for the bottom of the pool, Shane’s advice ringing in his ears.
The other wall looked way more than twenty-five yards away, but Matt kept up his clumsy breaststroke, trying to empty his mind of everything but hanging the fuck on.
Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast, he chanted over and over, forcing himself to conserve his energy. When his fingertips touched wall, he went into another roll, bent his legs and shoved away from it with all his might back toward the other side.
It wasn’t enough. The finish line was too far away. Matt’s lungs screamed, his head starting to bob in a desperate bid for air.
“Push through the chicken-necking. It’ll pass.”
Matt kept stroking, kept stroking, even as his vision dimmed.
He was a few seconds away from passing out, and panic started to bubble.
Dammit, he had to be close. He couldn’t fucking quit now, because if a calm pool under a bright blue sky could defeat him, how would he ever survive out in the open ocean?
Fuck your cowardice. Fuck your cowardice. Fuck—
Then everything went black.
“Get him out! Get him out!” Awareness returned as strong hands hauled Matt from the pool.
“No!” Terrified he’d failed, Matt struggled against their hold. “I can do it. Let me—”
“Relax, kid. You touched the wall right as you passed out. You made it.”
Matt rolled onto his side, coughing, tears of relief springing to his eyes. He blinked them away, catching a glimpse of Shane’s worried face.
“Hovland! Pay attention, cupcake!”
Shane whipped back toward the instructor who’d just called his name, but he was already being ordered into the surf.
“Get your ass wet and sandy!”
“Hooyah!” Shane sprinted for the ocean as Matt flopped on his back, still gasping for air, his stomach hollow with the feeling he was forgetting something…
“Where the fuck is this man’s swim buddy?”
Oh my God.
Stumbling to his feet, Matt ran to the beach to join Shane, but it was too late. They were dropped for push-ups and combat crawls back and forth across the sand until their elbows and knees were scraped raw.
“You never leave your swim buddy alone,” Salazar raged. “Even if you’re sick. Even if you’re hurt. That’s at the very core of our SEAL ethos—nobody is left behind. You understand me, Knytych?”
“Hooyah!” Matt gasped, choking on the saltwater that surged into his mouth as he lay with his head and shoulders in the water, struggling through some leg lifts.
“Teamwork! Your buddy is part of your team, and where he goes, you go. Got it? On your feet.”
Matt lurched to standing while Salazar got right in his face. “Don’t fail your buddy again. Are we clear?”
“Hooyah.” Matt’s chin sagged to his chest.
“Because now I’m fucking pissed, we’ll go on a nice long run instead of to chow. Pants, boots, T-shirts, then everyone get wet and sandy!”
Matt stumbled along, head down, his dreams all but crumbling into ash right in front of him. Shane led the group, exhorting the others to keep going.
“This is gonna end, guys,” he yelled. “It can’t last forever! Don’t quit!”
A man fell out. Matt almost tripped over him, dodging him at the last minute. Finally Salazar called a halt and released everyone for chow. “They’re gonna close the mess hall in twenty minutes, so you’d better run one of the fastest miles you’ve ever run!”
Guys took off, and Salazar ordered Matt to stay behind, where he regarded him for long minutes. Matt couldn’t hold his gaze.
“You’re better than this,” Salazar said at last. “Rick McMillan is a legend in the teams.”