by Mia Ford
The rig itself was a small transport vehicle, used for carrying the Navy SEAL submersible, currently strapped in place and not in use. The team operating the rig was made up of four memebers of the US Coast Guard and one US Navy SEAL. At that moment in time only the Navy SEAL and one member of the Coast Guard were actually visible on the rig, the other three members being underwater.
"They're taking their damn time," the Navy SEAL moaned, hanging off the side of the rig as he leaned over the railing and peered down at the crystal blue waters. "I thought you Coast Guard boys knew your way around down there? Or are you only comfortable when your on a boat?"
The Navy SEAL was Clint Reese. He was everything that a Navy SEAL should be, both physically and mentally. His stature was tall and broad, with shoulders so wide it looked like he'd have trouble walking straight through most door frames, and a chin so square and hardened one would swear it was carved from granite. Shirtless as of that moment too, his tanned skin suggested an active lifestyle that was akin to most Navy SEALS.
"Give 'em some more time. What's it matter anyway? I thought you just came along to babysit?" The sole member of the Coast Guard replied, his feet dangling off the side of the rig as he too watched the calm blue waters. His name was Lieutenant Brian Fischer and he stood in stark contrast to Clint. Yes he was tall, but his lithe body and gangly arms and legs suggested a different lifestyle to that of the SEAL.
"I came along because you guys wanted to borrow my sub and I've grown pretty attached to it over time. Can't be letting a bunch of coasties hoon around Pearl Harbor in it now can I?" he replied, the grin on his face suggesting that he wasn't taking himself too seriously.
Indeed, Clint's presence on the rig, and out in the middle of the ocean too, was unofficial in nature. The Coast Guard had wanted to borrow the Navy Seal Vehicle Delivery submersible for a few training exercises. Clint was more than willing to let them do this, but not without supervision – supervision that he personally volunteered to provide.
Brian scoffed at Clint's remark, turning his attention back to the water. The moment he did a single bubble floated to the surface and popped right by Brian's feet. This was followed by another and then another. Before long there were dozen's of these air bubbles. Their presence could only mean one thing.
Sure enough, a moment later and a head broke the surface, directly followed by two more. The three heads were covered by thick black wetsuits and oxygen masks - the other three members of the Coast Guard.
The one nearest Brian popped his mask off the moment he breached the surface. "Lieutenant, Sir. We found something down there!" He was heavily out of breath, suggesting that he and the other two had high tailed it to the surface as quick as they could.
"What --"
"What did you find?" Clint cut in, leaning over Brian.
"It's a sub. We think it's Japanese."
Although Brian looked confused by this, the smile on Clint's face suggested that he knew exactly what it was that young member of the Coast Guard was talking about. "It's still in one piece?" he asked excitedly.
"As near as we could tell. It got itself caught in a reef about 1400 feet down. Torpedo's still strapped to the side, live by the looks," the Coast Guard continued, still bobbing up and down in the water.
"OK," Brian said, going to stand. "I'll call it in. We can get a salvage team out here in --"
"Wowa, let's not get crazy here," Clint cut in again, putting his hand on Brian's shoulder to stop him. "You know what this is don't you?" The look on Brian's face indicated that he didn't. "It's the fifth missing submarine from the Pearl Harbor attacks. That thing's got to be at least seventy years old. This is like striking gold boys. We can't go and let some salvage team bring it in."
"What are you suggesting?" Brian asked slowly.
"That we do it ourselves."
The other two members of the Coast Guard had by now joined the third, and with their masks off they all looked at Clint as if he were crazy. They were joined in this by Brian of course, all watching Clint with an air of skepticism. Not that Clint seemed to care. The look on his face was that of a school boy that had just found some extra lunch money.
"We don't have the authority to --"
"What authority?" Clint scoffed, waving them down. "We have a rig. We have plenty of rope too. I say we hook it up ourselves and drag the thing back."
"I don't know..." Brian began. "I'd feel better if I called in to Lieutenant Commander Randall and asked if --"
"Well the good news is that I don't answer to your Lieutenant Commander. In fact, come to think of it, I don't answer to any of you. The beauty of being a SEAL I guess? So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to throw on one of these suits, dive down there with a piece of rope and hook that sub up. Brian, you are welcome to join me if you like?" Without waiting for an answer, Clint turned and darted across the rig in search of his diving gear, which he immediately started to put on.
If any of Coast Guards were planning on arguing, the certainty of Clint's actions indicated that it would be a useless endeavor. Not only was he twice the size of any of them, making a physical protest pointless, but indeed he was correct in that none of them had any actual authority over him. They were on his boat using his equipment. All they could do was agree to his demands and hope that it went as smoothly as Clint seemed to think it would.
--
In contrast to the clear blue surface of the North Pacific Ocean, the bowels of the great body of water were dark and ominous. To far down for the light to pierce, the few fish and pieces of floating coral were shrouded in darkness. But even so, the two visible bodies of Clint and Brian continued to dive deeper and deeper with no signs of slowing down.
Clint moved through the water with the grace of a fish, like he was born to it. Covered from head to toe in his scuba gear, he propelled himself deeper and deeper through the dark waters. Following him closely behind was the lanky body of Brian. He too looked at home in the water, although he didn't swim with quit the same power that Clint was able to.
Wrapped around Clint's body was a very thick piece of rope. Like a belt, it was strapped to his waist, one end tied to him, the other snaking its way through the water and up to the surface of the ocean -- attached to the rig.
After a few moments of swimming, Clint suddenly pulled up, his eyes bulging with excitement. No more than twenty feet in front of him, sitting as if awaiting his arrival, was the Japanese sub he and Brain had been told about.
The submarine was roughly 78 feet long and 6 feet in diameter. The ocean floor was a hodgepodge of coral and reef; made up of sharp, jagged rocks. By the looks of it, the submarine had been trying to navigate through this maze of bedrock only to get itself wedged in between a rocky outpost. With a torpedo attached to either side, they would have made the reef even harder to navigate and now only served to further cement the submarine into the rock face.
Where Brian hung back from the submarine, watching it with trepidation and reverence, Clint swum directly towards it, already working to unstrap the rope around his waist. And once he had it unstrapped, he didn't waste any time.
Swimming around the hulking piece of metal, he began to wrap the rope around its midsection with the intention of using the rig above to dislodge it.
Halfway through the process, Clint suddenly stopped, turning around to see Brian still watching from afar. He held his hands up, as if to ask Brian what he's doing, before waving him over to help. Brian reluctantly nodded, swimming over to the sub to join Clint.
Clint then indicated from Brian to swim beneath the sub so that he, Clint, can pass the rope around and then Brian can swim it up and pass it back. Again Brian is reluctant, but eventually agrees, positioning himself below the submarine, so that his back is nearly flat on the ocean floor.
It's at that moment that a bunch of things happen all at once.
From nowhere a huge surge sweeps through the water. Although it merely works to push against Clint and Brian, it's strong enough to d
islodge the submarine. The submarine, now dislodged, slides down the rocks, scrapping its metal body against the jagged face. Brian, rebalancing himself following the surge of water, doesn't notice in time as the submarine comes down at him. He manages to move, but not fast enough as his oxygen tank gets snagged on the jagged face, now wedged between the submarine and the rocks.
Panicked, Brian tries to free himself, kicking with his flippers as hard as he can. But he doesn't move. Not so much as an inch. He is literally being held in place by a near immovable object.
Clint is at him in seconds, swimming up to the oxygen tank to see if there is anything he can do. It takes him less than a second to realize that he can't. Even if he were to move the submarine, the oxygen tank looked to be ruptured, meaning that were it moved, all the oxygen would pour from it like gas from a canister.
Clint thinks for a moment. He looks up to the surface, a good 1400 feet away. There is no way that Brian can swim that far without oxygen.
Meanwhile Brian is panicking, and then some. He thrashes on the spot, trying desperately to free himself. Clint grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him in place as he pulled out a large knife that was strapped to his leg. Brian's eyes go wide as he spots it, not understanding what Clint intends.
Using the knife, Clint proceeds to cut the oxygen tank off of Brian. Brian, struggling, is useless against the power of Clint. The whole time Clint does all he can to hold Brian in place and keep him calm, but unable to speak, he can only mime what he intends. He points to his own mask and then to Brian's and then back to his.
Then, without waiting for a nod of approval or understanding, Clint grabbed a hold of Brian and pushed himself from the ground back toward the surface.
As they surge upwards, Brian's oxygen mask is ripped from his face and he's taken in Clint's slipstream. Brian panicks, thrashing against Clint as he tries to get to the surface as quick as he can. Clint, still calm, turns on Brian and takes his own mask off, pushing it on Brian.
Brian takes the mask willingly, breathing in a huge breath of fresh air before Clint wrenches the mask from him, taking in his own breath. He then forces the mask back on Brian who takes it willingly. All the while the two men climb steadily toward the surface, the mask passing between the two.
One thousand feet. Then five hundred. The oxygen is running low in Clint's mask as they pass it between themselves. Two hundred feet. One hundred. The light begins to pierce the ocean, they can feel it's warmth on their faces. Fifty feet. Twenty.
Clint takes one more deep breath from the mask as the two breach the surface. Together. Alive.
--
It was less than twenty minutes later that Clint and the four members of the Coast Guard were pulling the rig back into port at Pearl Harbor, without the Japanese submarine. When Clint and Brian breached the surface it was decided that perhaps a salvage crew was needed for such a mission – even Clint had to admit that maybe he had been a bit hasty.
Even before they docked, Clint could see that his actions had gotten him in trouble. Standing on the dock, awaiting their arrival, was Lieutenant Commander Randall.
Lt. Commander Randall was the living embodiment of what Clint hated about commissioned officers in the armed forces. At least twenty pounds overweight, skin so white it looked like it had never seen daylight and a long beaked nose that made him look like he was constantly looking down on others, Randall carried with him an air of arrogance that he had no right too. But, being an officer who got to where he was through smarts rather than action, he believed he had earned that arrogance, and acted accordingly.
Now really Lt. Commander was a part of the Coast Guard and technically had no authority over Clint, but as he was an officer, this fact was inconsequential and Clint could see from the way he was steaming as he watched them dock, that he was readying himself to give Clint a what's for.
"Randall," Clint offered as he hoped off the rig, making his way past the fuming Commander and down the dock.
"That's Lieutenant Commander Randall to you Reese," Randall began as he powered after Clint.
"Oh right, I always forget that part."
"Stand to attention. Now!" Randall commanded, which of course Clint did not obey. "That's an order soldier --"
"I'm not a soldier," Randall shot back, still not stopping. As he walked he waved to a few men on the docks, winking at them as he did. They had all come out to watch the little performance that he was putting on. "And as far as I'm aware I don't get my orders from you. Just my commanding officer... or and the President of the United States if he is so inclined."
"I'm a Lieutenant Commander --"
"Of the Coast Guard. Heck, an enlisted ensign wouldn't even salute you." There was a crowd of people watching now as Clint reached the end of the dock. He really had no where to go, he just didn't feel much like standing around and being yelled at by someone on a power trip.
"You think that matters soldier. I don't care if you are a SEAL. I wouldn't care if you were a member of the fucking Secret Service. You put one of my men's life at risk. So I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you like you wouldn't believe. You won't be able to peel potato with the god damn mess-men when I'm done with you!"
Finished his spiel, Lieutenant Commander Randall turned and stormed back down the dock toward his men. They had been watching the argument and where looking rather guilty, Brian especially. It was lucky that Randall had gone, Clint thought to himself. Otherwise Clint may have just said something that he really would regret. Actually, strike that. Clint would have definitely said something he'd come to regret.
But as of that moment, he wasn't too worried really. There wasn't a whole lot that Randall could do to him. At least he was pretty sure there wasn't. But still... Randall did know people in higher places. Clint just hoped that this, like all the other times, he was just taking out his ass.
CHAPTER TWO
As Olivia Conway made her way through Naval Base San Diego, she braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of catcalls, perverted leers and wolf whistling that was sure to follow her every step. It wasn't that she had tickets on herself, or thought that she was so darn stunning that this was bound to happen no matter where she went. It was just that every time she stepped foot on the Naval Base, and that meant every single time, someone either catcalled her, wolf whistled at her or at the very least stared at her until she was out of sight.
The sad reality of the world, especially the military one, was that women were still treated as second class citizens. It didn't matter that Olivia Conway was a Commissioned Officer, a Lieutenant in fact, in the United States Navy. And it didn't matter that she had complained to her superiors already on multiple occasions about it. All that mattered was that she was female and that was that. Plus it didn't help that she was a rather attractive female too.
Although Olivia wore a Naval cap, her long blonde hair still peaked out underneath its edges. And although she wore the regulatory Naval White that all officers wore, her curvaceous, taught body, still made itself known. And even though she wore little make-up, her sharp cheekbones still poked out and her light blue eyes still popped no matter how she tried to conceal them. Yep, walking onto the Naval Base meant that she was basically a lamb to the slaughter.
Usually Olivia avoided going to the Naval Base when she could. As an intelligence officer she very rarely had to frequent the docks at all and had thus become less accustomed to the cat calls and leering that others she knew had to put up with on a daily basis. But today it was unavoidable.
She arrived to her office early that morning, as she always did, only to be told that she was needed urgently down by the docks. She was to report to the Coast Guard of all places, where an assignment was awaiting her.
She had no idea what the assignment was going to be but as it was with the Coast Guard and as it came directly from Head Office, Olivia was pretty certain that she wasn't going to like it. And that wasn't a slight at the Coast Guard, or even at the Head Office. It was purely an obser
vation based off the knowledge that she currently wasn't the most popular person in the United States Navy and if she had to guess, this new posting was a means of punishing her.
Olivia took the long way to the Coast Guard headquarters that morning. It was done as a means of avoiding horny sailors and engineers that loitered by the water side and although it did much to stem to onslaught, there were still one or two occasions where she could hear a male voice calling out to her in a less than flattering manner. If it wasn't for the rush she was in she might have even considered turning back and reprimanding them. She was an officer after all, but as that rarely worked and she was already in a rush, she let them be.
Five minutes later she was walking into the Coast Guard's headquarters and with no one manning the front desk, she stepped directly into Captain Warrick's office without so much as a cursory knock.
Captain Warrick wasn't alone, with him was one other officer that Olivia didn't recognize. He was rotund and looked like the kind of officer that had a perpetual stick up his butt, or at least Olivia thought so. As she entered the office she saluted the two men.