I looked out over the Rhine and tried to locate where Santino had swam to. He’d left an hour ago, and had hopefully set himself up in a good position to cover our advance to the ship. We weren’t too worried about phase one because the chance of detection was minimal, but it was always good to have backup. I imagined he had to be getting pretty bored by now. Maybe he was even writing in the journal.
Somehow, I imagined his entry looking something like: me Santino. Me like boob. Where knife?
I smiled at the thought. I suppose I wasn’t giving him enough credit. For all I know he may write a beautiful ballad.
In haiku.
Yeah right.
I put Santino out of my mind and resisted the urge to look over at Helena, who was still busy changing into her swimwear. We were going light, not even bothering with our wetsuits, so we’d changed on sight. I used the time to place myself in line with her and where I thought Santino was situated. I didn’t want him catching a peek of something that doesn’t belong to him.
I had already donned my own swim trunks. They were a black, two pockets affair, and were embarrassingly short. Any less of a man might have felt insecure wearing them, but I didn’t have a problem at all. They were standard issue at BUD/S, and were comfortable and liberating. They were all I wore along with a diving knife strapped to my left calve. I also had a pair of flippers, diving goggles with a snorkel, a head-mounted flashlight, and a small, single use SCUBA device, the kind used by lifeguards on the beach. My last piece of equipment was a small rucksack that contained the demo.
Satisfied I’d given her enough time to change, I turned to find her pulling a sports bra over her head. Before she secured it over her chest, she turned away in an act of mock embarrassment, only to laugh it off a second later. I returned her smile and shook my head, but my expression quickly turned south. It always happened when I inadvertently noticed the two scars prominently featured on her body. Both a result of my blunderings.
The first one was on her left leg and was the more obvious of the two. It started on the outside of her thigh, just above the knee, and traversed all the way around the outside of her leg, ending on her hamstring, just below her butt. She’d received during our escape attempt from a terrorist controlled outpost on our first mission back in 2021. During the escape, I had accidently flipped the commandeered truck I was driving, hurling her from the vehicle and through an open window. She’d have the scar for the rest of her life.
The second one was on her lower back, to the right of her spine. It was only the height of a small wallet, but what made it worth mentioning was the mirror scar on the right side of her abdomen. When I closed my eyes I could still see the rebel Praetorian stabbing her with his gladius, gutting her clean through. It came back to me regularly in nightmares and I’ve never truly forgotten who was to blame for it.
I remembered the entire scenario vividly like it had just happened yesterday – me rushing to her side only to reach her too late, with barely enough time to exact some measure of revenge by decapitating her would be murderer. She’d fallen into my arms, sword and all, and I’d cradled her as I felt life fade from her mesmerizing eyes. She’d touched my cheek and apologized, but it wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I had promised her I wouldn’t leave her side in that battle, but I had, and she’d almost paid for it with her life.
I would die before I let something like that happen again.
So, as she stood there wearing nothing but a sports bra, tiny athletic shorts, and a combat knife strapped to her calf, the last thing on my mind was just how perfect she looked in the dim moonlight but how I had almost gotten her killed.
Twice.
I was so wrapped up in the memories of my near failure to preserve her life that I didn’t notice her place a hand on my shoulder. The first few years had been pretty rough for me and I never could bring myself to forgive my lack of action, even though Helena had never needed me to. She’d never blamed me for either injury, not once asking for an apology, but I couldn’t let myself off that easy. Those two events bothered me more than any other in my life.
I tilted my head to look at her, and saw nothing but a look of pure love and compassion. She always knew when my mind wandered back to that moment and how to bring me back from the brink – even after everything that’s happened between us lately.
She smiled again. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I held out my hand and gestured out over the water. “After you.”
Her answer was to put on her flippers, pull down her mask, fix her snorkel to her mouth, and quietly slip into the water. I followed her in.
The water was chilly. Even though it was only April, it had been a warm winter and it had been quite warm since our arrival here a few days ago. I couldn’t complain. The water at Coronado during BUD/S had been just above freezing, and cases of hypothermia and frost bite had not been unusual. Comparably, tonight’s water temperature was practically boiling.
Besides, the slight chill helped keep me focused.
Nearly fifty meters from the ship, I pulled ahead of Helena as we swam just below the surface of the water, the ripples left from our snorkels acting as the only indicator of our presence. About twenty meters out, I angled myself downward, and with only a slight splash on the surface, began my descent into the murky depths. I spat out my snorkel and pulled the small oxygen tank from my belt. With a quick breath I shoved it between my lips and was able to breath normally again. We only had about twenty minutes of air in the things so we’d have to be quick and efficient.
A few seconds later, I was quick to notice the lumbering behemoth that was the bottom of the pleasure barge loom into view. I switched on my headlamp and directed my attention towards the hull, Helena’s light providing additional coverage. Maneuvering my body so that I was lying parallel with the ship, I felt along its surface with my bare hands. The wood seemed smooth and clean, no effects of mold, decay, or shoddy workmanship visible. I gave the hull a knock with my fist, and determined it was solid and thick.
I glanced over at Helena as she floated next to me, her body perpendicular to the ship and her head a few feet away from my own. She pointed at the ship and flipped her hand in a questioning gesture. I shook my own head to ward off her unspoken question and hooked a thumb towards my bag, floating behind me.
BUD/S wasn’t called Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL for nothing. I learned everything I know about swimming, the open water, demolitions, and how to combine all three effectively there, and what I didn’t learn there was drilled into my head as I attended countless other schools for the next two years before I was able to join the Teams. Once we could do all that, and so much more, we became Frogmen.
Prior to the Vietnam War, there were no SEALs, instead, there was the Underwater Demolition Team, or UDT. Their legacy dated back to World War II when they were known simply as Frogmen. When SEAL teams were developed during the Vietnam War, the two teams worked side by side until the UDT was finally decommissioned in the 1980’s. Since then, in respect to its roots, SEALs were known as Frogmen as well.
I took an unnecessarily deep breath as I floated, confused as to why Helena hadn’t understood what I was doing. We had gone over these procedures a dozen times before. She should already know that I was using rudimentary methods to determine the ship’s structural integrity. I had a few devices back home could determine the hull’s thickness and density, but our supplies had unfortunately forgotten those toys.
It wasn’t a problem. The ship was obviously constructed out of wood, and considering the kinds of explosives I was using, it didn’t matter what kind. I held out my hand and extended three fingers before gripping an object Helena held out in front of her, one of the smallest demo pieces I’d brought. The object was cylindrical in design, and had a dial and two buttons. One button activated a timed countdown, while the dial determined the amount of time before it blew. The second button activated that device’s remote detonation function. It allowed us to blow the charg
es on command if desired. Safe and simple, perfect for this kind of work.
After placing the first demo charge on the hull, utilizing an underwater adhesive Helena had applied to it before handing it to me, I gave it a quick tug to make sure it was secure. Satisfied that it was, I used my hands to guide my body across the hull and my flippers to propel me forward. I glanced at my watch. We still had about twelve minutes of air left to secure four more charges.
We had only traveled along the very tip of the bow, a fraction of the boat itself, by the time we finished planting four of the five planned bombs in a square pattern. I glanced at my watch. Four minutes left. We made our way to the center of the grid, and I held up two fingers indicating I wanted our middle sized charge, the biggest one I’d asked for yet. I placed the bomb against the hull on instinct alone, securing it as quickly as I could. I made a final adjustment to its placement, a feeling of lightheadedness growing inside me.
I must have used up my air supply quicker than I thought.
Taking as deep a breath as I could manage, I pulled the canister out of my mouth, and pushed off from the bottom of the ship, torpedoing myself away from it. I saw Helena was already a few meters out ahead of me, her air having apparently run out just before mine had. I put my snorkel back in my mouth and secured the oxygen tank to my belt as I kicked with all my might.
Just as I cleared the boat, my more experienced swimming legs allowed me to overtake Helena easily. I grabbed her hand as I swam past and pulled her forward behind me, making sure we stayed submerged as long as possible. I felt her start to surface after a few seconds, but I held her down.
Usually, people instinctually tried to find air as soon as they think they’ve run out. However, as a general rule, most of the time they actually have a few more seconds than they think before their heart stops pumping. Learning how to avoid panic and utilize those extra seconds could save your life, but the only problem now was that I wasn’t sure if Helena knew that, and another five seconds later I felt her slow down behind me.
She was blacking out, and I had to surface now before she finally ran out of air. When we finally broke the surface she sputtered and coughed water from her lungs and fell beneath the surface again. I wrapped an arm around her chest and secured her above the water.
She sputtered out another lungful of water.
“What the hell are you doing, Jacob!?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Bu take a look at the ship before you really get mad at me.”
I was facing away, but her head was looking directly at it. I knew she would see what I already knew would be there, small shapes that were really two men standing along the railing, looking out over the water. We’d noted them during our reconnaissance, and they may have spotted us had we surfaced earlier.
She coughed up a little more water. “Oh. The guards. I forgot.”
“That tends to happen when you’re passing out.”
“You can let go now, Jacob.” she said as she regained control of herself. “I can make it back on my own.”
I didn’t argue with her, and slowly released her into the river. I shifted into a backstroke so I could keep an eye on her until I was satisfied she could manage, but, true to her word, she was now moving easily under her own power. I spit some water that had made its way into my mouth at her playfully and turned towards where I estimated Santino was, resisting the urge to challenge her to a race.
I felt fantastic. Reinvigorated. Something about pulling Helena through the water to outrun the prying eyes of guards aboard a pleasure boat had riled something deep inside me. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t out of breath, wasn’t fatigued. It was an exhilarating feeling, one I didn’t want to let go of. All these years of mundane missions and solving little problems seemed so insignificant against what we were doing now, and my body reflected that.
Tomorrow couldn’t come sooner.
Once we passed our point of entry, I scanned the opposite tree line for sign of Santino. I almost thought we’d passed him when I saw two quick pulses of a dim red light emerge from the trees. Angling my body, I headed towards the source. As I crawled out of the water, Helena wearily behind me, I moved into the trees and shrubs, and found Santino lying in a shallow ditch, one of his eyes buried in a spotting monocular.
I knelt beside him and looked over his shoulder at the enormous barge in the distance.
“Any indication they noticed us?” I asked.
“No,” he whispered. “Just as you two surfaced, it looked like one of them may have caught sight of something, but he didn’t seem suspicious. One of his buddies came up to him a few seconds later and they started bitching about something. It didn’t seem like you were the topic of interest.”
“Good,” I replied, glancing at Helena.
She was lying on her back, her left forearm draped across her forehead, her right hand resting on her bare abdomen as her chest rose and fell heavily. It didn’t seem like simple fatigue, and I wondered if she was recovering from another pain attack.
Santino noticed as well.
“Gee, Strauss,” he started. “And here I thought I was out of shape. Lay off the donuts next time, okay?”
She starred him dead in the eyes before looking up at me with a smirk. We’d carried each other a few times over the years after one or the other had gotten hurt, and that had always been one of our inside jokes.
I looked down at him and patted his shoulder. “We’ll see how well you do tomorrow, tubby.”
Santino rolled his eyes. “Of course you can talk, Frogman. You’re happier in the water than you are on land. Us surface dwellers,” he pointed to himself and Helena, “prefer sucking oxygen and walking on solid ground.”
I looked down at Helena, hoping for some support.
She shrugged. “He is right.”
I rolled my eyes and plopped myself down on my ass. It wasn’t the first time the two of them had taken sides against me. Despite the relationship Helena and I were in, and the friendship Santino and I shared, I was definitely the oddball in the group, and I regularly found myself on the opposing end of many arguments and opinions.
I sighed. I did love the water.
“Let’s just get some sleep,” I said. “You two ladies are going to need your rest tomorrow.”
Santino grinned at my comment while Helena mumbled under her breath, “Who are you calling a lady?”
***
Twenty four hours later, we were preparing for our amphibious assault on Agrippina’s pleasure barge.
I glanced at Helena as she dug a small trench to provide sniper support from, grinning at the string of expletives that flowed from her mouth as her shovel hit roots, rocks, or other impediments that slowed her down. Turning away, I joined Santino near the water and donned a light reconnaissance rig around my chest. Instead of my normal MOLLE rig, a bulky platform meant to carry a lot of gear comfortably, our recon rigs only had enough space to hold a few rifle magazines, a pouch for our NVGs, a radio, and a few other small items within waterproof pouches, such as the detonator for the demo we had placed last night. We secured oxygen tanks around our left ankles and knives around our right. Santino had his mini scimitar on his leg, while I just had a standard issue boot knife. To round out our equipment, Santino had his grappling hook and cord while I had the air pistol, secured in a holster attached to the right side of my vest. Our goal wasn’t to inflict casualties, some of those Praetorians may be our friends, but we still had our HK416s.
Just in case.
Flippers and goggles in place, recon rigs secure and ready to go, Santino slipped into the water and swam towards the barge. I took a second to kneel next to Helena before I followed, and put an arm on her shoulder. Her eyes were already buried in her scope, but she tilted her head to look at me. I moved my hand to brush the side of her cheek.
She frowned. “Don’t get yourself hurt, Hunter. I’ve just started liking you again, and I won’t be there to bandage you up this time.”
I looked at
her for a few more seconds before very tentatively leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her lips. She didn’t recoil, and I held us there for a few seconds before finally backing away. She seemed content with our kiss, smiling up at me, so I quickly made my getaway and slipped into the water. I caught up with Santino effortlessly and together we made our way to the ship, gliding just below the surface of the water, our snorkels providing only the slightest disturbance in the water.
It was only a few minute swim to the boat and I sent Helena a double click over the radio to let her know we arrived, and waited for her return signal to indicate it was all clear. Santino and I waited, gently bobbing in the calm waves alongside the boat, struggling to stay in contact with the ship while minimizing our presence in the river. We could have equipped our oxygen tanks and wait beneath the water, but we decided it was best to save them in case we were under fire during our extraction. Our only consolation was that the water was calm and that we didn’t have to wait with five foot waves crashing over our heads. It was something I’d done before and would rather avoid if I could.
We waited for another five minutes before Helena finally sent confirmation that the guards had moved their patrol to the opposite side of the deck, opening up a ten minute insertion window before they completed their patrol and returned. Wasting no time, grappling hook already in hand, Santino prepared to throw it over the railing. Neither one of us had ever thrown the thing while chest deep in water before, so we had developed a technique yesterday that we hoped would work. We had no way to practically test our method, so his first try was going to be dry run number one – pun intended.
The first step was for me to secure myself to the ship as firmly as possibly. I pulled my boot knife from my ankle and raised it over my head, clutching the handle with both hands. I brought it down in a stabbing motion with as much force as I could muster, and managed to drive the entirety of the eight inch blade through the soft wood of the ship, all the way to the knife’s hilt.
Satisfied the knife wouldn’t budge, I held onto it while placing the rubber soles of my wetsuit against the hull, securing myself to the ship. I was now the perfect platform for Santino to toss the hook from. I sent him a nod, sputtering water from my mouth as I did so, and he quickly moved to my back and climbed onto my shoulders, securing his crotch uncomfortably against the back of my head, his thighs squeezing against my skull.
To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) Page 11