by David Reid
“Apparently they work better than mine,” Grey said.
Rogers tamed the last button. “Got it. You look beautiful, darling.”
Osgood yelled from down the beach. “Get your boats and line up on me! And hurry the fuck up, or I’ll put you back in the drink!”
Grey ran over the berm and into the compound. Murray and Jones were already waiting next to the boat; Warrior, Kurtz, and Jackson arrived seconds later. Four green glow sticks decorated the boat so the instructors could keep tabs on them in the darkness. Six Pro-Tec helmets and six life jackets outfitted with glow sticks sat in the center of the craft. Grey’s crew quickly threw on their jackets and helmets and hoisted the boat onto their heads.
“What’s next?” Jackson asked.
“Rock portage,” Grey said, “hence the helmets.”
Night rock portage was the most dangerous evolution they would complete during Hell Week, requiring them to land their boats in heavy surf on a jagged array of boulders. Rock portage always occurred in the first half of the week. The class would become so sleep-deprived later that the task would be suicidal. Executing the maneuver properly took a clear head and sharp reflexes, and the pressure on the boat-crew leaders to call out the commands properly was intense.
Grey’s crew lowered their boat at the edge of the surf. Osgood stood waiting for the coxswains, and Grey sprinted to take his place in the lineup.
“Ensign Grey reporting. Boat Crew Six standing by, manned, rigged, and ready for sea!”
“Shut up,” Osgood grumbled. “Save your breath.”
Grey stood silently at parade rest, his paddle extended in front of him like a rifle. Osgood waited for the other boat-crew leaders to assemble before dishing out instructions with his usual gusto.
“All right, knuckleheads, here’s the deal. I want you to paddle through the surf, dump boat, and then assemble in a boat pool. Once you have a full muster you can paddle north. Big Blue”—he gestured at the diesel truck parked on the beach—“will parallel your course. It will shine its headlights directly out to sea when you’re lined up on the rocks. You will then promptly get another muster and wait offshore for the signal to begin your approach. There will be four designated landing spots. Therefore, using your little pea brains, I’m sure you’ve deduced that only four boats can make an approach at any one time.” Osgood spat in the sand and glared at the boat-crew leaders. “Make sense?”
“Hoo-yah, Instructor Osgood,” came the collective answer.
“Hoo-fuckin’-yah is right,” he drawled. “It’s time for a little carnage. Surf’s up tonight, gents. I timed the tides just for you. How about a little ‘Thank you, Instructor Osgood’?”
“Thank you, Instructor Osgood.”
“‘Thank you’ is right. This will be the most fun you have all week—for those of you that have balls, that is. Now hit it.”
Grey dashed back to his boat crew and helped push the craft into the surf. As they paddled through the breakers, he quickly realized that the most challenging aspect of navigating the frothy inshore was spotting the waves before they were right on top of the boat. They got swamped several times before making it to safety.
“Muster!” Pollock yelled, holding a paddle in the air.
Grey steered his boat toward the class leader. Within a minute all the boat crews but one floated together.
“Where’s Five?” Pollock asked. “Where’s Rogers?”
Great. Rogers had most likely been dumped in the surf zone. They bobbed on the black ocean, large swells rolling beneath them as they waited. Several minutes later a boat reared into the sky as it crested an immense wave. It slapped the water with a crack as its bow dropped back to the surface, sending a sheet of water into the air.
“Sorry we’re late!” Rogers yelled. “We had a little trouble getting out.”
“No kidding,” Pollock said. “We’ve got a full muster. Let’s get moving.”
Grey dipped his paddle into the water and swung the boat to the north. “Murray, give us a cadence.”
“Aye, aye, skipper.” Murray began chanting. “Stroke, stroke, stroke.” After several minutes he became bored with his task and altered his cadence. “Stroke it, pet it, touch it, dip it.” They moved along in the middle of the pack, paddling at a moderate rate. Grey was still freezing, but the act of paddling generated just enough warmth to keep him sane. Finally they arrived at their designated spot. Big Blue’s headlights were shining straight out to sea, and the red roof of the Hotel del Coronado loomed imposingly over the white sand beach. Grey could barely make out half a dozen figures standing on a huge pile of rocks at the water’s edge. Suddenly the light from four sets of batons pierced the darkness. Four of the instructors held the glowing rods above their heads.
“Boat Crews One through Four,” Pollock yelled, “pick your approach!”
Four boats pulled clear from the pack and lined up parallel to shore.
“Give the signal when you’re ready!”
The crew members simultaneously held their paddles in the air. The instructors lowered their arms, holding the batons out to the side. The students dipped their paddles into the water. The batons dropped, and the four boat crews started paddling frantically toward shore.
Oh no. Grey felt a series of huge swells pass beneath the boat. The instructors had timed the approaching waves so that they would be clobbered by a monster set. Suddenly the glow sticks that marked all four boat crews disappeared behind the backside of a large wave. Grey held his breath. Several seconds after the wave erupted into a sheet of spray, four empty boats slammed into the rocks. Green glow sticks bobbed eerily in the surf.
“Fuck me,” Murray whispered reverently. “Not a single boat made it.”
“We’ll be the first. It’s all about timing,” Grey said, feigning confidence. “Piece of cake.”
A minute later the set had passed by, and the boat crews managed to reassemble and paddle out to sea. A group of breathless, waterlogged trainees pulled up next to Grey.
“How was it?”
An Academy officer named Carlson simply shook his head. Blood streamed from his nose.
“That bad?”
“You’ll see,” Carlson said. “Try to time the sets, or you’ll end up getting hammered like we did.”
“Right.” Grey studied the shore. The batons appeared once again. “All right Boat Crew Six. The moment of truth approaches.”
They pulled away from the boat pool and took the southernmost approach. They held their paddles over their heads, then stroked hard when the instructor lowered his glowing batons. Grey felt the bottom of the raft ripple as a large swell moved beneath them.
“Hold on!” Grey yelled. “Slow it down!”
They slowed their pace, barely dipping their paddles into the water. To someone on the beach it might look like they were stroking hard, but they were hardly moving. A series of huge swells rippled past them.
“Slower!” Grey yelled.
They were dead in the water, paddling air. Two more huge swells rolled toward shore, and Grey looked over his shoulder apprehensively. It felt like a lull.
“Hit it! We need to move now! This is our chance.”
They dug their paddles into the ocean with all their might, and the boat lurched forward. They picked up speed quickly, and the rock pile crept closer. Grey checked over his shoulder again. Looks good. He could still clearly make out the bobbing light sticks attached to the crews waiting in the boat pool. If they disappeared, it meant a large wall of water was on the way. Grey looked forward again and shook his head with disbelief. The instructor waved them off.
“What gives?” Jackson complained. “Man, we had a perfect approach all set up.”
The instructor was a big man, and his wide smile was visible in the darkness. “It’s Redman!” Grey yelled. “He’s fucking with us. He just wants to see us get trashed.”
“So let’s land anyway,” Murray suggested.
“Can’t do it. He’d fail us for not fo
llowing instructions. He might even give me a safety violation.” Grey shook his head. “Fucking bastard.” He dipped his paddle in the water and spun them around so that the bow pointed out to sea. “Paddle hard! We may not have a choice about landing,” Grey warned. The bobbing glow sticks blinked out behind a mound of water.
They paddled furiously as a curling six-foot wave approached. Jones shrieked as the monster reared out of the darkness a few feet in front of them. Suddenly the bow jerked upward as they raced up the face. Jones and Murray fell back through the air from their positions at the bow. They collided with Kurtz and Jackson, who in turn crashed into Grey and Warrior. A paddle cracked Grey on the helmet as he fell backward into the ocean. The world exploded into a frenzy of whitewash, human bodies, and wooden paddles. Grey struggled toward the bottom, but the buoyancy of the vest kept him firmly in the grasp of the wave. He popped back to the surface just in time to brace himself for impact with a huge boulder. Remembering what the instructors had told them about minimizing the chances of injury, he swung his legs around in front of him just in time to absorb some of the blow. The weight of the water mashed him against the rock, and he desperately grabbed for a handhold before the receding wave stripped him away. He dug his fingers into a crack and hung on as the water surged back from the shore, and he winced as the rough stone tore the flesh on his fingers. Just as Grey turned to check for his teammates, another wave slammed into him, cracking his chest against the rocks.
“Where’s your crew?” Redman yelled from atop the rocks. “Where’s your goddamn boat?”
Why don’t you tell me? Grey waited for the set to subside, then released his grip on the rock. Warrior and Jackson already had control of the boat, which had drifted a good distance south, and Murray, Kurtz, and Jones were lodged in the rocks several feet away.
“Let’s go,” Grey yelled, dropping back into the water. “We don’t have much time until the next set moves through.”
The four of them waded over to the boat and climbed in. Warrior and Jackson were already in position, paddles in hand. Grey experienced a moment of panic as he realized his paddle was long gone. A coxswain without a paddle was completely useless, and he didn’t want to take one from someone else.
“Missing something?” Murray asked, holding out a paddle.
Grey managed a quick thanks before urging on the crew. “We need to beat the next set and avoid a replay. Let’s go!”
They paddled harder than ever before, fiercely digging into the churning ocean. Grey kept his eye on the green lights just beyond the breaker zone. They made good progress, and so far the seas had been kind. Just as they were about to make it to safety, the bobbing light sticks disappeared.
“Incoming!” Grey yelled. “Paddle through it!”
They strained against the sea as their boat raced up the face of the wave. The crest started to curl over, but the collective force of the crew’s frantic paddling punched them through the top of the wave, lifting the bow of the craft high into the air. It came down with a smack as they continued stroking toward safety. Exhausted, scraped up, and dripping salt water, they finally reached the boat pool. Grey slumped down in the back of the craft, resting his helmet against the hard rubber.
“I don’t want to do it,” Kurtz said, looking back at Grey. “I don’t want to do it again.” His eyes were wide, rimmed underneath with dark blue. “I can’t.”
Grey shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. I guess you could swim in if you really want to. But why don’t you hold off—give it one more try. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“I don’t know,” he kept repeating. “I don’t know.”
“C’mon,” Murray said, joining in. “What’s the worst that could happen? A slow and painful death? Where’s your heart, man?”
“Murray, you’re not helping. In all seriousness, though, if we fuck up the next approach you can just wade right up to an instructor and quit on the spot. But if we make it, you stay. How does that sound?”
“Okay. I guess,” Kurtz said. He shook gently, and his knuckles shone white from clutching his paddle so hard.
“Hey, check it out,” Jackson said, pointing at the water behind the boat. “We’ve got a visitor.”
Grey turned and scanned the water. It took his eyes a moment to pick out the hooded head that slowly moved toward them. The approaching figure pushed a waterproof bag in front of him and made a concerted effort to move very quietly.
“It’s SIN,” Warrior said. “Don’t look at him; you’ll give his position away.”
“What’s sin?” Jones whispered in his hillbilly twang. “Ain’t never heard of no sin. That his name?”
“No, Jones,” Grey said. “SIN stands for Student Information Network. He’s coming to bring us goodies.” SIN was an underground group that operated at BUD/S. Classes who had already been through Hell Week always managed to get access to the current Hell Week schedule and made food drops at various points throughout the week.
“Howdy boys,” the hooded figure whispered, grabbing on to the boat’s safety line. “How about some junk food?”
“Yes, please,” Jones said.
The mystery man opened his plastic bag, pulled out six Snickers bars, and scattered them in the bottom of the boat. “Anyone here dip?” he asked.
“Goddamn,” Warrior murmured, “you are a godsend. I’ll take a pinch.” He reached into the tin that was offered up and pinched a huge glob of Copenhagen between his thumb and forefinger. With apparent relish, he deposited the dip between his lower lip and his gums and smiled. “Beautiful. You keep bringing me dip all week, and there’s no way these fuckers will stop me.”
“Good luck, guys,” the hooded figure whispered before disappearing into the darkness. He moved so gracefully that he hardly left a ripple in the surface of the ocean.
Grey greedily tore off the wrapper to his Snickers bar and crammed most of it in his mouth. “We don’t have much time,” he sputtered, spraying little food particles everywhere. “We’ll be up soon, so eat while you can. And Warrior, be careful you don’t swallow your dip on the way in.”
“No one’s taking my dip away,” Warrior said. “I’d die first.”
“Good to know.” Grey looked toward shore. At least one boat crew had made it safely to the rocks. Four successful landings, Osgood had said. That’s all I ask. The task was a daunting one. They’d be here all night at the rate they were going.
“Let’s try a different approach, boss,” Murray suggested. “I think we should avoid Redman at all costs. You know he’s never going to pass us.”
“You’re right. Let’s head north.”
They paddled into position at the northern end of the lineup. Minutes later they charged toward shore, racing the swells they knew were on the way. A three-foot wave reared up behind them, nudging the boat forward.
“Go with it!’ Grey yelled. “Paddle.” The wave seemed manageable, and catching it might save them from the bone crushers that would follow. They surged down the face while Grey strained to keep the bow pointed straight ahead. The rocks approached quickly, and Grey yelled for Warrior to ready the bowline.
“Bowline man out!” The boat slammed into a jagged boulder, throwing Grey forward and knocking his helmet against Jackson’s back. Clenching the bowline in his right hand, Warrior jumped from the boat and scampered up onto the boulders. Just as he had nearly wedged himself into a secure position, an enormous wall of water picked up the boat and hurled it toward him. He tried to lunge to the side, but his leg disappeared in a hole between two rocks. Grey watched horror-stricken as his boat rose into the air and slammed down on Warrior’s leg, pinning it against the rock. Warrior howled in pain, clawing at his leg as the ebb of the wave pulled the boat backward. The bowline slid from his hand, causing the boat to drift helplessly back into the surf. Grey desperately wanted to help Warrior, but he knew there was little he could do. He had to focus on landing his boat or someone else might get hurt.
“Murray, take
the line!” Grey yelled. “Forward, paddle!”
The remaining crew members dug their paddles in, and the boat pushed up against the rocks again. Seizing his opportunity, Murray leaped onto a slippery boulder. He scampered high up into the rocks before wrapping the rope behind his waist and wedging himself in a crack.
“Paddles forward!” Grey yelled.
The remaining boat crew members passed their paddles to Jackson, who had moved to the bow of the boat.
“Paddle man out!”
Arms laden with slippery wooden paddles, Jackson climbed onto the rocks and made his way to safety.
“All out port side!”
Kurtz, Grey, and Jones climbed out of the boat and stood in waist-deep water. Another wave rumbled in, and Grey braced himself for impact, leaning heavily on the raft as he tightened his grip on a handle. The boat and its four parasites surged forward, crashing into the rocks, and then back again, pulling away from shore. The bowline went taut as Murray strained against the pull of the ocean, groaning with effort.
“Dump boat!” Grey yelled, anticipating a lull in the surf. “Dump it!”
The four of them strained against the weight of the water in the boat, shaking with effort as they slowly overturned the raft. A torrent of salt water spilled from the boat, reducing its weight tenfold. They immediately turned the raft on its side and lifted it onto the rocks.
“Ready! Up, heave!” Grey yelled as they inched the raft forward. The rocks were slick, and his footing was precarious. One wrong step could mean a twisted ankle, or worse, a broken leg. Two instructors quickly pulled Warrior off the rocks several feet away.
“Hurry it up, sir!” Instructor Heisler yelled. “Get your boat to safety!”
Foot by precious foot, they picked their way over the rocks, struggling to maintain their precarious grip on the boat.
“Incoming!” Murray yelled, his eyes wide as saucers.
Grey turned his head a second too late. An avalanche of white water crashed into his legs, throwing him forward and breaking his grip on the raft. He grasped wildly for a handhold on the rocks, but his hands slid helplessly over the slick stone. The water rushed back from the shore, sweeping him off his feet and pulling him into a hole between two rocks. As he slipped downward, the skin on his calf ripped painfully against a jagged edge, opening a six-inch gash. Warm blood pumped down his leg as he struggled to regain his bearing. On the rocks above, Jackson, Kurtz, and Jones managed to keep the raft under control. Grey clawed his way up to the group and helped them move the boat the last few feet to safety. The scene that greeted his eyes on the other side of the rock unnerved him. Approximately thirty feet beyond the rocks, a band of yellow police line cordoned off the training area. A large group of tourists, undoubtedly from the Hotel del Coronado, watched the spectacle of the rock portage with thinly disguised excitement.