by David Reid
“Good luck.” Murray winked.
Moving as quietly as he could, Grey darted from the Mustang, scurried down a short walkway, and flattened himself against the wall of the corridor. He advanced thirty feet and stopped at the intersection of another hallway that cut to the north. He peeked around the corner. Nothing. He continued on. Just as he reached the far end of the hotel, a door squeaked open behind him. Grey froze. He couldn’t make himself turn around.
“Are you an army soldier?” It was the voice of a young child.
Crap. Grey slowly turned. A boy, probably four years old, clutched a stuffed bear to his chest and regarded him with wide eyes.
“No,” Grey whispered. He corrected himself. “Yes. Yes I am.” Grey reached into his pocket and pulled out the soggy Snickers bar, which Felicia had given him that afternoon. He held it out. “Here. I’ll give you this candy bar if you don’t tell your parents I’m here.”
The kid took one look at the mostly crushed, sand-coated Snickers bar and burst into tears. He disappeared into his room and pulled the door shut behind him. Fuck me. I’m fucked. Shit. Shit. Grey exited the corridor to the east and frantically looked for cover. No bushes. No cars. A row of lush trees bordered a road that ran from north to south. Without thinking twice, Grey scrambled up the nearest tree. He climbed into the high branches and froze. A dense layer of leaves obscured his vision.
“Where did you see him? Can you show daddy?”
“Over there.”
“Did he really offer you a candy bar?”
“Yeah, but it was smashed. Yucky.”
“Go back inside. I’ll wait here and see if he comes back.”
Grey hit his head gently against the trunk of the tree as he considered his situation. Murray was stranded at the other end of the building. Hopefully he would spot the man standing in the hallway and abandon Grey’s route. If he did, Murray had three choices: stay hidden behind the Mustang, navigate the dense bushes on the north side of the hotel, or work his way south through the parking lot. He’ll go north. It made the most sense. Staying in the parking lot was too risky.
Grey couldn’t move with the man loitering in the hallway. He’d have to wait until the man retreated to his room. Grey clung to the tree and listened, yearning for the sound of a closing door. He was far from his shelter on the beach, and he knew that failing to make it back within the time limit would result in severe punishment. Another hour in the surf was not a pleasant thought.
The man coughed. Grey waited. The man wandered out onto the street. Grey hugged his tree and held his breath. The man sat down on the curb below the tree. He held his head in his hands. Great. This guy obviously has something else on his mind. After several long minutes, he rose to his feet and disappeared into the corridor. A door slammed shut.
Grey hung from one of the tree’s lower limbs and dropped to the ground. He tiptoed down the corridor, gingerly making his way to the western side of the building. He peeked around the corner. No sign of an instructor.
“Murray,” he hissed. “Murray, let’s get out of here.”
No reply.
Grey dodged from car to car to the north. He stopped at the thick stand of bushes that bordered the hotel.
“Murray, let’s go. It’s all clear.”
Silence.
Grey turned and darted from car to car to the south. Must have taken the southern route. It made sense. Once the figure with the flashlight moved on, there was no reason not to take that approach. Grey crouched in the shadow of a tree at the far end of the hotel.
“Murray,” he pleaded. “Let’s go.”
The wind whispered from the beach.
Crap. Murray could have moved on without him. Grey tried to imagine his friend leaving him behind. No way. It was strictly forbidden to leave your swim buddy behind, and Murray was loyal beyond question. Maybe an instructor nabbed him. That would spell the end for both of them. Fuck. Grey sprinted across the parking lot, vaulted off the retaining wall, and churned through the soft sand of the gully toward the beach. His breath came in heaving gasps as he passed the metal shack. Murray, where are you?
Grey suddenly dropped onto his stomach behind a small sand berm. Not far ahead, Grey could make out two instructors escorting a student toward the surf. He strained his eyes to positively identify his swim buddy. It had to be him. He’s caught.
“Stupid fuck. If you’re going to screw your swim buddy, you might as well not come back for him and get nailed.”
Grey’s heart pounded as he looked over his shoulder. It was Heisler.
“You never leave your swim buddy behind, sir.” He shook his head sadly. “Never.”
Heisler didn’t need to say anything more. Grey knew a serious beating was in store.
“Get off your ass and follow me.”
“Can I rejoin Murray?” Grey asked.
“Don’t worry about him.” Heisler smiled. “He’s in good hands.”
Heisler marched Grey toward the beach, veering to the south of the path taken by Murray and his two escorts. Grey scanned the surf for his friend. A human form lay prone in the shallows, shivering violently beneath the watchful eye of two familiar instructors. Redman and Furtado. Fuck.
Grey marched south in the darkness with Heisler’s palm planted firmly on his back. They halted in front of Instructor Osgood, who sat on a small sand berm overlooking the ocean.
“This officer lost his swim buddy,” Heisler said quietly. “And he lost him in territory that was off-limits. I think he needs a little remediation.”
“Welcome to my world of pain,” Osgood growled. “Drop on down, fuck stick.”
Grey dropped into the push-up position.
“Bear crawl,” Osgood ordered. The stocky instructor stood and walked backward, leading Grey toward the surf. “So you lost your swim buddy in territory that was off-limits?” he asked. “I can’t think of a more serious fuck-up. I just can’t. You will pay dearly for your stupidity. Start praying to whatever gods you believe in, sir. You’re gonna need their help to survive the next hour.”
Grey crawled into the ocean and lay down facing the beach. His mouth cleared the surface, but every ten seconds a large breaker would roll toward shore and surge over his face. Osgood stood silently on the beach, arms crossed, legs spread. Grey lost feeling in his hands first, then his lower legs.
A patch of clear sky opened up overhead. When Grey’s face wasn’t submerged, he focused on the stars that twinkled in the coal-black sky. He felt himself slipping away. Hoping to find another warm body to latch on to, he reached to the side. Nothing. No Murray to crack a joke. No Jackson to put suffering into perspective with his jackhammering body. No Jones with his hillbilly twang. Just as Grey’s jaw muscles froze up, Osgood ordered him out of the water. He stood and fell repeatedly and finally gave up and crawled to Osgood’s feet.
“On your feet,” Osgood ordered impatiently.
Grey carefully rose to a standing position.
“On your back.”
Grey flopped over backward, slamming into the sand.
“On your belly.”
Grey rolled onto his belly.
“On your feet.”
The cycle continued endlessly: Osgood spitting out commands like a robot, Grey rising and dropping and rolling.
“Instructor Osgood,” Grey croaked. “I want you to know it wasn’t Murray’s idea to split up. It was my idea.”
“Shut up! Don’t try to play the martyr!” Osgood pointed back toward the surf. “Get out there and think about how you failed as a leader and as a teammate.”
Just as Grey started toward the surf, the wail of the ambulance siren pierced the night.
Grey turned and watched the huge SUV, lights flashing, race to the north. Oh shit.
Big Blue’s loudspeaker crackled to life from darkness to the south. “Fall in on Big Blue immediately. This is not a drill.”
“Stand fast, shitbag,” Osgood barked, clamping his hand on Grey’s arm. He listened intently t
o the cackle of his radio. Man down. Man down.
Grey’s heart dropped. “Who is it?” he asked urgently.
“Shut the fuck up,” Osgood ordered.
Grey broke free from Osgood’s grip and sprinted to the north, moving as fast as his numb legs would carry him. Osgood followed behind, cursing loudly. Grey fixed his gaze on the red flashing lights of the ambulance and increased his pace. He watched in horror as Redman and Furtado rolled a limp body onto a hard plastic backboard and loaded it into the back of the SUV.
“No!” Grey yelled.
Osgood tackled Grey from behind, dropping him to the sand.
“Sir, you better fuckin’ control yourself, or I’ll make sure you never end up in the Teams.”
Grey lay sprawled face-first on the beach with a mouth full of sand as the ambulance sped past, siren blaring. He tried to stifle his tears, but they ran freely into the sand. No. No fucking way.
“Get a grip,” Osgood growled. “We need to get back to Big Blue and muster. I’ll deal with you later.”
Grey wiped his sleeve against his eyes. He tried to control his breathing. “Is he dead?”
“Could be,” Osgood said. “Now get off your ass.”
Grey rose to his hands and knees.
“Get up, sir.”
Grey stood.
“Now pretend for one minute that you’re a man. Pretend that you have a sack.” Osgood kicked at the sand in frustration. “We’re training you to be a warrior, not a chaplain. You can cry all you want after Hell Week, but you need to stow that shit.”
Grey dragged a sandy sleeve across his eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about Murray. Not only had Grey agreed to help hide Murray’s condition from the doctors, but he’d also abandoned his swim buddy, breaking a cardinal rule of the BUD/S trainee. It’s over for me. It’s over.
Osgood planted a hand on Grey’s back and began pushing him, stumbling, toward the gathering crowd of trainees down the beach. “Run, you dumb shit. Run.”
Grey tried to force his legs in the steady rhythm of a quick run, but he couldn’t do it. His body felt like a wet noodle, and his knees kept buckling. By the time Grey reached his fellow students, Ensign Ryder, the crusty old SEAL in charge of the night shift, had already gathered the class into a school circle. Osgood roughly pushed Grey to his knees behind Rogers.
“Listen up, tadpoles,” Ensign Ryder said. “We lost a man tonight. All I’m going to say is this: it’s a goddamn shame, and if any of you motherfuckers want to hide a medical condition from us, do so at your own risk. Murray had pulmonary edema.” Ensign Ryder glared at Grey. “His condition should have been apparent to the other members of his boat crew. His death was absolutely fucking unnecessary. We’re on lockdown, gents. This is serious shit, and if I had my way, you’d all be paying for the man for what happened. We’re on standby until we hear from the CO.”
Grey turned the situation over in his mind. He knew Murray had pulmonary edema, and he had been suffering. But dying from a little surf torture? No way.
“Cupcake,” a voice whispered. “You don’t think you’re going to sit here on dry ground until the commanding officer checks in, do you?”
Shit.
“Not a chance.” Osgood grabbed the collar of Grey’s camouflage top and yanked him to his feet. “Give me a hundred squats.”
Grey’s rubbery legs barely held him up as he began squats. Osgood looked on with disgust, barking encouragement whenever Grey’s legs failed and he collapsed to the sand. The rest of the class looked on with empty eyes. Hell Week had long ago beat the compassion out of them. When Grey couldn’t perform another squat, Osgood switched to push-ups.
“Between every repetition, you will repeat the following: ‘I am a worthless turd, and I will never be a leader.’”
Grey started his push-ups with pulverized arms, grunting the declaration every time his arms locked. At fifty reps, his body failed.
“Slither to the surf like a dirty snake,” Osgood ordered.
Grey wormed his way down to the water’s edge.
“I only want to see your eyeballs.”
I can’t take this. Grey crawled into the shallows, his head already spinning deliriously. He rolled onto his back. I’m going to quit. I’m going to count to ten, and I’m going to quit, then I’m going to walk away forever and never look back. One. Two. Thr— A surge of salt water rushed over his face and into his mouth. He choked and spat. Three. Four. Images flashed through Grey’s mind in rapid succession: Murray tackling Instructor Redman. Murray drunk, coming to Grey’s defense. Murray laughing, swearing, winking. Five. Six. Seven. Grey steeled himself for his encounter with Osgood. He would just walk right up to him and say it. Eight. Nine. Murray wouldn’t quit. The realization hit Grey like a ton of bricks. Another wave of cold water rushed over his face. Blood brothers. Promise you won’t quit. Promise.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Grey asked the sky. “What?”
The stars spun above his head. Murray’s voice flitted through his consciousness. Finish it, boss. Don’t let the fuckers beat you down. Win. Win.
“Win what?”
Grey vaguely felt a hand close around his arm. He was being dragged from the water. The feel of dry sand scraping against his sopping uniform jolted him back to reality. Osgood kneeled next to him.
“Sir,” he said quietly but firmly, “don’t make me send you to the ambulance. I don’t want you to wash out of this program. I want you to learn. I’m creating you. I’m making you a man. Give me a reason to keep you here. Snap out of it.”
“I’m fine,” Grey said weakly. “The cold…”
Osgood snorted in disgust and stood up. “Push-ups,” he barked.
Grey completed push-up after push-up. He slipped into a level of consciousness beyond pain. His arms were so utterly destroyed they ceased to feel much of anything. He was on autopilot, moving mechanically. The push-ups turned to sit-ups, which turned to leg levers, which turned to squats, which turned to more push-ups. Osgood finally ordered Grey to join his class.
“Grey, get your ass over here!” Ensign Ryder barked.
Grey obediently broke through the school circle of trainees and stopped in front of the silver-haired instructor. “Reporting as ordered, Ensign Ryder.”
“Shut up with that crap.” Ensign Ryder scowled. “Just give me a straight answer. Did you know about Murray’s condition?”
“I knew he was struggling, sir.”
“Bullshit. You knew he was dying.”
The insult hit Grey like a slug to the chest.
“Anything to say for yourself?”
Grey struggled to form the right words. His mind still sputtered at the edge of coherent thought. “I cared about Murray. I protected him from the instructors, from his own class.…” He wiped his sleeve against his cheek. “We were brothers.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Ensign Ryder said. “An officer and an enlisted man, best buddies.”
“I couldn’t stop him.”
“So you’re telling me you can’t control your men?” Ensign Ryder asked.
“Not Murray.”
“Why not?”
Grey searched for the right words. Because I promised him I wouldn’t? Grey instinctively glanced at the pink scar on his arm, the only evidence of his pact with Murray.
“I’m waiting,” Ryder said.
“Murray was different.”
“Shit.” Ensign Ryder cracked his knuckles noisily. “A man’s dead, and all you can say is that he was different.”
Grey clumsily wiped away a trickle of salt water leaking from his nose. “I’m ready to be judged.”
“What the fuck?” Ensign Ryder beckoned for Instructor Osgood.
Osgood jogged over on his stubby legs. He spat a glop of chewing tobacco onto the sand. “What’s up?”
“Jim, what did you do to this guy?”
“I beat him up pretty bad,” Osgood confessed. “Fucker deserved it.”
“You were one o
f our top guys,” Ensign Ryder said, kicking sand onto Grey’s boots. “You lost contact with your swim buddy, and now he’s dead. If it were anyone but Murray, I’d recommend that we process you out of this class.” His eyes narrowed. “He was a shitbag anyway, right?”
“No, sir, he was not.”
“You’re defending a dead man?”
Grey swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“So it’s your fault that he died?”
“No.”
“So you’re halfway acknowledging culpability, but unwilling to accept full responsibility for your actions as an officer.”
“No, sir.”
“What exactly do you mean, then?”
He’s fucking with me. Grey knew that Ensign Ryder was toying with his sleep-deprived, half-frozen mind, and it made him furious. A wave of heat flooded into his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak.
“What?” Ryder said.
A torrent of insults coursed through Grey’s mind, but each time he tried to pull one from the soupy morass churning in his skull, he came up empty.
“He’s speechless, sir,” Osgood noted. “I’m afraid he’s impaired.”
“You need the silver bullet?” Ensign Ryder asked.
Grey shook his head. Motherfucker.
“Well, I think you’re a borderline case. We need to do something to warm you up.” Ensign Ryder nodded at Osgood. “Take Grey up the beach and have him dig a hole in the soft sand. Have him make a nice bed and get cozy.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Osgood growled.
“And you,” Ensign Ryder said quietly, grabbing Grey by the arm. “We’ll talk later.”
Grey broke free of Ensign Ryder’s grip and marched north along the beach. After the nervous chatter of BUD/S Class 283 faded into the background, Osgood ordered him to stop. Without waiting for his next command, Grey dropped to his knees and began clawing away at the sand. Why? Why? Why? A small hole appeared and quickly expanded as Grey channeled his anger into the gritty particles beneath his fingertips. Fucker. Murray. Motherfucker.
“Why didn’t you show such goddamn enthusiasm when I asked you to run back to your class?” Osgood asked. “It’s like digging this hole is gonna bring him back. It won’t.”