Suffer in Silence Page 16

  The enlisted students filed through the chow line, followed by the officers. Grey stopped for his traditional chat with Felicia.

  “How’s it going, beautiful?”

  Felicia giggled and turned her eyes downward. “Not bad, Mr. Grey. Same thing as always.”

  “You like working here?” Grey asked, leaning his elbows on the counter. “This hardly seems like the place for someone of your caliber.”

  “What does that mean—caliber?”

  “You know, someone of your quality. Your good looks, your charm.”

  “It’s not bad,” she mused. “But I would like to be a movie star.” Her eyes lit up. “Hollywood,” she said slowly, drawing out each syllable. “What a place. Everyone rich there, right?”

  “Not exactly,” Grey said. “There are the lucky few who make it. But there are even more burned-out waitresses who never got their big break. Hollywood eats people alive. I was thinking more along the lines of having you go back to school, maybe get a degree.”

  “But I don’t speak well, and I write even worse.”

  “So?”

  “How would I go to college?”

  “Well, you could start with community college. Then move on to one of the universities. It would be worth your time, I promise.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Felicia said. She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Her eyes went wide.

  Grey started to turn to see what had caught her attention, when a steely hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “Can I have a word outside, Mr. Grey?” Redman asked. Before Grey could answer, he was being pushed out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  “Is there a problem, Instructor Redman?” Grey asked, looking up into the familiar angry black eyes.

  “Yes, sir. Just a minor one.” Redman leaned in close. “You better stop that thing of yours right now.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know what I mean,” Redman growled. “It’s hardly appropriate for an officer to be banging the food-service lady. That could get you in a lot of trouble.” He sneered. “I bet she’s a good fuck, though, isn’t she?”

  Grey felt his face flush red.

  “I bet she’s a nice piece of work. A real LBFM. She’ll do everything, won’t she?”

  “First of all,” Grey stated angrily, “I am nothing more than a friend. Second of all, it’s really none of your business. She is a contract employee, not a member of the navy. Fraternization is not an issue. You’re way out of line—”

  “Don’t lecture me, you superior piece of shit,” Redman snarled.

  “Fuck off.” Grey could hardly believe the words coming from his mouth. “Mind your own damn business.”

  Redman’s eyes went wide. “Sir, if you make it through this program it will be a miracle. I’m going to make it a matter of personal pride that you fail. You and that loser Murray. And don’t you ever, ever lecture me again, or I’ll throw away my career just for the opportunity to kick your ass.”

  Grey bit his tongue. There was nothing he could say to diffuse the situation. Redman spat at Grey’s feet, then turned and disappeared back into the chow hall. I’m dead. Grey took a deep breath, collected himself, and walked back into the building. Felicia gave him an inquiring look, but he just shook his head and continued down the line. He heaped a huge load of scrambled eggs and bacon on his plate, followed by pancakes with syrup, sausage, yogurt, and coffee cake. The extra calories would be crucial during Hell Week, when students routinely burned ten thousand calories a day. Grey found Murray sitting alone at a table.

  “What’s going on, boss man?” Murray asked in between spoonfuls of hot cereal.

  “You’re not the only one Redman wants out of this program.”

  “What happened?” Murray asked, raising an eyebrow. “I need details.”

  “The asshole called Felicia an LBFM and told me I shouldn’t be banging her.”

  “A little brown fucking machine?” Murray asked, smiling. “I haven’t heard that term in a while. So what’s the problem?”

  “I told him to fuck himself and to mind his own business. His reply was that he is going to make it a matter of pride that you and I don’t make it.”

  “That wasn’t the smartest thing to say, sir.”

  “I know,” Grey said. “My anger got the better of me.” He poked at his pancakes. “So tell me about your little investigation of the gun shop. Any luck?”

  A shadow passed across Murray’s face. He spoke quietly. “I don’t want to talk about it. You were right. I was a fool to even go down there. I’m done snooping around.”

  “No kidding?” Grey asked. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Murray stated with finality. His big eyes never left his plate.

  “Well, if that’s it, we need to focus on getting out of here in one piece. Redman hates you, and now he hates me, and we’re going to have to work that much harder to make it out of this program.” Grey intently looked Murray in the eyes. “We need to make a pact.”

  “Okay. What about?”

  “That we’ll both make it. That we won’t quit no matter what. Hell Week is coming up, and if we can make it through that, I think we’ll have a chance.” Grey extended a hand.

  Murray clasped it firmly in both of his. “What are we swearing on again?”

  “That we won’t quit no matter how thick the shit gets.”

  “Deal. But we should make the pact official.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Murray grabbed a dull knife with serrated edges and brought both his arms under the table. He winced for a second, then passed the knife over to Grey. “You know what to do.”

  “Are you kidding me? Are we in fifth grade?”

  “Sir, I’m bleeding all over myself here.”

  “Let’s stick with something symbolic. We’ll make up a secret handshake or something.”

  “Sir…” Murray shot him a dirty look.

  “Unbelievable.” Grey looked around to make sure no one was watching, then sawed into his arm until a trickle of blood started flowing. Murray extended his bleeding arm across the table. Grey reached out and they pressed their arms together.

  “You better not have any blood-borne diseases,” Grey joked. “This feels like part of a bad Western film. Either that or some antiquated Boy Scout ritual.” He smiled. “So I guess we’re blood brothers now?”

  “Exactly. This is fraternization at the highest level. You could get court-marshaled for this, sir.”

  “Fuck it. If they want to cart me away, let them try.”

  Murray pulled his arm away seconds later. “It’s official now. Neither of us can quit. To give up would be to shame both of us, and the penalty for cowardice is eternal damnation.”

  “Right.” Grey held a napkin to his arm to stop the blood flow. “Brothers.”

  “Brothers in pain, brothers in glory,” Murray said quietly. “Let the fun begin.”

  * * *

  The urge to collapse nearly overwhelmed Grey. He was in the push-up position on the concrete pool deck, shoulder to shoulder with half of his classmates. The other half either crawled over the prone students’ backs or low-crawled beneath them. Grey’s lower back screamed with pain. A constant series of knees jabbed into his spine, sending wave after wave of nausea into his stomach. He puked, and the acidic mess filled his mouth. Although he wanted to spit it out, he knew that would only get the class in more trouble. Puke anywhere near the pool was not tolerated. He swallowed it, and cringed as the half-digested food burned its way back down his throat.

  “Faster,” Osgood yelled. “You guys are slow as molasses. The slower you go, the longer we’ll play this game.” The bald instructor paced back and forth in front of the line of prone students, urging those who were crawling along on top to pick it up. Grey rarely prayed, but just this once he made a silent request that Osgood be struck down by lightning. He knew it wasn’t good to ask for the suffering of others, but Osgood could be nothing less tha
n devil spawn. He was sure God wouldn’t mind.

  “Enough,” a gentle voice cut in. “We need to get back on schedule.”

  Senior Chief Lundin stepped in front of the line. Grey could almost see angel wings sprouting from his back.

  “It’s your show,” Osgood acknowledged, stepping into the background.

  “Today,” Lundin began in his lazy voice, “you’re going to take your lifesaving test. You’ve already practiced the various carries and breakaways with your classmates. Now you get to try them out with instructors. There will be five instructors in the pool, including myself, acting as victims. You will execute one of the rescue techniques on each of the victims. If you fail to bring them back to the edge of the pool safely, you will be allowed one more try with a different instructor acting as victim. Make sense?”

  The class nodded.

  “Good. We’ll all start at the opposite end of the pool, which means you’ll have to cross-chest-carry each victim about twenty yards. If your victim is active, this might be quite a challenge. Just remember, you swam across the pool and back underwater earlier this month. Towing someone twenty yards shouldn’t be a big deal, even if your head is stuck underwater the whole time. Questions?”

  The class stood in silence. Grey was not looking forward to this evolution. He already had a lifeguard certificate, but the test he took didn’t involve victims that actively tried to drown their rescuers.

  “Form five equal lines at the edge of the pool. When we give you the signal, you will execute the indicated rescue. Okay? Okay.”

  The class rushed to create five lines, but everyone refused to line up in front of Instructor Redman. Grey knew the class would get hammered if they didn’t straighten it out soon, so he stepped in front of the burly instructor and met his scornful gaze. The rest of his boat crew reluctantly filled in behind him.

  “Bold move, sir,” Redman noted. “You realize I’m taking you straight to the bottom, right?”

  “I would expect no less of you,” Grey replied.

  Redman dove into the pool and swam to the far end. “Reverse head hold!”

  Great. That was the hardest rescue to execute. Grey dove in and swam toward the instructor, stopping a few yards away. He turned around so his back was to Redman. This particular rescue required that the victim wrap both arms around the rescuer’s neck. It was the hardest hold to escape from, and you never knew when the victim would strike. Grey waited uneasily. Suddenly the water exploded behind him, and he instinctively tucked his chin in to his chest and let himself sink down in the water. It was a futile gesture. Redman managed to get both arms around his neck. Grey sank to the bottom of the pool with the muscular instructor clinging to him from behind. Drowning once again, Grey thought. He pried at the instructor’s arms, trying to break them free from his neck. No luck. Redman was far too strong.

  Grey’s mind raced. He had no idea what to do, so he finally settled on going limp. He closed his eyes and tried to wait it out. Burning, burning, burning. Hypoxia rushed in, and the urge to bolt for the surface flooded his brain. Despite the discomfort, Grey remained motionless, waiting for the instructor to give in. The meaty arms relaxed around his neck, and Grey pounced on the opportunity. He pried them lose and bolted for the surface. A quick breath was all he could manage before a hand grabbed his ankle and pulled him back below. This time Redman faced him, and the sight of the hulking instructor’s face was terrifying. Despite sitting on the bottom without a breath for close to a minute, a smile rested on his lips, and his coal-black eyes regarded Grey hungrily. Grey fought the panic that stormed into his mind. Surrendering to panic meant certain failure. Maybe he really will drown me. Redman had a firm grip on his shoulders. Once again, Grey played dead. He relaxed completely, conserving as much oxygen as he could. When he thought he could bear it no longer he sprung into action, kneeing Redman in the stomach. The instructor floated back in surprise, and Grey raced for the surface. As soon as he sucked in a lungful of air he swam toward the side and pulled himself out of the pool. He lay on the cold concrete, his sides heaving.

  “Mr. Grey! Failure!” Redman yelled after coming to the surface. Osgood marked it down on his clipboard and pointed to the back of the next line. “Better luck next time, sir.”

  Grey staggered to his feet and fell into line. His mind whirled and spun out of control, his vision a blurred mess of muted blues and grays. Rogers grabbed him by the arm.

  “You all right, chum?”

  “Not really.” Grey struggled to clear his head. “Chalk me up for another near-death experience.”

  “Redman?”

  “Of course. Who else?” His vision slowly returned to normal. “What instructor do I have the pleasure of rescuing next?”

  “Furtado.”

  “Beautiful.” Grey focused on relaxing as the line shortened. His heart was still racing, and he didn’t want to start the next rescue already winded. Minutes later Rogers jumped in the pool and swam toward Furtado. Grey watched the action with interest. His friend managed to get a good grip on the wiry instructor and began the cross-chest carry without incident. Halfway back, though, Furtado tried to roll Rogers beneath him. Rogers kept fighting, trying to keep his mouth above the surface. With a gasp he sucked in a mouthful of water and tapped Furtado on the shoulder, signaling defeat. Shit. Furtado released his grip, splashed water in Rogers’s face, and pushed the flustered student toward the edge of the pool.

  “Good luck,” Rogers croaked.

  “Thanks.” Grey rolled his neck and psyched himself up. You’re mine, Furtado. Don’t even try me. I’ll tear your tongue stud right out of your face. Furtado smiled at the other end of the pool.

  “I need to repeat the reverse head hold,” Grey called out.

  “Roger that, sir. Come get me.”

  Grey jumped in the pool and stroked to the other side. He stopped and turned around several feet from Furtado. Now the wait, the horrible wait. Tick, tick, tick. Grey heard the splash and tucked his chin. Furtado tried to get a grip around Grey’s neck, but Grey was ready for him. He broke the instructor’s hold, spun him around, and threw an arm over his chest. Furtado immediately started to fight, thrashing violently. Grey tightened his grip and stroked toward the side. Halfway across, as if on cue, Furtado rolled. Instead of fighting it, Grey threw all his energy in the same direction. They rolled twice, and the surprised instructor struggled for a breath. Grey muscled his way on top and took a few strokes with Furtado pinned beneath him. Take that, bitch. He could hear the laughter of students on the pool deck. Time for a change. Grey rolled again and again, all the while struggling toward the side of the pool. Thoroughly winded, he finally made it to safety. Furtado was too out of breath to speak.

  “Pass,” Osgood said, noting Furtado’s condition. “Nice work, sir.”

  Grey felt an elation he seldom enjoyed. He had won. He had subdued an instructor, broken him like a horse. The trainees in line clapped him on the back as he joined the next group. The rest of the test was a breeze. Brimming with confidence, Grey took charge of each rescue and quickly defeated one instructor after another.

  The afternoon wore on painfully: two hours of log PT, an hour of IBS, and a conditioning run. The instructors definitely weren’t letting up for Hell Week. Grey limped back to the barracks beat but satisfied. Not only did he run his fastest four-mile timed run ever, but he also thoroughly embarrassed Furtado, a dangerous but fulfilling turn of events. Only one thing stood in his way: Redman was determined to see him fail. He’ll have to kill me. I’m not quitting.

  The week proceeded normally until Friday. The students spent two hours in medical receiving a whole slug of shots as protection against the numerous bacterial and viral infections that their battered bodies would be exposed to during Hell Week. Hell Week. It was on everyone’s mind. It kept them up at night; it was the subject of countless rumors; and it even made twelve students quit. The thought of even starting the week was too much for some to handle, and Smurf was among the quitte
rs. The class never saw him again. Because the Academy kids had been commissioned as officers several weeks before Grey and Rogers, they chose the next class leader. It was Pollock, the red-faced walking temper tantrum. Grey was a bundle of nerves as he received his Hell Week issue: two pairs of spandex underwear to limit chafing, and two pairs of COOLMAX socks with liners. Everything he had worked for, everything he wanted, everything he feared would be put on the line next week. Chief Baldwin released the class early and told them to report no later than ten o’clock on Sunday morning. The mood was somber as students contemplated the week that lay ahead.

  “Remember, boss. It’s written in blood now,” Murray said, holding up his arm.

  “I know. I won’t let you down.”

  Grey stripped off his camouflage uniform and lay down on the grass outside his room. The ocean breeze whipped over his nearly nude body, caressing his damp skin. He closed his eyes and imagined lying in the surf night after night. It felt strange to voluntarily enlist in something that would take every last ounce of fortitude to survive. Grey resigned himself to the coming pain, the sleeplessness, the infections, the struggle.

  “‘All we are asked to bear we can bear. That is the law of the spiritual life. The only hindrance to the working of this law, as of all benign laws, is fear.’”

  Grey tilted his head back and looked behind him. Rogers was standing in the doorway to their room.

  “I’m not afraid,” Grey lied.

  “I am. But I know we can get through it.”

  “Give me another one—another quote.”

  “Okay,” Rogers said. He scratched his chin, then proclaimed, “‘Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.’”

  “I like that. Who was it?”

  “Longfellow.”

  “‘Shadowy future’ is right.…” Grey slowly rose to his feet and walked past Rogers into the room. After a quick shower he threw on a pair of blue jeans and a clean shirt and grabbed his car keys.

  “Where you headed?” Rogers asked.