by Mia Ford
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 dislodge 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 Bas
e, 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 observation 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.
"At ease," Captain Warrick said, seated behind his desk. "And take a seat."
Olivia took a seat behind Warrick's desk. She noted that the other officer didn't bother, remaining standing by the desk as if he had a point to make.
"Captain Warrick. I was told to meet with you as soon as I arrived this morning. But I'm afraid to say that I'm at a loss as to why," Olivia began. She made sure to address the Captain as such, even though he wasn't technically military. But as said, Olivia wasn't exactly in the Navy's good graces at the moment and as such she preferred to stay formal.
"Yes, yes," Warrick said, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, this is Lieutenant Commander Randall, posted at Pearl Harbor," he said vaguely as he indicated to Randall. Randall offered Olivia a curt nod, before turning back to face Warrick.
"Is he the reason I am here?" She asked, having no idea who Randall was. She wasn't too familiar with Pearl Harbor.
"In a way. Randall, if you will?" Warrick offered. He looked like he was either tired or in some sort of pain. Either way it was clear he wasn't in the mood to speak and most likely felt this situation was beneath him.
"Yes," Randall began, turning to face Olivia. "Two days ago four of my men were on a routine training exercise five miles off the coast of Honolulu. As they were borrowing equipment from the SEAL Vehicle Delivery Team stationed there, one of the SEAL's insisted that he go along for the ride. While out at sea my team stumbled upon an old Japanese submarine from the Pearl Harbor attack --"
"Really?" Olivia asked, suddenly interested. "That's amazing. Up until now only four have been --"
"Lieutenant, that's not the point of the story," Randall interjected, sounding a little put off.
"Oh right, sorry," she offered, deciding on the spot that her initial instincts about Randall were correct. "Continue."
"Anyway. My boys were going to call it in but the SEAL decided to take matters into his own hands and try and salvage the wreck himself." The way he sneered on the word SEAL suggested to Olivia that he harbored a not so secret disdain for this particualr operative. "Long story short the submarine dislodged itself and almost crushed one of my men. The SEAL then performed a bunny maneuver --"
"Bunny maneuver?" Olivia asked. She was perched over the desk, scribbling away on a legal pad but had to pause at the mention of this unknown term.
"It's when a diver shares his oxygen mask with another diver. Its use is highly dissuaded and although not illegal, should never be used unless absolutely required. Even though here it may have been, that would never have been the case had this SEAL not put my man in such a position in the first place."
"Ok... OK," Olivia said as she continued to scribble away. "So what charge are you bringing him up on?"
"What... is that not your area?" Randall asked, sounding angry now. "He put my men in danger and I want his head! Surely you can figure out some charge to -- exactly how long have you been a lawyer for the Navy Ms. Conway?"
"It's Lieutenant Conway," Olivia corrected, doing her best to hide her annoyance. "And I'm not in legal. I'm in intelligence --"
"Intelligence? Then why the hell are you --"
"Easy Randall," Captain Warrick cut in. "I've bee assured that Lieutenant Conway is excellent at her job and if there was any illegal activity, which it sounds like there was, she won't hesitate to prosecute. Am I right?" he finished, turning his attention to Conway.
"Of course," Olivia agreed, deciding irrevocably that she didn't like Randall one little bit. "I'll have to do some digging though. Interview your men too. Oh and I'll need to speak to this SEAL obviously. Where is he now?"
"He should be here," Randall spat, going red in the face. "If I know him he's probably taking a detour. Making us wait. He's as arrogant as he is --"
"Easy Randall," Warrick said again before turning back to Olivia. "He should be he any moment. He came in by boat this morning and --"
It was just then that the door to the office opened, followed by the entrance of Clint Reese. Even in his SEAL uniform, Clint struck an imposing figure. He was impossibly handsome and held himself in such a way that the room seemed to shrink around him.
"Lieutenants, Captains," Clint said in a very casual manner as she strolled into the room. He didn't bother to salute either of them too, waving his hand vaguely at the officers instead.
Olivia had her back to Clint when he entered the room and was also engaged in her notes, so it wasn't until he was well into the office and she'd finished taking her notes that she was finally able to turn and get a look at him. When she did her eyes near popped from her sockets and her breath caught in her mouth. And no, it wasn't because she was smitten by his good looks or strong physique and no it wasn't because he made her weak at the knees like he did so many other women. It was because she knew him.
"And who might this be?" he asked, smiling flirtatiously as he finally spotted Olivia sitting by the desk. If he recognized her he didn’t indicate as much, choosing to instead look her up and down like he was eyeing up a juicy piece of steak that he was soon going to eat.
"You've been brought up on charges," Captain Warrick was saying, rolling his eyes a
t Clint's behavior. Seeing his casual reaction to Clint's actions, Olivia had to bite her tongue. It was because of men like Warrick that sexism still reign supreme in the Navy. "The least you could do, Reese, is act like a soldier."
"Trumped up charges," Clint said, not taking his eyes off Olivia. A fact that she was very aware of. She didn't know if she should introduce herself or say hi like she knew him. On second thoughts, it was probably better that Warrick and Randall didn't know that she and Clint had a history. She couldn't imagine how they would react if they found out she had a history with the man she was going to be investigating.
"Trumped up – you almost got one of my men killed!" Randall exploded.
"Killed? Is that what Brian said? I thought you rescuse swimmers were meant to be able to hold your breath for --"
"That's not the point! You acted irresponsibly --!"
"I'm a SEAL. Irresponsible is on the badge," Clint cut back in, not even bothering to hide his smile. Olivia got the sense that he was enjoying himself. Although how that could be she had no idea. He was under investigation after all.
