Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,54

them are,” she said, no doubt at all in her mind.

He kicked sand. “This will be a bitch. Glad Lane is the one handling them.”

Shea nodded, preoccupied with watching the scene unfold. Guests from the hotel had gathered, curious about this craziness. She walked closer to the unfolding maneuver. The ocean roared like a beast, alive, the breaking of each wave as it smashed against the rocks a threat of broken bones and concussions.

Instructor Nathan Walker stood on the rocks, while medical personnel poised for injuries. Instructor Hal Cheezer stayed on the beach with a clipboard. Her heart lurched as the nose of Hemingway’s IBS collided with the rocks, then he was out of the boat as his crew paddled vigorously to keep the boat from surging back away from the jetty.

He wrapped a line around his waist and shouted above the crashing surf. “Bow-line man secure!”

Six male voices echoed his words.

“Watch out,” Professor shouted as a breaker tossed the stern of the boat, nearly capsizing them. The back surge tried to carry them seaward, but Hemingway was strongly braced.

“Paddles!” Lane screamed as they all echoed his order, and Brown exited the boat with the paddles, deftly scrambling over the rocks, running to the beach to set them down in the sand, then heading back to the crew to assist his departing crewmates in hauling the IBS onto the rocks.

“Bow-line man moving!” Hemingway yelled.

While the crew fought to hold the IBS, Hemingway scrambled forward to a new position in the rocks.

“This is the make it or break it moment,” Max said, his voice low and tense, keeping the seven men below them riveted.

A huge breaker swamped them, the candidates visibly bracing against the massive waves. The guests watching released a collective gasp, and Shea tensed, her body fighting the surf with the struggling trainees, her heart with the man who anchored them all. “You’ve got this!” she shouted.

Several men turned to look at her, but she was so caught up in their struggle, she barely noticed. Pride in them washed through her, making her feel part of this in an active way. They all worked for DOD. They did it for different reasons and motivations, but in the end they all were one.

That meant something she wasn’t sure what to do with right now, but she tucked it away to examine later.

“Bow-line man secure!” Hemingway shouted as the water receded back into the turbulent Pacific.

Lane yelled, “Ready!” and the response from the crewmates was resounding. “Hoist!”

With Lane shouting for them to get set and then move the IBS, his voice never wavering, they hauled the boat over the hazardous and slippery rocks toward the beach. With mighty heaves against the ocean trying to reclaim the boat and its sailors, the men fought to crest the rocks, giving the powerful ocean not only their respect but refusing to be dominated.

“High and dry! Bow-line over,” Lane ordered.

“Bow-line over!” Hemingway replied and returned to the boat. He threw the bow-line into the boat and helped his crewmates heave the IBS down the rocks to the sand.

“Halt here, men,” Instructor Walker said.

Lane and his men complied immediately as Walker navigated down from his vantage point.

“Competent job, guys. Not bad for the first round,” he said, “Bow-line man, solid work, but if you open your stance just a bit wider, it’s going to give you a stronger base and better balance. Mister Lane, loud and concise commands, but you don’t have to rush it. Make sure you take it fast, but at a measured pace. You got that?”

“Hoo-yah, Instructor Walker.”

“I’m passing you on this first try, but I want to see you refine it. Next time, I won’t be a mister-nice-guy.”

“Hoo-yah, Instructor Walker!”

“Make it efficient on your next try and less rushed. Report to Cheezer.”

“Hoo-yah, Instructor Walker!” The crew moved off the rocks to the sand. Once on the soft sand, the crew recovered their paddles and waited for Cheezer’s inspection.

“Drop,” Cheezer ordered, his attention on the next set of candidates.

Lane and his crew set their toes on the tube of their IBS and pushed out the required number.

“What’s the word, slipknots?”

“Pass, Instructor Cheezer,” Lane said. Cheezer made a mark on his clipboard.

“Recover and see Instructor Manchester.” Hemingway shot her a soft look, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him. The crew grabbed the handles and low carried the boat at a jog to where Manchester was standing. For them all, it was back into the surf for two more tries to improve on