Page 77 of Down and Dirty

Two blasts from the whistle, and the three of them began to crawl toward the sound. Three blasts and they recovered, getting to their feet and brushing the sand off their fronts.

“Now, let’s see you do it.” At least twenty times, the commander played the different whistle blasts till they seemed to get the routine. Drop, crawl, recover, drop, crawl, recover. Over and over and many different patterns. It was a Pavlov exercise in the extreme. “Remember, you’re going to hear this whistle at random times during all different exercises. And always, ALWAYS, the whistle routine takes precedence. It might save your life someday. Understood?”

Dozens of heads bobbed. Four women walked off to ring the bell.

“Remember, snuffies. No pain, no gain.”

“If a barrel of lutefisk were nearby, I vow I would stuff it into the commander’s mouth to prevent him from uttering another of his lackwit sayings.” Luckily, Britta’s remark wasn’t overheard by MacLean, or she would be in Gig Squad tonight.

As it was, Zach told her, “Asado, watch your mouth. It’s going to get you in big trouble.”

She glanced his way, checked to see that no one was looking, then stuck her tongue out at him.

The commander and half the instructors then herded the staggering women, carrying the IBSs again on extended arms, toward the swimming pool for drownproofing exercises. At least a dozen of the trainees would ring out in the midst of that horror by the end of the afternoon, guaranteed. Their arms and legs would be tied, and they would be tossed in the pool where they were expected to remain underwater and survive for a full five minutes. If they attempted to rise to the top, an instructor was there to shove them back under.

Zach made his way into the command center to meet with his grandfather and his lawyer.

His grandfather, General Floyd, was standing at the window observing the progress of the WEALS. Even though he was at ease, his backbone was straight as a board. His high and tight showed not a gray hair out of place. His face was rigid and unsmiling, as if he was ever at attention. His uniform was immaculately pressed with five rows of ribbons to indicate combat tours, along with various medals and of course the stars. His shoes were spit-shined. Army lifer to the max. He extended a hand formally to Zach. It was a wonder he didn’t salute.

After shaking hands, the general asked, “Which one is she? The tall blonde?”

He shook his head at the hopelessness of his blabbermouth brother. “Which one what?” he pretended innocence.

“Don’t play games with me, Zachary Frank Floyd.”

“My personal life is my business.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed, motioning to the lawyer sitting at the conference table.

Zach nodded at Delaney, who was trying his best not to be a party to this private conversation.

“I meant my sex life.” Sometimes he had to be blunt to get through to his grandfather.

“I would say your sex life is pretty much public fodder these days, wouldn’t you?”

“Listen, Britta has nothing to do with this.”

“Britta?” His grandfather raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to marry the girl?”

He released a whooshy exhale. “Number one, Britta is twenty-seven years old, not a girl. Number two, marriage is the last thing on my mind… or hers. Number three, even if I wanted to get married, and I don’t, it would be the kiss of death for Britta in WEALS.”

His grandfather nodded. That was one thing he understood: military obligations. “Just don’t get the lady pregnant. That’s all you need is another—”

“Don’t even go there,” he warned with an upraised hand. He might not have married Esilah, but he’d deck any person calling his kid a bastard.

His grandfather’s face flushed, but he had the good sense not to say anything more on that subject. “I’m going over to the XO’s office to relay a message from Admiral Jenner. Let’s have dinner tonight.” What a piece of work his grandfather was! You’d never know they’d just exchanged barely civil words.

He shook his head. “I have to be home with Sammy.”

“How is the boy?”

“He’s fine. Correction, he’s not fine, but he will be.”

The general gave what for him was a grin. “Still cursing up a storm?”

“Yeah, but he’s toned his repertoire down a bit. He’s trying.” What a crock!

“You could let him come back to D.C. with me. Your grandmother and I could care for him till this whole debacle blows over. He’d be safe in our gated community.”