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His assigned training center would have to be the East coast, Norfolk, VA, rather than sunny California. It had to be January. He was freezing and not only because of the cold weather. The latest blast of icy water from the fire hose, one of the training instructors' favorite tests of endurance, hit him in the face then soaked him through to the skin... again. He had so much seaweed in his shorts, mud in his ears, and sand in his throat, he felt like an old derelict. He also had blisters on blisters, and he didn't want to think about the parts of his body where the newest ones had surfaced.

Hell Week was almost over, and it had lived up to its reputation. James Curran, the SEAL trainee most of the senior instructors called The Kid, but at least one called Little Shit, was determined he was going to make it. Five hours to go... he had quit counting when he finished the first hundred.

He had finished four years of the Scholarship Navy program at Penn State, a political science degree, and the special warfare program in ROTC. He had finished the first easy weeks of SEAL BUDs training, but this was HELL WEEK, the nightmare without any imaginable end.

Curran was the youngest officer here... he wouldn't be twenty-two until months after he finished this thing. He wasn't the tallest, strongest, or biggest man by far... but he was strong and smart, and he freely admitted that he was one driven man. It all made him a target of sorts, but it also made him more determined to do the deed right.

While he was straining his muscles, lost in current endless round of pull ups, he thought of Ralph Shivers, his Penn State law-geek roommate. Shivers was in law school starting this semester. Curran didn't know why he, who was ranked higher in class, more politically astute, and better at plan and attack in debate than Shivers would ever think to be, couldn't settle for that type of normal life... but he couldn't. He was going to be a SEAL, and nothing and nobody was going to deny it to him. Unless it was Morgan.

"All right!! Suck it up. Come on Kid... just five more." Words of encouragement from one of the instructors. He hung on them, just as he tried to ignore the words of his key tormentor, Chief Petty Officer Thomas Morgan.

"You think you're going to make it, Little Shit?"

"YES, SIR," he yelled. Then he added "HOOYAH!" and he smiled. That bought him another fifty from Morgan.

"Damn," Curran thought... at least he hoped he thought it. He had caught himself repeatedly muttering in near delirium several times during the last two days. He thought he had his newest wind, but the smell of food from the officer's mess, food he wasn't going to taste, had started him muttering again.

At the end of the fifty, Morgan, the most sadistic of his drill instructors, was in his face, again. He was going to dream this son- of-a-bitch's green teeth, bad breath, and purple nose for days when this was over.

"You crawl over there and get with the rest of those jokers. See how you like hitting the surf again." Curran started walking toward the group, but he didn't get far. "I said CRAWL you good for nothing puke... ON YOUR BELLY... NOW!!".

"Hooyah!! Yes, sir!!" Curran answered with what he hoped was enthusiasm. He plopped into the sandy grime and crawled. Down the beach, three others had met the same fate... they were all crawling toward the surf, all followed closely by their own team's hellion.

Morgan followed on his heels, pushing him to go faster. "Still keeping on, Little Shit? MOVE!!! You know only two from your original team are still here, don't you? Everybody else had the sense to DOR. I think you're going to be a wash out, too, Little Shit."

"NO, SIR! NO DOR!!"

DOR stood for Drop on Request. Simply put, it meant "TO HELL WITH THIS, I QUIT!!"

DOR wasn't in Curran's plans. Just as determined as before, he picked himself up only when he had crawled totally into the water. He hauled himself up, locked arms with the other twenty-odd trainees who joined him in their latest plunge into the ice cold, head high, body numbing surf. They all knew hypothermia well and were quickly there again.

"Five more. Just five more." He reminded himself over and over, until he heard Morgan's voice again.

"What was that you said! You boys aren't tired are you?"

"NO SIR!!" Twenty plus voices in unison.

"Then just keep it up. Another hour and you can have a little break."

"Hooyah!" Twenty plus voices in unison, all with teeth chattering uncontrollably, all a little closer to complete exhaustion.

But Curran knew it was false hope. That's what would kill him... believing that you would get a chance to stop and rest. You would get that chance... in five more hours, but not before... not unless you were a DOR. He wouldn't let himself buy it... as much as he needed to buy it... not now, with only five hours to go.

His ROTC officers had known how serious he was. They had answered countless questions on what was expected of SEAL trainees. He had treated the BUDs training schedule one of them gave him as a type of bible. Four years he had prepared, and he knew he was ready. Nothing had been as important... not parties, not home, not his fiancee and her expectations that he would change his mind and theirs would be a normal life. Being a SEAL was an all-consuming drive. Nothing had changed.

He was in excellent physical condition when he arrived, but he had used every moment of the first weeks to polish even more. He was determined to complete anything and everything they set for him to do.

There was only one thing that counted... DO THE DEED. The instructors here might give him hell, but he wasn't going to fail. All he had to do was remember the goal. Honestly, there had been several moments when he had felt so tired and so confused he had come close to losing sight of what he had wanted for so long.

He jerked his mind back to the task at hand. All of the men slogged their way out of the foam, feeling their uniforms stiffen instantly, and their bodies go into near convulsions.

"Just five more." He kept the thought in his mind, even as he watched three of the line simply walk away.

"There you go... that'll be you in a little bit... DORs... three sorry DORs. That's going to be you, Little Shit. Well, let's see how you do this one. Obstacle course, twelve mile run, full pack... NOW! And you Graham! You, too, Maggot! You get over here and do this with 'Little Shit."

He was yelling at an African-American man, a non-com who had crawled into the surf just like Curran. Curran had seen him before, but he didn't know who he was. He was a large man, standing three to four inches taller than Curran. He weighed two hundred-five, maybe two-twenty-five, compared to Curran's one-seventy. They were both men made of hard muscle, but the man who approached him now appeared to have a serious ATTITUDE.

James Curran had discovered what he hated most about being in Hell Week. He obviously hated being cold, wet, muddy, sweaty, blistered, hungry, tired, and miserable. He hated most having to do the damn obstacle courses, especially in front of Morgan, most especially when he was stuck with someone who had decided it just wasn't worth it. Getting tied to someone like that could be a disaster. Three of them had quit on him before. He didn't know about the man who was joining him this time.

"You two finish it in two and a half, and you better finish it together. Finish together or DOR together. You hear me? Look alive, now. RUN!!!"

"YES SIR!!" They eyed each other seriously, trying to measure each other's resolve and ability. Somewhere they connected on a level they didn't understand. Curran extended a hand. Graham shook it quickly. And then they ran.

"You're Little Shit?? Sure gets yelled a lot... don't it." Graham started a conversation somewhere after the first mile, moving with ease. Curran was amazed that a man of his size had such stamina, but they had only started.

"I guess that's me."

Curran smiled, and Graham could see why the lesser trainees hated him. The smile was filled with self-confidence and a large portion of stubborn, wilful insolence. This one was cocky as hell. He had watched him work. The Kid didn't boast about anything; he just did what was required, always with a little more style, and always with that damn cocky smile.

"You got a nickname yet?" Curran just pushed the stubborn hair out of his eyes and continued to run.

"Yeah, They call me Graham." Graham grinned at the thought, and he ran easily next to the younger man.

"Not bad. Better than mine, at least. Any idea what Morgan changed along the course this time?"

"No. But his watchdogs are out everywhere."

"No shortcuts?"

"Not a one."

"Shit! Did you even see a layout today?"

"No. But looks like the swamp's first."

They both dove into the muck that lay stretched before them, wiggling their way under the barbed wire stretched on top.

"Clear... HOOYAH!!" Graham's yell was joined by Curran's. They crawled out of the mire, snorting mud from their noses, raking swamp ooze from their hair. They just grinned at each other as the muck ran down their clothes. And then they ran.

"I hate that stuff, don't you." Curran wasn't even blowing hard yet.

"Could fool me." Graham sprinted easily beside him. "Yes, I most surely do hate the swamp. But might as well love it, we'll be seeing a lot of it if we make it through this."

The big man finished the sprint across the suddenly wooded trail, then reached out and grabbed a long rope hanging in front of him and started to climb.

From below, he heard Curran yell as he waited his turn. "I'm making it through... Looks like you are too."

Graham swung over to the next rope, aware that the lighter, thinner Curran was closing in behind him. "No shit. How do you know that?"

"You don't appear to be somebody who's going to let the last five do what the first hundred couldn't." He slid down the last rope, landing near Graham, who was already moving forward along the path.

"Four." Graham was breathing a tiny bit harder.

"Four?" Curran kept next to him, breathing harder himself.

"It's just four now."

"Damn... Your sure?"

"I'm sure... was four and a half when we finished the surf."

"Thought my balls were going to freeze this time. Only one good thing I can think of about Morgan."

"Ain't nothing good about THAT s.o.b."

"At least this run let's us warm up a little... instead of toting those damn rafts out past the breakers and back."

"Only did it cause he knows you hate the obstacle courses."

"Yeah, I do. I hate obstacle courses, but I can do them in my sleep. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I hate toting those damn rafts a whole lot more."

"Smart ass is right."

"No... just lucky... had a ROTC officer who warned me to gripe about something that wasn't so bad... He said whatever I chose to moan or bitch about was what I was going to spend a lot of time doing."

"Hum... I'll remember that."

"Four, you say. Hell, that's good. Say, what's your name?"

"Graham."

"I know that... what's your whole name?"

"Billy Graham. What's yours, besides Little Shit or Lieutenant Kiss Ass?"

"So you heard that one too... my real one's James... James Curran."

"Watch it... there's a bad place at the end of these monkey bars. Wiped out two trainees yesterday."

Curran swung up behind Graham, swinging freely from bar to bar, propelling his tall, thin frame toward the end. He swung down to the ground, and...

"Awh... shit!" He was suddenly face down in the dirt, his booted foot twisted sideways in a deep depression lurking in the path.

Graham came to a sliding halt, looking back, trying to judge the severity of the injury to his partner. "Come on... get up... we've got to move."

"Wait. I think it's broken."

"What?"

"Hell."

"Don't think about it... come on... get up... move!"

Curran pushed himself up and tested the ankle. A pain shot through it and up his leg. It was sharp enough that Curran's long-empty stomach lurched. He bent forward for a few seconds, trying to catch his suddenly shortened breath. He retched a little, but there wasn't anything to lose.

"You gonna move?"

"Yeah... it's not broken, just sprained. I'm okay... really, I'm fine."

"I don't care if it's hanging by a thread, you better move your scrawny ass."

"Okay... can you lead again?"

"Sure. I think the wall's next."

"Shit." He took a deep breath and took the first hobble.

"That's not going to get it."

"I'm just warming up... .go on... I'll be right behind you."

"You remember what Morgan said?"

"What?"

"Finish together."

"I don't want to slow you down."

"Ah, hell. You're already slowing me down, and you're slowing down to a crawl yourself."

"Look... can we just sit a minute... I'll get this boot off... " He flopped down on the ground, reaching for his boot laces.

"No! Stop! You take it off, you won't get it back on. That ankle's probably swelling up already. The boot will help hold it tight."

"Yeah... you're right... can we brace it with anything? If it doesn't bend too much, I can make it. I've got to make it."

"Only way you're gonna make it is just forget about it and move. Come on. Hell, suck it up SEAL!"

Curran felt the big man's arm reach out and drag him to his feet.

"Either you're going to move now, or you're going to DOR, man. No other way about it. We're running out of time."

"I WILL NOT DOR, DAMN IT!" Curran took a deep breath, shoved Graham in front of him, and they began again to ran. Graham heard the first yell as the man challenged his injured ankle to bend.

They hit the wall two miles later. Curran planted his foot against the wood and let out another yell even as he propelled himself up the surface. They had to make up time. He refused to let the pain stop his climb, pulling against the rope that helped give him purchase. When he hit the top, so far above the ground below, he refused to stop his momentum, sliding the rope through his hands as he careened over the top and down again toward the earth. He landed, he yelled, he puked a little, and then he ran.

"Do you puke that much all the time?" By now, Graham was beginning to tire. Hell, every SEAL trainee left was so tired they were nearly insane with it. He wasn't any different, and now he had this injured "Little Shit" to worry about.

"Nah. Awh, hell. Sometimes." Curran was more than tired. "How long now?"

"Bound to be three and a half."

"Next?" His ankle was now numb. It felt better, but he wasn't aware of when or where his foot landed, and that put him in danger of falling again. Still, the boot was tight against the swollen ankle so he just kept moving.

"Trail's climbing fast, the rope bridge has got to still be at the top, free climb after that, rappel down, twelve mile run."

"This isn't good."

"No shit. Move."

"Would you quit saying that."

"If you'll start doing, I'll stop saying."

"Damn." But he knew Graham was right. Curran picked up his feet and ran. The trail continued to rise, straining their legs, robbing their lungs of air, eating up precious time. They reached the top in far worse shape, but neither man was prepared to stop.

Then... Curran didn't remember how... the rope bridge was behind them. It was the first challenge to make Graham balk. Curran felt a little better that his teammate was human. He had actually stopped perfectly still, contemplating a first step out onto the bridge.

"Come on, Graham... no worries."

"Says who? Aw, shit... come on, you little pale face. You lead this time I hate these damn things."

"Pale face? Pale Face?"

"Yeah... you just haven't seen your own lately, Pale Face."

"Sure can't call you that... yet."

Graham starred at him, hesitating... wondering about this man. But then he saw the smile, not the cocky smile he had seen before, the true smile of a comrade, the smile of a friend.

"Okay, here goes nothing." Curran stepped out onto his numb foot and led the way across the gyrating ropes that crossed a gaping hole between two stone cliffs.

Following, Graham reached mid-point and stopped, the rope vibrating menacingly under his hands.

"You're not scared of heights are you?"

"No... never have been."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Don't know... don't know, man."

But Curran realized. "Take a deep breath, breath slow. It's just vertigo... fed by lack of food, exhaustion. It's been almost five damn days, Graham."

"Hell... I'm not going to be able to do this."

"Come on, Graham. One step at a time... look at me... don't look down. Come on Graham... talk to me... it's okay."

"It's a damn long way down." The man hiccuped the words. His fingers held a death grip on the dancing ropes.

"Not so far down from where I am."

"Not?"

"No. Three more good moves and we're past this... talk to me... take a step, Graham. Just one."

"Oh, hell." Graham moved.

"All right! HOOYAH!" Curran laughed, but only a little. He was saving what breath he had left for the free climb.

They stopped for nearly three minutes at the base of the cliff, gathering their energy.

"You any good at free climbing?" Curran finally asked when he had air in his lungs again.

"Yeah... fine with me. Sort of like this part. You leading again?"

"Sure. Help me spot a first hold."

The two men wound up in a race to the top... a race that ended in a most unsatisfactory tie. Neither man liked to finish second.

"Okay... time to rappel down... .tie off... tie me off, too, okay." Curran pulled the heavy rope from his pack and tossed the end to Graham.

"Damn!"

"What's wrong, Graham."

"My pack... there's no rope."

"No problem."

"How am I going to get down?"

"No problem. You just follow me down... use my rope."

"Strange that I got the pack with no rope... don't you think? They'll say I wasn't prepared."

"How?"

"Won't be a rope in my pack when I get back to base. They'll say I wasn't prepared. They'll make me DOR"

"Hell, won't be one in mine either. Anybody tell you how you were supposed to get the rope back after you got to the bottom?"

"No."

"Didn't tell me either. And Graham, if we don't keep it... we don't have to carry it for twelve miles. Every little ounce counts."

"Smart-ass. Damn little smart-ass." And the big man smiled.

Curran smiled again, too. "I do try. Tie off the rope will you... we're losing time."

"Okay... clear... start dropping."

Curran tested the rope from the precipice, swinging out into thin air and taking the first drop, pushing the rope out behind him as he fell.

"HOOYAH!"

On the second drop, he heard Graham yell... "Hell, I hate this shit."

Curran paused between jumps and just yelled back. "No you don't. You LOVE IT. But even if you do hate it, just don't let Morgan know." He settled into concentrating on doing this thing right.

"Right." Graham watched as Curran made quick work of the decent, then gathered his own energy and followed with no less speed himself.

The twelve mile run began. Neither man talked any more. Curran's ankle had taken another jolt when he landed at the base of the cliff. He didn't complain, but Graham could see that he wasn't running at full speed.

"You going to make it, Pale Face?"

"Yes."

"That sure?"

"Yes. You?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Any more little obstacles on the way back?" Curran didn't want to think about any more climbs or drops. He needed every ounce of strength and every bit of perseverance he had left to just run straight ahead.

"How the hell would I know? Knowing Morgan, I'd say yes."

"Shit. How much time?"

"I figure we've got forty-five minutes left to get back to base... around ninety minutes after that."

"Shit."

"Just shut up and move, Pale Face."

Seven long, agonizing miles later, with both men at a measured run, the ankle gave, but it wasn't Curran who yelled. Graham lay in the dirt, his left leg in agony.

"Come on, Graham... come on, get up... no time." Curran panted from the exertion his body was absorbing. He reached down and drew the bigger man to his feet.

"I'm not going to make it. I think it's broke."

"No... it's not broken... it's just sprained... trust me."

"How can you be sure?"

"It's got to be a sprain. All there is to it. Can't run if it's broken... right."

Graham stood and starred at the young man standing before him, suddenly understanding what Curran meant, understanding about himself what the other man had refused to acknowledge about his own situation long ago.

"Go on... you finish. I'll just slow you down." He pushed Curran gently but firmly forward.

"You remember what Morgan said?"

"What?"

"Finish together. It's both of us Graham... we make it together or we both DOR."

"I WON'T DOR, DAMN IT!"

"My sentiments exactly. Now get over here. Let's figure something out."

Three minutes later they began again. Currans' injured right was belted firmly to Graham's injured left. They tried a first tentative step.

"Damn that hurts!"

"No shit, sir."

Curran noticed the volunteered title, but he chose to ignore it. Graham would always be his friend now, never just a non-com forced by rank, tradition or situation to treat him as a superior officer.

"Look, you take smaller steps, I'll take longer ones... I can't match your stride and run at the same time. How'd you get that tall anyway?"

"Long line of long limbs, Pale Face. How'd you manage to stay so puny?" He said it, but he noticed how truly pale Curran had become. "Come on, we've only got five to go."

"I thought we had five to go when we started this shit."

"Hours... now it's miles."

"Come on then... how much time?"

"Twenty-six minutes to make it to base."

"We're not going to make it, Graham."

Suddenly the man was angry. "Look, you little shit... don't you go being the one who says that. You haven't said that once in these five long days, now have you?"

"Sure I have... but not out loud."

"Then don't you start doing it now." Graham literally snarled at him.

"Yes, sir!" Curran saluted, his cocky grin back where it belonged.

"Okay then, Pale Face. Move your scrawny ass."

And with will power alone, they began to run once more. The gait was lopsided, the pace slowed a little too much, but they ran anyway. Four miles and twenty-four minutes later, they collapsed in the dirt.

"Can't go on like this, Graham."

"What? I told you... "

"No! No! Can't go in strapped together. They'll say we didn't make it. Come on, unwrap us. We'll have to go in under our own power."

"Right." Graham released the staps.

"Think you can move? Sir, are you okay?" There was true concern behind the voice this time.

"Hell no, but we're SEALs, Graham... we'll just move anyway."

Graham laughed and pulled Curran up again. In absolute misery, the two men ran one last time. Or so they wished.

"YOU TWO ARE LATE!!! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT GOOF UPS. I TOLD YOU TWO AND A HALF, NOT TWO-THIRTY-FIVE, OR DID YOU JUST IGNORE YOUR ORDERS?"

"NO, SIR. SORRY, SIR!" They gasped the words from their place on their knees, crawling in beach sand again, just like they had started.

"DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!"

They dropped, or rather they climbed back up into position. Currans ankle screamed, and he knew Graham hurt just as much. "Just fifty... come on Graham, just fifty" and he began to count, "50... 49... 48... 47... 46... " Graham picked up the cadence and matched him push up for push up.

"PICK IT UP... PICK IT UP... MOVE!!!"

"Time?" Curran rasped it out, trying desperately to breath.

"Eighty-six." Graham puffed.

"Shit."

"No shit, sir."

"TO THE SURF... MEATHEADS!!!"

"Awh, hell."

"God... don't let it be rafts." Curran stopped to breath. "Ah, hell... Come on, Graham."

"Come on yourself. Shit!"

"We can get there... just got to move together."

Curran told himself he could do it... just eighty-six more. He reached down and wrapped an arm under Graham's arm, and together they launched themselves toward the surf.

The cold of the water was more than brutal now. On injured leg, each man felt the pounding of the surf like a sledge hammer against mangled flesh. Curran slipped and fell, then he pushed himself back up with a yell loud enough for Morgan to hear, only to be hit by another jarring wave. He puked as the exhaustion and pain coursed through his leg, but he moved, with just a little help from Graham.

"Geez... sir. At least turn around so that stuff doesn't come floating into me."

"Sorry."

"PICK A RAFT GENTLEMEN... TO THE BREAKERS AND BACK!!!"

"Son-of-a-bitch." Graham hissed.

"Not now... he'll hear you." Curran cautioned him.

"YOU HAVE ONE HOUR... THROUGH THE BREAKERS AND BACK!!! MOVE!!!!"

"Masochistic son-of-a-bitch!" It's was Curran's turn. He knew the order normally took seventy, maybe seventy-five minutes. He'd done it enough before.

"No shit, sir." Graham found something funny about the entire situation, and he began to laugh.

Even Curran joined in, feeling utterly giddy and foolish. He knew it was exhaustion and too much shock creeping in, so he made himself shut up and concentrate.

Something occurred to him while the two of them struggled to move a raft meant for eight SEALs to carry through the fiendish surf.

"Graham?"

"Yeah, Pale Face." Graham was beginning to look a little pale himself. His skin was so cold it had taken on a pale cream sheen atop his ebony features.

"Look, when we get back... "

"If we get back, Little Shit... "

"WHEN WE GET BACK, GRAHAM... "

"Yeah... yeah... What about it?"

"Don't trust Morgan, okay."

"What?"

"It ain't sixty to go... it ain't seventy-five... it's ninety... right?"

"Yeah... well, eighty-three... but if he says we're done."

"Don't trust him... go the full ninety... even if it nearly kills us."

"Fifteen more? It will kill us, man. You think he'd lie?"

"HELL, YES! Well... maybe not lie... but there'll be a catch somewhere. Son-of-a-bitch gets off on DOR, and we're his last chance. I don't know exactly why we're it, but we are. Did you see any other jokers out on the course, getting sent on a full obstacle course, a twelve mile run, and then get fifty pushups this late in the game? You see anybody else out here doing the surf, raft, and breakers without enough time to finish?"

"No... bunch back by the Grinder was just doing calisthenics... winding down."

"Do the full ninety. Graham... when we get back... we keep on moving to the damn bitter end."

"You're just being a smart ass, you know. Do I have to be a smart ass, too?"

"No... But if you are, you'll just be too smart for that piece of shit. Trust me... just do it. He's not putting my helmet in any Grinder, yours either. Not now. Not by one damn long shot."

"You're a paranoid little shit, aren't you?"

"Little paranoia... trust me... it can be a really good thing."

They were approaching the breakers. A wave of incredible power drove the raft from their frozen grasp and dumped it, top down, back into the surf.

"We're not going to make it, Pale Face."

"Yes we are."

"How... we can's overend this thing with just two of us. I don't know about you but I'm so cold... "

"Don't think about it. We just need a plan. How much time?"

"Got twenty-two to get back to the beach... another fifteen probably until we're done."

"There's got to be a way, Graham."

"Twenty-two. We've got to get this thing over, get ourselves past the breaker, then drag it back to shore. I don't think it's even remotely possible, not even if we really try."

"Drag it back?" Curran suddenly stopped and grinned, bobbing for warmth in the icy surf.

"Oh, ho, ho... I see that... what's in that brain of yours, Pale Face? You got it licked." Graham suddenly felt hope come to life again, and with the hope came a will to do it all.

"We've got it licked. Look, grab this thing... raise the side... we'll let the breakers flip it over."

"That's good... that's good. But time?"

"If we can get it over, we've got it made... just grab on and follow me... Ready?"

As Curran had planned it would be, it was Graham's height that made it possible. They pressed their worn bodies into the worst of the breaker, holding the raft sides higher, above the swelling waves. Curran felt his ankle give again as he pushed to match Graham's heft of the rubberized pontoon. When he thought he could do no more, he felt the wave sweep against the raft, pushing it up, up, and over.

As the gargantuan boat righted itself, Graham found himself dragged along, his arm pinned low inside one of the side ropes he had held. Curran saw his head disappear into the foam.

"Graham?!!! Graham!!?" He dove under the plunging raft, refusing to surface until he had found the rope that kept Graham underneath the water. He surfaced only once to refill his exhausted lungs, then dove and using his blade, sliced through the binding, letting his partner surface again.

"Thought you were gone there, Graham."

"No shit, sir."

"We've got to move."

"I can't... too damn tired. I don't give a damn, not anymore." Graham had lost too much energy struggling to hold his breath under the raft... trying not to die.

"Not now... not now, Graham... trust me. You can do it. All you got to do is pull up one more time... that's all, Graham. Come on... you've got to do it one more time."

"Pull up... pull up where?"

"Into the raft, Graham... where do you think?"

"Man, you're crazy... we've got to drag that thing back!"

"Who said?"

"That's how it's done. We've got to... "

"Why?"

"Why?" Graham held the raft and just starred at the man next to him.

"Why is this thing dragged back? It's a damn raft, Graham. It carries people. Why do we spend our damn energy dragging it back in all this icy shit?"

"But... "

"Hell, Graham... what are they going to do to us? We're so beat up now, if Morgan finds out we've got broken ankles, he'll drive us until we DOR. We try to pull this thing back, we're going to run out of time, and we're going to DOR. They don't like us riding this thing back... we're going to DOR. Only thing we can do is make a different decision... rewrite the rules. It's the only chance we've got. Come on."

Graham looked at him, hesitating, wondering if it was worth the effort.

"Come on, Graham. Hell, at least we do the deed... and we damn sure won't be late."

"You're crazy."

"Nah. I'm just a determined little shit. Son-of-a-bitch was right about that. Now move."

"Smart ass... .just a real, full fledged SEAL smart ass. I like you, Pale Face."

"Like me? Hell, Graham, don't like me... just do the damn deed. We're running out of time."

And as one they pulled themselves into the raft, paddled enough to catch an incoming wave, and quickly surfed their way back, all the way through the wind and the blowing, frozen spray, tumbling out onto the land where they had started.

"Time?"

"Are we still paranoid?"

"Paranoid as hell." Curran pushed himself up on his throbbing ankle and puked from the exhaustion and renewed pain.

"Twelve minutes then." Graham rose too, and suddenly puked as well.

"See... makes you feel a hell of a lot better, doesn't it."

"No shit, sir."

Curran's tried to move forward, but as uncoordinated as he was now, his foot slipped on the sand and he found himself on his knees again.

"Shit." He just stayed there. For a second, he simply didn't care anymore.

"Come on, Pale Face, move your scrawny ass."

"Look, Graham," he pushed himself up again, "for God's sake, would you please stop saying that."

"You start doing it, I'll stop saying it... sir."

"MOVE YOU MEATHEADS... PUT YOUR HELMETS IN THE GRINDER!"

"Son-of-a-bitch!" They whispered it together as they looked up into Morgan's purple face.

"YOU'RE DOR... BOTH OF YOU!!!"

They literally crawled to their feet.

"NO WAY IN HELL. SIR. WE WILL NOT DOR!!!!!" Curran saluted, but Graham saw the look in the man's eyes, and thought for a second that Curran was going to let it all go for the pleasure of decking the man. How well Graham understood the need.

"Ten more." He whispered it to Curran, holding him back. "Just ten more. No DOR... no DOR... don't let him get to you."

"DROP AND GIVE ME A HUNDRED!!! NOW!!!"

"Son-of-a-bitch." But he dropped down next to Graham, and they began to count the repetitions together, "100... 99... 98... ."

"Time?" Curran whispered it somewhere around fifty.

"Five to go."

"God... ." But they worked, willing the repetitions to dwindle, praying for it all to finally stop. They were so close to the end... ..the end of everything.

"YOU CAN STOP NOW, MAGGOTS. YOU CHEATED! YOU'RE OUT ANYWAY!"

They refused to give... refused to stop.

"NO, SIR! WE DID NOT CHEAT... 14... 13... 12... 11... 10..."

"WHAT DO YOU CALL IT?"

"WE STUDIED THE SITUATION, SIR AND DEVISED AN ALTERNATE PLAN! 9... 8... 7... 6... 5..."

"SINCE WHEN DO YOU TWO MAGGOTS GET TO MAKE ALTERNATE PLANS?"

"SINCE WE BECAME SEALS,... SIR... AND SINCE WE DID THE DEED! 4... 3... 2... . 1..."

"Time, Graham? Time?"

And they crawled to their feet, staggering, drunk with exhaustion, but even then they both refused to quit. They began calisthenics... slowly... but they moved.

Curran wheezed, fighting to find air... "Time, Graham?"

"AND EXACTLY WHEN DO YOU THINK THAT HAPPENED?"

"Time?" Curran ignored the man.

"Seventeen," Graham whispered.

"NO... IT CAN'T BE... IT WAS ONLY FIVE... ONLY FIVE TO GO."

"No... seventeen-oh-one. Time's seventeen-o-one hours! Time's UP... it's done."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I ORDER YOU TWO --- DOR ---- DOR RIGHT NOW!"

"No shit?" Curren sought reassurance, needing it more than he had ever needed any single thing in his entire young life.

"No shit, sir. It's done."

"DOR---NOW!!!"

"NOT A CHANCE IN HELL, MISTER MORGAN!!! NOT A CHANCE IN HELL."

"WHY YOU TWO... .!!!!"

"Hell Week is over, Mr. Morgan. As of seventeen today. As of seventeen hundred hours today we are through, and we have finished your deed."

Morgan checked his watch, defeated. "Well, shit. Dismissed."

Before the man could recover any more or think of an alternate plan for hell, together, they turned their backs on the purple face and began to hobble away. Curran turned back one last time, turning Graham with him. Suddenly the cocky smile came alive in triumph and smart ass audacity.

"Oh, Mr. Morgan?"

"What, Mr. Curran?"

"Mr. Morgan, since right now I probably outrank you... why don't you just drop and give me fifty." The smile was either maniacal or insane, but for a moment Graham really liked it.

He turned them both back toward the tents, and they simply limped away.

"You know you're probably going to get us both on report for that." Graham was deadly serious.

"Probably."

"Don't you care?"

"Not especially. Probably the biggest damn mistake Morgan ever made."

"What's that?"

"He put us together, Graham. He didn't think we'd team up... He was a fool."

"Still that stunt could hurt our career."

"Nah. Can't make a habit of it, but not at the moment it won't."

"And how can you be so damn sure it won't."

"Rules."

"What rules?"

"Rules of Hell Week."

"Rules for Hell Week?"

"The time was up... right?"

"Yeah... time was up."

"You're absolutely sure."

"Yeah... it's a SEAL watch... it ain't ever off... not even a minute."

"Then Hell Week was over. After we passed Hell Week, we went immediately to leave status... IMMEDIATELY... book says so... Right?"

"Yeah... So... "

"So, I was on leave when I made my little joke, and it WAS a joke... Right, Graham?"

"Oh... Yeah... Right... a joke."

"Well, I didn't make him DO IT, did I?"

"No."

So, good. Let the bastard report me. You didn't do anything anyway. It's just my ass. Now, come on... let's get out of here. I've got a plan."

"A plan? What plan? Shit, sir."

"It's a damn good plan, Graham. You're gonna like it."

"I don't think so."

"Cold compresses, ace bandages or casts, if they're really broken, plus painkillers at the infirmary; a little food; a l-o-n-g HOT shower; clean clothes; and then a BIG bottle of Mr. Daniel's finest sipping whiskey."

"Only five to go?"

"No, six... lots and lots of damn fine sleep. THEN, we go home. What do you say?"

"I like it, Pale Face... I do like it." He reached over and ruffled the mud-plastered hair on the younger man's head. "You know, you'd make a damn fine lawyer, Jim... the way you figured that stuff out."

"Lawyer?!! Shit, Graham. I ain't no wimpy little geek-necked lawyer. Don't you know by now that you and me ain't ever going to be nothing but a pair of first-class, smart ass, hell-raising little SEALs?"

"No shit... .sir?"

"No shit, MISTER Graham. Come on, now... move your ass."

THE END
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