Dawn Patrol

67

Navy SEALs do it in training, but they're freaking Navy SEALs.

Lie in the ocean in winter at night, that is, not moving as frigid water washes over them, drops their body temps toward hypothermia, makes them shake uncontrollably, their bones and flesh aching with cold.

But that's what Boone, Petra, and Tammy do as Danny and his boys hunt the beach for them. Boone wraps an arm around each woman and holds her as hard as he can, feels them shiver as he tries to relax his own body. It's the only way to survive psychologically-force yourself to relax, not tighten up.

Cold and wet are a deadly combo. You can survive cold, you can tolerate wet, but the two of them together can kill you, send your body into shock, or force you out of the water into lethal gunfire.

Boone knows they don't have a lot of time left. He looks over at Petra. Her face is set in grim determination. Stiff upper lip and all that happy crap, but the woman is holding on; she's a lot tougher than she looks.

Tammy's eyes are shut tight, her lips clamped together, her jaw muscles locked. She's holding on.

Boone tightens his grip on both of them.

Dan is puzzled.

He had Daniels and the two broads in a box, and they're gone.

Just gone.

Like the fog wrapped them up and took them.

He looks out toward the surf. No way, he thinks. No fucking way. That's suicidal. The cop sirens come closer and Dan hears footsteps running down the stairs. Turns to see those big cop flashlights piercing the fog.

Time to boogie.