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Amy couldn’t swim.
At least, she couldn’t swim well. A pathetic little dog paddle for a few minutes on a sunny beach day was about it. She couldn’t tread water, or open her eyes underwater, or hold her breath for that long.
Which was proving to be a serious problem because she was probably about to drown.
Goddamn Hannibal and his fucking plans.
They were in the countryside for a job. It seemed fairly straightforward, some sort of private army of backwoods doomsday preppers had been terrorizing a little town out in the middle of nowhere. Seems they wanted to drive the townsfolk out so they can buy up the land for their compound.
A nice newlywed couple trying to run a country store there, Joan and Mark Harwood, had come to LA to find the team after local law enforcement had proved to be members of the psycho militia. They took the case, and set out to get the goons to back off.
It started to go to shit pretty fast.
The head goon was ex-military, guy named Taylor, and completely off his rocker. Even Murdock said so. He was also incredibly well armed. And many of his followers were also ex-military. Making them a tougher group to fight off in comparison to the usual thugs the team trashed on a regular basis.
Not that Hannibal was fazed. He taunted Taylor as usual, and even hit his compound hard, gaining in the upper hand with gumption alone.
Then Decker showed up, who knows what tipped him off this time.
At that point all hell broke loose. They were all chasing each other around the back roads of the town.
The thugs scattered. The boys jumped in the van and took off. Amy was tossed the keys to a white passenger van that the goons had been using and told to peel out and go back to watch over their client while they played hide and seek with their pursuers.
She’d made it a few miles before a rusty pick-up with a few of Taylor’s men snuck up on her, hanging out the windows and standing in the truck bed, putting potshots in the side of her van. She hit the gas and whipped down the road desperately hoping she’d come across the team, or even some MPs, before these creeps shot out her tires.
What she found instead was a good-sized bridge, over a fast moving river, with no guard rails on either side of the opening.
She was coming in too fast and she knew it. The world went into slow motion, the van went off the road, plummeting head first into the river. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, the airbag went off, thankfully she had her seatbelt on and didn’t get slammed in the face.
Not so thankfully, the van started a steady descent into the murky water.
She didn’t move for a minute, stunned, before quickly attempting to undue her belt.
It wouldn’t budge.
The windshield was cracked but didn’t burst open, she watched the water line rise up until she couldn’t see anything but brown, silt-filled water out the front of the van.
The windows along the side still had daylight, she just needed to climb to doors in the back of the van. She just had to get out of her seat.
The belt wouldn’t come loose, the buckle was jammed, she tried to wiggle out from under it but no dice.
It was here that she remembered she couldn’t swim.
Goddamn it.
She didn’t want to panic, she’d been proud of her ability to keep cool during missions. For someone with no background in this type of work she’d adapted very quickly.
Her minor panic attack in Jamestown early on was the first and last time she’d crumbled in front of the guys, she swore it wouldn’t happen again and it hadn’t. Call it her tenacity, but she wanted them to rely on her like they did with each other. And she knew they wouldn’t if she was falling apart at every dangerous turn.
But this one might do her in. She’d picked up a lot of new skills since joining them but swimming wasn’t on the list. And now she couldn’t even get out of her seat.
Suddenly all she could think about was the freezing January waters creeping up from below her, seeping in through the door seams and slowly but steadily soaking the floor and wetting her feet. The sunlight slipped away as the van sank lower, shadows filling the cabin.
Would she suffocate before all the water got in? Maybe freeze to death? She wasn’t sure how deep the river was, deep enough to submerge the van she knew that. She had yet to hit bottom.
If only she’d been knocked unconscious on impact, then she wouldn’t have to wait around to die.
Tears stung her eyes, her breath came in short gasps and she clawed at the seatbelt release, ripping her fingernails as she tried to unstick it.
“Please,” she whispered to whatever may be listening, “please, not like this.”
A thud hit the back of the van, the back door swung open and light beamed in from the overhead sun.
Did Taylor’s men go in after her? Why would they bother? Maybe it was the team?
She didn’t care either way. The back of the van wasn’t completely under water yet, but it would be soon.
“Help!” She screamed. “I’m stuck! My belt!”
A shadow fell over the beam of light, and she heard a guttural string of swears spew out of the mouth of her rescuer. She recognized the male voice but couldn’t place it in the moment.
“Please!”
Whoever he was, he jumped down into the van, balancing on the back of the third row of seats before crouching down and slamming the back door shut, casting them in darkness again.
“Wait don’t close the door!” She shrieked, that was their only way out.
“I had to, the water line was up to the bumper, we won’t get you out in time before the water poured in.” Her rescuer snapped as he fumbled with something in his hands.
A flashlight clicked on, Amy craned up to see, and locked brown eyes with icy blue ones.
Decker. Her savior was Decker. Olive green uniform soaking wet up to his shoulders where he kept the flashlight out of the water, usual scowl in place.
Well, he was a stark improvement over Taylor’s thugs, so she’d take it.
The Colonel maneuvering downward, stepping carefully over rows of seats until he could swing into the passenger seat. The van was tilted downward, Amy could feel her belt digging into her waist and shoulder as she hung from her seat. Decker turned around and put the flashlight and his hip into the dashboard so he could lean beside her.
Large calloused hands wrapped around hers, peeling them off the belt buckle, she hadn’t realized she’d been gripping it so tight. Instead she clung to the sides of her seat.
Decker yanked roughly at the buckle, and scowled deeper when it wouldn’t move. Reaching behind him he pulled a folding knife out of his back pocket, flipping it open.
He slide under her slightly, bracing himself against her seat and the dash.
“I’m going to cut you loose,” he said, voice like gravel, “ready?”
She nodded, wanting to be free of the straps.
He cut the upper strap first, she jolted forward into his shoulder. She felt his breath on her neck as he sliced through the waist strap, dropping her full weight against him. He held firm, waiting as she pushed off his shoulders and braced against the steering wheel. Then he slipped out from under her, the knife sliding back into his pocket.
There they laid, hips and ribs against the dashboard and steering wheel, facing each other.
She was still gasping for air, it was already starting to feel thin, she hoped he couldn’t see the tear tracks on her face, but in the harsh yellow light of the torch, he probably could.
“Thank you Colonel.” She said shakily.
He nodded without comment. God does anything ever get to him?
“What do we do now?” She asked, “wait for help?”
He looked around, shaking his head. “I was alone when I saw you go over, the truck behind you peeled out, I radioed for assistance before jumping in but I’m not sure it was picked up. My car is up there, but we can’t wait around hoping for rescue.”
“Shit,” she sighed, “so what do we do?”
“I have a plan but it won’t be pleasant.” He grumbled.
They felt a jolt, they’d hit bottom. The van leveled out just a bit, bumper sinking into the muck.
She held back a whimper. “This is already pretty unpleasant Colonel.”
He nodded grimly. “We can’t open the doors against the water, only way to get them open is to equalize the pressure.”
“By?”
“Opening the windows, letting the water in, once the cabin is completely full we should be able to open the door, swim our way out.”
A cold slimy sensation filled her stomach, making it churn uncomfortably.
“I…I can’t swim. N-not well.”
He was silent a moment, seemingly contemplating how best to deal with her. She mentally braced for a scathing remark about her capabilities as a member of a commando team.
“Can you hang on to me?” He asked, no judgment in his tone. “All you have to do is hold your breath and stay as limp as possible, I can bring us up.”
The surprise of his lack of cruel critique flew by quickly as panic creeped into her again. Hang on to him? While he wiggled out of the van in the frigid water? What if they got stuck? “I’m-I’m not sure I can make it,” she stammered, “and if we have to hold our breath until we can open the door I’m afraid-“
“I can get you out Ms. Allen.” The Colonel growled firmly. “I may not be Hannibal Smith but I have plenty of experience being in tight spots.”
A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up from her throat. “I’m kinda glad you’re not Hannibal.” She admitted. “He’d think this was a great time, probably be grinning like a lunatic while I hyperventilated next to him.”
She was furious to feel tears well up in her eyes again, how was this more terrifying than being shot at? Somehow it just was.
“Ms. Allen.”
She glanced up, locking eyes with the Colonel again, his scowl had softened some. She had to hand it to him, whether he had a gun to his face, or was buried alive in a river, the man could keep a cool head.
“You are right to be scared, you’d be as crazy as Smith if you weren’t. This isn’t a good situation, but I can get you out of it. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.” She scoffed softly, wiping her eyes in frustration.
“The river is only about thirty feet deep,” he continued. “The current is strong but I’m a good swimmer. I’ve maneuvered out of wrecks like this before, I can get us out and up to the surface within a few minutes, you just have to trust me.”
She stared at him. She thought about all the times he’d chased down her and the team like a hunting dog, how often he’d cursed her out personally when she’d denied knowing the guys.
She thought about the last time she saw him, they’ve been stuck together locked in a warehouse after the whole thing with the crooked sheriff and Face’s political campaign scheme. He hadn’t said a word to her the whole time they were stuck together with him and his men.
And yet, he was in his own way, the other Colonel in her life. Dependable and regular as taxes, cool under pressure, crazy in his own way. In a strange fashion, she did trust him. Like Hannibal, when he gave his word, he probably meant it.
“OK.” She whispered. “What do I do?”
He shuffled awkwardly in his position as he spoke, tucking the torch under his arm and reaching down to undo his shoelaces, pulling off heavy combat boots. His hat was tossed off as well, graying blonde hair catching the light.
“When I say, roll down the window on your side. Then just try to breathe evenly and stay calm. Once the water is high enough I’ll open my door. When I grab you, hold on tight, try to keep the rest of you limp. And when we go under, take the deepest breath you can and hold it.”
She nodded shakily. “Why is this scarier than be shot at?” She blurted.
He huffed what could almost be called a laugh under his breath, mouth twitching upward. “Because bullet wounds can be packed, and fights can be won, but air is air. And without it Ms. Allen, even the most daring go down.”
“Amy,” she corrected, offering a weak smile.
His mouth twitched again. “Rick. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
They positioned themselves at the doors. Decker held the flashlight above his head with one hand while the other laid on the window crank.
“It will short out when the water hits it, just stay where you are, I’ll get you.”
Another nod, and they started to crank.
The water hit her like a punch in the gut. So cold she could barely inhale as it cascaded over her. She shivered violently but forced her hand to keep cranking until the window was fully down.
The water rose fast, her skin screamed in pain before going numb. It was up to her neck in no time and she couldn’t contain her anguished cry. She would die here, in this stupid van in this stupid river.
“Look at me Amy,” said the Colonel sharply.
She glanced over, the water was up to his neck as well. His expression was the same stony look he gave the team when chasing them. Pure determination with no room for emotion. She could feel him willing some of that self control towards her. As she took her final deep breath she tried to freeze her feelings the same as her body.
Her eyes squeezed shut. And suddenly there was nothing but cold and blackness.
The seconds ticked by at a snails pace. It felt like ages before muscled arms wrapped around her waist. Her arms came up and wrapped around his as ordered. She tried to remain limp as she felt him push off the door, water rushed by her as she felt her leg brush the doorframe. The current blasted her face without the shelter of their metal tomb.
They were out of the car. She squeezed him hard as she felt whipcord muscles shift under her arms, swimming furiously for the surface. Were they swimming up or down? She couldn’t tell. Her lungs burned, she desperately wanted to breath, inhale fresh air.
What would the team think if she died down here, washing up on shore in Decker’s arms, Hannibal would have a fit.
She was just contemplating the look on her friend’s face when suddenly they hit the surface. Her eyes opened in shock, burning with the silt of the river in them. She inhaled sharply, coughing when some water made its way down her throat. She felt Decker hoist her higher in his arms so her shoulders were out of the water. He was still swimming for the shore.
He broke her grip on him, she squeaked in protest, but he just turned her so her back pressed against his chest, one arm around her like an iron bar as he backstroked with the other. She remained limp, spreading her limbs out as much as she could, trying to float.
Eventually she felt them hit land, and Decker scrambled backwards up the bank, hauling her ass out with him.
They dropped onto the field of wet pebbles lining the river, side by side, breathing heavily.
She turned to see him with his eyes closed, looking drained.
“You alright?” He grunted.
She couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud, grinning like a maniac. “Thank you Rick.”
"You're welcome," he smirked towards the sky.
They laid there a while longer before she became bothered by the sharp stones underneath her, and hauled herself up into a sitting position. The Colonel remained where he was. She was about to quip about it not being a good time for a nap when she noticed blood trickling down the pebbles.
Turning quickly she leaned over him. Decker was all scraped up. Bleeding from his elbows and forearms, his shirt was torn, more blood dripping from his ribs, a good sized gash decorated his temple, the skin around it swelling up fast.
“Shit” she cursed, pulling off her soaked button down she had on over her tank top, bunching it up and pressing it into his wound. He winced but didn’t object or open his eyes.
“How’d it happen?”
“Hit it on the way out the door, couldn’t see well.”
“What about the rest of you?”
“Rocks. It’s not that bad.”
“The scrapes aren’t but your head is bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“Head wounds.” He murmured, as if that explained something.
Amy looked up, it was getting dark now, she could see the tracks where she went off the road, but the van had completely vanished under the water, like it was never there.
Above her on the road she could see Decker’s MP car, light flashing, driver door open, like he had opened it and charged right into the water. Which is exactly what he did, she was sure.
Question was what to do now. She looked down at the Colonel, he was pale and shivering violently, she was too. What a pair they made.
“I’ll be right back Colonel,” she said, “I’m gonna use your radio, try to get Captain Crane.”
He didn’t acknowledge her, he might have fallen asleep.
She dragged stiff, screaming muscles up the hill, collapsing in the driver's seat of the car. Turning the key and blasting the heater.
She picked up the radio, “Amy Allen to Captain Crane.”
The radio crackled, “Crane here,” came a tense voice. “Ms. Allen how did you get this frequency?”
“I’m at the bridge on the river, not far from Taylor’s compound, I can’t think of any other landmarks. Colonel Decker is with me, he’s hurt.”
“What happened?!” Snapped Crane. Amy heard protectiveness in his voice, like she’d heard in the past with her team, she found herself wondering if Crane was as close to his Colonel as the guys were to Hannibal.
“Long story, he helped me out of a tight spot but now he had a head wound. You’ll want to get a medic down here.”
“Acknowledged. Stay with him, we’ll be there soon. Crane out.”
Amy put the radio down and jumped as the passenger door of the car opened up. She relaxed as Decker dropped into the seat. He must have hauled himself up the bank. He was still covered in blood and had her soaked shirt in his hand, but his head wasn’t bleeding as hard anymore.
She made sure the vents were tilted towards him on his side. “How are you feeling?”
“Old.” He said bluntly. “Twenty years ago this little adventure wouldn’t even have winded me.”
She snorted, “that’s what you got out of this?”
He shrugged weakly, leaning back in the seat. “When you get to my age you’ll understand.”
“Any chance you have any blankets in the trunk?” She asked, “this heater ain’t cutting it.”
“None,” he grunted. “Crane on his way?”
“Yup.”
They sat in silence for a moment before a thought occurred, the investigative reporter in her surged forward.
“When did you do it before?” She asked.
“Do what?” Decker asked in confusion.
“In the van, you said you’d maneuvered out of a submerged vehicle before, when was that? Vietnam?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, looking somewhat bemused. “Korea. Ambulance rolled into a river. I was in the back with a medic.”
“Did you all make it out?”
“The driver died on impact, the medic and I made it out.” A shadow crossed his face for a moment before blinking away.
“Huh.” She replied. “Looks like you have your own brand of luck Colonel.”
“Yes Ma’am, I guess you could call it that.”
He gave her a sideways glance.
“Can’t imagine you feel like helping me find your friends.”
She grimaced. “What friends are those Colonel?”
He huffed bitterly. “Let me guess, you’re vacationing here coincidentally right?”
“Something like that.” She replied, not unkindly.
“Fine,” he shook his head, then winced at the movement, “I don’t have the energy to care.”
The woods around them darkened, only the river could be heard. Then sirens sounded off in the distance.
“Here comes your guys.” She murmured.
“Mmhmm.” He looked paler.
She reached over, clutching his freezing hand in her own.
“Thank you Colonel.”
He looked at her in surprise before squeezing back weakly. “Yeah well, don’t get used to it.” He grumbled. “I’m still going to bust you and your team eventually.”
“Yeah,” she grinned, “I think I might believe you.”
She could have run, hid from Crane, but she was freezing, and tired, and the guys were nowhere in sight.
Crane and his men swarmed in fast. She expected the Captain to grill her on where the team was, but he took one look at Decker half passed out in the car, and just asked her what happened.
She told him, and he gave them both to the EMTs, who promptly wrapped both of them up in survival blankets and shipped them off in an ambulance.
At the nearest hospital she got fluids, antibiotics (who knows what was in that river), a hot shower and a meal. They even tossed her frozen clothes down to the laundry room for a quick wash and dry.
She called the Harwoods, they said they’d come get her. According to them the team managed to evade the MP’s and were currently trussing up Taylor and his men for the state troopers, they were wondering where she went. She gave them the number for the hospital to pass on to them.
Then she went back to their shared room. The Colonel had been brought a clean uniform, refusing to wear a hospital gown, and had managed to fall asleep hooked into his IV, head stitched, finally not shivering under his blankets.
She sat on her bed, Crane would be back soon, she would leave before then. The phone rang, she picked up.
“How you doin’ kid?” Came Hannibal’s voice.
“I’m alright,” she replied. “Taylor taken care of?”
“Yup, he’ll be spending a long time in a small cell. His friends too.”
“Everyone OK?”
“No casualties here, what happened to you?”
“Van went over the bridge.”
“Damn. Glad you got out.”
“I didn’t, Decker saved me.”
“Decker?!”
“Yeah, jumped in and dragged me out.”
“Huh…guess we owe him one.”
“Guess we do.”
She heard her friend sigh into the phone. “Sorry we weren’t there kid, we should have been.”
“S’OK Hannibal, it happens with our line of work.” She looked at the man across from her. “Turns out Decker’s just as reliable as you are.”
“Can’t say I love that comparison.”
“Tough, he earned it today.”
“Fair enough, we’re heading out, you all set?”
“Yup, I’ll spend the night with the Harwoods’ and head back tomorrow.”
“OK, talk to you soon.”
He hung up.
Decker stirred in his sleep. She reached over and threw another blanket from her bed over him.
“Easy now Colonel,” she murmured. “You can catch him later, sleep.”
She heard Crane coming down the hall, and left quickly the other way.