Truehearts & The Escape From Pirate Moon Jake Macklem (classic romance novels TXT) 📖

hear them over the splashing water, the shouts from the other cadets, and the pounding in her ears. She did not have to—the look said it all. Just one more minute.

She glanced over at Cadet Anderson, splashing around in the water, trying to understand what was happening to her. Get it together Anderson. The girl’s brown eyes started losing focus. She barely made the hour. She fell ten minutes later and has been laying freezing to death on the concrete. It’s my fault. Should have gotten out of the pool.

As Anderson slipped under the water, Smith moved toward her but Commander Diaz shouted, “Hold Cadet! You either both save her or you both watch her drown,”

Smith’s eyes pleaded with Ace. “C’mon Ace, we have to save her.”

Through chattering teeth, “She’s gonna have to save herself or wait a couple minutes.” Smith narrowed her eyes, but Ace stared at Diaz. I see what you’re doing hussy. Russell began to sink, her eyes open but not seeing. Her brown hair floated out around her in all directions. Like an angel in space.

Smith’s attention turned to Anderson as she touched the bottom of the pool. “She’s gonna die because of you!”

You just don’t get it Smith. Anderson is the weakest link. The cadet placed last in more mandatory minimum events than any other cadet, and she never won any daily or weekly challenges. She’s a washout at best. But this isn’t about her. It’s about us. You shouted their rhetoric, but do you believe their propaganda? That’s the real test, Smith. Can we live with someone dying because we choose mission success over lives? “The water’s cold, she can survive. We can save her.” The clock ticked down. Just one more minute. A warmth filled her chest, feeling of accomplishment swelled. “I’ll dive down to her, you get to the edge and be ready to pull her out. Got it?” Smith struggled, but she finally nodded in understanding.

“What is it you ladies are gossiping about?” Commander Diaz asked. “I can’t hear you over your fellow cadets chattering!”

“Smith was just asking what I was going to do with my weekend pass, ma’am,” Ace yelled.

Commander Diaz grinning ear to ear. “And what did you tell her, cadet?”

“I’m gonna find me some dick, ma’am!”

A few chuckles escaped from the shivering cadets as the clock ticked the last few seconds. Ace locked eyes with Smith: “Are you ready?”

Smith nodded.

Commander Diaz brought her whistle up and blew. Smith swam fast toward the pool’s edge while Ace took a deep breath and dove into the water. Anderson gently bobbed along the bottom. Swimming to her, Ace wrapped her arms around the dead girl's waist. She planted her feet and launched off the bottom. As she surged through the surface, she rolled onto her side to keep her comrade’s face out of the water and began scissor kicking to the edge. Smith grabbed Anderson’s cold body and Ace pulled herself out after. Together they laid Anderson flat and started CPR.

Both cadets were trained and certified and knew exactly what to do. She’s been underwater two minutes. One minute could begin brain damage. “You ready?” Smith tilted Anderson’s head back, checked the airway, and nodded. Compress. Compress. Compress. Breathe. Together they performed perfectly, doing everything exactly right. Then they did it again. And again. Ace lost track of how many times.

Her knees pressed against the concrete and hurt. The cold was making it difficult to keep the right rhythm. C’mon Anderson. Wake up! You need to wake up! You should have already woken up! Ace felt a hand on her shoulder; she shook it off but it returned. Turning, she saw Commander Diaz looking down at her.

“It’s time to call it, cadet.” The commander's voice was remarkably calm and soothing. Ace shook her head. No! Smith had stopped but Ace went on alone. She fixated on Anderson’s face, blank eyes staring back, head lolling with every compression. She would not stop trying.

Commander Diaz knelt and spoke softly, “She’s gone, Ace.” She stared down at Anderson’s body. Standing again, the commander faced the shivering cadets and their terrified looks. Speaking in the same soft tone, she said, “Hit the showers, ladies. Get warm. Debrief at nineteen hundred hours. Dismissed.” The young women stared at Anderson’s dead body. No one moved.

“I said dismissed!”

Snapped from their stupor, the young women helped their friends up and shuffled toward the locker room. Tight-lipped, Commander Diaz watched them leave. Smith stood up and walked away with the other cadets. Ace listened as they left.

“I didn’t think they were serious when they said some people wouldn’t survive bootcamp.”

“She just threw her in.”

“Hart didn’t have to stay in the water.”

A whispered reply, “Yes, she did.”

Two corpsmen dressed in white set down a stretcher. Ace stared at them, her vision drawn in until everything else around her slowly faded, like breath into the blackness of space. Ace stood by as they moved Anderson. She reached out and grabbed the girl’s dog tags and broke the chain with a sharp jerk. One corpsman pulled a white sheet over her still open eyes. Why didn’t I close her eyes? They carried the stretcher away.

Ace stared out over the pool. The clock read 00:00. I’m alone. She looked at her hands; they were full, with thirty-four dog tags. Ace’s eyes widened in shock. Hearing wet footsteps, she stood and turned.

Every Cadet from her class stood in front of her, each freshly wounded from the injury that killed them. Bullet holes and stab wounds. Charred and mangled corpses. Deformed and destroyed young women. Cadet Amber Anderson shuffled forward, wet puddles collecting behind her with each step, her wet hair clinging to her face. Her eyes locked on to Ace.

“I’m sorry!” Ace held out the dog tags. “I’m sorry.”

A charred hand slammed another dog tag into Ace’s