Straight off the plane at Chicoltgo International Airport, I knew I was in for a wild ride. I had met up with a couple other recruits in Alderneigh who shared flights, and as instructed we sought out the khaki-dressed chief petty officers waiting in an ESO lounge on the second floor of Terminal 1, where we found another small group of recruits standing by for orders.
Because of the establishment's association with the armed forces, we were provided hot meals on-the-house to fill us up after a long day's journey, now that we had been informed that the final jaunt to basic training would not be until later this evening, once all recruits in our training division have arrived and are accounted for.
However, in the time we spent waiting, there was no talking in the chiefs' presence. Absolutely none. The only exception to this were the few short instances we were asked questions regarding our enlistment, such as name, place of origin and recruiting station, and even a couple quick knowledge checks. That, and if we needed to use the restroom, which many of us did in that span of time. One or two of the others returned some ounces lighter, having already lost their lunch due to high nerves.
By around nine that evening, the three remaining recruits arrived and checked in as soon as deplaning procedures would allow. One's flight was delayed over an hour in his home city due to heavy snow showers affecting visibility, though it certainly kept our new superiors content that they made the eleven o'clock deadline. After that point, they would have been written up, their own fault or not. That's just how strict it is.
One by one, our names were called for a final count, a glint of hope that we would be soon leaving. Only a few minutes later were our prayers answered, and in a single-file line, we were led up a floor to a platform that extended half the length of the terminal itself. There, a two-carriage passenger train sat idle, only opening its doors for us as the chiefs ushered us inside.
While taking the outside appearance of a basic light-rail train for identity concealment, it made you crystal clear upon first step aboard who it belonged to. Small posters of propaganda much alike the ones at the recruitment office sat up high between windows, and a lighted sign on the front of the carriage virtuously read 'Next Stop: Your Future'.
We quickly took our seats a minute and a half before leaving the station, after an accompanying master-at-arms ensured nopony unauthorized would join us for the journey. Puzzled commuters on the platform looked on, probably wondering why an armed guard took watch over one of the city's many metro trains, little were they aware.
And so this was it. My mind raced a hundred miles per hour, as if in utter disbelief that this was real, that I am less than an hour from arriving at Navy boot camp.
I relaxed into my seat, glancing out the right window to watch the quiet city streets roll past below. The track from the airport curved east, bringing us close enough to downtown to gaze in awe at the expansive skyline before turning north, along a main line that would eventually branch off near our final destination. After all, what sense would it make to construct a track solely for the purpose of connecting the airport to the Navy's only boot camp?
Soon, the bright metropolis faded off, and the golden-orange glow of street lights became less frequent. For a few minutes we raced through empty countryside before pulling through another small city, presumably one of Chicoltgo's outskirt suburbs.
Throughout the journey, my fellow recruits repeatedly found themselves drifting asleep while things were tranquil. However, that didn't last long, as before they could complete a full minute of sleep they were swiftly reawakened by a chief's booming request for a serial number, which they were forced to recite in an alert manner in spite of evident fatigue. No matter how far each of us have traveled to end up here on the train together, we were all equally fending off sleepiness as long as needed until we reach our racks.
At the same time, there were a few of us who found it difficult to let ourselves doze off. The overbearing sense lingered that at any given minute, we would arrive at boot camp and immediately be shouted at. I especially found myself in a constant, somewhat anxious muse of wondering what will happen tonight and for each day over the next two months. What spiked my adrenaline the most was the idea that anything can be thrown my way, and that both excited and worried me.
I did have something to look forward to, though. Following a week's wait after taking the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery—or ASVAB for short—it was to my surprise to learn just how well I had done on it and what was available to me; and that was just about anything I could think of. So, with a little extra time discussing high-scoring rates, Petty Officer Taltucker explained the Electronics Technician rate to me. It piqued my interest initially, but it wasn't until he discussed sea rotation time that really drew me towards it. And so my hoof was in the door for the 'A' School upon completion of basic training.
A light bump in the rail jutted me out of contemplative trance, just in time to watch a large sign reading 'Recruit Training Command North Shores', along with numerous division emblems unreadable to my moderately zoned-out eyes slowly pass the window.
The train's wheels screeched as it braked into the depot, which also marked the end of this track with concrete bumpers. Nothing more than the average city stop, the station was open-air with a tall metal cover with brick pillars to match the architecture of what the camp appeared to be its own incorporation based on size.
On the platform stood a pair of silhouetted sailors, notably stocky with shortened manes even under the poorly-lit canopy. I'm not sure why, but seeing them waiting there, completely motionless in the dark of night not unlike that of a preying serial killer, sent a cold chill running up my spine.
Exiting the train, we lined up on a white painted line that extended the length of the platform. No one's hooves were allowed past that point, and it was made clear after one of the recruits in our training division, a sky blue earth pony, mistakenly placed the tips of his forehooves over the edge and was immediately bombarded by the incoherent barking of not one, nor two, but four chief petty officers.
A brief check ensured each of us had the required paperwork on our person, where it would later be glossed over thoroughly by the sailors that process in new recruits.
Without another word spoken, all four chiefs—two leading, two tailing—brought our surprisingly tidy group of eleven toward a two-story brick building, its atrium-type entrance sitting beneath a clock tower that looked over the whole of and marked the exact center of North Shores.
Inside, beside a painted mural of Equestria's naval history that extended the whole of the south wall, another thirteen recruits stood, perfectly lined up in rows of three, but were soon forced to shift around to consolidate us new arrivals in based on name. We figured it out pretty quickly, given the chiefs patience would run out in the blink of an eye if we didn't in under a minute. Having the first letter of the alphabet as the start of my name, followed by the letter 'N' put me behind two others in the far left row.
Once rearranging had completed, the four chief petty officers formed their own line ahead of us. The tallest, a well-defined teal unicorn with one hell of a ribbon rack on his left breast, stepped forth, and spoke with a voice deep and stern.
"My name is Chief Petty Officer Stygius, and I am your Recruit Division Commander, or RDC for short, but you shall address me as Chief, or Sir. Welcome to Recruit Training Command North Shores, where today marks your final day as a civilian.
"Over the next eight weeks, you will endure a series of relentless tests that will either make or break you. The latter shall not happen on my watch so long as you follow my every command, as well as the orders of other petty officers in our training division. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Chief," we answered in unison.
He blinked, unaccepting of our response. "Is that understood?!" he raised his voice.
"Yes, Chief!" we answered again, louder this time, echoing through the hall.
"Excellent. Through these double doors, you will have sixty seconds to make a phone call, so spend them wisely. Once that minute is up, I expect each and every one of you to be back out here in the exact spot you are standing now."
With a repeating sideways gesture of his paper-holding hoof, he glared down our line. "Get moving."
Third into the room, I walked up to a stand shaped like a pentagon that included five phones, there being four more in the room to accommodate as many recruits at one time as can be, plus many more along the walls between propaganda signs.
Singular bits were provided to begin the calls. To save as much time on the call as I could, I picked up the receiver and held it to my ear, spent a couple of moments to remember the correct number, and slipped the coin through the slot.
It rang for a good few seconds, eating away at precious time. As it seemed to speed on by with no answer, worry grew in my mind that I may not hear her calming voice one last time. It was late, an hour later back home because of time zones, so she could have been well off to sleep by now.
However, a glimmer of hope shined through as I heard the clicking of a hoofset lift up through the speaker against my ear.
"H-hello?"
I smiled softly, but had to speak up over the ambience of others talking simultaneously. "Hey, Mom. I made it here safely."
⚓
Sweat slicked my forehead and drenched around the collar of my yellow t-shirt. Grunts emanated from my throat as I pushed myself up one more time. Every day in the first two weeks followed almost the exact same routine; wake up at 0500 sharp, don our training clothes, exercise for an hour before breakfast.
First week and the four days prior, which were processing days or 'P-Days', consisted of a mixture of exercises and medical examinations, as well as setting up crucial credentials for the service, such as the Navy's secure and exclusive bank branch.
Second week included drill, knowledge exams and, while less than the week before, continued exercises such as running, crunches, and push-ups, all of which to prepare us for the end of this week.
Coming up was a major physical test, which our performance would determine our advancement to the next stages of training. Between push-ups, us pegasi were ordered to replicate the number required with our wings only to build up their endurance ahead of a flight capabilities test.
Flying was not my greatest strength; it wasn't that I had never learned, it was because even leaping off the ground for ten seconds back home is a risky move because of the cold. Despite conditions varying little here in Chicoltgo, it was still part of the graduation requirements to pass a test for pegasi.
Come to find out, too, each race had their own unique assessment. We had to strap ourselves to a machine and let it launch us airborne, where we would then have to immediately recover our spin and land safely, and each of us would do it again until we succeed.
Earth ponies had an advanced sort of swimming test on top of what everybody else would later have to endure, for which we would be issued a one-piece blue uniform called coveralls that are supposed to be of some aid in the water.
Finally, unicorns took a two-day course to sharpen their use of magic, from utilizing it for the most basic of tasks to actual spells and attacks, as well as the art of takedown against opposing unicorns.
Frankly, I don't know which exam I am least excited for. Either one, if failed horribly, would result in the forced enrollment of a class to bring me up to Navy standards. Despite lack of experience in either field, however, I had slightly more hope in my ability to ace the flight portion.
Swimming, not so much. With waters surrounding Gander Cove that averaged anywhere between 30 to 50 degrees during the summer months, and colder-than-freezing in the winter, taking a lengthy dip in the harbor any time of year varied my chances of winding up in urgent care to be treated for hypothermia.
At Stygius' command, I leaped up on all fours attentively along with the rest of my division. In spite of the nipping December cold, my entire body radiated with heat, and my head throbbed like the pounding of my heart.
Part of me relieved in standing up straight once more, though the trembling of my hooves threatening to give out from the push-ups said otherwise. Being barely noon and this exhausted already, it was certainly a long day ahead. Hell, my flank still faintly ached from that massive shot administered three weeks ago, dreaded by just about anypony to have ever enlisted in any branch; the Peanut Butter shot.
Well... it wasn't that bad. I think something in the syringes jabbed in my arms earlier that same day and the one prior enhanced my tolerance of large objects sinking into my flesh, or perhaps overall pain from being exercised to near death cancelled out the feeling. I wasn't the biggest fan of needles from birth on, so when it went in and came back out with a smaller pinch than the tinier needles used before it, I was more than dumbfounded.
One thing Misty was right about, though. Shortly before leaving home, about a few days ahead of time, she did mention how basic training was more mental than physical. I believed it then, and boy, do I believe it now. Granted, it was to test our steel under pressure, and anypony that can't stand it either must suck it up until they refuse to any longer, which then they are discharged and sent home as soon as their bodies hit the deck.
That won't be me. Not now, not ever. I am determined to make my parents proud, even if only one of them still resides on this earth. I will make it. I will survive Navy boot camp.
⚓
"Today you will be taking the Third Class Swim Test. This is to determine whether you will be able to stay afloat and survive long enough for a rescue operation to take place, such as if you were on a ship out at sea and fall overboard."
Swim call. Of all days, I dreaded this one the most. Before the march that brought us to the large structure containing the pool where we would take our test, Chief Petty Officer Stygius, along with the rest of our RDCs, gravely and repeatedly advised us throughout the morning to increase our water intake prior to swim call. This was to prevent our bodies from cramping up in the middle of the test.
The edges of this pool were made of retractable panels, each individually programmed to move in or out to simulate real oceanic conditions without the need of a steady wind. They were inactive right now for our training division, but would be used later for another arriving in the late afternoon.
"This test consists of two modules. Module One has three separate events; a deep water jump from a twenty-foot platform, a fifty-yard swim, and a five-minute prone float, also known as the Dead Pony's Float."
The instructor paused briefly to clear his throat. "Two of you at a time will jump from the platform the moment you are instructed to. Any hesitation, and you will be pushed off by an observing petty officer. If you land in the water in any manner other than vertically upright, you will be forced to start over.
"Once you are in the water, you are to swim the fifty meters to the other end of the pool without stopping. You will not be timed on your performance, and you may use whichever stroke you are most comfortable with. After you complete the swim, you are then expected to begin the prone float, which will last a total of five minutes.
"During the float, you will face down the entire time and make minimal movement to keep yourself on the water surface, and raise your head gently to come up for air. It is as simple as that." I'm sure he meant that with complete sarcasm to make us feel better.
"Immediately following the Dead Pony's Float will be the Inflated Float, where you are to fill your coveralls with air bubbles to help you float. Doing this means you must hold one end of your coveralls open with a hoof while beating the water with the other to fill them with air.
"Following those four tasks, successful completion will result in qualifying for the swim. Those who fail must be rescheduled to qualify. Those who fail the second time will not be allowed to advance any further through the rest of boot camp, and will be promptly discharged."
It would be these words that, I pray, fuel me with the motive to pass this test as a whole. The idea of retaking a test with no margin for error second time around piles the pressure on more than the first, so here I was hoping all goes well today.
Of our training division of 24 mares and stallions, I was among the first few up on that platform to take the place of the two ahead who had just taken their leap of faith. Once they were safely out of the way and swimming to the end of this massive pool, it was our turn.
"Go," commanded the petty officer standing between me and another recruit.
I had not even hesitated for a full millisecond before I was given a firm shove, adequate to move me enough off the diving board to fall in. Fight or flight instincts kicked in almost instantly, but it was quick wit that helped correct my fall into the right posture for entry.
My biggest mistake thus far was forgetting to hold my nostrils shut as I splashed in, resulting in my sinuses being blasted with a rush of warm, chlorinated water and leaving the inside of my muzzle with a severe burning sensation. Thankfully it appeared that was not a disqualifying factor, and upon resurfacing, I began the fifty-meter swim.
About halfway across the pool, my arms grew increasingly tired from freestyle strokes, enough to where I briefly considered switching methods to get me to the end without needing to rest. After all, the only goal was to reach the end.
Come to find out, however, slowing my movements enough to change strokes threatened to sink me below the surface. This led to a momentary panic, and a swift return to freestyle, even as I strained to carry on. But finally, after seeming like an eternity reaching the end, I did it. So far, so good.
Then came the worst part. I did take a moment of pause to rest with one hoof out of the pool to hug the edge, only to be forced into the next stage of the test by the ear-piercing shriek of a whistle that echoed throughout the structure.
I pushed myself from the edge and out of the way of incoming swimmers, finding myself in a somewhat cooler region of the water where the other recruits ahead of me were in the middle of their prone float.
Having not witnessed how they managed to achieve such a position, it was up to me to figure it out on the fly.
Carefully, but doing so in a hasty manner, I lifted my hinds out from under me and proceeded to shift myself into a flat floating position, chest down, on the surface. Doing so resulted in my face submerging instantly, before I could get the chance to take a deep breath, and sent my conscience into overdrive as I attempted to compensate in the form of panicked splashing to bring my head above the surface.
By the time I was able to raise my muzzle just high enough to take a breath in, my entire posture was screwed up. The lower half of my torso sunk below the water, and all that effort put into floating face down had gone to waste.
In feeble attempt to retry before a trainer notices my struggle, I practically threw myself forward in a partial tackle, face smacking the water and hooves shifting about, splashing around, and causing a scene.
They say the best thing to do in a float is to relax your muscles; but truthfully, I just couldn't do that. Easing up any part of my body gave me the horrid feeling that I will lose control of my float and sink like a rock.
And just when I thought I had it, I heard a heavy splash nearby, and a pair of hooves swiftly wrapping around my torso that pulled me through the pool before feeling myself lift out of the water. Opening my eyes to figure out what was happening led me to discover my form encased in a greenish aura that sparkled around me, only to fade as I was set down on dry ground.
I coughed heavily twice, propping myself up on a hoof and flicking my head to get the wet mane out of my eyes and look around in confusion, then up at the unicorn instructor shadowing me.
Before I had the chance to question it, when in reality it was against general orders to do so, the magenta mare answered just what I was mentally asking myself. "You showed signs of struggling, Recruit. Should this have been real life, and you were discovered by an enemy, they would have shot you on sight."
I simply sat there, propped up on my elbows, chest heaving with deep breaths as I slowly calmed myself.
With a neutral grimace, the mare instructor backstepped to make some room. "Wait over there until the others are done. Anypony else that fails will join you, and you will be held back until the retest."
Held back. The two words I dreaded most right about now. Well, apart from the three, 'You're going home'. That is sure to come next though, I imagine.
Mind filled with disappointment, I slogged damply to a small set of blue bleachers to sit and wait, shaking off my hooves and wings of any excess water along the way. My coveralls stuck to my skin like glue thanks to the pool, and overall felt like they weighed two pounds more afterward.
⚓
It was two days after swim call, and in that time period, I was separated from my division. Thankfully, I was not the only one to have failed the Third Class test; five in all, myself included, were set to retake the test once we are seen through lessons to help us at least pass the second time around.
In the meantime, we were subject to intense exercises. This included a set of forty push-ups, thirty crunches, and twenty-five pull-ups. Most considered it punishment, I would just call it keeping us busy while we wait for our lessons to be set up.
By mid-afternoon, after lunch and a second round of less intensive activities to work off our intake, the five of us were led by Chief Petty Officer Dolden, one of the other recruit division commanders assigned to our division, back to the pool house for our lessons.
Once there, we were split up and assigned our own personal instructors. This was done so one pony is not in charge of an entire small group at once, and that any help was direct.
What puzzled me the most was, out of the instructors present, only one of the ponies—a marmalade earth pony with deep purple irides and a shortened, tidy auburn mane—donned recruit attire.
After sending off the other recruits with their respective instructors, Chief Dolden moved on to me and the orange stallion, who were all that remained. "Meet your swim training partner, Gallant. Fellow soon-to-be ET, as soon as you both graduate—if you graduate, you'll be in A School together. For the duration it takes for his training division to catch up, he's offering to help our swim instructors get you to where you need to be."
I glanced forward at the stallion, who stood no more than a couple inches taller than I. The two of us blinked in silence at each other at first. Frankly, it was less than reassuring to team up with another recruit instead of a legitimate trainer. What if he can't help me? Then what will I do?
Chief Dolden then turned to head out. "I'll leave you to it. I expect greatness out of both of you!"
"Yes, Chief!" we responded in almost perfect unison.
Then we made eye contact. After a solid moment of quiet between us, the orange pony offered a hoof. "Hi, I'm Gallant," he said.
I looked at his hoof, taking it slowly and giving it only a light shake before I leaned in close to speak with a glower on my countenance.
"Let me set the record straight here, mate. You're goin' to show me what I am doin' wrong, and you are goin' to help me correct it. If I fail because of you, well..." I stopped. Shit, I didn't think my plan through. Thirty seconds wasn't enough. "Let it rest on your conscience that you failed somepony! How 'bout that?"
He didn't even flinch at my threat. Should it even be considered a threat? "You won't fail, and I won't let you. We are in this together. That's why they're disciplining us to work as a team, is it not?"
I suppose he was right there. Confident or not, I had to put my faith in him that he can help me pass my retest, or else my dreams of following Dad's hoofsteps were dust in the wind.
"Right," I nodded. "Where do you want to begin?"
"You tell me. What do you need lessons on?" he countered, flicking an ear.
⚓
Blackness filled my vision behind closed eyelids. Water filled the outside of my ears, creating a soft hum that muffled all sound above the surface. I sat as still as could be, hooves out sideways in a sort of t-pose.
Roughly an hour into testing my capabilities in the pool, I started my practice for the floating portion of the test. Difference right now was, I had it easy by having the freedom of floating on my back, without the complicated effort of maintaining stability on the surface while trying to take in fresh air.
A gentle touch on my side prompted me to open my eyes and lift my head up some and empty my ears. Bobbing gently beside me was Gallant, observing my float.
"It won't do you any good to practice on your back. Typically that is the easiest float for somepony to accomplish. I can't help you if I don't see you trying face-down."
"Are you insane? I'm not going to do the Dead Pony's Float right this second!" I rejoined in exasperation.
"Just do it," he grunted. "Think about it this way; the sooner you do it for me, the faster we get out of this pool and move on with our day."
I sat there in hesitation as I stared at him. Without questioning him further, I shifted myself into an upright position, then with a deep gasp in, began to work myself into a prone float, per the test required.
Hooves reached out by my sides, I closed my eyes as the warm water caressed over my face. This time, I took the risk of holding my breath a couple seconds longer than the norm. Despite not being able to see Gallant, this did not seem to concern him. Of course it wouldn't, how on earth would he know the length of time which I can hold my breath?
When it became too much, I raised my head just enough above the surface and exhaled quickly, before drawing in another breath. Just like last time, my hinds dipped further into the pool, giving the uncomfortable feeling that I was sinking and forcing myself into compensating.
This did result in mild splashing, though none of the panicked variety, and this time I did manage to recover and regain my float. However, second breath in, it all went south again.
Unable to replicate my initial success, I positioned myself upright, coughing twice as I returned to normal respiration patterns. I parted my maw to speak, perhaps in a snarky tone, and that might be why Gallant cut me off when he did.
"I see two problems with your method. First thing, you come up too fast, which causes you to lose control of your float. Second, you emptied your lungs too much. You become less buoyant that way."
I grunted in evident frustration at that, but nodded in comprehension.
"One other thing, that makes it three problems; try slowly breathing out under the water and come up once you need air. That minimizes the amount of time spent with your nose above the surface. If all else fails, there's no shame in a subtle head turn."
Floating backward with a single pump of his hooves to give himself space, Gallant proceeded to adjust himself into a downward prone to demonstrate. "Watch me, then try it again."
So I sat there, watching his face vanish beneath the surface, the image of his muzzle shortened and distorted under the pool's steady waves. He remained face down for roughly nine seconds, gradually letting off small pockets of air from the moment he dipped in before raising his nostrils narrowly out of the water to refill his lungs.
About a minute passed of the repeated process, and seeming as though little to no effort was put into sustaining the appearance of a floating corpse. Of course, throughout his demonstration, I observed every crucial aspect of his posture to mentally take note of.
When the minute was over, he pumped his forehooves downward to shove himself upright, shaking his head briefly to clear his face of water and wipe over his eyelids with a hoof and across the bridge of his muzzle down to his chin. "Now you try."
Feeling somewhat more confident in myself, I eased myself this time into position after drawing in a deep breath. Ten seconds precisely passed, steadily letting off air under the water in the meantime before raising my head, slower than previous attempts.
Already I felt my performance improving. My hinds didn't sink nearly as fast, which would have normally sent my mind into overdrive to fix my mistake, and my float remained stable.
After each break for air, I would find myself spending more time under in order to counter an abhorrent number of instances coming up. First it was ten seconds. Then eleven. Then twelve. Then suddenly, fifteen seconds. Seventeen. Even with my eyes closed, I felt myself starting to black out, and my hearing muffling even without my ears underneath.
That's when I realized what it was doing to me. My eyes shot wide open, meeting the warm water that stung with chemicals. I darted upright, gasping for air as a shadowed tunnel in my vision retreated to the boundaries of my eyeballs.
I rubbed my eyes as they simultaneously itched and burned thanks to the chlorine balance in the pool. "This ain't workin', man."
Gallant sighed, rubbing his forehead momentarily. "Don't test your luck holding your breath for extended periods. Ten seconds is enough, unless you find pleasure in nearly drowning yourself. In that case, by all means, keep going."
Stress of failure constricted around my head in a throbbing ache that even the strongest of painkillers probably would not have diminished. I was doomed to metaphorically and literally sink, as was my potential naval career.
"Have you tried letting your wings sit unfolded? You know, for flotation?"
I blinked in silence as I pondered it for a moment. "No. Why would I?"
That's when the blow of a whistle around somepony's neck rang out across the pool hall, loud enough to startle some of us in there. It was the signal to get out and make way for others to take their test.
He shrugged. "Just thought I would suggest something. It may help next time around," then began to swim to the edge to climb out. "Good luck on your retest."
Good luck. The two words I needed to hear more than anything. Well, besides you passed, but that's another story. It went to show his efforts to help meant more than a simple command by an RDC who took notice of his excelling performance in the pool, and that he cared for my future as much as I did.
Perhaps I was just a little too sensitive towards Gallant; in all honesty, he wasn't that bad. Hell, it's a wonder he isn't interested in becoming a Navy diver instead. He definitely did not seem like the Electronics Technician kind of stallion, though I've learned by now to not judge a book by its cover.
Once out of the pool, Chief Stygius was the one to collect us for showers and supper, and hopefully news on when we would retest.
⚓
Lo and behold, we were right back at the pool first thing next morning. Surely not for more training, no; this was it. No more chances. I show the slightest of effort in staying afloat or attempting to get air, and I am done.
And so, we jumped right into the test—literally. Off the twenty-foot platform on my own influence (and not a shove), nostrils held shut as I splashed hind hooves-first in, and immediately began the fifty-meter swim to the opposite end.
Fueled by an angry motivation to succeed, I failed to notice just how fast I swam until, upon reaching the end, noticing the recruits that were ahead of me upon diving in were suddenly a couple seconds behind.
With only a second of pause once the other four held-back recruits finished their swim, I hesitated none in starting the prone float.
I splayed my wings out flat on the pool surface, making as little movement as possible. Despite this, water sloshed into my ears, and trying not to shift in discomfort was more difficult than it sounded. They were sure to ache later on, but that was the least of my worries.
My heart pumped at the walls of my chest as my mind continuously attempted to trick me into thinking I was actually in danger, when in reality I wasn't. When I felt myself nearing the threshold of passing out, I raised my head to bring my nostrils above the water surface for fresh air.
That went horribly awry at first when a sudden small wave washed in right as I inhaled, causing me to cough heavily under the water and send up sudden large bubbles that attracted the attention of two rescue swimmers on standby along the pool edges.
Quickly I recovered by keeping as still as can be, raising my nose even higher above the water ripples to draw air into my lungs, then dip back down flat, and repeating to do so as much as needed while still as little as possible for the remainder of the test.
The longer I went in the float, the more it felt like it was all a lie, and that we were just supposed to stay here for the rest of our lives. Under pressure, time really does slow itself to a crawl, right when you wish it would fly by. After two full minutes, I grew enough used to it to where any worry of failure quickly faded into nothing.
Then came the relieving fweeee that was a blow whistle hanging around the swim trainer's neck, signaling us to return to upright floating position. Soon after, we were to begin filling our coveralls with air bubbles for the final part of this test. Thankfully, come to find out, we could keep our heads out of the water for that one.
A minor setback is all the first try was. Unfortunately, this now meant I would graduate three days later than what was previously thought. But that was a worry for another time. With swimming now out of the picture, I felt as though nothing could stop me now.