Chapter 11 - Fighting the Torrent
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Arthur was sitting on top of the last dry seat, clutching a faded veteran cap from the Korean War.
His hands were swollen, blue with cold, and trembling so hard he couldn't grasp the safety carabiner.
"Go on without me, Captain," Arthur whispered, a faint, dignified smile gracing his pale lips.
"I've lived a long, full life."
"You're too young to drown in a ditch with an old soldier."
I looked Arthur directly in the eyes and snapped the locking mechanism around his chest with an authoritative click.
"With all due respect, soldier, Navy protocol strictly prohibits leaving a brother-in-arms behind," I said firmly.
"We are walking out of this river together."
Before Arthur could answer, a catastrophic shudder ripped through the bus's frame.
The retaining concrete pillar completely disintegrated into powdered dust and rubble.
The bus tilted violently to the left, the floor dropping away beneath our feet into the raging chasm.
A wall of freezing brown water rushed into the cabin, instantly submerging Arthur and me up to our necks.
"Hold onto me, Arthur!" I screamed, wrapping my left arm around his chest in a vice-like grip.
With my right hand, I fired the quick-release pin on the static line and linked our harnesses together.
"Bull! Haul us in! Now!" I roared into the howling wind.
On the shoreline, the situation turned from dangerous to catastrophic.
The sudden, massive drag of the sinking bus pulled against the secondary anchor cable with ten tons of dynamic force.
Pete’s heavy flatbed truck groaned, its rear tires sliding two feet toward the slick edge of the mud embankment.
"The anchor is slipping!" Corporal Miller shouted, losing his footing in the saturated mud.
"Hold the line!" Bull Crawford roared, his face turning crimson as the veins in his neck threatened to burst.
Bull wrapped the heavy static rope completely around his thick waist and gripped the towline with his bare, bleeding hands.
His combat boots dug six inches deep into the asphalt gravel.
He wasn't just pulling a rope; he was defying the river with every ounce of muscle and soul he possessed.
"You are not dying tonight, Alexis!" Bull screamed into the rain, his muscles tearing under the immense physical strain.
"Marines, heave!"
The eight Marines threw themselves backward into the mud, pulling with absolute, desperate fury.
In the water, Arthur and I were violently ripped out through the shattered rear window frame.
The water dragged us down into the dark abyss, the current tumbling us over submerged rocks and jagged rebar.
Arthur lost his grip on my shoulder, but I locked my forearm under his chin, keeping his airway above the surface.
A massive submerged log rushed directly toward Arthur's head.
I twisted my own body into the impact zone, taking the full blunt force of the heavy timber across my ribs.
Pain exploded behind my eyes like a burst of white phosphorus.
My breath was knocked completely out of my lungs, and the dark water surged into my throat.
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"Commander!" Bull’s voice penetrated the roaring darkness of the river.
I fought the blinding agony, kept Arthur's head secured against my shoulder, and let the Marines pull us toward the shore.
