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Water was a friend to Martin Hart. A full and total immersion into this radiant azure element was something he regarded as his greatest pleasure. To him water was an element that healed, nurtured and even gave life. Water never failed to refresh and revitalize him, opening his eyes and alerting his senses when he discovered the many nature borne wonders which could be discovered beneath the surface of the sea. How ironic then that the pursuit of his ultimate dream and career goal could morph a dear friend into a sworn and potentially lethal enemy. As a Navy Seal, Lt. Hart conducted his special reconnaissance missions on sea, air and land, just as his job required. These days, when he ventured undersea, he could no longer could take the time to admire the aquiline waves, the swaying water lilies every hue of the rainbow, the diamond coloured dolphins or the lush strands of gold and lavender coral that defined his second home. Now instead, his eyes had been trained to focus on any foreign or suspicious object that might pose a threat to civilians; or, if used as a tool of war or terrorism, a threat to his country.

Although his current mission didn't seem to involve any of these daunting elements, it did hold a certain element of urgency that set his nerves on end, made his heart and pulse pound in a single hard accord at the times he attacked this unexpected assignment with the firmest resolve. His naval ship, the Birgitta, was a tall stately vessel that floated with the look and grace of an alabaster swan across the waters of the seven seas. And that faithful morning, she was coming home from a standard recon mission, the location and detainment of a notorious drug runner, when something strange and downright disturbing sparked its sensitive radar. Upon further inspection, a junior officer had identified the presence of a human body floating still at the bottom of the sea; the form of an adult male that, while seemingly lifeless and unmoving, still radiated with an inexplicable heat and vitality that might detect the presence of life.

A life which Martin was fully determined to save. Jumping with a frantic vigour into his sleek ebony wetsuit, he raced across the clean lined deck of his unit's majestic ivory schooner, affixed the sleek black flippers and gear bag that offered him additional aid and protection underwater, fastened the safety line around his waist and grabbed the goggles and air tank that would help sustain his own life and then he ventured many leagues underwater. Or so he hoped. In this business, one really never knew anything for sure. Uncertainty was the only certainty, or so they said. With this thought, the lieutenant surged free and clear over the rim of the boat, the golden beacon of the setting sun kissing his body only briefly before he surrendered himself to the realm of the deep blue.

The moment Martin's body broke the gem blue waterline, he once again immersed himself within the borders and substance of his favoured element. This time, like far too many others as of late, he took on the challenge to do whatever necessary to complete his mission. The waves seemed indeed virtually like his enemy when he fought strong and hard against the unyielding current; his statuesque body descending in a rough downward spiral while his masked eyes sought the object of his pursuit. It was a disturbing sight. The still body in the scuba suit, one outfitted similar to his own, laid floating at the centre of an otherwise peaceful seascape amongst this depth; the flowing streams the only source of motion that made the body's arms and legs flailed useless beside the form. Surging forth with fortified energy that fuelled his every move, Martin reached in the direction of the form; finally securing the victim of the waves.

The next instance he froze, suspended in the waters around him as he noticed something rather different about the form. Most notably, it didn't seem to be a person at all, but a weighted, life sized doll culled from cloth and stuffing. Martin swore inwardly as he pulled off the figure's scuba mask to take a good look at a mannequin's soft, expressionless face and short stock of hair culled from softest yarn. This was all an asinine hoax; just one big joke.

His troubled meditation was disrupted by another unwelcome sight, a round sparkling orb that pounded and thrummed at the bottom of the sea, about the same place as where the body had floated just moments beforehand. He protested aloud, his words sending a barrage of crystalline water bubbles surging forth into the waters around him. The words evolved into a raw primal scream just moments later, as his senses were wracked with sights and sounds that seemed to signal the end of the world; or at the very least the tumultuous and untimely conclusion to the end of his life as he knew it. He witnessed the fiery, red flame of a blast that shattered the object beneath him. He heard the stark, ear shattering explosion that accompanied this traumatic outburst; a sound that roared like thunder through his mind as he saw something as out of context as fire in the water; a blood red hue striking a disturbing contrast to the calming aquiline hue of the currents surrounding it. Then both of these colours were replaced and supplanted by the unsettling tint of endless black. And suddenly, in the wake of a blinding flash of pure and total agony, he saw and felt nothing.

***

The darkness brought him peace. The silent void brought him solace.

Lost in a realm of shadowless blackness; a place totally devoid of sight, sound or sensation, Martin felt his entire being relax as he succumbed to into the arms of the sea. He made no attempt to make sense of the numbness that overtook him, instead he chose to descend into the comforting void that wrapped around his form like a warm blanket, soothing his aching body and waning consciousness. He knew not whether death had claimed him, or if he simply lingered in a deep, dark coma; and at this point, he simply didn't care. He more than welcomed the respite from pain, shock and turmoil, to instead embrace the sensation of peace and relaxation that claimed his being whole.

His last foggy memories of the world he'd left behind were tumultuous; something which greatly simplified his decision to remain in the void, to lose consciousness in a mysterious sphere where time, space or pain didn't exist. Spreading his arms, his wings, he let himself fall, waiting for the great mother that was sea, or perhaps Gaia herself embracing him. He welcomed it, wherever it was death or rebirth or something entirely else. Because it was soft and warm and comforting.

Then suddenly there was a light; a bright luminous beam he simply could not ignore as it penetrated his closed eyelids. And then he heard an old weathered voice repeatedly call his name. "Hello, Lieutenant Hart? Martin Heart? Open your eyes," the female voice kept urging him.

Hearing this, seeing that, Martin's senses came jarringly alive and he stirred from his peaceful place of succour, rest and respite, feeling his aching body shift in what seemed to be a covering of crisp, clean cotton sheets. Eventually and with all his earthly effort, he forced his eyes open to behold a smiling face of a bespectacled, snow-haired woman. In that first, brief instant, he thought that he recognized her wide blue eyes and weathered, wrinkled face and he greeted her with a weak smile. "Grandma? Is that you? Have you come to welcome me to the other side?"

His grin dissolved as the woman before him straightened before his bed, withdrawing the flashlight she'd shown in his eyes.
"I hope I don't really do look that old," she responded with a smirk as she leaned over his bed. "I'm certainly not your dead grandmother, Sir. I'm Dr. Pam Winters, your attending physician here at Kaiserwell Memorial Hospital. And right now I am indeed thanking God that the patient I've been tending to for the last week is finally awake and back amongst the living."

Gaping outright at this assertion, Martin moved his head in a slow, deliberate manner to regard his foreign surroundings. He found himself taking in a crisp, clean-lined ivory room with a plain railed bed as its centrepiece. A bed, where he lay confused and motionless, staring with wide eyes up at the matronly woman in her white coat and tied back hair.
"Can you tell me your full name?" the doctor, Pam, then asked him.

He thought a moment, then nodded. "Martin," he revealed finally. "Martin Ha... Hart. You can call me Martin."
The doctor smiled. "Very good!" she praised him with thinly plucked eyebrows arched. "And you can call me Pam. Can you tell me the name of the military branch in which you serve?"

Martin bit his lip as he strained his psyche for the information requested. "I don't remember," he finally admitted with an anguished sigh. "I can't seem to focus." Then he shut his eyes not allowing any expression to grace his face as he fought against the grey, silent void that seemed to overtake his conscious will. There was something hovering at the back of his mind, or at the back of his head, he wasn't sure which. And he knew that if he should succumb to that darkness, that beckoning black, there would be no way back. He shook his head at that understanding, feeling he locks of his dark hair brush the pillow. He wasn't ready to pass through that black entrance, not yet. Why, he was not sure though.

"Try," Pam urged him, covering his hands with hers. "I was told that your job is your whole reason for being, Martin. So tell me, let me know who you are!"
"I am a Navy Seal," he finally managed, not sure how the realization had made it into his awareness, yet a strong sense of pride was still underlying his softened, weakened tones. "Why am I in here?" he then managed.
"You are lucky to be alive," she replied. "You were on a rescue mission for the Seals when you ran afoul of an underwater bomb, an explosive that left you with a head injury and some body trauma," she went on explicating.

As his entire being tensed, Martin groined mutedly while he was taking in these shocking words. His mind was suddenly overcome with a torrent of memories that shook him to his core. He had always been the one always in control. He had always been the man at the steering wheel, the natural born leader. And now he was trapped in a bed, with people asking him questions he could not answer. All this was new to him. And still he wasn't certain as to exactly what had happened to him, but he did vaguely recall the mission gone bad. He remembered the brilliantly white underwater flash and he heard the explosion. He felt the volatile pressure of the water thrash his body, injuring him.

"Explain" he demanded, fixing his gaze as he spoke with a pleading yet assertive voice. Pam sighed.
"According to your commanding officers, it was a quiet day. You were on deck when another officer alerted you to what appeared to be the presence of a fallen man underwater, a scuba diver they had thought."
"A scuba diver? What's a scuba diver?"

Pam had recited the story the way she had heard it, and now she found herself faltering in her secure speech.
"A scuba diver, well," as a matter of fact she wasn't really sure of the terminology. Then she inhaled, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued. "You discovered too late that this ‘body' was really a bomb."
"A bomb? Yes, that might have been it. There was this huge, uh, wave of pressure."
"I'm very pleased that some of your memory is returning, that's an excellent sign".
"Then there was nothing." He then shook his head once more to get rid of all that grey that seemed to clog his mind. "What about my team?" he finally managed to ask.
"I'm sorry to tell you, there was an incident with a Lt. Greg Anderson." Martin nodded impatiently.
"And?"

Pam shook her head as she began explaining. "Shortly after you dove overboard to save what you believed to be a person in trouble, your ship's scanner detected the presence of the bomb. It was initially cloaked, and in the very place you were heading. Greg immediately sprang to action, suiting up and diving in after you." She paused here.
"And?" Martin repeated himself, feeling an almost suffocating urgency gush through his troubled mind. Greg? What had happened to Greg, that stupid, brave, loveable, Bronx Rastafari kid?

"Greg was right beside you when the bomb exploded. He'd taken position between the bomb and you to shield you. He suffered the worst of the it. He had internal injuries, and deep lacerations to the right leg. At first doctors didn't think they would be able to save him, but they fortunately were. He is in the ICU now and he's been in an induced coma for the last week. It's still touch and go."

Martin gasped and then he bit back a profanity. Greg! You big asshole, why didn't you stay on board. You have kids for the fucks sake! "Is his room close to mine?" he spoke out loud. "When can I see him? Will you take me to him now, please?" he begged.
"Well," Pam said and held her hand up before her, halting Martin's barrage of inquiries with a firm gesture and sombre gaze. "I'm so sorry, Martin, but you cannot do that. He's been moved to a military hospital up in the New York state. They took him there so his wife could be by his side."
"Brenda," he managed, recalling a sweet brown-sugar girl with a wry humour who was probably twice as smart as her husband and always seemed to push poor Greg around, although he didn't seem to be bothered.

"Martin, you have to relax," Pam admonished him and raised an authoritative finger in his direction. "You can't do anything to help your friend right now. You have to help yourself first. Rest and get your bearings and then we'll begin the best course of rehab as soon as we can."

Martin buried his head in his hands, taking a deep, sustaining breath as he begrudgingly considered Pam's words of advice. "All right," he finally exhaled in an unwilling acceptance. Then he turned to look her straight in the eyes. "Tell me, when can I get out of this place?"

The doctor sighed. "If all goes well, we'd be able to release you from the hospital in about three weeks."
"Three weeks?" he paused. "That's a pretty long time."
"Yes, but every minute will be necessary. And when you leave here, you'll be going home."
"Home? Why!?" Martin shook his head, confused. "For how long?"

Pam looked at him for a long moment, then let loose with a weary sigh that told the truth of the tale. "Your injuries appear to be pretty extensive," she revealed, tone low and motherly. "It may be months or even a year before you can return to the Seals." She paused here, and decided to keep her next statement to herself.

"That is, if you ever go back," she said as she closed the door behind the injured man in the bed, briefly feeling sorry for him before she moved on to her next patient. Such was her duty, she could never invest too many feelings in one single patient. She had to forget, get over it, or she'd never manage.