“You’ll be on Smurf crew,” Griffin said. The trainees were divided by height into teams for group calisthenics to include log PT, boat carries, and the like, where having everyone be of similar height mattered. The shortest boat crew by height was traditionally nicknamed the Smurfs. Not only was it a reference to their lack of height, but it might also have something to do with coming out of the ocean blue with cold all the darned time.

“Of course I’ll be stuck with the Smurfs.” She sighed.

“Don’t knock it. Small crews tend to be fast and wiry. What they lack in size and brute strength, they make up for in speed, feistiness, and will to survive.”

“At least I won’t be with Grundy,” she commented.

“He’s a putz. He won’t make it onto the teams. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that he has gone out of his way to sabotage you. He was warned about it by the INDOC instructors. If he tries that in BUD/S proper, we’ll chew him up and spit him out.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Don’t be too smug when it happens,” Griffin warned.

“Got it. Poker face all the way for me.”

His arms tightened around her. “You’re doing great. I’m so damned proud of you.”

“I’ve still got a long way to go.”

“One day at a time, babe. One day at a time.”

He held her until she fell asleep, which took about two nanoseconds. She didn’t wake up when he slipped out from under her. But when she woke up at the ass crack of not even close to dawn the next morning, she felt emotionally refreshed and ready to roll.

Which was a good thing. BUD/S was in a whole ’nother class above INDOC in overall suckage.

Four guys rang out in the first hour of Grinder PT on the big concrete pad beside the beach, and three more didn’t make it through immersion. Today, instead of running to the dunes and back to warm up, the trainees were given minimal recovery time and sent right back out into the ocean for a timed swim.

It was brutal. Had she not already known the combat swim stroke the SEALs used, Sherri seriously doubted she’d have made it through the swim. Whether they would have left her out there to drown or someone would have come along to fish her out of the water was anyone’s guess. Either way, she felt like a drowned rat when she finally staggered ashore, completely gassed.

Griffin stood over her as she lay on the wet sand, gasping for air. “You good?” he asked shortly.

“That sucked,” she managed to get out.