“Bloody hell!” Jeff said angrily as he tore off his diving mask. “What was that all about?”
I remained silent trying to collect my thoughts. I collapsed onto the gunnel of the boat and pulled off my flippers while watching the light rain make circles on the calm surface of the lagoon. I had lost some of my confidence and just wanted to catch my breath. I released the tank strap and carefully lowered the tank to the deck between my legs. The rush to the surface had been tempered with caution, not wanting to get the bends but wanting to reach the boat with the fastest but safest speed.
Our Ranger who had been tending the boat was confused at our early return. He took his shepherding of the movie crew seriously. His name was Byron, but we called him Apollo since he also wrote poetry and had published a small dictionary of poetic phrases many years ago after the war. He was an odd duck and actually used to be a submarine pilot in his younger days. He took my tank and fitted it into the side clamp and then helped Jeff with his gear straps.
“I got the shot, Jeff. I got the shot.” I repeated slowly and quietly as I started to breathe normally again.
Byron had started the Torqeedo engine, it was one of the newer German electric outboards and ran with that quiet German engineering and precision. We would not have heard it while diving and only would know if Apollo had put the engine in gear and we looked up and saw the bubbles of the propeller.
I looked at Apollo's questioning face and said, “Bunch of black-tips moved in over the wreck. They were sweeping back and forth in some feeding frenzy, but I sure did not see what they were eating. I got some great photos and a small bit of video, though.” I pulled my underwater camera away from the clamp and began to remove the casing.
“Jesus, Melinda, you could have been dancing with the angels right now, for as close as you got!”
“But I got the shot.” I smiled.
(Word Prompts for January: