"We became men. The maturity of our seamen

and officers after that... was entirely different.

We had grown up in seven minutes."

Rear Admiral Julian T. Burke

media:

"Sing, Sing, Sing" 

by Benny Goodman

The Atlantic Ocean; July 13, 1941

The fires racing across the zeppelin illuminated the shadow of the U-boat in the water. Clint barked out a curse from his position halfway up the rigging, squinting through a pair of binoculars that hung heavy from his neck. Swinging around on his heel, he gave the metal cord beside the rigging a hard yank and clipped in as the gears started to turn, whisking him down to the deck of the ship and sent him barreling into the engine room.

"There's a Kraut ship bombing out a zeppelin out there!" he shouted, then saluted a moment later. "Um... sir."

Edwards and the rest of his brass turned sharply to face Clint, eyes flinty and determined in seconds. "Wheel about. A Navy ship?" he asked Clint, striding towards the large bank of windows as the fiery wreck of the falling zeppelin came into view.

"Not that I can tell, sir. Looks like a personal craft." Ordinarily Clint couldn't be able to contain his excitement at standing beside the most important member of the Reuben James' crew, but this was no time for boyish sentiments. This was war, and there was a German U-boat lingering below the water taking American lives.

Edwards frowned, stroking his chin with eyes focused on the dark shadow illuminated by the flaming zeppelin. "A personal ship... Who in the States has enough dough for their own airship?"

"Since the last time I was on shore they were quite the novelty. What use do the Krauts have taking down a civvie ship?"

"The Germans, seaman." Edwards chastised Clint, who rolled his eyes when the lieutenant looked away. "They've started attacking our shipping lanes, but this attack seems unprovoked."

"Should I contact them, sir?" a wide-eyed radioman swiveled away from his post, the winding cord of the radio trailing behind him. An explosion washed the cabin in red and Clint turned back to the window sharply.

Edwards leaped to the helm and his fingers danced across the controls, pulling the Reuben James in a gentle spin to face the other airship. "Do what you must! Tell the boys to man attack stations, but do not fire! Protect the British merchant ships as a first priority. Barton, are you still there?"

"It would appear that way, sir."

"Take a few seamen for recovery. That airship will be coming down any minute now, and we need to be there to rescue any survivors."

"Yes, sir!" Clint snapped into a salute and tore out of the cabin, reaching down and hooking into his line. Kicking off from the side of the zeppelin, he ascended for a brief moment, cable buzzing behind him, until he was yanked sharply to the second gundeck. Already the decks were a frenzy of activity, with soldiers drawing the guns out of storage and aiming them for the U-boat with practiced precision. The screech of all hands roared above the wind.

"What's going on, Barton?" Sabin's anxious face shone in the moonlight as he frantically tried to strap his helmet on. Grabbing his arm, Clint swung over the barrier of the gundeck and pointed to the sea below them.

"Come with me! We need to get the survivors!"

As if on cue another explosion bloomed from the side of the civilian zeppelin, followed by a shrieking of metal as the enemy shells drilled into the fragile metal craft. The zeppelin's balloon had been hopelessly punctured and was already drifting towards the sea. Clint scoured the sea for any sign of civilians who had abandoned ship, but no heads bobbed above the waves. If they stayed in the cabin any longer they would be trapped when the zeppelin hit the water.

Clint snagged a passing radioman. "Call in support! We'll need someone to help the survivors!"

Sabin was already strapping on his harness, which wound around his legs and chest to keep him secure for a drop below the main body of the ship. He pulled the cords tightly, giving them a firm tug as Clint threw on his own digs. The canvas cinched in all the wrong places, but it would keep him supported when they had to make a dive for the water.

"There!" Sabin shouted, and Clint pivoted in time to see a small shape emerging from the pilot's cabin of the zeppelin. It bobbed forward for a moment before falling into a steep dive for the sea, barely pulling up above the waves. Stubby wings skimmed the surface of the water, pulling away from the black form of the submarine and out of harm's way, directly beneath the Reuben James.

"It's a glider!" Leaning over the rail, Sabin peered beneath the boat to see the progress of the small craft.

"And it's gonna crash soon," Clint replied with a grim frown, swinging a leg over the gundeck's rail. "Let's go."

They rappelled down to the first gundeck, the whir of the cables barely audible over the clamor of the raging battle and the shouts of soldiers. Beneath Clint's feet stood a crush of soldiers covering the main deck, some wheeling out depth charges and close-range guns. Many were craning their necks in an effort to make out the drooping form of the zeppelin. Officers barked orders, which were mainly lost in the chaos and cacophony.

Clint's heels struck the deck and he clung to the railing for a moment, pointing out the mangled glider bobbing above the waves. It was a clever plan of the part of the civvies to try to get away from the battle, but now they were stranded out at sea without any sort of flotation device or means of rescue.

Sabin looked down at their target with a funny sort of grin on his face. "Kind of exciting, isn't it? Our first mission."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Clint couldn't keep a smile from his face as well. "Yeah, you're right. Exciting."

Freeing his hands from the metal rails, Clint leaped forward into the open air, the wind tearing at his face and his uniform with biting ferocity. A shout of elation escaped him as he fell, the whooping cheers of Sabin ringing in his ears as he plummeted towards the open face of the sea, waves crashing with a distant rumble. Flying through the air he felt remarkably alive, as if every moment in his life had aligned to this distinct moment. Adrenaline rushed through his body, the heat of the battle and the chill of the wind mingling in one intoxicating mix.

The rush ended all too soon as the water grew closer, and Clint yanked his hands backward to slow his fall. With a few adjustments he maneuvered above the glider, which appeared and disappeared beneath the waves with every gust of the wind. The sea had appeared much calmer from above, but the waves grazed Clint's boots and lurched upwards as if to drag him down as well.

He could make out the forms of two civilians, but nothing much about them. Both appeared preoccupied with staying alive, clinging to the metal glider as if it were their lifeline. The craft was rapidly sinking, which didn't leave them with very many options. Reaching back, Clint tore a patch of fabric from his harness and gave the packet a good shake. The plastic immediately inflated into a neon-orange ring, which he hurled towards the civilians below.

They looked up with twin expressions of shock, as if they hadn't noticed the massive Navy ship hovering above them all the while. Twisting in his harness, Clint dragged the tether rope forward and dangled it towards the two, frantically trying to gesture to them how to begin their ascent of the rope. He had been forced to climb ropes with just his arms in boot camp, and he knew these two wouldn't reach ten feet above sea level before their muscles gave out. Confusion and exhaustion stared back at him, and he swore.

"Grab the rope, assholes! It's the Navy!"

Paddling forward, the larger of the two clasped onto the rope and started to drag himself upwards, looping his foot around the rope like Clint had demonstrated. The second followed, albeit more slowly than the first, and both struggled upwards for a short while before pausing for breath.

Loosing his harness' grip on the rope, Clint slid down his tether and locked into position before the first civilian. He was surprisingly well-built, probably a Marine, who watched numbly as Clint quickly tied a ramshackle harness around his chest and legs. He yanked the knot firmly into place, then pointed to it and shouted in the soldier's face.

"This will stay put if you need a break, so come up the rope at your own pace. We'll crank you up eventually!" The soldier nodded in response, and Clint slid down further and followed the same procedure with the second man. He was significantly smaller in stature than the first one, probably under enlistment age. Once both civilians had been secured, Clint pulled himself back upwards until he was level with Sabin's line. The seaman looked rather hurt that Clint had rescued both of the zeppelin escapees.

"You couldn't leave one for your pal Sab, could ya?" he groused, and Clint shrugged.

"Keep up, old man. Help me get these guys on deck, yeah?"

Clint leaned back in his harness and gave a sharp whistle to the soldiers standing by on deck. Immediately his and Sabin's tethers began to crank back upward, and he swung himself over the barrier and on deck quickly, unhooking himself from the rope and helping the exhausted civilians on board. Both fell to the deck gasping for breath, with a few Navy men standing by to watch them with curiosity.

"Look what the tide brought it," Sabin nudged one of the men with his toe. "You still alive down there?"

"Stow it, will you?" Clint reached forward and helped the first man up. He looked disoriented, eyes glancing around the structure of the Reuben James with a look close to reverent awe. "What's your name?"

"Oh!" Snapping out of his trance, the man extended a hand to shake with Clint's. "Steve Rogers, U.S. Army." The words seemed foreign on the man's tongue, and his eyes shone when he uttered them. His cheerful expression cracked when he looked over his shoulder at the form of the dying airship, flames billowing from its broken body.

"Would ya look at that?" Sabin shouted, clapping Rogers on the back with a cry of laughter. "We pulled an Army bloke outta the sea! Should have left him for the fish!"

The sailors nearby chuckled, helping the second man to his feet as they tossed around a few choice words about Army men. Clint drew their attention with a sharp whistle and jerked his head in the direction of the airship.

"Playtime's over. The gondola is going to hit the sea soon, so prime time for evac is running out fast. Is the airship equipped with lifeboats?" he turned to Rogers, but it was the second man who responded.

"The Calliope has two gliders on each end and a dozen life jackets, but that's not enough to get everyone out that's on board."

Clint and the other soldiers nodded. "Roger that. Sabin, grab some other guys and tell them to harness up, we'll need a larger force for recon. How long until we're in firing range?"

"Minutes at most," a seaman called back.

"The rest of you, take up your positions or help crank us back up. The sea's pretty bad, so we might need some help down there. Go!" the cluster of sailors broke apart immediately, boots pounding against the metal deck as they tore off to their positions. Clint swung his leg over the barrier again, but Steve clasped his arm in one hand.

"What about us? How can we help?"

Clint was thrown off-guard by this comment – he had assumed the two would just huddle around in blankets or something. "If you and your pal don't need medical attention, report to the quartermaster to start ferrying shells to the gunmen. We're going to bomb the shit out of these Krauts, so we'll need all the ammo we can get."

"Right." Clint pointed in the direction of the forward deck and Steve ran off, followed by his fellow escapee. Sabin returned a moment later with a half-dozen more men, all suited up with cases of inflatable life preservers in their hands. Three took point at the top of the tethers, while three followed Clint's lead and took their stations on the edges of the deck, spaced evenly apart.

A thunderous crash sounded as the airship was dragged down into the sea, casting water a hundred feet into the air with the impact. The brilliant flames battled against the crashing waves in a brief and violent struggle before the zeppelin turned over and began its lazy meander to the bottom of the sea. The Reuben James replied with its own dialogue, the pounding of explosives against the hull of the U-boat that had begun to pull away from the site of the crash. Trails of tracer fire followed the shells' progress through the air, and the space between the two ships filled with smoke from the artillery thrashing the Kraut ship's flank. Metal splintered and flames tore across the U-boat's hull, and the submarine beat a hasty retreat away from the fallen zeppelin, sliding beneath the water. Its progress was crippled by damage from the Reuben James' fire, and floodlights illuminated its progress through the water as it limped away into the night.

"Any survivors in sight?" Sabin shouted over the wind, and Clint pointed towards a spot of white against the blue gloom below him. Arms, immensely tiny from his vantage point in the air, flailed above the waves to the soldiers above.

"There!" Clint shouted, kicking off from the deck and leaping into the void once again. This time a sense of urgency filled his fall as he plummeted below the hull of the Reuben James. Now the sailors only had so much time until the zeppelin went under for good, taking any remaining civilians down with it.

Twisting back into an upright position, he yanked on his tether to tighten the knot and halt his descent a few feet above the lapping waves. The man he had spotted floated a good twenty feet from where he had descended, and was fighting with all of his strength to keep his head above the choppy waves.

Clint whistled sharply to get his attention and waved his arms. As soon as he was sure the man had spotted him, he tore off another life preserver from his harness and inflated it quickly. The man grew closer and closer with a strong swimming stroke – Clint could make out his bald head, but the man was still remarkably strong as he battled the waves to reach the tether.

He threw out the inflated life preserver and made sure the man had clasped the bottom of the rope firmly before he began a slow ascent. The man had nearly managed to drag himself out of the icy grip of the water when he cried out in pain and shock. Leaning back in his harness, Clint turned to see his leg clamped firmly in the junction of two twisted pieces of metal. Blood quickly began to stain his pant leg and turn the black water an inky scarlet.

Moving quickly, Clint scampered down the rope until he was level with the elder man. He was Army brass, with medals decorating his soaked shirt and a bulldog-like expression that made Clint want to salute. By twisting in his harness and dangling with his head towards the sea and boots pointed towards the Reuben James, Clint was able to reach the metal that was penetrating the man's leg. He gripped the girder with both hands and prepared to pull it away, when a massive wave swept forward and threw him against the body of the Army officer.

Clint's head was submerged. He struggled to right himself, but he was hopelessly tangled in his harness and the flailing limbs of the Army officer. The elder man was kicking up quite a fuss above him, and his weight had shifted on top of Clint until he was practically sitting on the seaman. Closing his eyes, Clint forced his racing heart to calm and opened his eyes into the swirling blackness of the sea. A glimmer of light caught his attention – the floodlights of the ship, surely – and he grasped the tether with half-frozen hands to yank himself up.

The Army man wouldn't budge, and Clint's fingers refused to grip the worn rope. His lungs were screaming for air and his chest began to throb, but he tugged on the rope again for a second attempt at bringing himself to the surface.

Air rushed into his lungs as he surfaced, coughing and gasping while throwing the Army officer a dirty look. He had slipped so low on the tether that he was now paddling in the rough waves of the Atlantic, with nothing to support him but his own strength. Clint was sure he would be able to hold out for a while in this state, but he could tell the Army man's wound and the frigid temperatures were sapping his strength.

Clint took in a deep breath and dove under the waves again, getting a firm grip on the girders and yanking with all of his strength. The Army officer's shout of pain was audible even under the surface of the water, but Clint focused on dislodging the twisted metal rods from his leg. By dragging the rods apart and pulling them down the length of the man's leg, he was able to free him from the ensnared metal.

Surfacing once more, Clint dragged himself up the tether until he was out of the water and looked back to the officer to see if he was following. The ordeal had been too much for the man, though, who stared up at Clint with blank, exhausted eyes. Clint tugged sharply on the tether and whistled up to the deck of the Reuben James crew, who began to crank the rope upwards. To make sure the officer was secure Clint shimmied down the rope and fashioned a harness for him like he had for Steve and his friend. Both were too out of breath to say anything, but the officer gave him a look of gratitude and clasped him weakly on the shoulder.

By the time the two reached the deck of the boat the officer was nearly unconscious, with his once-tan pant leg stained brilliant crimson, but Clint supported him as he limped over the rail and onto the deck. Medical officers were standing by to help the rescued crew members, so Clint handed the officer off to one of the medics and paused at the rail to scour the seas for more escapees with the rest of Sabin's crew.

"It's funny," Sabin called to him as he started cranking one of the sailor's tethers back up the side of the boat, "You'd think a civilian craft like that would have a bunch of trust-fund wackos on board. Turns out half the army is showing up on our decks!"

"Yeah, hilarious," Clint replied through chattering teeth. Before he could respond again another cry went up from the crews that were being winched up – another body had been spotted, and Clint leaped over the rail for another rescue at sea.

The process continued for what felt like years, hours bleeding into one another as Clint searched the crashing waves for signs of survivors. The threat of the U-boat had long disappeared over the horizon, but the threat of hypothermia and exhaustion was becoming all too potent for any crash survivors and sailors alike. Clint was hanging from his harness with three other sailors when he was abruptly pulled from his perch and back to the ship's deck, where no one but Lieutenant Commander Edwards himself stood waiting.

Clint got to his feet and saluted, swaying on his feet from fatigue. He hadn't slept in a day, his uniform was frozen to his skin, and every part of his body groaned in protest from the physical beating it had just endured. Edwards gestured for the sailors to stand at ease.

"You've done us a great service with your selfless acts today, seamen. Now go to the barracks and get some rest! You look dead on your feet." Clint certainly felt dead, and with a mumbled thanks he stumbled down to the barracks and fell into his bunk with his soaked clothes still on, falling into a blissful sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

For a man's first battle, it had been pretty damn exciting.

Depth charges - an explosive charge used by aircraft or ships to explode underwater and destroy submarines.

Thanks as always for your reads! What do you think so far? :)