The night was hot...too hot. The air hung thick, like a warm blanket wrapped around you. It made it hard to breath. Bobby wiped the sweat from his forehead, and literally wrang water from the hankerchief he used. He could feel a trickle of sweat making its way down the small of his back. He let out a long, drawn out sigh. Night guard duty. He was on watch, not sure for what, but he would do it anyway. It could be a test, to see if he was dedicated enough. Grunt work..oh well, it will pay off in the end. Bobby was determined to show his loyalty. He was lucky to have found a crew so soon after a big war.

The sound of crickets and frogs was deafening. It was not easy to tune the sound out, and Bobby strained to hear anything over the buzz. At least the moonlight was bright. He could see pretty clearly. He was sitting with his back to a large drum, which was part of the shipment he was guarding. His shotgun was straddled across his lap. He decided if he stayed in this position much longer in this heat he might just nod off, so he rose to his feet, set the shotgun against the barrel, and stretched snapping the kinks out of his neck to either side as well.

Bobby could hear water lapping against the small dock the barrels were stacked upon, but there was barely a whisper of wind. He knew instantly there must have been some movement in the water like a boat, or a body. He had heard no motor, but peered into the night, looking for any sign of movement on the water.

The barrels were to be picked up by a truck, which would transport them to a warehouse in the city. There should be no one on the water at this time of night, not that had any business there anyway. Bobby could not see or hear anything unusual, but after a few moments, with senses tingling, decided to move further down the small dock towards the end. He gripped the shotgun and made his way forward, boards creaking slightly under his 200lb frame. He cringed slightly at the noise, but soon realized with all the other sounds it would be barely audable. Either way, he could be seen clearly on that dock, surrounded by barrels in the bright moonlight, he didn't have to creep around. He was just playing through scenarios in his head. He had an overactive imagination at times.

The heat was exhausting, and the water looked refreshing. Bobby could still see nothing out over the water still, and the lapping of the water had stopped. It could have been a short gust of a breeze somewhere out there, just enough to let a sailboat glide past un-noticed. He decided to reach down with his left hand at the edge of the dock. The water looked so inviting in this heat.

His fingertips had barely touched the water when their was a great whooooshing sound, and barely a gasp left his throut before he was pulled forcibly into the water. As the water closed over his body, and that first feeling of not being able to breath came over him, he almost started to panic. He thrashed with one hand, since the other had a death grip on that shotgun, then stopped quickly, realizing he had to calm himself if he wanted to regain control of this situation. Some water had already made its way into his lungs, giving him an uncontrolable urge to choke. His chest felt like it was on fire. He tried opening his eyes to help get his bearings but with all the thrashing the water had turned murky, and his eyes now burned as well, barely picking up a hint of light from the moon above him. At once he started to wonder if this was it...would he die like this...

The next few moments seemed like hours as Bobby's lungs screamed for air. His foot brushed against something firm, possibly one of the pillers holding up the dock, but as his hand reached for it, something very strong gripped his arm and pulled him sputtering and gasping partialy out of the water onto the dock.

The moon must have been covered by a cloud because everything looked very dark, or maybe his eyes had not recovered fully from being open in murky water. Bobby coughed up what water was left in his lungs and took several gulps of some of the best tasting oxygen he had ever had the pleasure of breathing. He dragged himself further onto the dock, rolling onto his back, looking straight up into the sky. The cloud that had covered the moon finally decided to continue its path across the night sky.

Bobby blinked a few times to clear his vision, then got up quickly, aiming the shotgun first up the dock towards land, then down the dock, towards the water. Everything looked and sounded much like it did before he took that un-expected plung into the water. He shook his head, then looked again, straining his ears as well for any sounds of intruders. Nothing. Everything was normal again, except he was soaking wet. Could he have fell asleep and fell off the dock? No, he was nowhere near the edge until he had gotten up to stretch his legs.

Bobby stood there dumbfounded a few moments before checking the barrels, to see if any were missing, but inventory looked the same. Nothing was out of place. It was very unsettling. His bag was still laying on the ground beside the barrel he had propped himself on. He checked it quickly, everything seemed to be there. He reloaded the shotgun and sat the wet shells on the barrel to dry. Something very strange had happened here, and it was troubling him something fierce.

The sound of a motor snapped Bobby's attention towards the small dirt road leading up to the dock...

Bobby tensed and lowered himself behind one of the drums, with the shotgun aimed in the direction of the approaching truck. This had better be the guys that were supposed to be picking up the shipment. As the truck sped into view, he could see no driver, and it was NOT slowing down. It was actually picking up speed, and coming right for him!

With barely a second to spare, Bobby lept to his right out of the way of the oncoming driverless vehicle, and was sent flying further still by an enormous blast created when the truck met those barrels. As if it was not hot enough, the ensuing explosion sent searing pain through his body as the shock-wave went over his body like a hot-iron.

Bobby landed with a skid and a roll, and somewhere between the two lost grip of his shotgun. He had felt the blast, rather than saw or heard it, but the after effects were quickly evident. The truck had been sent onto its roof in the shallow water nearby. Smoke rolled and plumed from the truck and surrounding drums, slowely covering the bright moon once more. Tiny flames licked strange shapes in the darkness. He hadn't moved yet...wasn't sure he could...was he dead...

The sound of a half full glass of scotch hitting the wooden floor snapped Bobby from this daydream. He did that sometimes when he drank. Those memories were from his first job, and he narrowly escaped death twice. He fingered the jaw-length scar that shrapnel from the explosion had left. He looked down at the spilt scotch and wondered whether he should poor another or call it a night. It had been a long day.

He was no small time thug anymore. He was earning money for his family. He had several deals in the works and was going balls to the wall, trying to impress. He could still remember that night though. When they got him back to Headquarters, and patched him up...no questions asked...