A-1 SCUBA: THIS IS YOUR MISSION IF YOU CHOOSE TO TAKE IT
Dive in the waters surrounding the caribbean island of Bonaire and neutralize any perils that you encounter.

    For days, the weather channels had been predicting a severe winter snow and ice storm for the area around their base in Southeastern Pennsylvania. Their first objective was to depart that region before the storm hit. They knew that once at the site of operations, the tiny Caribbean island of Bonaire, all would be different - Air temperatures in the 90's and the water, their domain, a balmy 80 degrees. For now though, the task of saying goodbye to loved ones was at hand. I love you hon. I’ll be back soon. ( Or maybe not at all! ) I’ll miss you. The snow shovels are on the back porch by the ice scrapper. The salt is at the bottom of the basement steps. Oh, I really wish that I could stay. I didn’t expect it would be like this in February. We all felt so guilty we almost aborted the mission. Yea, Right! “Let’s get on that friggen plane and get the hell out of here, NOW! I’m tired of this damn cold,” bellowed Jennifer, one of our team leaders, as she stood there shivering under 5 layers of sweaters, sweatshirts, and ski jackets.

    As we boarded the Air Jamaica jet, we were all feeling a sense of excitement - the adrenaline rush that always hits us when we set off on a mission. And, all that we had left behind was forgotten as anticipation of what lay ahead began to build. Discussions focused on what was to come. In Bonaire? No. Not yet. As our sturdy, well piloted, craft bounced to a landing in Montego Bay, stress within the group had nearly reached a breaking point. The doors on the plane opened and we fought our way around the other passengers. Why the hell they were even allowed on the same plane with our elite team was beyond our comprehension. They were slowing us down! There might not be enough time for this first objective before the second plane left! We threw our bags over our shoulders and ran. Where was it? Over there, right where earlier recon teams had said it would be: THE DUTY FREE SHOP! And in it, shelves of what we would need to make our preparations complete - The Finest Caribbean Rum. Quick, grab one! Maybe two. Oh, make it three. What do those carry boxes hold? Four? Ok, make it four. Hurry! We’ve got to move, MOVE, MOVE! We still have to get out of these street clothes and into our uniforms! Come on, gate four, we can make it!

    Whew! That was close. First stage complete. Gasping for breath, we settled into our seats on Air Jamaica 66 (One more six and the flight # would indicate the real nature of our mission.) How do these other people keep getting on our plane? Now conversations centered on Bonaire: What we were there to do; How we were going to carry out our objectives; Dividing our group into assault teams. In the backs of our minds other thoughts began to creep in. How many of us would return? What would the tiny island be like when we were done with it? Hopefully, the divemasters and boat captains, who survived, would forget with time.

    Before we knew it, there it was, out the starboard side windows - Bonaire. We tightened our seatbelts and clinched our fingers over the armrests, of course with our seats in an upright position and all electronic devices and cell phones turned off, anticipating the same stealthy landing that we had experienced in Jamaica.

    On the ground, all thoughts were on the mission. We had to get to Buddy Dive in a hurry!

What the hell is it with these other people on our plane! They’re slowing us down again. As we walked toward the terminal, no one without the special glasses could see the writing on the sign above the entrance; a warning that was meant just for us.. It read - “Relinquish All Hope Ye Who Enter Here!” A shiver ran down Nicole’s spine. One of the newest members of our team, Nicole was about to find out why we had all of that special-ops training in the pool. Finally, all bags collected, past customs, (How this happened with John Miller along is still a mystery.) and out of the airport. There he was, our Bonaire contact. What were the words? Alan, what is the question? “Relax, I’ve got things under control,” said Alan Moss, the second leader sent with our team. Alan approached the contact with his dive face on ( It’s kind of a weird look with slightly bulging eyes, a red circle around the upper portion of his face, and blowing small bubbles between his teeth.) and asked the question, “Can you take us to Buddy Dive?” That’s all it took. Moments later, our gear was loaded and we were aboard the transport vehicle.

    The road to Buddy Dive brought some surprises. Where were we? This looks like Arizona - Cactus with multiple curving arms, like small saguaros, prickly pear, and what looked like creosote bush. This was interesting. A desert island 20 miles long and just a little over 5 miles wide. How could this be one of the premier dive sites in the Western Hemisphere? Enough of this, back to the mission.   

    We arrived at Buddy Dive, took care of the necessary paper work, were assigned team transports, and took our gear to the storage area. We were starved. The resort’s restaurant was our choice for dinner. As we took our first bites of the cuisine, Jennifer said, “It’s not like Dominica is it?” The response was immediate. Hell no! Sure isn’t. Thank god! You can even tell what it is! We savored the food, relaxed and watched the sun slowly sink into the Caribbean through the pillars of the open air, seaside café. This may be our last tranquil moment.

    Later that evening, the sky was black and the sea was just as dark. You can never be sure what awaits in that darkness. This meant only one thing to our team. We had to get in and find out what was there - NIGHT DIVE! Who knows where the secret key to the dive gear and tank storage areas is hidden? It should be back of this board. No, it’s over here. I’ve got it. Come on, let’s get suited up. But, we don’t have weights. Damn! They’re locked in the secure room. With our entry skills this would be easy but could give us away. What about gathering rocks to keep us down? Wait a minute. Look at this civilian gear. It’s loaded with weights. Just remember where you got it when we get back. Problem solved. The resourcefulness of our team is amazing! Everyone ready? The command was given- Buddy Dive Left! We hit the water and the sea seemed to say welcome home as it enveloped our bodies. The beams of our lights cut into the darkness like light sabers. Perhaps we are the Jedi Knights of our time. There’s the rope. There on the bottom. Remember, you follow it straight out over the sand. Look, on that rock, a green moray. Over there, in the sand, a giant anemone. There it is, the top of the reef. Over the edge and, WOW! Bright blue tube sponge, a sleeping parrot fish, feeding coral, and— What the hell was that? Right along side me! BIG! Bigger than me. There, ahead, that silver flash! There it is again! Mark swam along side, looked over, and smiled. Alright, I know it’s just a tarpon. But, it came from nowhere and it was big. There’s another one. They seem to be following in our lights. Hey, what do tarpon eat anyway? It’s funny what goes through your mind down here. That’s the alarm on my dive computer. Time to turn around. These computers make things so easy. As we approached the dock, we could see the lights above. Wait, what’s that glimmer in the water - A jellyfish? It’s not very big, but the tentacles are pretty long. There’s another one, and another. Crap! They look like box-jellys, sea wasps, and there are lots of them. I’m feeling a tingling on my neck. Let’s get out of here, NOW! Stripping off our gear, we started to assess the damage. Did they get you? My neck’s really starting to burn. Andrew, what about you? I think I got through ok. We couldn’t function without Andrew, he’s our materials specialist, whatever we need, he’s there with it. Lee? They got me on my face and hands. Over there, that bottle of Windex. The ammonia in it will help. Damn those stings burn! Mark, how about you? You don’t look so good. I don’t feel so good either. My throat feels like it’s starting to smell. I mean swell. Cough! Cough! I’m having a little trouble breathing. Most of us gradually started to improve. But, Mark had a rough night. This mission could be more dangerous than we expected. The dock was our only way in and out at this location except by boat. And , sea wasps tend to be more active at night. Giving up the night dives and the cover of darkness was out of the question.

    The next day, everyone, including Mark, was feeling much better. The potions that we had picked up in Jamaica had worked wonders. Just a few rashes. With many of our missions in the tropics, most of us are quite familiar with rashes. Memories of Dominica flashed through Jennifer’s mind. After breakfast in another open air café, (Oh, it’s part of the package, I’ll have a little more.) back to the water - Buddy Dive Right. Down to 85 ft. this time. Now I know the reason for this small island being such a popular spot for divers. The reef is amazing. Something new everywhere you look. And the entire area around Bonaire and it’s little brother Klein Bonaire is an international preserve. You’re not even allowed to wear reef gloves for fear that you will be more prone to touch corals and other delicate life if you have them on. This rule is enforced soundly by the Nazi, bitch, dike, divemaster. I believe that is her official title at Buddy Dive.

    After lunch, in yet another open air, thatched-roof bar and restaurant at the resort, gear on, back in the water - Buddy Dive Right. This time a little more shallow and past the sunken fishing boat. Obviously, a disguised attack vessel from another team’s failed mission. We did a quick survey of the craft and swam on. It was on this dive that I got my first good look at what others told me they had seen the night before - The Yellow-Striped Chicken Fish and the Short-Fused Yellow-Striped Snapper. Although we think they are separate species, they do have some characteristics in common. And, for different species to be joined together by appendages that protrude from the upper portions of their bodies, as this pair demonstrated, is quite unusual. Is this a distraction that has been intentionally planted by our enemies or simply an oddity of nature. Whichever the case, both of these creatures deserve further observation. For now, it was time to end this dive and start preparations for our first boat mission.

    A couple of hours later found us back at the dock, standing by the Harbor Lady. To the untrained eye she appeared to be just another dive boat. We knew better. Then the role call began. First the usual A-1 members: Alan and Jennifer the team leaders, John, Maria, Lee, Nicole, Frank, Chris, Andrew, and Mark each highly trained in a speciality critical to our mission. Then the members of the elite Polish force that had joined us for this venture: Pavel, Lukase, Woejech, Joanna, and their handler Marzanna. Each team member responded in turn. Then, the name Jim was called. And, the resounding reply - I’M JIM!. What the hell was Jim doing here!! There must be more to this mission than any of us had suspected. They don’t bring Jim in unless - - -! But there he stood, the brim of his special-ops cap turned to one side, with that ever present stupid grin, looking like a complete idiot. In fact, Jim is an idiot, an idiot savant. In most aspects of his existence he’s completely worthless. He can’t carry his own gear without stumbling over something. He even forgets to turn on his air before a dive and can’t figure out why it’s so difficult breathing when he gets under. BUT, when he unclips what most people mistake for an ordinary compass from his B.C.D., Jim turns into the deadliest thing in the sea. Ask Alan, he remembers what happened on the mission called NAV DIVE. Even the feared tarpon stay clear of  Jim. Jim’s voice again - I’M JIM, LET’S DIVE! Oh, My God! What were we in for? The team went into action, boarded the boat, and we headed toward Rock Pile 1, off the coast of Klein Bonaire.

    As we entered the water, everyone saw them. There they were again - The Y-S Chicken Fish and The S-F-Y-S Snapper. They were separate at first,  the Chicken Fish quickly approached the Snapper and attempted to fuse. The Snapper turned! It seemed like the Snapper was going to attack. Then it calmed. With what looked like an expression of resignation on it’s face, the Snapper fused with the Chicken Fish and they swam off. A diversion, a threat, we still don’t know. Besides the Chicken Fish and Snapper, nothing was found at this site that we considered out of the ordinary. We all relaxed a little. Back at the dock, we rinsed our gear, (Jesus! Jim! Let that wetsuit soak in a separate tub! You’ve gotta stop doing that!) a quick shower, and a much needed meal. Damn this food is good!

    A debriefing over a few Caribbean concoctions and the team was ready to head out again. Another recon-mission into the black abyss. Our objective: See what we can find and return without getting our asses stung off by sea wasps. Why’s Jim still standing on the dock? Jim, come on! What’s wrong? Jim’s air not turned on and Jim can’t reach it, came the response. Shit! What a screw-up, we all thought. But, we also knew that if the time came when we needed him our lives would be in the balance. Then from Lee, “Jim! Jump in! I’ll turn on your air when you hit the water.” A risky maneuver! We all watched as Jim plummeted into the darkness. Then, there he was, on the surface with Lee alongside twisting the valve and air rushed through the regulator and into Jim’s waiting lungs. Son-of-a-bitch are we good! OK signals passed around, dive lights flashed on, the command was given - Buddy Dive Right, and down we went. The plan was for this to be a rather benign dive. Little did we know what lay in store that night.

    We started a slow descent over the reef. And, there they were again, the Yellow-Striped Chicken Fish and the Short-Fused Yellow-Striped Snapper! What the hell’s going on here? Then out of the deep - tarpon! One , Then two more. The Y-S Chicken Fish stopped dead, wide-eyed, a look of panic shot over its face. A bubbling sound that seemed to say - SCREW THIS!! - came from the Chicken Fish’s mouth. It bolted for the surface, The Snapper clutched for the Chicken Fish’s fins stopping it from exploding from the change in pressure. We kept them in sight as we carefully made our way back to the dock and past the swarms of sea wasps. As we watched, in astonishment, the Chicken Fish and Snapper went up the steps and onto the platform above. These weren’t creatures of the sea. It was Lee and Nicole, members of our own team! I’ll be damned, A-1 had finally perfected the transformation formula. Why hadn’t we all been informed?

    Out of the water they were just like you and me. Well, not quite. Like all members of the team, they were selected for their special abilities. One of these that they both possess is the ability to argue non-stop for days at a time. This has been useful on a number of missions to distract our adversaries. Of course, at times it nearly drives us to distraction as well. The Short- Fused Yellow-Striped Snapper had earned his name earlier, but, this night the Chicken Fish took center stage. Lee just paced back and forth as Nicole began her tirade. Night dive my ass! You didn’t tell me about those damn tarpon! What the hell do you think I am - FISH BAIT! They were stalking me! Couldn’t you see that?! If you think I’m going back down there at night, you’re all out of your damn minds! Look at my wetsuit! It’ll take days to wash this out! I hadn’t even peed in it yet! Who wants these dive lights? I’m taking bids on the whole friggen set right now! Screw the bids! Here, divide them up. I’ve got more back in my room, Come up and get them too. Night dive my ass! Go ahead, have a good laugh you bastards! You’re all a bunch of freaks! We couldn’t argue that last point, after all, we were A-1 Scuba.

    The next day things seemed to have calmed down, although, you could sense a little tension between Lee and Nicole. We loaded our dive gear and tanks of Nitrox into the land transport vehicles. Today we would look for entry points at the fabled yellow rocks of Bonaire. Each numbered rock designated a site were we could embark on another adventure, and there are sixty of them. Our first site, rock #11, a place known as Ol’ Blue. We surveyed the site, A sheer drop-off of 5 feet onto broken staghorn coral. This wasn’t going to be easy. We split up, some working from the top passing down gear, others catching it at the  bottom. That hurtle overcome, we suited up and worked our way toward the water. It was tough keeping our balance on that staghorn. Entering the shallows with wave action didn’t help. Of course, Jim was the first to turtle, then Allen, followed by Frank. We stumbled toward deeper water looking like something from Monty Python’s Flying Circus. You know. The guys with handkerchiefs tied over their heads. Finally, some depth, we can go under. All of a sudden, we turned from stumbling buffoons into sleek, streamlined, weightless, scuba divers gliding through the sea like it was our home. The same old stuff: Hundreds of multicolored fish, numerous corals, sponges, and a large variety of other marine life that’s found everywhere around the island.Even though everything seemed normal we couldn’t get complacent. Frank and Chris worked as a team. Frank pointed out features of the reef and life forms to Chris who recorded them with his high-tech underwater camera. Jim also carried a camera, but he managed to flood it the first time he took it down. Don’t even ask! The remainder of our group scanned every surface indicating points of interest to Alan and Jennifer, who carried even more sophisticated imaging equipment. Flashes filled the water like a strobe-light on a time past disco floor. Nothing on the reef would escape our scrutiny. And then, the buffoons returned as we scrambled onto the rouged beach. Back to the transports and on to the next location. Hey! Isn’t this road one-way going the other direction? Shhhh! Oh, how we love to live on the edge!

    Our next site, A Thousand Steps, yellow rock # 14. You’ve got to be kidding me! I have to walk down all of those steps in full gear and then climb back up after the dive, still in full gear? Who picked this site? Sadist! Alright, let’s do it! Lesser professionals wouldn’t have made it, but we were A-1 Scuba. Plus, there are really only sixty steps. Not too bad of an entry this time. What was under the surface proved to be similar to the last site. But again,  we recorded every inch the reef’s surface as well as what was in the water above. Then, out of the water and UP THE STEPS. Hey, I’m packing Nitrox here! Regulator in mouth, and drawing oxygen enriched air into my lungs, I worked my way slowly to the top. Hah! Improvise and overcome! We leaped (collapsed) into our trusty (rusty) vehicles and sped back to Buddy Dive.

    That afternoon, as we lay back on the lounge chairs by the tranquil ocean at the resort, with beads of sweat glistening on our foreheads, thoughts of home began playing in our minds. Has anyone gotten reports from Philly? What’s happening with that snow storm? Say, could you top this drink off with some more of that rum? Yeah. They got it alright, snow and ice, a lot of roads were shut down, accidents all over the place. Could you pass that sun screen over here? I’m starting to feel a little tender. That’s right, then the temperatures plummeted and everything froze up. Oh, that’s a shame. We’re going to have to move into the shade. I’m getting burned. I heard they had power outages over the whole region from ice on the lines. Speaking of ice, I could use some more in this drink. Is anyone else starting to feel hungry? Let’s grab some dinner. If I’m right, it’s lobster.

    With nightfall it was - Buddy Dive Left. The tarpon were there again. Now, they seemed like old friends, gliding through the water with us as though we belonged together. Still, there was something about them that didn’t quite seem normal. No sea wasps tonight. They had been there every other night. We knew things were being changed in these waters and we knew what was doing it. That’s why we were there. As we exited the sea, there she was. Damn it! The Nazi, bitch, dike divemaster stood there stiff as a board, slapping the riding crop she held in her right hand against those high leather boots and glaring at us with a hatred that had no end. I see your hands, she shouted, with clinched teeth! Those are gloves your wearing! You were warned about wearing gloves! You know the rule about wearing gloves! Now, I shall inform the authorities and YOU WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!!!! CRAP! This mutant could jeopardize the entire operation. Do we take her out now and be done with it? Jim’s fingers inched toward the clip on his “compass”. Oh, I’m Jim he muttered quietly. Luckily, Sven, one of our Bonaire operatives, was nearby. Seeing what was about to happen, he rushed over, took her aside, and whispered something in her ear. A look of sheer terror came over her face, she turned, and ran up the steps from the dock. Sven returned and assured us that she would be no more trouble.

           The following morning brought us one of our major objectives. We would be looking for the Hooker. No! No! No! Not that kind of hooker! We’re professionals on a mission. There’s no time for that. Although, there have been rumors about the Chicken Fish and Snapper, shall we say,  trans-forming with fervor. Our objective this day would be the Hilma Hooker, a shipwreck that lay in about 100 ft. of water between Bonaire and Klein Bonaire. We knew that hidden deep within the recesses of this ship was something that could not be allowed to exist. Attempts had been made to destroy it before. Now, it was our job to finish the task. But, this dive would just be for recon. The real thing would come later. The Harbor Lady would again be our transport. On site, we descended into the depths. Soon the Hooker’s props came into view then the rest of the ship. She lay on her side. We swam to the other side where we had a clear shot to the deck. At this depth, dive time would be short. We got right to work. We could lay lines over there. Alan showed us how. There’s an entry point. And, another over here. We mapped ever point in our heads. We’re good at that. Our special training under Alan’s and Jennifer’s guidance has given us minds like grease traps. Then, back to the surface. On our way up, a strange sighting, A long string of bead-like bodies attached to a translucent mass of jell was floating in the water near our boat. Was it a floating mine meant to end our mission? We quickly climbed aboard and told the captain. Oh, really. Just a tunicate with reproductive bodies? Ok.

    We made a short stop on Klein Bonaire, where we stretched our legs and did a little exploring to find what kind of life existed on the island. It might not be there after our work was completed. Then, back in the Harbor Lady, and on to the site called “Knife”. This area teamed with life, including more of those tunicates. These also had reproductive bodies trailing behind. There were also many immature drums and yellowfin damsels. Is there more reproduction than normal taking place on the reef? It was hard to tell. After “Knife” it was back to the dock for more dives, skills testing, and practicing attack scenarios into the night.

    The next day, back to land transports and the search for those yellow rocks was on again. Teams pealed off in different directions to maximize our attack potential. As night fell and everyone regrouped, descriptions of the carnage were numerous.  Later, everyone agreed that it was time to visit Cactus Blue to relieve some of the building stress. Besides, we knew Corinna,  the owner of this quaint bar and restaurant. She had been an operative with our team before retiring to a calmer life. We had been there the year before when she opened the Cactus Blue and wanted to help her celebrate the restaurant’s first birthday. Little did we know that she was having another friend of ours provide the entertainment for the occasion. Moogie is a fantastic Caribbean style singer. However, we knew him better as the Bonaire Oracle. Our team had relied on his special powers many times to reveal the weaknesses of our enemies and predict the outcomes of our missions. This night he would provide us a special service. Corinna knew our relationship with Moogie and had her staff move a large table so we could be seated right next to the stage. He grinned as we were seated and gave us a gracious welcome. Through the evening, as most of us were having a great time, Moogie noticed the, out of place, frown on one of our Polish member’s face. Joanna knew what we were going to do the next day and she also knew the affect it might have on the life in and around the Hilma Hooker. Joanna loves all living things and has a special affection for the beautifully colored marine fish that are abundant on the Hooker. What might happen to them tomorrow gave her great sadness. Right in the middle of Moogie’s performance her pain reached his very soul and he began to sing, “Oh, Joanna don’t cry. The little fishies in the ocean that you love so much. Those little fishies won’t die.” Joanna looked up  at Moogie in disbelief! Moogie smiled. Then, Joanna began to smile. Hell, we all smiled and took turns hugging her. The celebration went into the morning hours as we all joined Moogie in song and sipped (guzzled) Jamaican nectar.

    With sunrise, came our most important mission. Well, it would have if we hadn’t all still been curled up in our beds sound asleep. DAMN THAT RUM! So, a couple of hours after sunrise, we were back on the Harbor Lady. Hendrick was with us today. Hendrick always joins us to record the mission on video when it could have international repercussions, and, our missions usually do. I’m not supposed to describe the details of this dive to the Hilma Hooker. But as Andrew said, “If this might be my last time on the Hooker, there’s going to be DEEP PENETRATION!” Over the side, we dropped fast and gathered on the highest point of the hull. Like a pack of wolves about to make a kill, a surge of exhilaration passed through us. (Something else may have passed through Jim. There was a large bulge between his buttocks.) Come on Hendrick, get the group shot. A-1 wanted evidence of who was on the mission for its records. Alright! Let’s get to work. We all carried extra weight this day, weight that we wouldn’t have when we returned to the surface. Alan, Jennifer, and Mark went deep. Their “weights” would go under the portion of the hull that rested on the bottom. Others of the A-1 team worked in pairs: Andrew and Jim, Lee and Nicole, Frank and Chris, John and Maria. Each pair headed for predesignated entry points around the cargo hold. The Polish force split up as well, locating other points of penetration along the deck. Pavel and Joanna went toward the bow. Woejech and Lukasz headed for the stern. It was like a will choreographed ballet as we danced around the wreck. Then, dive alarms started to sound. Times up! We’re out of here!

    There would be no giant explosion, no huge eruption of the ocean surface, no resounding blast. What we left behind would produce none of these, just a bright shimmering in the ocean around the sunken ship, a slight rise in water temperature, and some increased wave action on the nearby islands. And, as long as no one went near the wreck for the next hour, all would seem normal. Even the ship itself would appear untouched. But, the threat that lay within would have ceased to exist. You’ve got to love A-1's exotic weapons division.

    Our last day of diving took an elite group from our team to “The Wild Side”. We took our positions on the, one of a kind, attack zodiac with the moniker “Larry’s Wild Side Diving”. Eddy, the South African mercenary captain who had been enlisted by A-1, took charge barking commands and laying out objectives for the mission. This done, we aimed for the rough water on the windward side of Bonaire. After fighting the zodiac through the breakers of the inlet, we sped toward the dive sites, jumping from the top of one immense swell to the next. Having reached the first site, Gijs, the divemaster, led us over the side. Rolling backwards, in sequence, we would best any Navy SEAL team with our entries. In the water, it was a race to get below the crashing waves before we were beaten to a pulp. Once under, the surveillance of marine life began. Life on this windward side of the island was similar to that on the more calm leeward side where we had completed most of our operations, but, at the same time, different. Here we were looking for larger forms: Mantas, barracuda, eagle rays, and SHARKS! Life that could have been altered by what  was in the Hilma Hooker.

    After finding nothing unusual at the this site, it was back in the zodiac and on to the area known as “The White Hole”, a mysterious depression in the sea floor that looked promising. When we entered the water all seemed well.  Different types of turtles, barracuda, spotted eagle rays, morays, and schools of tarpon (Those Damn Tarpon!) were everywhere. Then, they started to move closer. We were surrounded! This was it! The moment had arrived to face what that THING in the Hilma Hooker had spawned. They were closing in!! Jim grabbed for his B.C.D. and unclipped his “compass”. We knew that ALL HELL was about to break loose! As the beams from the circular weapon sliced through the sea, turning the water around our startled attackers to steam, we kicked with all of the strength that was in us. We scrambled into the zodiac and Eddy leaned on the throttle. The large pontoon craft skimmed over the breakers of the inlet and headed for the safety of shore. The operation in Bonaire was complete.

     That night and the next day we spent drying and packing our gear, treating our wounds with a rum-based antiseptic taken internally, and preparing for our flight back to ice and snow. As our plane sped down the runway and the wheels cleared the ground, we noticed something out the port side windows. No! It couldn’t be! Yes, it was! The Nazi, bitch, dike, divemaster with the middle fingers of both hands held high in the air. Right in front of a large sign that read - COME AGAIN, YA HEAR! Oh, we will be back! Oh, yes! When the temperature drops and the snow falls, WE WILL BE BACK!

  Although what took place on the Hilma Hooker  is classified, you can see a version of that mission and the next to Kally’s Reef that have been censored for public viewing. Just go into A-1's home base in Trevose, PA, that you’ll swear looks like an ordinary dive shop, and ask for Jennifer. When she greets you, bend over and whisper the word Hooker in her ear. Believe me, your life will take a new direction.

     For those of you who may have doubts about the validity of this account of the events that took place in Bonaire, I assure you that there are parts of this story that are 100% factual.

If you want to enlist and become part of the ongoing A-1 Scuba legend, come into our “Dive Shop” today. Another adventure will begin soon.